Circles of Fate by Anne Saunders

put on war paint before going into battle.
    The road they took curved out of town, meandered on a lonely course, skirting rough outcrop that yielded occasional, skittish glimpses of sea curling sweetly into pebble-strewn coves. All the while they were gaining height and, although the road narrowed fiercely, Edward maintained a steady speed. He drove the hired car with native aplomb, gritting his teeth and sighing gingerly past the odd, speeding oncoming vehicle.
    The air softened and the shadows quietened in the swiftly falling dusk, and now they were never very long out of sight of the sea, and when they couldn’t see it they could hear its soothing, slapping motion. Cathy indicated that Edward should take the next right fork.
    An avenue of trees swept them into almost complete darkness, jealously protective, standing guard over the house on its lofty, remote, secluded hill setting.
    Edward parked the car and they got out. Far below them the sea rose and fell on the gentlest breath, a pattern of soft jewel colours: jade and amethyst, with a deeper bluish violet rimming the horizon.
    Cathy and Edward were already making tracks over the trodden-down pebble chippings to the door which bounced open as they approached. Reluctantly, Anita followed.
    Although he employed a housekeeper and two maids, Claude Perryman provided a welcoming homely touch by personally opening the door to greet them. Her adversary, as Anita thought of him, was a deceptively mild-looking man of average height and looks. His hair was sandy and very lightly flecked with grey, and she didn’t find him at all alarming because, through Monica, she knew him so well. That in itself produced an element of danger. She would have to step carefully.
    â€œSo good of you to come,” he said.
    â€œGood of you to ask us,” responded Edward.
    â€œBefore we settle down to a drink, perhaps you’d like to see over the house?” His eyes – the pale brown of a very dry sherry – fixed on Anita.
    â€œThat would be nice,” she managed, feeling her smile stiffen on her lips. And yet it was a lovely house and in happier circumstances she would have welcomed this rare opportunity to explore, and probe, and delight in the way natural materials had been used: pine and local stone.
    All the downstairs rooms, including the patio, radiated from the huge L-shaped living-room. Upstairs, each bedroom had its own private bathroom. The one desolate note was the unused nursery wing. Perhaps that was the reason ...
    The rest of the thought trailed away as her eyes unexpectedly locked with her host’s. Oh, yes, she must tread carefully.

SIX
    Claude, as he asked to be called, provided them each with a drink. Talk was general. After a while a pretty sloe-eyed girl came in to shyly announce that dinner was ready. Again talk flowed easily, through the first two courses. Just when Anita was beginning to feel as contented as a supine kitten, her host pounced.
    â€œTell me, Miss Hurst, what brings you to Leyenda?”
    â€œOh, please,” she said, “if I’m to call you Claude, you must call me Anita.”
    â€œI was hoping you would say that,” he said.
    A pause.
    â€œThe usual reason, I suppose. I’m on holiday.”
    â€œThat’s not a usual reason, Anita.” He seemed to linger over her name, paw it about almost, then he went on : “We don’t attract tourists – yet.”
    â€œI see one cannot dissemble with you, Claude. It is my holiday, but I do have an ulterior motive for choosing Leyenda.”
    She knew her real reason for coming would mystify him. He wouldn’t understand the strange urge that had made her want to visit her mother’s island, an urge that had a frightening dark side which she was almost afraid to explore. The feeling that she had had no hand in this, but had been made to come ... to find out. And then it, whatever it was, left her. No, he wouldn’t understand all