'That's a real captain's armchair,' she said before he was over the threshold. He'd paused to duck under fishing nets, feeling this place was really, really not set up for him.
'Um.. .great. Which chair?'
'The squishy one between the anchor and the oars. I can take those nautical charts off it if you want to sit down. I'll show you straight to your room for you'll want to wash,' Doris offered, and he suppressed a shudder.
But his room, an attic with a view seemingly all the way to the Antarctic, was blessedly sparse. He had a comfortable iron bed with a ship's wheel etched into the wrought iron, but that was as far as the nautical theme went.
'Susan told me I had to keep the decorations out of this room,' Doris said disapprovingly as she ushered him in. 'She says men don't like fuss, and I have to say I've had more repeat visitors since I cleared it. I get lots of fisheries people here,' she explained. 'Susan's right. You don't like fuss.'
'Not much,' he admitted. 'So... Susan knows what men like?'
'That sounds nasty,' she said, shooting him a suspicious glance.
'It wasn't meant to be.' Or was it? He hadn't figured Susan out yet.
'She seemed to recognise you.'
'She knew my brother, a long time ago.'
'It must have been,' she said. 'She's been happily settled on the island for years now. Your brother's American?'
'My brother died three months ago. But, yes, he was an American.'
'Oh, my dear,' she said, moving instantly to sympathy. 'And now today. And everything burned. Your car went up with the whole three bridge spans. Burned to a crisp. You'll have had luggage. And a computer, I guess. All you young ones have computers. Susan said I had to get wireless internet if I wanted businessmen here and I have, but if your computer's burned...' She blinked, obviously seeing it as yet another tragedy he had to face.
'And I'll bet you had lovely clothes,' she said. 'Those you're in are ruined. I know, dear,' she said, patting his arm with motherly reassurance. 'You take a nice deep bath. There's a robe in the bathroom for when you finish—I leave one there for my guests because Susan says men like robes. But while you're bathing, I' 11 do a ring-round and see if we can get you something to wear.' She did a fast visual appraisal. 'Six foot two? Nice and lean, too. One of our fisherman—Nick—he's just your build. Muscular, if you know what I mean. Nick has brown hair, though. Not lovely and black and curly like yours. Ooh, that's lovely hair. It's just like Susan's twins. I tell her they'll grow up to be heartbreakers. Just like you, they'll be, big and tall and dark. You can see it already. Seven years old, they are, and such a handful. But that colouring.. .goodness, I'd swear they'll grow up with the same lovely skin and hair that you have.'
He stilled. Everything stilled. Since the moment the boat had crashed into the bridge the day had taken on a surreal air. He felt like the time-line continuum had been smashed at the same time as the bridge, leaving him disoriented and confused.
But he was focused now. Very, very focused.
'Susan has twin boys?'
'Yes,' she said. Doris was fussing with his towels, anxious to extend the conversation. 'Joel and Robbie. They're darlings.'
'I guess they look like their father,' he said, and held his breath.
'Well, we wouldn't know,' Doris said with asperity. 'Off she went, our Susan, just after she'd got the last of her rehabilitation qualifications. Her grandpa lived here, so she spent every holiday with him, but as soon as she finished university she was off to see the world. Mad to go, she was, and who could blame her? There'd never been a penny to bless herself with, ever since that no-good mother of hers dumped her on her grandpa when she was four. Anyway, off she went, and we all thought she was having the holiday of a lifetime. And maybe she did and maybe she didn't, but she came back two years later with two baby boys. She'd done a bit of basic nursing to add to her rehab qualifications, and she said it was because she'd decided to stay here. She's wonderful. We don't know who the twins' father is and we don't care. She's never mentioned him and neither do we.'
'Oh,' said Sam. Faintly.
'You have a nice long bath and get your head together,' Doris said kindly.
'Yes. Yes, thank you. I think I need to.'
CHAPTER THREE
'I'm thinking I might go away for a few days.'
