Silver Fruit Upon Silver Trees

“You don’t understand.” Sophie warmed to her subject. She had heard Eve’s side of the story and could appreciate her dilemma. “My father never got over my mother’s death. He – he had loved her very much. He was unable to forget that I was the unwitting cause of her dying. I – I don’t say he blamed me exactly, but I must have constantly reminded him. I – well, don’t you see? I couldn’t have contacted my grandfather in the circumstances. It would have seemed – disloyal.”

Edge considered this. “I can see what you’re trying to say,” he remarked. “I don’t say I agree with it.”

“Well, my – my grandfather wasn’t an innocent spectator in this affair, was he? I mean, he was responsible for the rift in the first place.”

“Maybe so. I can remember he was pretty cut up about it himself. Jennifer had always been the apple of his eye. It was a great shock to him when she chose to ignore everything he had done for her – everything he hoped to do for her – in favour of a penniless engineer!”

“He – my father that is, wasn’t penniless!”

“Compared to the wealth my father controls, he was.”

“I suppose he would have had her make a marriage of expediency?”

“If, by expediency, you mean he wanted her to marry someone more suitable, then yes –”

“Expediency has other meanings,” Sophie broke in, unable to help herself. “It also means more politic than just!”

“Howard Fleming would have made her happy.”

“How can you say that?” Sophie was stung by the coolness of his tone. “She obviously didn’t love this – this Howard Fleming or she wouldn’t have run away with James Hollister!”

Edge’s eyes narrowed and as he looked at her she saw the thickness of long black lashes. “James Hollister?” he repeated. “That’s a curious way to speak of one’s own father.”

Sophie knew she had to bluff it out. “Why?” she challenged him. “My father’s name was James Hollister, wasn’t it?”

Edge returned his attention to the tortuous bends in the road. “If you say so,” he commented quietly, and Sophie wondered rather desperately whether she was imagining the note of scepticism in his voice. Surely he must believe she was who she said she was. He couldn’t have brought her here otherwise, could he ?

Changing the subject entirely, she said: “How much further is it to Pointe St. Vincente?” determinedly forcing herself not to stammer.

Edge flicked back his cuff and consulted the gold watch on his wrist. “About another fifteen minutes,” he replied, and Sophie sank more deeply down into her seat, her fingers curving tightly about the soft leather upholstery. Soon they would be there and she had to prepare herself for the ordeal to come.

The moon had risen by the time they reached the curving drive which led down to the St. Vincente house. In its pale glow, Sophie could see tree-clad slopes, leading down to a natural harbour below the house where shadowy buildings indicated boathouses. But the house itself was what held her spellbound, the floodlit gardens giving its white-painted façade unnatural colour. It was a split-level dwelling, seemingly welded into the hillside itself with shallow stone steps leading down between pergolas laden with bougainvillea and other climbing plants to a stone-paved area for cars. The various sections of the building spread themselves comfortably in all directions with a complete disregard for balance or design, and yet for all that it was one of the most beautiful buildings Sophie had ever seen.

Edge brought the Mercedes to a smooth halt in the paved courtyard which was slightly to the side of the house, and as Sophie thrust open her door and climbed out she heard the unmistakable hiss and thunder of the ocean on the rocks below. She thought it would be very easy for someone to get an inflated opinion of themselves in such surroundings, but Edge St. Vincente seemed to take it all for granted.

He got out of the car too, and as he reached into the back for her suitcase someone came hurrying down the steps towards them. As the newcomer drew nearer, Sophie saw it was a black-skinned manservant dressed immaculately in dark trousers and a white jacket and he grinned at Edge with easy familiarity.

“Your pa’s getting mighty anxious about you, Mr. Edge,” he said, taking the suitcase from his master’s hand automatically. His gaze flicked to Sophie. “Is this here Miss Jennifer’s daughter?”

Edge’s lips twitched. “That’s right, Joseph. This is – Miss Eve Hollister.”

Joseph nodded warmly in Sophie’s direction. “Mr. Brandt, he’s gonna be sure glad to see you, Miss Eve. Ain’t been no young women around the St. Vincente house in many a long day!”

Sophie looked up at Edge, standing so indolently beside her. He had hooked his thumbs into the belt of his pants and was regarding Joseph with lazy resignation. She thought that everything he did had an unconscious grace about it. He moved lithely, lazily even; and yet she could sense the latent strength that lay just below the surface, the sinuous power that had an almost sensual tangibility. It was this quality he possessed which disturbed her so. She was consciously aware of him, and the knowledge troubled her somewhat.

Joseph became aware that he was delaying them and drew back to allow Edge to urge Sophie up the steps to the house. As they walked she could hear the sound of the crickets like a steady hum above the sound of the sea, and she had to squash the feeling of intense excitement that seemed to be welling up inside her and choking her throat.

When they reached the top of the steps and she stopped at the entrance to the house, Edge bumped into her and for a moment his hand was on her arm, supporting her, as he apologized.

