Island Summer Love

by Amy Belding Brown

  Island Summer Love

  AMY BELDING BROWN

  Island Summer Love

  Copyright © 1992 by Amy Belding Brown.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from Don Congdon Associates, Inc.; the agency can be reached at dca@doncongdon.com.

  ISBN-13: 9781940941806

  For Duane

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter One

  “Allison Curtis, you aren’t seriously considering going to California now!” squealed Martha, in a voice so shrill that even Allison, who was used to her friend’s histrionics, had to wince.

  “My aunt invited me,” Allison said. “Just to give me a breather before the wedding.”

  “Breather!” Martha uncurled from the antique Queen Anne chair and stood up. “When there’s so much left to do? And everybody in the world has showers planned? You can’t run away at a time like this!”

  “I’m not running away.” Allison bent her head and let her long, auburn hair swing forward over her face. “Anyway, it’s all arranged. And even Cabot said it would be a good idea. I’m twenty-four years old, and it’s time I met my father’s sister.”

  Martha crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s beyond me why you’d want to go now, Allison. You’re just about the luckiest girl in Massachusetts, and you’re certainly marrying the handsomest man! One of the wealthiest, too. Everybody knows that Cabot Wilder is the most eligible bachelor of the decade!”

  Allison sighed. “I’m not breaking the engagement, Martha. I’m just going to visit a relative for a month.”

  “Halfway around the world. While the man you love stays home alone slaving over trust funds and stock reports. How can you stand to be apart at a time like this? I thought you two were crazy in love!”

  “We are. And Cabot will manage just fine.” Allison fingered the silver-backed hairbrush on Martha’s marble vanity. “He always does.”

  “You’ve had a fight, haven’t you?”

  Allison shook her head and smiled. “We never fight. Cabot is too good-natured. You know that.”

  “I don’t get it. It’s not like you to leave when everything’s so exciting. If it isn’t Cabot, then what is it?”

  “I don’t know. Just premarital jitters, I guess. I need some sun and a sandy beach. A few weeks on my own. I’ll be fine when I get back.”

  Martha raised her slim arms above her head and arched her back in a slow body stretch. “I know what you mean about getting away. Boston’s unbearable in June and July. I’m dying to go to Maine. But my parents don’t want me up at our cottage on Harper’s Island alone.” She let her arms drop and grinned at her friend. “After last summer’s escapade in France, they claim they don’t trust me unless I’m chaperoned.”

  Allison laughed. “I can understand why. Chasing Raoul all over Europe when you were supposed to be studying at the Sorbonne! You’re lucky they didn’t lock you away in a castle tower somewhere.”

  “I know.” Martha sagged back into the chair, curling a long leg under her body. “It looks like I’m stuck. I’ll be spending the summer roasting in Boston. I’ve asked everyone I could think of to come to Maine with me, but it seems that everybody’s got a cruise scheduled. I didn’t even consider asking you because of the wedding, but if you’re thinking about going to California anyway . . .” She leaned forward, her eyes shining. “Come to Maine with me, Allison! Your aunt can wait until next summer.”

  Allison smiled doubtfully. Much as she liked Martha, she was daunted by the thought of spending an extended period of time in her upper-crust world of money and elegance. Ever since they had met at Mount Holyoke College and Martha had become her friend, Allison had felt like a poor country girl. At times it was all she could do to remember that being middle class didn’t exactly place her in the ranks of the underprivileged. She came from a good home in the Boston suburbs; her parents worked hard to provide the necessities and even a few luxuries for her and her brother; growing up, she had never felt impoverished. Yet it had been a shock to go to college and find herself among girls like Martha. Temperamentally, too, she felt at odds with her friend. Martha’s high spirits and proverbial recklessness were foreign to Allison’s own quieter nature. She had always been known as the bookish type, studious and thoughtful. In fact, she thought of herself as boring.

  It had been a major surprise to everyone when Allison became engaged to Cabot. The rich, handsome grandson of one of New England’s industrial giants, Cabot had a reputation for dating glamorous, exciting women. When he finally chose Allison as his future wife, it shocked all but his closest associates. They alone knew that the characteristics Cabot was seeking in a wife had nothing to do with excitement and flair. He wanted a woman who was quiet and self-possessed, attractive without drawing attention to herself, someone who would be able to live in his shadow. A precise description of Allison.

  Cabot had done everything in his power to sweep her off her feet, and Allison had fallen rapidly in love with him. His good looks and dark, enchanting eyes had charmed her completely. When, on Christmas Eve, in the company of his mother and three cousins, he had presented her with an enormous diamond ring, she had been stunned with excitement.

  The next morning she’d announced her engagement to her parents. They’d been thrilled. Her mother immediately started to make plans for the wedding, until Allison reluctantly informed her that the Wilder family would be making all the arrangements.

  “They have all kinds of traditions they have to follow, Mom. It would be too confusing for us to try to figure it all out. I thought it would be easiest just to let Cabot’s mother take care of everything.”