Susan had arrived at Donna's to pick up the twins. Unfortunately the boys were still swimming with Donna's husband, and Donna knew Susan well enough to realise she was upset. She sat her down, gave her a cup of tea and got straight to the point.
'Why might you be thinking of leaving?'
'We need a break. The twins and I.'
'When did you last have a break?'
'I can't remember.'
'And what happened today...'
'Has nothing to do with it.'
Donna frowned, trying to make sense of it. 'Did you know this guy who crashed the boat?'
'No.'
'And the other one?'
'What other one?'
'The guy who pulled him out,' Donna said patiently. 'The doctor. The one built like a Hollywood movie star.'
'No!'
'Aha,' Donna said, pouncing. 'You do.'
'I've never seen him before in my life.'
'Muriel said you recognised him.'
'I didn't.'
'She said you called him Grant.'
'I just thought he looked a bit like...'
'A bit like someone called Grant?'
'Yes,' she said, and glowered, but once started there was no stopping Donna. Donna and Susan had been at school together, best friends since they'd been four. The friendship had been interrupted while Susie had gone to Sydney to train as an exercise physiologist and Donna had met and married an abalone fisherman from Port Lincoln, but Susie returned to the island at almost at the same time Donna had persuaded her Nick that Ocean Spray would be a wonderful place to base his abalone boat. Two months ago Susie had delivered Donna's latest baby in the back seat of her car, with the car parked halfway across the bridge when said baby had arrived in a desperate hurry three weeks early. Which meant Susie knew almost all there was to know about Donna, but there was a gaping hole in Donna's knowledge of Susie.
A hole which included the twins' conception.
'Is this Grant the twins' father?' she asked now, and Susie shook her head furiously.
'This guy's called Sam.'
'But you thought this guy was Grant.'
'He's not.'
'But you thought he was the twins' father.'
'I think I'd know the twins' father.'
'You're prevaricating.'
'I'm not. I just thought I might take a few days away. Could you run the pilates class, do you think?'
'Are you kidding? I'm still postpartum. Besides if this guy is related—'
'He's not related.'
'To who?'
'I have to go,' Susan said, thumping her mug down with a force that splashed tea onto the tabletop. 'Gladys Holmes needs her leg ulcers dressed. If you give the twins dinner, I'll pick them up later.'
'Sure,' Donna said easily. 'This Sam...'
'Donna.'
'No, really,' Donna said, sounding serious. 'I'm sure he must have swallowed fuel. That was a huge underwater swim.'
'It's nothing to do with me,' Susie said stiffly. 'He refused to go to the mainland...'
'Yes, and he's staying with Doris. You know Doris is a bit deaf. If he wakes up in the night, coughing his lungs out, she won't hear.'
'Serve him right. He should have gone to hospital.'
'Suse,' her friend said. 'I'm shocked. Where's your Hippocratic oath?'
'I'm an exercise physiologist. Not a doctor.'
'He's a doctor, though,' Donna said thoughtfully. 'And a yummy one. Was Grant a doctor?'
'Donna!'
'Just asking,' she said, and grinned. 'OK, sweetheart, off you go and dress ulcers. But don't you dare think of going away. We all might die in your absence. You're the sole medical pro
vider for this island, Susie, and don't you forget it.'
'When do I ever?' Susie said—lightly, she thought—but suddenly Donna looked at her sharply.
'Suse, I was joking.'
'Yes.'
'We can do without you.'
'But not now.'
'Not if you really need to go,' Donna said, and reached out and hugged her friend. 'You know that. But, Suse... Ooh, I wish you'd tell me why.'
* * *
It was her favourite part of the day. Late summer meant it was almost nine when the sun set. The twins, after a long day at school and an after-school swim and dinner with Donna's kids, had collapsed into sleep. Awake they had the combined energy of two small fire crackers, blasting through life, leaving chaos in their wake.
She loved them to bits. From the time she'd first felt them move within her she'd accepted that this was right, that they were meant to be. She adored them. However, that never stopped her breathing a sigh of relief when both of them were asleep.
