Please give this idea your consideration, husband. I want to be with you, I need to be with you. Let us then, on your next trip, set sail together on the Cantamar. If you should hesitate and say it is not my place, think then of the biblical words, “Whither thou goest, I will go.” And know, dear husband, that I, like Ruth, would go with you.
I remain, dear Alejandro, your faithful wife,
Maria
Annabel looked out at the sea. Had Maria somehow sensed this would be her husband’s last voyage? Was that why she had chosen to go with him?
What must it be like to love someone so much that you would follow him anywhere, even unto death? And what of the sons they left behind? Alfonso, who liked to draw. Luis Miguel, who longed to go to sea just like his father? Which young son had been the forebear of the Luis Miguel who said he was her husband?
At dinner that night she handed the pack of letters back to him. “Thank you for letting me read them, Luis. They loved each other very much, didn’t they?”
“Very much.” He filled her glass with wine. “But of course he shouldn’t have allowed her to sail with him. He should have insisted she stay behind with their children.”
“But that wasn’t what she wanted.” Annabel looked away from him, out toward the water, and with a catch in her voice that told him she was close to tears, she said, “I think Maria knew it would be his last voyage. That’s why she wanted to be with him.”
He wanted to laugh, to tell her she was fantasizing, making up a story to suit her romantic notions. But something in her expression stopped him, a look of sadness in her eyes, of loss, as she gazed out across the water.
He realized then, perhaps for the first time, how sensitive she was to matters of the heart, how easily hurt by an unkind word. And felt the shame of remorse at ever having hurt her.
It had always been hard for him to show his feelings, to say the words he wanted to say. Only when they made love could he tell her with his kisses and the urgencies of his body how much he cared.
He went to her and, pulling her to her feet, said, “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps Maria did somehow sense that it would be the captain’s last voyage.” He rested a hand on her head. “But it happened a long time ago, Annabel. Don’t be sad, don’t cry for them.”
I’m not crying for them, she wanted to say. I’m crying for myself, for us, and for what might have been but isn’t. And perhaps for what never was.
He tightened his hands on her shoulders. His voice softened. “My dear, let me...”
“No.” She stepped away from him. “You tell me I’m your wife and yet you accuse me of adultery. And worse. You think I plotted against you, that I would try to steal something that you feel by birthright is yours. The Cantamar is your heritage, Luis. Finding it means everything to you. How could you think that I would betray you, that I would have helped someone to take what was yours?”
“Annabel—”
“Maybe I did.” She looked up at him, her eyes bright with tears. “What if I really did have an affair with Mark Croyden? What if I tried to help Zachary Flynn find the Cantamar?”
She looked at him, tears streaking her face. “What if it’s true? What if that’s who I am? Who I was?”
Her body shook with sobs she couldn’t control, sobs that came from her very soul. He tried to hold her but she bent forward, hands across her stomach, as though trying to hold in her grief. He picked her up, carried her to the chaise and sat next to her there. And though she tried to pull away from him, he gathered her in his arms.
“You’re not any of those things,” he said- “You couldn’t be.”
“How do you know? How do you know?” She was racked with self-doubt, with the belief that perhaps ... perhaps she was all the things he had accused her of being.
She tried to move away from him but he wouldn’t let her go. He held her there, and when at last the crying stopped, he smoothed her hair back from her face and said, “Better?”
Small catches of breath, a smothered sob. “Yes,” she managed to say. “I’m all right.”
When he let her go she lay back against the cushions, and when she could speak of it, she said, “But what if it’s true, Luis? I have no memory before the hospital in Nassau. Well, not ... not really.”
“Not really? What does that mean?”
“I remember Louise Croyden. I know she was a friend of mine, both she and Albert. I remember she drank Scotch...” A slight smile curved her mouth. “A lot of Scotch. And that it never seemed to bother her.”
“And Mark?” Luis held his breath. “What do you remember about Mark?”
“Only that he liked jazz.” She shook her head. “Only that. Nothing else.”
