Tidewater Seduction

by Anne Mather

  Of course, Grace had had misgivings, and she had voiced them. The Macallisters were a very close family, she said. They weren’t like Joanna’s parents, who had taken to Cole from the start. On top of which, Tidewater was another world, with its own laws, and its own traditions. She hadn’t been happy there, and she didn’t know if Joanna would be, particularly as Cole was just as possessive as his uncle.

  But Joanna hadn’t wanted to listen, even though the only arguments she and Cole had were about her work. He resented the time she devoted to it and not to him, and, although she was convinced that once they were married it wouldn’t be a problem, it was a complication she had foolishly ignored.

  The wedding was planned for the end of June, and Cole had flown home to give his family the news. But when he had flown back again, only a couple of days before the wedding, not one of his family had come with him. ‘They couldn’t leave the plantation,’ he had said, his face reddening. His younger brother and sisters were still in school, and there was simply too much to do, particularly since he was away, too.

  And Joanna, not wanting to embarrass him any further, had accepted his excuses. But Grace had had no such reservations. The night before the wedding, she had warned Joanna of what she might have to face at Tidewater, and if she hadn’t been fathoms deep in love Joanna might have listened to her. As it was, she convinced herself that Grace was exaggerating, and the weeks immediately following their wedding were the happiest weeks she could remember.

  But that had been while they were on honeymoon, she conceded drily. Cole had taken her to Tahiti, and during those exotic days and nights she had had no doubts that nothing and no one could come between them. They had been timeless days, when they had been drunk with each other’s possession. Days of sun and happiness, and luscious, languid nights. Then they had returned to Tidewater.

  To begin with, Joanna managed to convince herself that they would work it out. Even though his mother made no secret of her disapproval of the marriage, and his father was barely civil, she refused to lose heart. When they left the plantation house, and got a home of their own, she told herself, his parents’ attitude wouldn’t matter. In the meanwhile, it was up to her to try and make it friendly.

  And, although Cole’s parents could control his days, she controlled his nights. While the heat and the humidity of midsummer made other people terse and irritable, she and Cole continued to revel in those hot, sleepless nights. He taught her so much about her body, and she was a willing pupil. She learned that even the most unlikely areas could prove wildly erotic, and Cole spent hours tracing nerves and sensitive pulses, and setting them on fire with his tongue. Their lovemaking just got better and better, and she responded to his demands with all the urgency of her youth.

  But, ironically enough, it was that very eagerness to prove herself that sowed the seeds of her destruction. In trying to avoid conflict, Joanna only joined the family for meals if Cole was going to be there. She had found her skin was too thin to withstand the barbs and insults his father threw around when he wasn’t, and she was too proud to tell Cole what they were doing to her.

  Besides, what could she have said? Cole himself admitted she wasn’t used to the kind of life they led at Tidewater, and he would be the first to agree that she was much softer than the southern women he was used to. And to complain that his mother regarded any efforts she made to help around the house with contempt would hardly arouse his indignation. He would probably have wondered why she cared, without understanding how important it was for Joanna to find her own space.

  Even their own rooms were not sacrosanct. Maggie thought nothing of coming into their bedroom without knocking, except when she knew her son was there. Flowers were rearranged; furniture Joanna had altered was replaced; and even her closet was not free from his mothers’ influence. Favourite dresses went missing; shirts she especially liked developed unexplained tears, or lost buttons; and any time she wore anything at all provocative, she was made to feel so cheap that she started buying clothes that didn’t show her shape.

  Just thinking about it now made Joanna feel physically sick. Gradually, over a period of time, they had caused her to doubt herself, and her own sanity, and once that happened she was on a downward spiral.

  But that had come later—after the illness, which had caused the first faint cracks to appear in their relationship. Because of the heat, and because she was neither eating nor sleeping enough, those long passionate nights took their toll. A chill developed quickly into pneumonia, and while she was weak and helpless Cole’s parents took their chance.