Grant's children...
How could Grant be dead? And why was his twin here?
She felt limp. Exhausted. Maybe it had something to do with the drama of the day, but she'd responded to crises before without this sweeping sense of exhaustion.
So maybe she had to accept that her fatigue had everything to do with this man. Dr Sam Renaldo, now hopefully safely ensconced at Doris's on the far side of the island.
She'd have to see him tomorrow. Well, that was expected, she thought grimly. She'd always known her past could catch up with her.
Though not in the shape of Grant's twin. She'd expected at some time to face Grant. Indeed, she'd almost hoped for it, for the boys' sake.
But now.. .It was too sudden, she thought. She needed time to get her head in order.
The swing on the back veranda was gently rocking as she stared out over the moonlit water. This big old house had once been the ferryman's residence. Its rambling garden, full of ancient, weather-gnarled tea-trees, meandered down to the high-tide mark. This had been her grandpa's favorite place in the whole world. 'Where are you when I need you most, Grandpa?' she asked softly, and there was no answer. Of course not.
John Mayne had been ferryman to this small community before the bridge had been built. He'd married young, but his bride had stayed only three months, taking her embryonic child—Susan's mother—with her.
Susan's knowledge was sketchy, but she did know that her grandmother, and her mother after her, had been...erratic? If her grandfather hadn't appeared on the scene when Susan had been four to pick up the pieces, she might well have ended up in an orphanage.
'So I knew from you about disastrous relationships,' she said grimly to the ghost of her grandpa. 'Why I thought Grant was different...'
'Everyone thought Grant was different,' a male voice said, and she jumped about a foot. And then she flinched as Sam Renaldo appeared at the foot of the stairs.
'Hi,' he said, and he smiled exactly as Grant had once smiled. He was mind-blowingly male, as Grant had been mind-blowingly male. Just...gorgeous. But he wasn't Grant. She couldn't make sense of it. Looking at him smiling at her made her feel dizzy.
'Can I come up?' he asked.
'No,' she snapped, panicking. She stood up and crossed to the veranda rail to stare down at him. She felt better standing up. Safer. 'How did you get here?'
'Doris lent me her car.'
'She shouldn't have.'
'Why not?'
'You're recovering.' She sounded grumpy but there wasn't a lot she could do about that. Grumpy was the least of it.
'You got a fright, too,' he told her.
'I didn't have to hold my breath for ten minutes.'
'Neither did I. Two minutes tops,' he said, and smiled again and came up the ten rickety veranda steps two at a time. He was dressed like any islander, in slightly baggy jeans, an ancient windcheater and flip-flops. There was no reason at all for her heart to lurch sideways.
It did. Because of Grant? It had to be.
'Is there any word from Sandridge?' he asked, and that, at least; was easy. This guy .was a doctor. She could treat him as a colleague. Maybe.
'They've transferred Pete to Melbourne,' she said. 'He can get specialist attention for the burns there. His wife, Carly, has gone with him. The admitting officer at Sandridge says most of the burns are superficial. He put the flames out himself by jumping in the water, and you did the rest.'
'And you. He'll do much better because we were able to get the wrap on fast.'
She nodded. 'Good for us.'
'And the shoulder?'
'He's going into Theatre tonight to get that sorted.' She glanced at her watch. 'He ought to be in there now. He's in the best hands—the plastics guy who's operating is excellent.'
'So you rang Melbourne to check?'
'Yes,' she said, warily. 'Is there anything wrong with that?'
'No,' he said thoughtfully. 'But it shows you care.'
'Sure,' she said, and he looked at her sideways.
'You're touchy.'
'I'm nervous.'
'Why?'
'Because you're a part of my past I thought was gone for ever.'
'I was never part of your past.'
'No, but you look like—'
'Grant. Yes, we're twins.' He hesitated and then rephrased it. 'We were twins.'
'I am sorry about that,' she whispered, and then couldn't think how to proceed.
