Castle In The Clouds, Chapters Twenty One & Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty One

Veronica strolled along the shingle, drawing her pastel shawl closer around her body in the fresh morning breeze. The castle lay behind her, high on its base of volcanic rock; there was the feeling that somewhere within its walls someone watched. The discomfort was there and growing though she did her best to negate it.
As charming as Thomas had been throughout their meal the previous evening, his earlier behaviour had been strange to say the least. He had obviously been unsettled, and the fact he'd witnessed her earlier encounter with Gibbings was obvious.
Gibbings' concern for her was evident, and in a way unexpected, born of Hambleton's observations, she suspected, more than anything else.
Her number one priority remained to return the favour Gibbings had bestowed on her when he'd rescued her from the sea, to help him the way he'd helped her. Frustratingly she'd a notion he'd come close yesterday to unloading his problems – and now the temptation was there to seek him out again.
But she'd formed the opinion that Thomas' unusual behaviour stemmed from the fact that in his eyes, Gibbings was allowing her to distract him from his work. Not so long ago she'd singled out Dorothea as a threat to his employment, now if she were not careful that threat might come from Thomas himself. Any further conversations with Gibbings, therefore, would need more appropriate timing and be discreet.
Veronica's thoughts were interrupted by a deep drone, the sound familiar to her owing to her association with the Capital and other major cities. She turned to witness the approach of a shining silver automobile, which she assumed to be an unprecedented sight on the island.
She stood back from the rough road to allow them passage and as they passed slowly by she saw the man in the driver's seat incline towards her, raising his hat to reveal a crop of reddish-brown hair; nodding acknowledgement he smiled, his eyes remaining on her for some few yards, while his passenger's gaze remained steadfastly set ahead.
The vehicle continued onto the wide path at the forefront of the castle grounds, drawing to a halt at the head of the castle approach. Veronica suspected Thomas' benefactors had arrived and sure enough she saw Thomas emerge from the castle entrance the moment they pulled up, advancing swiftly down the slope to welcome them.
No sooner had he greeted them than he became aware of her presence, craning his head in her direction and waving her over.
'Veronica,' he called enthusiastically, and smiling broadly. 'The two gentlemen I spoke to you of, come be introduced to my friends, Mr. Byron Rothman and Mr. Edward Reynolds.'
Veronica felt Rothman's blue eyes on her immediately, lively, almost dancing. She took in his thin lips and boyish countenance which creased into an easy smile. 'Byron Rothman. So you are the delectable Miss Day. I am a great admirer of your music madam; it is indeed an honour to meet with you in the flesh.' He took a step forward, taking her hand in his and kissing her palm softly.
'Thank you indeed Mr. Rothman, I am flattered.' She turned to his companion. 'Mr. Reynolds, good morning to you.'
'Madam.' Reynolds, a portly man wearing tweeds, with a blotchy complexion and brown moustache less neatly trimmed than his host's, acknowledged her with a brief downward motion of his head.
Llewellyn turned his attention to the car. 'A fine automobile,' he enthused.
'A Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost,' Rothman informed. 'Brand spanking new; six cylinder engine no less – reputed to be the finest motor car in the world,' he added proudly -'and what finer day to journey out in it.' He spread his hands towards the skies, his gaze returning to Veronica, who shook her head. 'If you would excuse me I feel rather tired,' she said, regarding each in turn, 'but please do not let me deter you from enjoying a ride in this fine vehicle – but perhaps before you leave, Mr. Rothman -'
'Absolutely!' the disappointment on Rothman's face passed like a cloud from the sun, as Veronica glanced up to see the hulking figure of Dawson descending the slope.
'Ah, there you are, Dawson,' Llewellyn said flatly, and then turning to his guests, 'Refreshments await you gentlemen, following which I will acquaint you with the castle – and then I look forward to our trip out.'
