by Donna Vitek
"You're not still mad at me, are you, Patrick?" Deb cajoled, her voice nearly dripping saccharine sweetness. "If you are, maybe we could go to your cottage and make up again. Okay?"
"Sure, Deb, why not?" he answered. "In fact, that sounds like a capital idea."
"In fact, that sounds like a capital idea," Allendre mimicked furiously beneath her breath as she marched on, berating herself for falling for his charming ways even for a minute. He was utterly impossible, and she couldn't wait to forget she'd ever met him. But her shoulders drooped slightly. She suspected it wouldn't be so easy to forget how he had made her feel before she had realized exactly what he wanted from her.
Chapter Four
By nine-thirty the next morning, Allendre was on the beach. Gentle waves broke in creamy cascades on the coral-tinted sand, dragging at her feet as she gingerly waded into the water. Though it was a bit chillier than she had expected, she forged ahead, taking a deep breath as she plunged in. A brisk scissor stroke soon warmed her thoroughly, and she stretched back to float on the incredibly placid surface. Her eyes closed, she drifted back toward shore on the gentle incoming waves, but before she reached the point where she could touch bottom, she flipped over and swam out again.
Despite her weariness yesterday, she had spent a very restless night, due without a doubt to her escapade with Ric in the garden. She was no longer sure whom she despised more—him for being such an egotist, or herself for being such a gullible fool. All she knew for certain was that she had an inordinate amount of nervous energy she needed badly to expend. So she swam until the muscles in both her arms and legs rebelled achingly.
Exhausted, yet appreciably less tense, she paddled back to shore finally and sank down on her beach towel to smooth sunscreen onto her shoulders, arms, and face. Her legs she left alone for a while, allowing them to soak up the sun while she searched for tiny unbroken seashells in the sand at the edge of her towel.
Hoping to catch a nap, she closed her eyes, but the moment she did, her mind conjured up the image of Ric Shannon's face, just as it had so often during the night. "Darn," she muttered, rising to her feet to walk along the beach. In the distance, a stone fort nearly four hundred years old stood sentinel on the sand, stark and cold gray in the glimmering sunlight. Two gray, ducklike coots winged awkwardly over a reef pond, piercing the air with their squawking cries. Allendre paused for a moment; curling her toes into the damp sand at the shoreline, she stared out pensively at a schooner on the horizon, its white sails stretched taut by the wind.
She really had to forget about yesterday evening, she resolved, adjusting a strap of her sleek Persian blue maillot swimsuit. Patrick Shannon certainly wasn't worth any loss of sleep. He was undoubtedly one of those men girls had chased after since his teens, so he had simply assumed that she was chasing him, too. Well, she intended to show him just how wrong he had been. For the remainder of her stay at Shannon House, she planned to treat him with the utmost indifference whenever she had the foul luck to see him at all. Deb could trot after him if she wanted to, inflating his male ego; Allendre herself could think of better things to do.
Forcing herself to think of nothing at all, she strolled back, enjoying the caress of a breeze upon her skin. There were few other people on the beach, and those who were there were quiet. Allendre stretched out on her stomach on her towel, closed her eyes again, and drifted to sleep listening to the gentle lapping of the waves against the sand.
When she awoke later, the hot midday sun was beaming down on her, making her thankful that she had remembered the sunscreen. She hardly wished to look like a lobster for the next several days. Feeling absolutely starved, she gathered up her belongings and padded barefoot through the sand toward the gray stone pavilion where she knew she could find a cool drink and a shady place in which to enjoy it. Stopping for a moment, she brushed the sand from her feet and from between her toes before slipping into leather sandals. She slipped her short terry-cloth jacket into her beach bag as she wandered over to the counter where towels were to be returned. No one was there. Another bad mark for the hotel. With a disgruntled sigh, she leaned against the counter, hungry, and eager for a shower to wash away the residue of salt from her skin.
Five minutes later, she was joined by Myrtle and her friend, both of whom were flushed from sitting in the sun.
