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|Castle In The Clouds, Chapters 31 & 32 (standard:drama, 2618 words) [16/21] show all parts|
|Author: Brian Cross||Added: Jul 12 2010||Views/Reads: 1235/889||Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Veronica and Gibbings are trapped on the island, and Llewellyn's henchman Dawson is in pursuit|
Chapter Thirty One The countryside flashed by, but not quickly enough for Llewellyn. As he gazed out of the rainy window at storm-laden skies he felt drawn back to the island by Veronica's sheer beauty and the threat posed to her by the gardener, John Gibbings. He could not bear the thought of them being in the same locality, even though his influence on her was about to be terminated. His new butler, Dawson, was a formidable chap who would protect his interests with an iron hand, unlike the doubting Hambleton who had been honoured with his position for far too long. As long as was necessary - for once Dorothea had tired of her games and departed, (and depart she would,) wishing she'd accepted his offer once she'd witnessed the sublime happiness that would evolve from his marriage to the delightful Veronica, then Dawson would no longer have a task to fulfil. Llewellyn glowed at the prospect of the two of them alone in their romantic hideaway, a castle all of their own. How many couples could claim that? But first he needed to be there alongside her. The heat that burned within wouldn't be quelled until then. In fact his desire had increased since leaving his London office, growing stronger every minute that brought him closer to the island. At Berwick he leapt into a carriage, barking his instructions and flinging his case into the back before the driver had a chance to assist. The man was chuntering something but Llewellyn's thoughts were too tightly locked on Veronica to enable him to listen. It wasn't until he arrived at the causeway and saw the driver's hapless gesture towards an angry sea that Llewellyn comprehended. The causeway was inaccessible, it would be for hours. This time the man's words brought a nauseating cloy to his throat. He'd come this far, within three miles and a matter of minutes from his beloved Veronica. Several hours to him would amount to a torture beyond his ability to endure. He fastened his coat and grabbed his bag, searched along the grim shoreline. There were vessels moored in the distance, fishermen with anoraks huddled in a group. Llewellyn set out towards them. * * * The vicar seemed to gaze suspiciously upon them from his elevated position on the porch. Perhaps their bedraggled appearance caused a certain apprehension. 'Why Mr. Gibbings - John, this is a surprise, and the young lady, Miss Day isn't it? What on earth brings you here, and in these conditions, is something amiss?' 'We ask you to shelter us, Reverend Robertson. There is a man in pursuit who is not at all pleasant, may we come in?' Robertson, a small man with a receding hairline, looked tentative, baffled, but waved them through. 'Here on the island? I know of no rogues here.' He guided them along a dimly-lit hall. 'I will get you towels, you are drenched - and then perhaps you would reveal what distresses you so. Please take a seat. Try not to drip over the upholstery.' Gibbings listened to Robertson's footsteps recede. 'He won't easily be influenced by your posh speech, or what you have to say -' 'We seek only shelter,' Veronica answered, aware of the harshness in her voice, 'until it is safe to cross to the mainland.' Gibbings mopped rain from under his dark brows. 'Then we'll see if your bright idea works. The vicar seems more concerned with the appearance of his furniture, if you ask me.' He glanced back out the window, Veronica saw his frown. 'I have told you, he will not think of coming here; Dawson is a foolish, ignorant Click here to read the rest of this story (256 more lines)
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