  How could she begin to explain to her parents the way that people in Cabot’s world operated? Allison wondered. Just thinking about Sarah Wilder, Cabot’s brilliant and sophisticated mother, intimidated Allison. The first time Allison had met her, by special invitation to Sarah’s Beacon Hill home, she had been spellbound by Sarah’s character and fire. The elegant older woman had looked at her with a penetrating, gray-eyed stare that made gooseflesh form on Allison’s arms. Allison had spent the evening struggling to remember all the social graces Martha had taught her, praying that she wouldn’t commit some outrageous faux pas in the older woman’s presence.

  As always, Cabot had been pleasant and relaxed, and his composed expression gave Allison no clue as to how she was doing. It wasn’t until the next evening, when Cabot informed her that his mother had decided they could continue to see each other, that she realized she’d passed a crucial inspection.

  Since the wedding plans had all been left up to Sarah, and Cabot had important financial reports to attend to, Allison was left alone to while away the weeks until September. When her aunt had written from California, inviting her for a month-long visit, Allison had jumped at the opportunity.

  “Allison, you’re a million miles away!” Martha’s voice brought Allison back to the present; she looked uncertainly into the laughing face of her friend. “You haven’t heard a word I said, have you?”

>   Allison blushed. “I’m sorry. I was daydreaming.”

  “About Cabot?” Martha leaned forward, always eager to hear about Cabot. Privately, Allison wondered if Martha still carried a torch for him. She knew they had dated for a while, a year or so before she introduced him to Allison, and it wouldn’t have surprised her if Martha was still a little bit infatuated. It was hard not to be, with a man like Cabot.

  Allison grinned and held up her hand. “I confess. But I did hear what you said about going to Maine.”

  “Well?”

  “I don’t see how I can. I already promised my aunt.”

  “She’ll understand! After all, this is your last summer of being a single girl! Everyone deserves one last fling. And visiting an aunt doesn’t exactly qualify as a fling, does it?”

  “I suppose not.” Allison shrugged. It didn’t really make much difference to her whether she went to Maine or California. Though she wasn’t about to admit it to Martha, her real reason for wanting to visit her aunt was to take her mind off the overwhelming responsibilities she was about to face as Mrs. Cabot Wilder. “It’s not as if it’s the last chance I’ll ever have to go to California. Cabot flies out there all the time.”

  “Of course he does! Oh, Allison . . .” Martha bounced up from her chair and flung her arms around Allison. “It’ll be wonderful having you there!”

  “Okay,” Allison said, unable to suppress a grin. “You talked me into it. As long as your folks don’t mind.”

  “Mind? They’ll be thrilled! They think you’re the most sensible person in the world. A good influence on me, Mama’s always saying.”

  It was hard for Allison to believe she could ever have any influence at all on Martha, but she was flattered by her friend’s enthusiasm. “When are you going to leave?” She hoped Martha wouldn’t have a million reasons to delay her departure. “I have to be back by mid-July for my gown fitting.”

  Martha opened her arms expansively. “We’ll leave Saturday. That way we’ll have almost a whole month and a half.” She cocked her head. “That isn’t too long, is it?”

  “I guess not.”

  “The cottage is already open for the season; the caretakers always have it ready by the first of June. So we can go any time. As far as I’m concerned, the sooner we go the better! I’m dying to get out from under Mama’s eagle eye.”

  Allison nodded. “The city heat is really getting to me."

  Martha rose and floated toward the door. “I’ll go talk to Mama right now. You won’t be sorry, Allison. It’ll be a wonderful summer, I promise you.”

  Allison had expected that Cabot would try to talk her out of spending the summer in Maine, but she was surprised at the intensity of his remonstrances. It wasn’t like Cabot to be intense about anything. As she sat with him in the elegant den of his mother’s home the evening before her departure, she felt a sharp pang of regret.

  “I love you so much, Allison,” he whispered, his finely chiseled face grave with yearning. “I wish you didn’t have to leave. Are you sure you can’t back out?”

  “Martha’s counting on me to go with her,” Allison said, savoring the warm admiration in his eyes. “I’d feel terrible, letting her down at the last minute.”

  “I understand.” He stroked her cheek. “I just wish I could go with you. It would be wonderful to have all that time to ourselves.” He ran a hand through his dark brown hair and tightened his arm around her waist. “But there’s so much going on right now—that merger I told you about is very precarious at the moment, and I don’t dare be away from the phone for more than a minute.”

  Allison nodded. “We wouldn’t be seeing much of each other anyway until that’s completed. Besides, this is my last chance to be a single girl.” She wrinkled her nose as she reached up to touch his cheek. “One last fling.”

  Cabot sighed and shook his head. “I’ll be glad when we’re married, darling, so we can have our flings together.” He kissed her again. Allison pressed herself against him and let her fingers play across the back of his neck. She wondered if he would finally make love to her tonight. It had always surprised her that Cabot was satisfied with their relationship. He embraced her often, but never pressed her for further intimacies.