"Why, you're the young lady who fetched the bellmen for us yesterday, aren't you?" the friend asked, pushing a tight curl of white hair back from her temple. "It was so nice of you to take care of that for us."
"I was happy to do it," Allendre told her. "I just hope you didn't get too tired sitting under that tree waiting."
"At least it was cool there," Myrtle commented, then frowned when she noticed no one was behind the counter. "Well, Abby, I wonder if we're supposed to stand here and hold our towels all day long."
"Frankly, I was considering just leaving the towel and going on," Allendre admitted. "I don't want to wait around here much longer. I'm already famished, and I have to wash my hair before I have lunch."
"I just don't understand it," Abby said bewilderedly. "Why do we have to give them a card to get a towel, then get the card back when the towel's returned? Jacob and I came to Shannon House many times, and we never had to go to such trouble just for towels." Shaking her head, she added in a disbelieving whisper, "You don't suppose they're afraid we're going to steal their towels, do you?"
"Of course that's what they're afraid of," Myrtle said with a sniff. "Why, it said right on the card that the towels had to be returned by the end of each day or they'd charge you for it on your bill."
"Many hotels do that, though," Allendre said in all fairness. "I suppose guests do tend to wander away with small items."
"Not Shannon House guests!" Abby declared proudly. "And the management never seemed to worry about such things before. The guests here were trusted. I'm really a little disappointed that things have changed so much here."
"It's still a nice place though, Abby," Myrtle consoled. "And the scenery is just lovely. Now, if only the man would come back to take our towels and return our silly little cards to us…"
"I don't suppose we should be in any rush," Abby said, peering beyond the counter. "The beach bus isn't here to carry us back to the hotel, and I don't really think either of us should try to make it up all those stairs."
"No, of course you shouldn't," Allendre agreed, wishing Ric knew about this lack of service. But he didn't, so she tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Why don't we do this? I'll leave my towel with you, and if the man comes back, you can give it to him and get my card. There's only a room number on it, and my number's four twenty-two. While you ladies are waiting here I'll walk up and ask them to send the beach bus down to pick you up. How's that?"
Abby protested. "But we hate for you to have to walk all that way."
"Frankly, I think I have to," Allendre admitted with an endearing grimace. "I have to get something to eat before my stomach caves in from hunger. Oh, and by the way, my name is Allendre Corey."
"Allendre. What a pretty name," Myrtle said. "Well, I'm Myrtle Wainwright and this is Abigail Chandler, and we appreciate you always coming to our rescue."
"I'm usually rescuing myself in the process, too," Allendre countered, putting on her beach jacket, then picking up her straw bag. "And this time's no different. I simply must have some food. So I'll hurry along now and get them to send the bus for you." With a wave of her hand, she started to walk away, then hesitated and turned back. "I was wondering… well, as you've probably noticed, I'm here alone and… would you two mind if I joined you for dinner tonight? I feel so odd, sitting at a table by myself."
"We'd be delighted to have you join us," Myrtle said sincerely, and Abby nodded in agreement. "Our reservation is for seven-fifteen. Why don't you come by our room? It's three fourteen, isn't it, Abby?"
"I believe that's right," the smaller of the two women agreed.
"Then I'll see you at seven-fifteen," Allendre said with a grate
ful smile as she started off again. "And thanks for letting me join you."
"She's a very nice young lady, isn't she?" Abby said softly to her friend. But as Allendre left the shade of the pavilion she heard the compliment, and her lips twisted into a rueful little smile. Ric Shannon certainly didn't think she was a nice young lady or a nice anything, for that matter. Yet why should she care what he thought of her, she asked herself rather impatiently, since she wasn't likely to nominate him for the Sweetheart of the Year award, either?
When Allendre stopped at the front desk to request that the beach bus be sent to pick up the older ladies, Loretta assured her that it would leave the garage immediately and got on the phone to call down to one of the drivers. Dressed in a navy skirt and white cotton blouse, with her hair smoothed back in a neat bun, Loretta was much more attractive and infinitely more efficient than she had been yesterday. And she actually seemed happier now that she knew what was expected of her, so it looked as if Ric were making progress.