Dawson gathered Rothman and Reynolds' suitcases, carrying one in each hand with one tucked beneath each arm, while Llewellyn took a long look at Veronica. 'Are you certain you will not be joining us, my dear? If you like I can postpone our trip until -'
'No Thomas, I do not wish to deny you the opportunity of a ride on a fine morning such as this; please join your friends and do not think me unsociable.'
'We surely do not,' Rothman stated readily while Llewellyn remained silent. 'Come Llewellyn, let us enter this fine castle of yours.'
Llewellyn looked back at Veronica uncertainly, but her eyes were cast along the
shoreline towards the harbour, from where the klaxon sounded urgently on the morning air.
* *

Veronica, relaxing in a high -backed armchair by her room window, opened her eyes at the sound of voices below and heard Rothman's smooth, light-hearted banter and the more sober tones of his companion, Reynolds. There followed the sound of an automobile being started up.
Rising and stretching she looked out to see Llewellyn and his two guests sitting in the open top vehicle, which was pulling out onto the rough road to the village.
Leaving her room she climbed out onto the roof garden, watching the motor car proceeding along the road at a sedate speed, before turning her attention to the sparkling sea, slightly choppy in the strong, warm southerly breeze.
On the horizon a boat appeared, its shape gradually becoming more distinct, and then she heard steps behind her, recognising their familiar rhythm.
Veronica stiffened, her eyes remaining on the vessel as she felt Dorothea's whisky laced breath on her neck. 'So our hero returns, the true object of your desire,' she said, her voice falling to a whisper.
'He is not the object of my desire.' Veronica crossed her arms, turning to face Dorothea, staring down into her eyes.
'Some might believe you but I am not so naïve. I would have thought the gentleman with the nice automobile affords a better proposition than the wretched Gibbings.'
'You continue to misjudge my intentions, or indeed affections,' Veronica said coolly. 'I
am becoming rather tired of your wit. I can see what induced Thomas into a rage.’ Veronica sighed, was about to apologise for her impetuous remark, but Dorothea's hand, suddenly clenched on her shoulder was about to banish the gesture from her mind.
'Just the slightest push my dear, would send you plummeting below. I have always thought that having three foot railings around this garden was insufficient. You just toppled over, who would know otherwise?'
Veronica had no time to assess whether Dorothea was serious; in an instant she grabbed the woman's arms, swinging her round; Dorothea lashed with her foot, her shoe catching Veronica's shin, but to no avail. Her arms were subdued in an intensifying grip, her temper drained along with her energy. But Veronica did not let go, not until Dorothea, exhausted by her struggling, crumbled completely, and then hands on her shoulders, forcing the defeated woman to her knees, she said, 'Be grateful my patience is stronger than Thomas'.
* *

Veronica returned to her room, not so much shaken by her experience, but by the question posed by Dorothea's actions – had that been a deliberate attempt to kill her? Had Dorothea been so angered by her remark that she would have carried through with a push? Dorothea could have pushed without warning and sent her plunging below, but she'd delayed and therein lay the problem. But the threat in itself had been enough to force her to use her strength if only to restrain the woman – at the very least it had been a disturbing development, making it easier to understand, if not endorse the action Thomas had taken.
The lifeboat was preparing to moor now; Thomas and his friends would likely be gone for some time, and Dorothea would either return to her bottle or sleep off its effects.
If Veronica had been feeling tired before, she certainly wasn't now, she had an hour or two to herself and she would spend it walking and talking with Gibbings if at all possible. Apart from getting to the source of his predicament it struck her that he was the only person she could discuss her experience with.

* *

Gibbings looked tired as he clambered from the boat, a slight pallor marring his normal tanned features, as, buttoning his white shirt, he trod across the pebbles to her.
'You look tired John,' Veronica said, aware of stating the obvious.
'Aye – you would if you'd just plucked three folks from rough water.'
'What happened?' she asked, walking ahead of him, picking her way through a hillock of tufted grass.
'A ketch went over.' |He sighed, 'Sea's rough, but not that rough – poor sailing if you ask me. What you doing here anyway?' he asked, now alongside her.