They stayed like that for a little while, but finally Annabel stretched. “I’m tired,” she said. “I think I’ll go in.”
He rose and helped her up. He didn’t say anything, he only waited. And because she could not say the words she knew he wanted to hear, she said, “Good night, Luis.” And turning away, hurried in from the terrace.
When she was gone he went to stand by the rail and looked out into the night. The moon came out from behind a cloud, and not too far from shore he saw something. Was it a sail shining white in the moonlight or only the reflection of the moon? But then the moon disappeared behind the clouds and he could not be sure what he had seen.
Besides, his mind was on Annabel. He wanted to go to her. To hold her and tell her it didn’t matter if she’d had an affair with Mark Croyden. All that mattered was that she was here with him now. He wanted to lie with her again, to love with her again. He gasped with the pain of his need. And told himself he was a fool.
She couldn’t sleep. Rob, too, was restless. Time and again he got up from his place beside her bed to go to stand at the door that led out to her patio. Finally Annabel got up and, opening the door said, “Okay, fella, go on.”
He looked up at her, head cocked. The patches of brown over his eyes that made it look as though he had eyebrows rose in question.
“It’s all right,” she said. “Go chase moonbeams or whatever else you think is out there.” She laughed when, with a woof, he bounded out into the night.
She closed the door behind him and wished she, too, could disappear into the night. Actually, she’d like nothing better than a swim in the sea.
She turned her bedside light on. One-fifteen. No, it wouldn’t be a good idea to swim at night, especially alone. But in the pool? She was too restless to sleep. A dip in the pool might relax her.
Quickly then, she took off her nightgown and put on one of the swimsuits from the closet shelf.
The house was very quiet when she went through the dining room out to the terrace. The moon was half-obscured by clouds, but the night was soft, with only the most gentle of breezes to stir the air.
The moon slid behind the clouds; it was very dark.
She sat on the edge of the pool and dangled her legs in the water before she slowly lowered herself into it.
The water felt like satin against her skin. She began to swim in long, lazy strokes from one end of the pool to the others. Then she quickened her pace, doing laps, touching one end, flipping over and stroking hard to the other end. Again and again, seven laps, eight. Let’s go for fifteen, she told herself.
She was gasping a little now, out of shape but determined to make it. Twelve laps, thirteen. Slowing down. Come on, come on. Only two more. No breath left. Okay, let’s settle for fourteen. Enough breath left for one more lap? Almost to the end of the pool. She touched the side, gasping.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, hands grasped her head, then her shoulders. They pushed her down, held her down, held her there beneath the water.
She fought. Tried to fight. Had to get air. Had to breathe... And screamed a silent scream. Alejandro! Alejandro!
The hands on her shoulders tightened, pushing, pushing her down into the darkness of the pool.
Luis didn’t know what woke him, why suddenly he was sitting straight up in bed
, sweat on his body, his heart pounding hard against his ribs.
“Annabel?” he said. Then he was out of bed, and without waiting to grab a robe, be ran across the floor, through the connecting door and into her room.
Her empty room.
The door leading to the balcony was closed. He opened it with a jerk and peered outside. She wasn’t there. Where in the hell was she? He saw her nightgown on the bed then, and the closet half-open. Had she gone for a swim? What in the hell had she been thinking of? Surely she wouldn’t have gone swimming in the sea alone. The pool? Yes, probably.
That made him smile. He’d told her not too long ago that they used to swim naked at night. He wondered if she was naked and that if she was... The smile died. Something was wrong. He’d known it when he awakened so abruptly.
“Annabel!” he said aloud, and then he was running through the house toward the pool. He reached the doorway, stood looking out at the pool, trying to see her. He saw a figure leaning over the far end and. called out, “Annabel?”
The figure rose, turned swiftly and ran toward the beach.
What the hell? What was he doing at the side of the pool? Who... ? Oh my God!
Luis ran naked out into the night, calling her name. “Annabel! Annabel!”
