Dancing in the Shadows by Anne Saunders Page B

Michael she knew a sense of underlying hopelessness. Words would not be strong enough to expel him from the luxury of a style of living that was far removed from anything that either of them had ever before experienced.
    She wanted to give the conventional reply. ‘Yes, I’m happy to have Michael here.’ But the lie stuck in her throat and so she hoped her smile conveyed much the same message.
    Happily, Isabel seemed well satisfied. Something made Dorcas turn her head in Carlos’s direction. Carlos was studying her brother. His expression was keenly assessing, but beyond that it was buttoned up and gave no clue to what opinion he had formed.
    They all moved back to the dining room to be with Michael while he ate the meal that had been prepared for him. And now, through Michael, Dorcas’s eyes were opened to the beauty of her surroundings. The magic of a rich man’s existence.
    The silver and exquisite glassware winked in the gentle glow of candles in well-spaced candelabra. After relishing the food, and the wine that came from a connoisseur’s wine cellar, and pronouncing everything perfect, Michael was offered a splendid dish of fruit. Bananas curved to a pineapple shading from yellow to deep orange, in a nest of grapes, nectarines and peaches. Michael made his inspection and asked for a slice of the pineapple which he said looked absolutely delicious. Having no initial shyness to overcome and being of an adaptable disposition, her brother was lapping it all up.

CHAPTER FIVE
    There wasn’t a moment to lose. If she was to get Michael out she must act quickly, before he grew too accustomed to the elegance and perfection within these lovely walls.
    Before going to her room she made a point of asking one of the maids which room Michael had been given. She didn’t undress. She sat out on the balcony. The air was cooling on her cheeks. Flower beds and shrubbery alike took on monstrous, leaping shapes in the moonlight. Lights from the villa plunged into the shadowy recesses of the night. She sat, not in peace and tranquillity, but in agitation, nerving herself for the ordeal facing her.
    She waited until every light in the villa had been turned out, and still she didn’t move, but allowed what she considered to be sufficient time for everybody to have got off to sleep. Michael also, very probably. If so, she would just have to wake him up for the confrontation. Perhaps it would have been kinder in that respect to wait until morning, but that would be just another example of putting off. It now seemed silly and melodramatic to have waited until everybody was asleep. Although it would have been a natural thing to do, she hadn’t wanted the fuss of accompanying her brother to his room when he retired. This way had seemed better, although now she suspected she had been giving way to delaying tactics. If she waited until morning, her resolution would have faltered still further.
    She stole along the gallery, her heels making the faintest whisper as she moved past closed doors. As she stopped at the right door she took a deep breath before closing her fingers round the knob. She hoped Michael hadn’t locked his door. She didn’t want to knock and run the risk of attracting unwanted attention. It yielded and she was inside.
    Her brother had left the shutters open and so the room wasn’t in total darkness. Cautiously negotiating the pieces of furniture, she crossed to the bed. Her fingers stroked its flatness and her forehead was just beginning to pleat at the puzzle of it when a voice, male, but definitely not Michael’s voice, said from the depth of an armchair: ‘Would you mind telling me what you are doing in my room?’
    Dorcas spun round to face—of all people—Carlos. Her mouth flew open in shock; she couldn’t speak until she’d swallowed rapidly for several seconds. Even then all she managed was a croak.
    â€˜Would you believe looking for my