She shrugged. 'I fancied a little company -'
'Can't provide it now, Veronica – have to be getting back.' He strode ahead, 'Mr. Llewellyn's been giving me queer looks lately. I've been seeing his face at the window – staring – like he's checking on me and letting me know it.'
'It's alright John, he isn't there.' Veronica clasped his arm and drew him back. 'He has two guests, Mr. Rothman and Mr. Reynolds; I think these are the two men who have provided the money that allows Mr. Llewellyn to buy the dark witch out. They drove out in Mr. Llewellyn's automobile.’
'Buy her out?' Gibbings squinted.
'Yes, if all goes well she should be leaving, one less problem for you to worry about -' Veronica gave him a long, expectant gaze.
'How come you didn't join him in this - this automobile ride?'
'I wasn't invited,' she lied. 'Walk with me a while.'
'I shouldn't really -'
'John, will you stop worrying – the afternoon is bright and warm, the gardens are a wonderland of colour thanks to you – you can well afford a break. Mr. Llewellyn would be a fool to dismiss you and he certainly isn't that. And as for my part I do not think it at all a good idea that I encounter Dorothea again, this afternoon.'
'Miss Llewellyn – what's happened?'
Veronica exhaled, led Gibbings through a narrow sandy path between banks of lengthy grass and gorse, and down to join a lane bordered by low stone walls.
'There was an altercation out on the balcony – the roof garden.'
'An altercation?'
'A row, John -'
'I know what an altercation is,' Gibbings said with an edge to his voice.
Veronica bit her lip, looked him in the eye. 'I'm sorry John – I didn't mean to -'
'I'm not as dumb as I look, however much -' to Veronica's surprise Gibbings stopped in mid-sentence, breaking into a smile, putting an end to her embarrassment.
'John, what is causing you such amusement?' she asked through half-open eyes.
'The look on your face.'
'Am I so abject?'
'Abject?' Gibbings looked bemused, she saw him redden. 'No ' he said looking down - 'so pretty.'
Veronica's shoe found a pothole in the roughly surfaced lane, she stumbled sideways and spontaneously Gibbings' arms clasped around her, just like they had when he'd raised her from the sea. 'Why John, I can manage,' she laughed. A gentle push in the chest and he'd freed his hold, though her eyes remained locked steadfastly on his.
Gibbings swallowed, raked a hand through his dark hair. 'Tell me about this – altercation,' he said, resuming their walk.
Veronica folded her arms beneath her chest, eyes on the uneven road beneath but not seeing, 'I was standing by the railings looking out to sea. I heard Dorothea's footsteps – we had words. I said something I probably shouldn't have and then she pressed her hand to my shoulder. She uttered a thinly veiled threat; just a push and I would have been down on the rocks. I couldn't take the chance and forced her round – my hands on her arms. She went into a frenzy and lashed at my skin.' Veronica paused, pulled up the hem of her light blue dress, 'There – a bruise nothing more, but I did what was necessary to contain her until her temper was exhausted.' Veronica lashed her foot at a large stone, sent it flying into the fields, 'Stupid woman, I could have tossed her into the sea.'
She glanced at Gibbings, eyes moist with anger, teeth clenched – 'Now the fury comes
out – better now than then.'
Veronica saw Gibbings' surprise, no shock – at the sudden change in her. 'You see John, I needed to be free of anger, to let it escape – I needed somebody to confide to – just as you do now. Tell me what's wrong with you John – I can help -'
'No – I can't, you're a woman -'
'How observant,' she said acidly.
'Look I didn't mean to belittle you,' he clawed at his forehead, 'it's not what I meant, a man should stand on his own feet, and shoulder his own burdens -'
'So woman is not equal to man, in that I am not worthy to be aware of your problems?'
'No, no, no,' Gibbings held a hand high, then let it fall, placing both on his hips with a sigh – a look into his eyes told her he was defeated, she'd finally broken through his barrier.