He didn’t see her. Where was she? He snapped the pool lights on. They shone overhead and beneath the water. He saw her there, under the water, drifting down, down.
He ran to the edge of the pool and dived in. She was almost at the bottom. He grabbed her hair and pulled her up, got his arm under her shoulders and kicked, kicked hard, heart pounding against his ribs, one thought screaming in his brain, Don’t let it be too late. Don’t let it be too late.
He reached the surface, got her to the edge and hoisted her up and over the side. Then he hefted himself out. He bent over her, turned her over and lifted her from the waist. Water gurgled from her mouth. He felt for the pulse in her throat but could hardly discern a beat. Rolling her onto her stomach, he lifted, pressed, lifted, pressed. More water came out. She coughed. He slapped her back. She murmured, “Wait... wait.”
He called out, “Ambrosia! Moses!” He eased Annabel onto her side. She coughed, gagged and vomited water.
“That’s it,” he said. “Get it up.”
“Somebody...somebody pushed me. Held me under. He—”
Ambrosia ran out onto the terrace, Moses a few steps behind her. “What be happenin’?” Moses said before he saw Annabel. Then, “Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! It be the missus.”
“Somebody tried to drown her.” He motioned Ambrosia forward. “Take Annabel to her room. Stay with her. Take care of her.” And to Moses, “He’s out there somewhere. Get the men. I want every inch of the island searched. Come on!”
“You naked, boss.”
“To hell with it!”
“You might need a gun.”
Moses was right. He picked Annabel up and ran with her back into the house, Ambrosia only a step behind him. He hurried into the bedroom and put Annabel on the chaise.
Her face was bone white. She was shaking, and her teeth were chattering.
“Get a blanket,” he told Ambrosia, and quickly stripped Annabel out of her suit. Her skin was cold, ice-cold.
Ambrosia came back with the blanket and he wrapped it around Annabel. “Stay with her,” he said to Ambrosia. And to Annabel, “You’re safe now.” He put his arms around her and held her close. He knew he had to leave, had to find the man who had done this to her, but God, how he hated to leave her.
“I’ll be back,” he said. “Ambrosia will be with you. I’ll be back.”
Then, before he could change his mind, he stood and ran into his room. He grabbed a pair of shorts off a chair, the gun from his bureau drawer. Somebody had tried to kill Annabel. He had to find the bastard, kill him.
Kill! The word burned in his brain and he knew that he would, just as soon as he got his hands on whoever it was who had done this to Annabel.
Luis and his men searched until way past daylight but they found no trace of the man who had tried to drown Annabel.
It was Samuel who found Rob.
“Over here, boss man,” he called out from the dock. And when Luis ran over he saw the dog, unconscious and bleeding but still alive, at the end of the dock.
“I’ll take care of him,” Moses said.
But Luis shook his head. “He’s Annabel’s dog. I’ll take him up to the house. You keep looking.”
He picked Rob up in his arms and for the first time since this nightmare had started felt the sting of tears behind his eyelids.
“You’re going to be all right,” he told the dog. “You’ve got to be. For Annabel’s sake.”
Chapter 11
Because he didn’t want Annabel to see Rob hurt and bleeding, Luis carried the dog into a room off the kitchen. Meadowlark, wearing an old chenille robe, her hair tied up in a blue bandanna, stood at the kitchen sink.
“I be making tea for the missus,” she said nervously. “Ambrosia be telling me what happen’ and...” She saw Rob and gasped. Blood matted the dog’s hair, and his head lolled on Luis’s arm. “Oh, sweet Lord,” she whispered. “Be he dead?”
“No, but he’s badly hurt. See what you can do for him. I’ll take the tea in to Mrs. Alarcon.”
“I know some things to do, sir. Island things and doctor things, too, because my brother worked for two years for a veterinary in Miami. I be taking good care of the dog, you take care of Mrs. Alarcon.” She poured water into a teapot and put the pot on a tray alongside a cup and saucer.