  By the time she was lucid enough to know what was happening, Cole’s belongings had been moved into another suite of rooms entirely. His mother had only been thinking of her, he said, when Joanna grew strong enough to offer her objections. There was no way he could have continued to share her room without disturbing her. And they all wanted to do their best, so that she would soon be well again.

  It was a reasonable excuse, and one with which Cole evidently agreed, but Joanna was uneasy. She was more uneasy still, when Ryan Macallister set up a business trip for Cole to South America, thus delaying his return to her bed even longer. In other circumstances, Cole assured her, she could have gone with him. But as she had been so ill …

  The night before he went away, she had tried to talk to him about their future. When were they going to get a home of their own? she pleaded. They’d been married more than three months now, and it was time she started looking after her husband herself.

  Cole had avoided a direct answer, she remembered. Now was not the time for her to start worrying about things like that, he said. She needed to get her strength back. Better she leave the housekeeping to his mother for the time being. If he remembered correctly, domestic duties had never been her strong point.

  He was away a month, and, although she spoke to him frequently on the telephone, by the time he came back, things had changed. Joanna supposed she had been partly responsible for that change, but how could she have known what her innocent befriending of Nathan Smith would stir up? At the time, she had just been desperate for some stimulating adult conversation.

  She sighed. Perhaps she had been naïve, she pondered. It wasn’t as if all the Macallisters had been hostile. Ben and Joe had been quite friendly, so long as their father wasn’t around; and the twins, especially Charley, had developed quite a crush on their new sister-in-law. And there was Sandy—though he had been too young to really count.

  But, perhaps because she was becoming so sensitive to any criticism levelled at her, Joanna never felt entirely relaxed around the house. She had done very little sketching or painting since she left England, so now, once again, she endeavoured to submerge her unhappiness in her work. There was certainly plenty of scope for an artist among the vivid varieties of trees and shrubs about the plantation, and she took to taking her sketch book with her every time she went for a walk.

  Although she never ventured too far from the house, she became familiar with the stables, and the paddocks, and the salt marshes beyond. She often curled up beside the river, lulled by the gentle music of the water, or scrambled over the mud-flats at low tide, in search of shells. Although her olive skin never tanned, it grew sun-warmed and healthy, and her hair grew long and wind-tossed, accentuating her gypsy appearance.

  And, during this time, it never occurred to her not to be familiar with the workers on the plantation. The grooms around the stables, the hands who exercised the horses, even the maids in the house, all benefited from her friendly disposition. She didn’t think it had been a conscious effort to oppose Cole’s father and mother. It was just her way. But she never, ever dreamed where her attitude might lead her.

  Nathan didn’t work on the plantation. Although she didn’t know that the morning she surprised him on the river-bank. He had been leaning out over the river, trailing his hand in the water, and at that time it was doubtful which of them had been the most shocked by the encounter.

  But w
hen he jumped to his feet, with the evident intention of leaving, Joanna had stopped him. ‘What were you doing?’ she asked, tucking her sketch pad under her arm, and stepping across the grassy bank towards him. She looked down into the water, but could see nothing of value. ‘Did you drop something?’

  Nathan shook his head. He was a handsome young man, with dark curly hair, brown skin, and the broad nose and full mouth that spoke of a mixed heritage. Joanna assumed he lived in the shacks that bordered the estate to the west. Many of the workers lived in the shacks at Palmer’s Point, and Cole had said that he and his father were planning on re-housing the families. However, after listening to Ryan Macallister’s views on his poorer employees, and learning of his contempt for people who had more children than they could afford, Joanna was less convinced. She had the feeling that, whatever Cole said, his father was not as committed as his son.

  ‘So what were you doing?’ she asked now, and although the young man would have obviously preferred to avoid answering he stood his ground.

  ‘Tickling fish,’ he said, his lean features taking on a rueful expression. ‘I wasn’t taking many. Only one or two.’