'You're impossible – okay – I'
And then a drone, a sound unmistakable to Veronica's ears. Almost certainly the only motor vehicle on the island advancing towards them somewhere along the winding lane. Veronica knew Gibbings' employment would be endangered if he was seen out here, and in her company, and she too would risk Llewellyn's displeasure.
Their eyes met, they both had the same instinctive thought. Gibbings was first over the wall, extending a hand for Veronica to join him and though she didn't require it, she took his hand anyway. And then both crouched behind the wall as the vehicle whined up the ascending lane and slowly passed them.
'We need to get back,' Gibbings tone was urgent. 'If we cut across country we can beat them – they'll find it slow, bumpy going along the road -' he glanced at her despairingly, 'only it'll mean running and I'll leave you behind.'
'You speak nonsense, John.' Veronica's eyes flashed defiantly, she was eager for the challenge.
They ran the quarter mile flat out, occasionally needing to hurdle dry stone walls, tramping down the long grass as they went. Gibbings was amazed she could keep up, amazed at the smooth way she dealt with the undulating ground, and where their ways split he saw her shoot an audacious smile.
Back in her room, Veronica's breathing had returned to normal as she heard the Rolls-Royce draw up. She sighed, flung her head on the pillow and gazed at the ceiling. So close, so close to breaking John Gibbings down. Soon now, she'd achieve it.

Chapter Twenty Two

'How clumsy of me.' Rothman glanced at Veronica and smiled as he mopped drops of spilt tea from his jersey. 'So, Miss Day – I take it I may address you as “Veronica?”' and as Veronica nodded and returned his smile - 'you must be quite taken by this island to accept permanent accommodation here.'
'I am indeed, Mr. Rothman, but then I do admit to a fondness for the North East -'
'Oh -' Rothman's brows rose fleetingly, 'call me Byron, please -'
Rothman looked across at his portly companion, Reynolds, a quiet smile crossing his smooth features. 'I must say, I would find spending any appreciable time here excruciatingly boring – wouldn't you Edward? Nothing to do all day but stare at the sea – which always looks the same to me.' Rothman placed his cup in the saucer, lowering the china to the table, returning his attention to Veronica. 'But you obviously have a close friendship with Llewellyn which changes the picture somewhat.'
'That aside, I find this to be a tranquil, pleasant island,' Veronica' countered. 'A little experience of nature cannot but broaden our horizons, unlikely as it might seem to some.' Veronica had lowered her eyes, but now she raised them towards his companion, 'Isn't that so, Mr. Reynolds?'
'Most certainly it is,’ the man in the brown tweed suit answered readily. 'Not everyone enjoys the hustle of the city.'
Rothman raised an amused smile, apparently undaunted by the combined rejection of his philosophy. 'Nevertheless, I would have thought that the beautiful lady here does have a preference for – shall we say – the brighter lights?'
'Then you would have thought wrongly.' But Veronica's next intended words were cut
short by the appearance of Llewellyn. 'Ah Llewellyn, can we count on your sister's presence at dinner?' Rothman inquired, his brows raised.
'I have no word from her; I would deem it unlikely.'
Reynolds drew on his long pipe, smoke funnelling into the air. 'I feel that might be a blessing. She seems somewhat cantankerous.'
'I fear she is somewhat incapacitated.' The dryness of Veronica's remark drew attention from all three. 'I only mean, she seemed unwell.'
'Meaning she is heavily indulged in alcohol,' Llewellyn said with undisguised bitterness. 'I take it you have had the misfortune to encounter her, my dear?'
'Only briefly, Thomas,' Veronica bit her lip as a deterrent to elaborate. Llewellyn seemed to sense her unease. 'Do not worry my dear, soon we will be free of the shadows she casts upon us, and then you and I can be content within the stout walls of this castle.'
'How nice, how very cosy -' Rothman's eyes focused keenly on Veronica as he spread out his hands. 'You make it seem, Llewellyn, as if your very existence revolves around this place. Surely your business necessitates a substantial amount of your time?'