This was so disconcerting it felt like a dream—to be talking to Grant and yet not Grant. To be seeing Grant's smile and yet not Grant's smile. This was an older, softer—more world-weary?—version of the man she'd once thought she'd loved with all her heart.
'I guess I'm sorry not just for you,' she whispered at last. 'Grant was an amazing guy. Larger than life, really.'
'He was at that.'
'That sounds...dry,' she said cautiously. 'Almost sarcastic. Didn't the two of you get on?'
'We got on enough.'
'I think I remember Grant talking about you,' she said. 'Are you his only brother?'
'Yes.'
'Then it was you. I asked once. He said, "Yeah, I have an older brother. The conscience of the family." That was all he'd ever say.'
'You were with him how long?'
'Three months.' She bit her lip. It seemed wrong to be talking of Grant. She hadn't talked of him for almost eight years. Grandpa had never asked—he'd tried the relationship stuff himself and had failed dismally so he hadn't been about to chastise her, and it was no one else's business. Was it this man's business?
Maybe it was. If Grant was indeed dead...
'How did he die?' she asked.
'Acute myloid leukaemia.'
Leukaemia. She chewed her lip, feeling a bit sick. 'That seems nuts,' she said at last. 'If you told me he'd been killed paragliding or mountaineering or...'
'Or murdered by a jealous lover,' he said. 'That was always his best-odds option.'
She wasn't going there. 'He got time to think about it?'
'He was diagnosed two years ago.'
'That's dreadful,' she whispered, and turned to look out to sea. 'Dreadful for you, too. And you're here because... He didn't...he didn't...'
'Want me to contact you?' He joined her at the veranda rail, staring sightlessly out to sea. 'No. To be honest, I needed an excuse to get away from things for a while. Yeah, Grant's death knocked me for six. We fought like hell, but.. .well, maybe you know enough medical stuff to know how hard the battle against leukaemia is. Anyway, since his death I've had trouble moving on, but I didn't know anything about you until I read his will.'
'His will?'
'He left you—'
'I don't want anything from him,' she said, suddenly furious. 'No way. There's no way he can salvage his conscience by leaving me money. I don't want it and I won't take it. I bet he left money to all his women.'
'You were his only legatee.'
She sucked in an angry breath, not wanting this to be happening. N
ot wanting this to go one step further. 'I still don't want it. How dare he? Salving his conscience...'
'Did he need to salve his conscience?' he asked mildly, and the anger she felt at that was like releasing a cork from a bottle of shaken fizz. .
'You bet he did,' she snapped. 'The bottom-feeding, low-life. I was dumb, dumb, dumb to ever get involved with him. I can't believe he even remembered me after all this time, and if he did I'll bet it was only so he'd get in good with St Peter. I can just see him up there. "It's OK, St P. I paid the girl off. Can I help it if she was a sucker?'"
'Um...' Sam said.
'And you look like him,' she went on. 'You stand there and look like him, and it's a wonder I haven't slapped your face as I've longed to slap his year after year after year. And now he's robbed me even of that.'
She flung herself down from the veranda, brushing through the tea-trees and stalking the small distance down to the beach in front of the house. He followed. For a moment he thought she was going to head straight into the water, clothes and all, but she stopped at the water's edge and contented herself with kicking furiously at the incoming waves, soaking herself in the process.
He stopped at a cautious distance to watch.
'Wimp,' she said, disgusted.
'I know,' he said apologetically. 'But these are the only clothes I've got and Doris will give me a really hard time if I go home wet.'
She'd raised her foot to kick the next wave, but she hesitated a fraction, caught by the pragmatism of what he'd said. 'She will,' she admitted.
Her anger cooled, replaced by... what? She didn't recognise the sensation. She was five yards in front of Sam, staring blindly out at the moonlit sea, and she didn't want to turn back to face him. How could this man look like Grant and not be Grant? She had spent eight years thinking of what to say at this moment and now the moment was changed, made crazy, twisted inside out.
Grant was dead. This was the brother. The responsible one. Sam.
His Island Bride Page 3