  Joanna shook her head. ‘You mean—you can actually catch fish that way?’ she exclaimed. Then she saw the brace of trout resting on a broad palmetto leaf, and smiled. ‘I see you can.’

  Nathan expelled his breath on a long sigh. ‘You must be Cole’s wife,’ he said, and she wondered why he looked so rueful when he said it. She didn’t flatter herself that she was the reason for his discontent. But his tone was intriguing, and she determined to get to the bottom of it.

  So, ‘Yes,’ she agreed, holding out her hand towards him. ‘I’m Joanna Macallister. Who’re you?’

  His hesitation was only noticeable because she was aware of it. ‘Nathan,’ he said, after a moment. ‘Nathan—Smith.’ He shook her hand with some reluctance, and she wondered why. ‘But I wish you wouldn’t tell anyone you’d seen me here.’

  Joanna frowned. ‘Because of the fish?’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh, I’m sure——’

  ‘Because I shouldn’t be on the property,’ Nathan cut in swiftly. ‘I know it’s asking a lot, but I’d appreciate it.’

  Joanna blinked. ‘You don’t work for my husband or his father, then?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you know them. You knew I was Cole’s wife.’

  ‘Everyone knows that,’ replied Nathan drily. Then, with a rueful glance about him, ‘I think I’d better go.’

  Joanna caught her lip between her teeth. ‘Not on my account,’ she protested. ‘I won’t tell anyone you were here.’ She grimaced, remembering. ‘There’s no one to tell. Cole’s away, and I’m not exactly on the best of terms with his mother and father.’

  Nathan hesitated. ‘Look, you don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me.’ He pulled a wry face. ‘I could be a murderer or a rapist, for all you know.’

  Joanna regarded him consideringly. ‘You have an honest face,’ she said, and then, seeing the faint smile that tilted the corners of his mouth, she added, ‘I’m prepared to take the risk, if you are. Why don’t you show me what you were doing? Perhaps I could learn to catch fish, too.’

  And that was how she and Nathan had become friends, she brooded painfully. A chance meeting, and suddenly she was embroiled in a situation she hadn’t even known existed. Would Nathan still be alive, if she hadn’t persuaded him to stay? It was entirely possible. But Nathan’s life had always been in jeopardy, long before she came on the scene.

  Still, in the months that followed, they did become close friends. He was interested in her painting, and encouraged her not to neglect her talent. And she found his knowledge of the area’s history both informative and fascinating, and she was not at all surprised to learn that he taught at the Baptist school in Beaumaris.

  But, these superficial facts aside, she learned very little about his personal life. He told her he was unmarried, and lived with his widowed mother in Beaumaris, but that was all. He wouldn’t talk about the Macallisters, or why a feud should exist between them. He spoke of Cole, and Joe, and Ben, but they were not friends of his. If he had any friends, she never heard about them, and because she was lonely, too, she accepted his isolation quite gratefully.

  At this time, her relationship with Cole was deteriorating rapidly. She didn’t know why, but since his return from Argentina her husband had become increasingly remote. She knew he resented the fact that she had started sketching again, but it was more than that. And whenever she broached the subject of moving into a home of their own his only answer was that the plantation house was big enough for all of them.

  It was certainly big enough for him to continue sleeping in a separate bedroom, she reflected bitterly, remembering the arguments they had about that. Cole’s only excuse was that as he got up early in the morning and went to bed much later than she did at night he didn’t want to disturb her. But Joanna guessed it was his mother’s and father’s idea. Another way to keep them apart.

  A continuing source of conflict was Joanna’s failure to conceive. Cole might occupy a different room, but he still came to her bed several times a week. She suspected it was a weakness he wished he could conquer, and because he could be so mean to her at other times she sometimes fought against his possession. But he always overcame her efforts. The feverish mating of their bodies had lost none of its fervour; it was totally obsessive to both of them, and even Cole couldn’t deny the hunger in his blood.