Veronica noticed the slight twist in Rothman's lips. She saw Thomas stiffen and thought herself that Rothman had a point and he was obviously enjoying making it.
Llewellyn coughed, put a fist to his mouth and then ran a forefinger across his lips. 'My dear,' he began, his gaze on her becoming at once more earnest and intense, 'I had intended to announce my proposal over dinner but Rothman, I feel, has struck a chord.'
Only a distant clatter of cutlery disturbed the silence as Llewellyn, fingers trembling slightly, placed his hand inside his inner jacket pocket -
Veronica frowned, awareness dawning before his words came: 'My life has been transformed since we met - I wish to ask for your hand in marriage,' he said quietly, and unfastening the ring from its box, continued, 'I ask you to receive this ring, thereby confirming your acceptance of my proposal.'
“I cannot accept and yet I dare not reject -”
totally unexpected and unwanted, Veronica fought back the horror that seemed to have created a gaping hole in her stomach, grasping the tender threads of her composure – aware both of Llewellyn's willing gaze and Rothman's almost mocking smile, she answered calmly, 'Why Thomas, what a wonderful gesture.' She hung her head, looking at him through raised eyes. 'But I feel it is too soon.' She watched his expression cloud, 'Though given time I feel it might be favourable.'
'I see.' Llewellyn drew in breath, stiffened, examining the ring as if its significance had diminished, the intensity in his eyes giving way to a bland mist – 'how much time do you consider reasonable, Veronica?'
Veronica examined her interlocked fingers, finally regarding him earnestly. 'Until I am able to return your feelings, Thomas; I need to be able to do that to honour your gracious proposal.'
Rothman leaned forward, studying her with his blue eyes. 'I can see that the lady cares for you very much,' he said, a goblet of champagne poised beneath his lower lip. 'I can read it in her eyes – it is a noble deliberation she makes, mark my words.'
'Of course.' Llewellyn's eyes widened and regained some lustre.
“Rothman you are enjoying my discomfort -” the words were on Veronica's lips but she held them back – the stark fact was that he was compromising her and knew it.
Llewellyn had been placated, chiefly by Rothman – but Veronica retired that evening, disturbed because Rothman was turning out to be a complication she could well do without.
*

But Llewellyn had retained his faith and devotion to Veronica; he had Rothman to thank for that. Now, as he stared out at another fine morning, he contemplated his second main proposal – his proposal to Dorothea.
Dorothea would leave, and Veronica would accept given time - and his dream would become reality.
* *

‘Am I permitted a stroll in the garden, Mr -?' Rothman, already bored inside the castle's austere walls and determining that the only spark of interest was the beautiful woman who had become Llewellyn's intended, (he allowed himself a smile at that) had wandered into the castle's walled gardens and had encountered the gardener hoeing between rhododendrons.
'My name is Gibbings; aye – if you're a guest,' Gibbings added dubiously, not recognising the newcomer.
'I am indeed.' Rothman gazed around, taking in the colourful plants; he wasn't a great lover of horticulture but to his untrained eye the beds seemed well enough tended. 'Your master invited me along to be witness, it seems, to his marriage proposal,' Rothman said airily. 'I cannot think of another reason why he should invite me along to this godforsaken place, but well done er – Gibbings; a myriad of colour, quite glorious.'
'Marriage proposal?' Gibbings' mouth fell open as he cocked his head; he rammed the hoe into the ground. 'Did she accept?'
'Not as yet.' Rothman had been surprised by the question. He'd been speaking almost to himself, but as he continued his stroll through the gardens and considered it, he found himself doubting that she ever would. Then what was her association with this place? Somehow the pieces didn't seem to fit – and she'd been embarrassed by his inkling of that – he knew it.
* *

Dorothea's approaching footsteps echoed along the corridor, filling Llewellyn with eager anticipation – the moment had arrived, the moment he'd bestow upon her the offer she couldn't refuse.