“It – it was my fault,” said Sophie jerkily, pulling herself away from him. She was unnecessarily abrupt, but for a moment his flesh had burned hers and she couldn’t help but be aware of it. She had felt the hardness of his lean body, her arms had brushed against the soft silk of his shirt beneath which the muscles of his chest had been disturbingly firm, and she had known an intense, and wholly incomprehensible desire to remain there against him. She wasn’t used to experiencing feelings like this, and she chided herself for being stupidly imaginative. Heavens, she was supposed to be his niece! What would he have thought of her if he had been able to read her thoughts just then?

Edge led the way through a mesh door into a cool tiled hall. The hall appeared to run from front to back of the building with several other passages leading from it, while a curved wrought iron staircase led to the upper floors. A tall stand supported a vase of gorgeously coloured lilies, their fleshy stamens protruding in a totally alien fashion. The hall was illuminated by a copper-based lamp that had a painted Chinese shade.

Sophie looked about her a trifle bemusedly. There was so much colour and beauty to absorb, but Edge was urging her forward, taking her across the hall and up a short flight of stairs to halt before a dark blue panelled door.

“This is my father’s study,” he remarked, in explanation, and then pressed the handle and swung open the door.

Sophie stepped forward into a comfortably furnished room, with skin rugs on the floor and a desk dominating the central area. She saw walls lined with leather volumes, filing cabinets, and a low couch, and a small table on which stood a couple of filing baskets and a typewriter. Clearly it was from here that Brandt St. Vincente conducted the affairs of the estate.

But then a man rose from behind the desk to greet her; and all further impressions of the room ceased as the man commanded her whole attention.

Brandt St. Vincente was nothing like she had imagined. After Eve’s appeals to her to come here to Trinidad to assuage the needs of an old man, Sophie had expected him to be in his seventies, frail and ill, living every day without really knowing how much time he had left.

The real man was totally different. Like his son, he was years younger than she had expected, in his early sixties, she estimated. And what was more, he was a man in his prime, tall and vigorous, more heavily built than his son but very much like him, with thick hair that was greying now, and strong handsome features.

He came round his desk to greet her, holding out both hands, and she put hers into them automatically, unable to deny the welcome he was showing her.

“So you’re Eve!” he exclaimed, shaking his head. “My Jennifer’s girl! I can hardly believe it.”

“Why?” The word was scarcely more than a whisper, but it was all Sophie could think to say.

Brandt squeezed her hands tightly. “It’s been so long,” he said, rather emotionally. But then he seemed to gather his composure again, and he went on: “I don’t suppose you knew anything about your mother.”

“Not a lot,” admitted Sophie, nervously. “She – er – my father seldom spoke of her. It – it was too painful for him.”

At the mention of James Hollister’s name, Brandt’s face changed. His lips tightened perceptibly and his brown eyes lost some of their warmth.

“I think it would be as well if we forgot the past and concentrated on the present, don’t you? I mean, it’s obvious that there are things which if said would be painful to both of us. It’s no use resurrecting past grievances. And we’ve both had our share of grief, believe me. I suggest we begin afresh, learn to know one another without the distorting influences that were created by other people so many years ago.”

Sophie nodded slowly. “I – I’m willing,” she murmured, looking down at her hands clasped in his.

“Good! Good!” Brandt’s expression softened again. “You’ve no idea how happy you’ve made me. I’ve so looked forward to your coming here, to meeting you. We’re your family now, this is where you belong. Oh, I know you’ve got your career, but surely the family should come first, in spite of everything!”

Sophie stared at him. She didn’t quite know how to answer him. But to her relief, she didn’t have to.

“Relax!” he exclaimed. “Don’t look so nervous! We won’t bite, I promise you. On the contrary, it will be delightful to have a young woman about the place again.”

Sophie glanced behind her. All the while his father had been speaking Edge had been standing silently near the door, watching them, a lazy smile playing about his lips. But now he stepped forward and said: “Joseph said practically the same thing. If I’d know you were both so eager for feminine company ...”

His voice trailed away insinuatively and Brandt looked impatiently at his son. “Don’t be sarcastic, Edge. If this is any example of the welcome you’ve given your niece, I’m not surprised she looks nervous!”

Edge looked speculatively at Sophie. “Well, perhaps we’re not what she expected either.”

“What do you mean?” Brandt glared at him.

Edge shrugged. “Oh, nothing.” He looked away from Sophie and drew his cigar case out of his pocket. “I think I’ll go and change for dinner. I feel rather – hot and uncomfortable.” His eyes flickered over Sophie again. “Perhaps – my niece would like to shower and change, too.”

Brandt released Sophie’s hands apologetically and went to pull a long velvet cord hanging near a screened fireplace. “Of course, of course,” he exclaimed. “In the excitement of meeting you, my dear, I’m forgetting common courtesy. Of course, you must be tired and hungry. I’ll have Violet show you to your room and we’ll dine in – say –” he glanced at his wrist watch, “– say – thirty minutes? Do you think that will be long enough for you to get ready?”