When she put some towels on the floor, Luis laid the dog down on them. With his hand on the back of Rob’s neck, he said, “Rob? Rob?” And though the dog didn’t open its eyes, Luis received an answering whine. “I’ll be back, boy,” he said. “You hang in there, Rob. For Annabel.”
He took a bottle of brandy out of the cupboard then and hurried toward Annabel’s bedroom. The thought that someone, an outsider, was here on his island and had tried to kill Annabel had him clenching his teeth and swearing under his breath.
He realized now that the same person who’d tried to kill Annabel tonight had held a pillow over her face a few days ago to try to smother her. What he had insisted had been a nightmare had been a reality. She hadn’t imagined it.
Whoever that someone was, he had come close to succeeding tonight. He would have, too, if Luis hadn’t awakened and rushed out to the pool, compelled by some force he didn’t understand.
He had a sudden terrible vision of awaking this morning, of strolling out to the terrace and finding Annabel there at the bottom of the pool. Blood rushed to his head and he sagged against the wall, weakened by the thought of what had almost happened. He made himself take a couple of deep breaths and hoped he looked reasonably calm when he opened the door of Annabel’s room.
She was huddled on the chaise, shivering as though with a terrible chill. He poured tea into the cup, added a generous splash of brandy and handed it to her. “This will warm you up,” he said, and knelt beside her.
She took the cup and brought it to her lips. It clicked against her teeth but she managed to drink a sip or two.
“Run a hot tub,” he told Ambrosia.
“I already run it, Mr. Alarcon.”
“All right, thank you. I’ll take care of Mrs. Alarcon now.”
“You need anything, you call me.” Ambrosia headed for the door. “Anything, sir.”
Luis nodded. Annabel’s face was still bone white. Her eyes were frightened and too big for her face. “Drink your tea, Annabel,” he said, and when he saw that her hands were shaking, he took the cup from her and held it to her lips. When she drank from it, he put it down and took her hands in his. They were ice-cold.
“We’ve got to get you warm,” he said.
“I’m... I’m all right.”
“No, you’re not. You’re freezing cold.”
He picked her up and carried her into the bathroom. There he took the blanket off and helped h
er into the steaming, swirling water of the big tub.
He took his shorts off then, and though she looked startled, he didn’t give her time to object. He got into the tub and eased himself behind her.
“Lean against me,” he said. “Let me warm you.”
The water was hot, but still she shivered. “It’s all right,” he told her. “You’re all right now, Annabel. You’re here with me. I’m not going to let anything harm you.”
He kept talking, soothing and comforting her, and in a little while her body warmed and she stopped trembling. He didn’t try to question her, he only held her close. And thanked God he had gotten to her in time.
For as long as he lived he would never forget the way she had looked when he turned the pool lights on. Arms out to her sides, blond hair floating free, she had drifted slowly, slowly toward the bottom of the pool. If she had drowned he would never have forgiven himself. Nor would he have been able to go on without her.
He had no idea who would want her dead. He trusted the island men and couldn’t believe that any of them had tried to kill Annabel. But somebody had; somebody wanted her dead.
For a long time they stayed as they were, but at last he said, “We’d better get you out and into bed.”
She seemed almost in a daze when he helped her out of the tub. He spoke to her softly, gently, and she stood meekly still while he dried her body with a soft white towel and wrapped her in a terry-cloth robe.
Back in the bedroom he gave her one of the pills Dr. Hunnicut had given him to help her relax. She took it without speaking and he helped her into bed.
“You’ll sleep now,” he said. “Ambrosia will stay here in the room with you and I’ll be close by if you need anything.”
Annabel looked up at him from the bed. “Where’s Rob?” she asked. “Let Rob come in.”
Luis hesitated, but he knew that sooner or later she had to know. “Rob’s been hurt, Annabel. Meadowlark’s taking care of him.”
“Rob? Rob’s been hurt?” She pushed herself up on her elbows. “What happened?”
Long-Lost Wife? Page 12