Soon he'd be free of her meddling, her interference, and her infernal drink - ridden, smoke - infested breath.
'Well Thomas, what is it?' she asked, pushing open the door, regarding him with quick moving pupils – 'my but you're looking pleased with yourself this morning – has the pretty violinist been pleasuring you?'
Llewellyn glared up at his sister from behind his walnut desk, attired today in a full-length peach shaded, frilled frock, which emphasised her slightly rotund figure rather than enhancing it.
'Sit down, sister.' Llewellyn stretched out a hand, indicating the high, wing backed Queen Anne chair which stood to the right of his desk. Steepling his fingers beneath his chin he watched her slowly oblige, her eyes narrowing.
'I have for some time suspected that you have been unhappy here – quite apart from your normal hysteria – I therefore have a proposal for you to consider -'
'A proposal, Thomas?' Dorothea inhaled on her cigarette, blew smoke into the air. 'What
proposals could you possibly make that would -'
'A proposal that will free you from the confines of this castle and this island,' Llewellyn said enthusiastically, leaning forward, elbows on his desk. 'Dorothea, I will return your outlay in this castle, together with twenty per cent interest, in appreciation of your time and trouble-'
'Time and trouble?' You mock me brother.' Llewellyn watched Dorothea's eyes darken, saw her face harden further, her jaw set tight – felt his own stomach knot as he waited for her reply – realising by the very set of her features that she would reject and not knowing why – at least until she spoke.
'You think your meagre offer will rid you of my presence?' Dorothea raised her chin, looked down at him through her hooded eyes, giving a dismissive sweep of her arm. 'Do you take me for a fool? I have no intention of leaving. Your offer is derisory, I refuse it.'
Llewellyn began to burn. He could scarcely control his indignation, his anger, his disbelief.
'Damn you Dorothea,' he stormed, pounding a fist on his desk. 'You do this to spite me, I demand that you accept.'
'I will not accept,' Dorothea said through gritted teeth, veins taut in her neck. 'I will cherish the memory of your humiliation at that woman's hands. I will remain and revel in your torment.'
'You continue to poor scorn on Veronica's good name.' Llewellyn thrust his hands against the desk, levered himself up and began pacing the floor. 'I have proposed marriage to Veronica,' he began, clasping his hands behind his back. 'There is no longer a place for you here, you must see reason.'
'And has she accepted?' Dorothea asked, her eyes narrowing to slits.
'Not yet, she merely requested time to prepare her way towards accepting my proposal,'
Llewellyn snapped impatiently, his irritation reaching fever pitch at her outright refusal of his offer.
'Huh, we shall see which way the goose flies.' She gave him a lop- sided, mocking smile, rose from her chair and then sauntered to the door.
'Be warned, Dorothea, I will no longer tolerate your presence in this castle,' Llewellyn had moved hurriedly towards Dorothea, within striking distance of her. She turned about swiftly, a defiant smile lingering on her face, her chin thrust high towards him. 'Go on Thomas; strike me if it relieves your frustration. But the marks will be there for your friends to witness and they will hear my screams – and still,' she said, her index finger pointing towards him, 'it will not free you from my presence.'
Llewellyn flung his hand out, but merely to slam the door in her face, and with such force it resounded throughout the castle.
* *

Veronica glanced at the skies, the early blue had given way to cumulus, and the wind was rising. She could hear its dull pounding on the thick, sea facing walls of her room, seemingly in competition with the crashing waves below.
Sighing, she slipped out of her room. Apart from the muffled roar of the elements, the castle was so quiet it might have been deserted, except that was from one bone – jarring door slam some ten minutes past; though she supposed Thomas, his new butler Dawson, Dorothea, his guests Rothman and Reynolds, and presumably Mrs. Simms the cook to be inside its walls.
As far as Rothman was concerned she had been wrong, and the sight of the flamboyant figure with short ginger hair unlatching the garden gate caused her a certain unease.