  Nevertheless, as the months went by and she didn’t get pregnant, Cole became suspicious. Obviously his doubts had been fuelled by the things his parents implied, and she found him one day searching her bedside drawers for contraceptives. Her anger at finding him there was overwhelming, and more than erased any advantage she might have gained because his search had proved unsuccessful. But his parting comment, that she probably hid them somewhere else, was the final straw. That night, she locked her door against him, refusing to answer when he hammered on the panels. She even locked the balcony doors and closed the shutters, preferring the airless atmosphere to the shameful demands of her flesh.

  Looking back now, she saw how foolishly she had played into Ryan Macallister’s hands. Cole was a proud man. He wouldn’t beg her to unlock her door. What had begun as an angry revolt against his lack of faith in her quickly accelerated into a full-blown separation. In a matter of days, she and Cole were acting like strangers around one another. And, before she could pluck up the courage to speak to him, something happened that altered her mind irrevocably.

  The past few months might not have been the most happy time in her life, but she had always believed that, because she and Cole still had such a good sexual relationship, sooner or later their problems would be resolved. If she hadn’t believed that, she couldn’t have continued in the marriage. But Cole still loved her; she was sure of it. And, in time, he would see it her way.

  She had been given the use of an old station wagon, mainly, she suspected, because it enabled her to take the younger children to school, when no one else was available. But it did give her a certain amount of freedom, and she and Charley often went into Beaumaris at weekends, to potter about the small stores, and watch the fishing boats coming and going from the harbour. Of all the Macallisters, apart from Cole, she liked Charley best. The little girl had become her shadow since the incident in the spring, when Joanna had played such a crucial part in rescuing her from the island in the river, where they had been picnicking. Their row-boat had come adrift, and Joanna had had to swim to the shore to get help. It had been a near thing, and for a while afterwards she and Cole seemed to get close again. But subsequent events, particularly the incident over the contraceptives, had destroyed their understanding, and when Joanna drove into Beaumaris that Saturday morning she was still mulling over ways to make amends.

  And then she saw Cole.

  He was parked in the centre of town, right where she usually parked, leaning against the bonnet of the dust-smeared pi
ck-up he invariably drove, laughing with a blonde in a hot pink jump-suit.

  Joanna had thought he was exercising the horses with Ben. He had gone out earlier that morning, and that was what his mother had told her, when she had asked where he was. But it was obvious from his dress shirt and well-cut trousers that he had never had any intention of going riding.

  ‘Hell!’

  Charley’s unguarded exclamation echoed the reaction Joanna was feeling. The girl was flirting with Cole now, finger-walking up his shirt, and arching her body towards him. There was a wealth of confidence and intimacy in her attitude, and Joanna’s stomach hollowed at the obvious explanation.

  But Charley’s behaviour could at least provide her with half an answer. ‘Who is she?’ she asked stiffly, and Charley stifled a groan.

  ‘Sammy-Jean Butler,’ she muttered reluctantly, pursing up her face. ‘Damn, what’s he doing with her?’

  Trying not to sound as sick as she felt, Joanna tried to make light of it. ‘Who knows?’ she said, stepping on the brakes, and turning the station wagon into a spot several yards from where her husband was standing. ‘It looks as if they just ran into one another.’ She wet her lips. ‘Is she an old girlfriend?’

  Charley hunched her shoulders. ‘I guess.’

  ‘Well, is she, or isn’t she?’

  Charley sniffed. ‘Ma and Pa wanted Cole to marry her one time,’ she admitted. ‘See, the Butlers’ place is next to Tidewater, and Pa and Mr Butler used to talk about how good it would be if Cole and Sammy-Jean …’

  Joanna remembered how hard it had been for her to get out of the station wagon after that, to go and speak to her husband. And, when she found the pick-up wasn’t there any more, she didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry. But it served a bitter purpose. She knew she would never trust Cole again.