  At first she had considered herself lucky that she was engaged to a man who wasn’t always trying to get her into bed. But recently, in her private fantasies, she’d begun to imagine a muscular, blond stranger carrying her away to his private lair and ravishing her. She told herself she’d been reading too many romance novels, but it was exciting imagining being caressed by this make-believe lover. She knew her fantasy would evaporate once she and Cabot were married. Cabot had kept his passionate side well hidden, but his reputation as a ladies man certainly suggested that he could be ardent when he chose.

  “I really want to go with Martha this time, Cabot. Once we’re married, we’ll have all the time in the world to be alone together.”

  Cabot smiled. “At least promise to call. If I can’t kiss you, I want to hear the sound of your voice.”

  “Of course. I’ll call every day.” She smiled up at him with the meek look she knew he loved. “And the summer will be over before you know it.”

  He kissed her lightly. “I can hardly wait for our wedding day.”

  Allison bent her head away from his gaze. Her hair fell across her face, hiding her sudden pallor.

  Cabot brushed her hair off her cheek. “One more thing, darling. You will cut your hair before the wedding, won’t you?”

  Allison looked up at him. She knew it was unfashionable to wear her hair down to her waist, but she loved it that way, loved the sensuous ripple as it fell the length of her back, the way it lifted like a curtain in the wind. She forced a small smile. “I’ll cut it, Cabot. I promise. As soon as the summer’s over.”

  The trip to Maine took four hours by car, and Martha insisted on driving all the way. Allison sat back in the comfortable bucket seat of her friend’s red Porsche, watching the miles of dark green pines fly past, while Martha chattered happily about her plans for the summer ahead.

  “We’ll have the place all to ourselves. Harper’s Island is right out in the middle of Penobscot Bay. You won’t believe the air up there—it’s like crystal. So clean and quiet you’d hardly believe you were on the same planet as Boston. There’s a constant sea breeze, and the weather’s almost always wonderful! You’re going to love it, Allison. Our cottage is really a house, you know: six bedrooms with private baths. There’s a pool and a tennis court. And just last year Mama had a new hot tub installed. So it’s not as if we’ll be roughing it. There’s a native couple who take care of the place year ’round, Abel and Isabel Cutler. They’re real darlings! They’re like grandparents to me.”

  “I thought you said we’d have the place all to ourselves.” Allison wondered how Martha would actually feel about having two grandparent types looking over her shoulder all month.

  “Oh, they’re no trouble.” Martha waved her hand, dismissing Allison’s fears. “They live in the village and keep pretty much to themselves. Every once in a while Isabel cooks up a pot of lobster stew or makes a batch of sinfully delicious brownies. When I was growing up, I spent a lot of summers in the kitchen, listening to Isabel’s stories about the island, so I think she feels she helped raise me.”

  Allison yawned and leaned back against the soft headrest. “Do you mind if I take a little nap? I’m afraid I was up late last night.”

  Martha grinned. “Heavy date with Cabot, huh? Lucky you! Sure, go ahead. I’ll try to keep my mouth shut, at least until we get to the ferry. You won’t want to miss the ride over.”

  Allison dozed off slowly, rocked by the tranquilizing hum of the wheels on the road. She wasn’t aware of anything until she felt Martha’s long finger jab her shoulder.

  “We’re here, sleepyhead. Wake up!”

  Allison opened her eyes. The car was parked at a large wharf-like structure, and beyond it was the most brilliantly blue water Allison had e
ver seen. Approaching the wharf, advancing slowly through the swells, was a large, gray ferry. She watched it ease into place at the end of the wharf, and a moment later a corrugated metal ramp was lowered. A few cars drove off, then a dour-faced man in a red fishing cap signaled Martha to come on board. Allison held her breath as Martha eased the Porsche down the ramp onto the ferry. A moment later, when the man came over to her side of the car, Martha unrolled her window and leaned out.

  “Hello, John,” she bubbled. “How was the winter?”

  The man grunted noncommittally and handed her a small orange ticket. “Where’s your folks this year, Martha?”

  “They’ve decided to trust me finally, now that I’m twenty-five.” She dug in her purse and handed the man a five-dollar bill, then gestured to Allison. “This is my best friend, Allison Curtis. She’ll be spending the summer with me. Allison, meet John Bailey.”

  John nodded at Allison and she smiled back. The man seemed pleasant enough, and he clearly knew Martha, but Allison couldn’t help noticing his reserved manner. She wondered what he really thought of Martha and her flashy red Porsche.

  When the ferry began to move a few moments later, Martha climbed out of the car and gestured for Allison to follow. They stood together at the waist-high metal rail that surrounded the deck, facing the open sea. The breeze was strong and salty, more refreshing than any air conditioner. Allison found herself enjoying the fine salt spray that misted her face.

  The ferry ride took almost an hour, and Allison felt as if she had undergone an enchantment by the time Martha drove onto the wharf at Harper’s Island. The island was thickly covered with pine forests, except for a little cluster of houses at the western tip, where the ferry docked. As Martha drove down the street of the little village, Allison felt a strange flutter of recognition deep within her. It was almost as if she had been on the island before, as if it were a beloved, familiar place. She shook her head to clear it. It must be the effect of the fresh air and sunshine, she thought; she had never been to Harper’s Island, or any island like it, in her life.