She'd embarked on an early morning walk which wasn't altogether routine; the delicate situation she had so unexpectedly found herself in could not remain unresolved for long – now was the time for John Gibbings to speak out and declare his problems. In her heart of hearts she couldn't marry Thomas Llewellyn, he was a good man but her feelings would never ascend to the heights required to allow her to accept his proposal – and in fairness to Thomas, she'd need to make that plain sooner than later.
'Why Mr. Rothman,' Veronica forced a brief smile, 'you surprise me with your interest in the great outside. I would have imagined you to be far too disinterested in this island to want to take a closer look at it.'
'Ah, a breath of fresh air never did anyone any harm.' Rothman raised his nostrils high and took a deep breath, letting it out only slowly. 'Ah, how refreshing.' He looked across at Veronica; she could feel his eyes examining her. 'What I wonder, dear lady, is your purpose on this island – what I wonder is your real purpose?'
'I do not feel I know you at all well, Mr. Rothman, to be revealing my innermost feelings.' Veronica hitched her long violet dress and unnecessarily unlatched the gate to the garden intending their brief conversation to be terminated, but Rothman caught it as it swung back and followed her through.
'It is unnatural, Veronica - this romantic association between yourself and Llewellyn – you are as different as – forgive me for using the old adage – how would you say, chalk and cheese? Something else takes your fancy does it not? I wonder what it can be?'
Over by the far wall Veronica caught sight of Gibbings hoeing. The gardener turned to meet her eye and even from a distance she could tell his face was sullen.
Rothman was quick to notice the eye contact between them. 'Ah, surely not,' he said, his lips creasing into a smile.
Just as rapidly Veronica transferred her gaze to the inquisitor. 'He is the gardener, I know little of him. He keeps a low profile. I find the peace here fills my lungs, clears my head. There is nothing more to it than that.'
'There is something dear lady.' Rothman touched the side of a nostril, 'I have a nose for this type of thing. Nevertheless I shall leave you to your own devices.' Rothman sighed as he turned towards the castle. 'You have summed me up as well as I have you. I feel I grow tired already of this island. I look forward to returning to London tomorrow.'
'And I will wish you good riddance,' Veronica whispered beneath her breath, watching Rothman in his red jersey and faun trousers, track back towards the castle.
She waited until he'd disappeared from view, quickly casting her eyes over the castle
windows – and satisfied nobody watched, swung back to face Gibbings and then began heading towards him.
*

Llewellyn remained in a state of high agitation. Things weren't going the way he'd planned, not at all. Dorothea had rejected his offer outright and now she had the nerve to sit opposite him in the drawing room, a gloating expression on her heavily made-up face, that made him want to leap up and knock the smugness from her. With Reynolds deeply engrossed in his morning paper, Llewellyn had been about to seize the chance to seek out Veronica's company, when Rothman slipped through the open door, his eyes maintaining their seemingly perpetual twinkling brightness.
'Dorothea.' He greeted her with a cheerful smile, receiving merely a brief nod and lowering of her lashes in return, then glancing at Reynolds, 'Oh, my good man, as studious of politics as ever.' He selected a high-backed chair close to Llewellyn and leaned across confidentially, 'I fear you have competition Llewellyn, in the very unlikely form of the gardener chap – Gibbings, is it?'
'What?' Llewellyn's eyes widened in astonishment and then his forehead creased into a frown as he tried to comprehend his friend's words.
'Precisely what I have been trying to tell him all along,' Dorothea cut in, hooded eyes half open, 'but my foolish brother is so besotted he refutes as preposterous what clearly lies before his eyes.'
Llewellyn tapped the arm of his chair impatiently, red blotches blemishing his complexion he questioned in a slightly higher tone than usual, 'And how, my dear Rothman, do you draw this conclusion?'