Uncomfortable in the lobby in her short terry robe, Allendre hurried to the elevators and only had to wait a few seconds before the doors of one opened. Unfortunately, it was occupied. Ric stood alone inside, obviously on his way up from the ground floor. As Allendre hesitated when she saw him, his dark eyebrows lifted mockingly. "Going up?" he prompted as carelessly as if last evening had never occurred.
She forced herself to step into the elevator and pressed the button for the fourth floor.
"Been to the beach, I see," he commented lazily, turning to face her as the doors closed. "Or did you just sun yourself by the pool?"
"I went to the beach," she muttered, not quite meeting his eyes. In such a small, confined place, he seemed even more overwhelming than usual, his casual outfit of white jeans and navy polo shirt making him appear more appealing and virile than ever. Tugging self-consciously at the hem of her short robe, she could only pray the elevator didn't break down between floors. It would be far too unnerving to be trapped here with him, Allendre thought.
"Well, did you swim?" he persisted when she didn't offer further information. "Or do you go to the beach to sunbathe only?"
"I always swim," she answered defensively, thrusting out her chin as she met his infuriatingly amused gaze. "And you know very well that I've been in the water, unless you think my hair looks this messy every morning."
His gray eyes impaled hers. "I don't have any way of knowing how you look in the morning, do I?" he said, his voice lowering as he added suggestively, "Yet."
As he surveyed her slowly from head to toe her cheeks colored attractively. A curious weakness invaded her legs as she found herself staring at the firm yet sensuous curve of his lower lip, and she muttered in self-defense, "Don't look at me like that. It's insulting."
He nearly grinned. "I assure you I wasn't thinking anything that might insult you. I was thinking your legs are as beautiful as the rest of you. You have very shapely, slender thighs."
"And you have a one-track mind," she retorted, blushing furiously, moving close to the elevator doors. As soon as they opened onto the fourth floor, she stepped out without another word, but she could hear him laughing softly as the doors closed again.
Standing beneath the shower to shampoo her hair cooled her temper somewhat, and she attributed to hunger the vague irritability she still felt as she wrapped herself in a large yellow bath sheet. Settling herself in the chair by her bed, she nibbled a granola bar to stave off a hunger headache and waved a blow dryer at her hair until it looked presentable enough for her to go to lunch. After putting on a grass-green skirt and a new white T-shirt, she slipped her feet into comfortable espadrilles. A touch of red-tinted gloss to her lips and some brown mascara and she was ready. Not a moment too soon, since her empty stomach was beginning to protest loudly. As she went toward the door to leave, however, someone knocked, and she opened it with a questioning smile for the petite redheaded girl on the threshold.
"Hi, I'm Kathy Hill," the girl introduced herself. "Deb Hopkins told my friends and me that you might want to go to Hamilton with us tonight, since you're here all by your lonesome. I just wanted to tell you that we'd be happy to have you come along. There's a really super disco just this side of Hamilton, and we've been having a great time there every night since we arrived. The boys from the naval base crowd in there, so we never lack for male companionship. Want to go with us tonight? We're going early so we can have dinner in town."
"Oh, I have plans for dinner tonight," Allendre said, relieved that her dinner date with the two older women gave her a gracious way to refuse the invitation. Though Kathy seemed a likable, friendly girl, her idea of a great evening and Allendre's didn't exactly coincide. Allendre had never been one to enjoy late nights at discos or singles bars. "But it was nice of you to ask me."
"How about tomorrow night, then?"
"Probably not," Allendre answered candidly. "I'm not really much of a partying person. You know, I prefer a relaxing stroll in the moonlight."
"Don't we all—if we have somebody terrific to stroll with," Kathy quipped, grinning. "Is your dinner date that really super-looking man I noticed you with last night? Well, to be honest, I didn't really notice you all that much, but I certainly noticed him. I always notice good-looking men, and if your plans for the evening are with him, I sure don't blame you for not going with us."
"My plans aren't with him," Allendre answered, smiling at the other girl's unabashed curiosity.
"Well, better luck next time," Kathy said with a shrug. "Hey, I'd better run. My friends are waiting. See you around sometime—and if you change your mind about going to Hamilton some night, just let us know."
As Kathy bounded away with a good-natured wave of her hand Allendre stepped out into the hall, pulling her door closed behind her. Maybe she was just an old stick-in-the-mud, but a rip-roaring evening in a Hamilton disco just didn't appeal to her.
After a light lunch of shrimp salad remoulade, Allendre wandered down to the lobby to the shops. When she finally tired of strolling between shelves laden with Bermudian souvenirs, she went into a small jewelry store. She nearly choked when she noticed the price of a gold necklace, then ambled out again.
Mr. Meredith had cautioned her to act like a typical tourist, so she knew she couldn't loiter conspicuously in the lobby all afternoon, waiting to hear what kind of complaints guests made at the desk. On impulse, she went to an unobtrusive livery booth in the lobby's far corner and rented one of the small motorbikes she had seen parked outside.
It had been three or four years since her last excursion on a motorbike, and though an attached basket held her straw purse, freeing both her hands, she didn't feel very secure as she buzzed up Shannon House Drive, then down the curving hill that led to the main road. "Keep to the left, keep to the left," she chanted to herself as a reminder as she slowly wound her way past oleander hedges and flower-bordered pink houses that walled in the serpentine road.
Luckily, there was little traffic in the tiny old village of St. George, so she managed to park her blue-and-white bike down near the harbor without mishap. A huge cruise ship was in port, a Dutch name emblazoned in red letters high up on its gleaming white bow. After seeing all the sights the harbor had to offer, she visited some of the shops on Duke of York Street. Children's pink coral jewelry was a good buy, she thought, so she bought bracelets for three of her young cousins, then found terrific bargains in a cashmere sweater for her mother and a bottle of French perfume for Lynn. When she tired of shopping, she decided to finish her gift buying some other day. She went back to the harbor where she'd parked her bike, checking the time on her gold wristwatch. It was only two-thirty. There was plenty of time to ride part of the way toward Hamilton, just to see the sights.
Her decision to go on was a mistake. Traffic picked up considerably as she passed the airport, and since she still didn't feel quite steady on the motorbike, the cars and buses that whizzed past her put her nerves in a jangle. Every time she spotted a place where she migh
t have turned around, she was past it. The road curved too often for her to see what lay ahead. Then, before she could think of any way to prevent it, she was boxed in. The road had been carved through solid limestone, and the sheer rock faces towered above her on each side. Now she was forced to go on, even when a bus roared up behind her, so close she was certain she would feel it hit her at any moment. Her pulse pounded in her ears, though she managed not to panic completely. After that what seemed like an eternity, she was beyond the tunnellike rock facings, on open road again. Unable to stand the bus behind her another minute, she braked with foolish abruptness and veered off the road, bumping to a halt on the rough shoulder. The impatient driver's toot on the horn nearly sent her into cardiac arrest as she realized she had almost made him hit her by stopping so fast.
"Oh, God," she muttered weakly as she turned off the bike's motor. She removed the safety helmet she wore with hands that shook so violently that it slipped from her fingers and clattered to the ground. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself. Somehow, if she wanted to ever return to the hotel, she had to face driving back between those towering rock walls again, but she wasn't at all sure she could force herself to do it.
Luckily, she was rescued. Before she could push the bike farther from the road onto the grass beyond the shoulder, a black BMW came to a dust-raising halt beside her. Ric got out, his expression thunderous.
As he strode toward Allendre she groaned inwardly. Her nerves were shattered already. She didn't need a confrontation with him to add to her misery.
"Are you all right?" he muttered roughly, and when she nodded, his hard hands gripped her upper arms. "For God's sake, what were you trying to do? Only an idiot turns off that fast without any warning. That bus came within inches of hitting you! You're lucky you didn't become a fatality statistic just now!"
"I know that. And I don't need you growling at me about it," she said squeakily, humiliated when tears sprang to her eyes. She twisted free of his grip and turned away, only to feel his hands descend much more gently onto her shoulders.