'Merely from my own perceptions, dear fellow, though they are seldom wrong.' He waved the palm of his hand airily, ' She chooses to deny it of course, but -'
'You have interrogated her on the subject?' Llewellyn said crossly, both hands gripping the arms of his chair as he arced forward.
'She was bound for him, I merely observed what passed between their eyes – cross to the window, see what you will see -'
Llewellyn wanted to appear nonchalant, but his anxiety and irritation let him down. Quickly on his feet, he marched across to the window. Veronica's hand was on Gibbings' arm. He saw Gibbings shrug it off and from his vantage point in the castle watched Veronica turn, cast her eyes in his direction and hands clasping elbows, walk swiftly away.
* *

'John, we must talk – urgently.'
Gibbings shrugged, glared. 'What for? You have what you came for, Veronica – a share in the castle, a wealthy man to support you – rich friends like the man with the posh new motor car I saw you walking with – what can you want with the likes of me? I saw the way he looked at me, and how you wouldn't meet my eyes.'
Veronica tossed her head vehemently. 'It is not what you think, John -'
She saw the downturn of his lips. 'You are marrying Mr. Llewellyn. Don't try to deny it. Your only interest in me was to make him jealous – to hurry him into making a proposal.'
'John, that's nonsense – I'
Veronica stretched a hand to Gibbings' shoulder but he shrugged her off. 'Go back to your friends, I won't be seen talking to you.' Gibbings abruptly turned his back on her, resumed hoeing with a vengeance. Veronica gritted her teeth, fighting back the urge to force him to face her.
Suddenly the clouds shrouding the sun seemed much darker than they were. Veronica hunched her shoulders and folded her arms as she felt a sudden chill, and then raising her eyes towards the castle saw Thomas Llewellyn, face almost against its Gothic windows; his expression at that distance was unreadable but she could almost feel the portent.
She’d tried – she'd tried to assist the man who'd saved her life but he hadn't let her and now fed with the news of Thomas' proposal, she suspected by Rothman, he'd misinterpreted utterly, shutting her out.
But faced with a marriage proposal she knew she'd ultimately reject and an alienated John
Gibbings she seemed powerless to help, the prospect of a return to her concert routine didn't seem as uninviting as it had so recently. Moreover, Thomas' fluctuating mood swings of late were causing concern - and yet despite that a new resolve fuelled her. She would not give up on her quest. She needed to ponder, to get things straight with Gibbings. She didn't blame him for misinterpreting the situation just as she was gaining his trust.
A few days longer, she determined, and then if she hadn't succeeded, Veronica would leave the island for good.
*

Llewellyn made an immense effort to restrain himself, recalling the previous occasion, when following Veronica's chance encounter with Gibbings he'd almost snapped. This time he would be more reserved, more in control of his emotions.
Too many coincidental meetings – he'd been loathe to listen to Dorothea, even Hambleton, but now following Rothman's similar comments – a man who had proved to be so astute – he could no longer deny that Gibbings wielded an adverse influence over her. It had to be eradicated – she had to be protected. He would see to it.
He was conscious of Dorothea's scornful gaze following his every step as with an overly casual stride he left the drawing room bound for the hall. There he busied himself, carrying out a needless inspection of its ornaments and walnut furniture, examining them for the slightest layer of dust, even though he'd observed Dawson polishing some two hours previously, expecting at any moment to hear Veronica's light tread on the flagstone tiles.
By her direction, Llewellyn was certain she'd been returning to the castle. Now as
apprehension grew he re-ran the scene he'd witnessed through the drawing room window.
Veronica's hand on Gibbings' shoulder, Gibbings shrugging her off. But it wasn't what it seemed. They were all wrong in that respect. Gibbings was a malign influence, a decent gardener perhaps, but a rogue behind his gypsy-like good looks. He had obviously plagued Veronica ever since he'd returned from the sea – played upon it, pursued her whenever she'd taken a stroll. She'd obviously been trying to pacify him when he'd watched them, but he'd resented her efforts; what if he'd followed his show of petulance by pursuing her?