by Anne Hampton
‘You say I baffle you, Luke, but you often baffle me by these cryptic remarks.’
He made no comment but bent his head and kissed her again.
She said, rather hesitantly, ‘We’ve almost half an hour to ourselves before we go down to dinner.’
He nodded and went back to his chair. ‘Clarice is leaving tomorrow afternoon,’ he said casually.
‘She is?’ Christine’s eyes were glowing. ‘But we are staying for another four days, aren’t we?’
He gave a low laugh and said, ‘How very transparent you are, Chris. However, it’s most gratifying to know you like being alone with me.’
‘You’ve always known it,’ she retorted.
‘I shall have to leave you all day on Thursday.’ Luke said, abruptly changing the subject. ‘I’ve to fly over to Florida on business.’
‘I’ll find something to do,’ she said. ‘What time shall you be back?’
‘In plenty of time for dinner.’
‘I like this island, Luke. I wouldn’t mind living here.’
‘You wouldn’t?’ His eyes became veiled, ‘It’s a lot bigger than what you’ve been used to.’
‘I know—and I must admit that small islands are nice to live on, but there’s something very attractive about Grand Bahama, don’t you think?’
‘I certainly do or otherwise I’d not have bought this hotel. I’m also considering buying a house here, close to the water, so that I can bring the yacht over.’ ‘You’d live here?’
‘One day perhaps.’
‘When you’re married?’
‘Must you keep on about marriage?’ he asked in some amusement. ‘You seem to have it on the brain.’
‘You’re twenty-seven and that’s quite old. Most men are married by that age.’
‘Old, you think?’
‘No, I shouldn’t have said that. Twenty-seven’s a rather wonderful age for a man.’
‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘do you look upon me as a lot older than you?’
She pondered this a moment before answering. Luke, watching her, saw the pensive expression in her lovely eyes, the pursing of her full, generous mouth. His eyes moved to the delicate blue tracery of veins in her temple, to the silken mantle of her hair, then down to the alluring swell of her throat and the slope of her shoulders.
‘No, not always,’ she replied at last. ‘Sometimes, when you scold me or domineer over me, then you seem much older, but at times like now you seem much younger.’
His mouth curved in amusement. ‘Do I really domineer over you, my dear?’
“You know you do!’
“And I scold you?’
She had to laugh. ‘What is this? A cross-examination?’
‘A personal investigation.’
She laughed again. ‘We’re back to old times,’ she said, ‘when we were like brother and sister. . . .’ Her voice faltered to a stop and her long curling lashes swept down, hiding her expression and at the same time throwing delectable shadows onto her cheeks.
‘What is it?’ he enquired gently. ‘Why did you stop?’
‘I don’t know—’ She brought her head up. ‘We’re not really like brother and sister, are we, Luke?’
He shook his head. ‘Nor like guardian and ward.’ ‘Like very good friends, then?’
His gaze was keen and searching. ‘You want us to be very good friends?’
She frowned at him in puzzlement. ‘Haven’t we always been good friends—except for the few occasions, lately, when we’ve seemed to disagree?’
He said, after a long unfathomable pause, ‘Let’s change the subject, shall we? I’m free all day Wednesday, so what would you like to do?’
‘I want to explore the island, and I want to do some moire shopping in the International Market; it fascinates me with all those shops from all parts of the world. I bought some jade from the Chinese shop and some hand embroidery from the Greek shop. I bought the jade for Uncle Arthur—’ She stopped and sighed. ‘Why do I keep calling him Uncle lately when I used always to call him Father?’
Luke shook his head. ‘That’s a question only you yourself can answer,’ he said, but he had recently guessed that she was becoming more and more insecure as regards her home life and he firmly believed it was owing to Loreen and the amount of time she spent away from home. Arthur was away, too, during the whole of the daytime, living for his business. This meant that Christine, instead of drawing closer to her adoptive parents as she grew older, was in fact finding herself on the edge of an ever-widening chasm which she knew she could never bridge. Luke was troubled about her; aware of her volatile nature, he feared she might one day tell him she wanted to leave home.
And where would she go?
‘I’d rather look upon him as my father,’ she was saying seriously, ‘but, somehow, he seems nowadays to be more like an uncle . . . sort of distant. Perhaps,’ she went on as if talking to herself, ‘it’s because he’s away from home so much, or it could be that it is I who am changing.’
Luke glanced at his watch. ‘We’d better be going down, Chris.’ Rising, he moved to pull her up beside him. ‘Arthur needs you,’ he stated, ‘so don’t do anything to upset him. Promise me,’ he added and now his tone had an imperious edge to it, matching the sudden stem, masterful expression in his eyes.
‘I promise, Luke—’ She lifted her face, closed her eyes as he bent to touch her wide forehead with his lips. ‘Why should you want to extract a promise like that from me? You know I’d never hurt my—uncle. I owe him far too much.’
Conscious of what she owed . . . But would she always feel like this? He stared down into the young and lovely face, slid his fingers through that unruly half fringe and said, ‘Just remember the promise, dear; that’s something I am asking you and the whys and wherefores are not important.’
‘Cryptic remarks again,’ she said, but with a smile. ‘I shall remember the promise I made you, Luke, so please do not doubt me.’ She was puzzled as to why he had insisted on having such a promise from her, for surely he knew she would never dream of deliberately hurting the man who had given her a home and a certain amount of affection.
Clarice was tapping her foot impatiently when, glancing up, she saw Luke and Christine approaching the table at which she sat with her aperitif. There was a glint in her eyes as she swept them over Christine’s figure with an almost contemptuous expression. Her face was faintly flushed, and although it added to its beauty it also gave evidence of an anger within her.
‘I’ve been waiting for over a quarter of an hour,’ she told Luke in a quivering tone which she was plainly having difficulty in controlling. Christine felt sure that fury was vibrating deep within the girl and she found herself feeling sorry for her. She was Luke’s girl friend and here he was, with someone else, surveying Clarice with an almost impersonal amicability he might have displayed to someone who was little more than a casual acquaintance. Still, mused Christine as she and Luke sat down for a moment, Clarice had come here uninvited, after Luke’s phone call, and she hadn’t wasted much time, either. Christine had asked Luke how he had explained her presence to Clarice and his answer had been that he did not explain anything unless he wished to do so.
‘But she must have wondered who I am,’ persisted Christine.
‘She knows about you,’ he replied briefly.
‘Didn’t she wonder why you should be bringing me here with you on this business trip?’
‘She did ask the reason. I merely said you sometimes do come with me on these trips.’
‘That wasn’t a very satisfactory answer, surely?’
‘It sufficed. Clarice knows better than to make an issue of anything with me.’
Christine had looked at him, at the firm line of the jaw, the implacable set of the mouth, and surmised that if Clarice knew anything about him at all she would know how to read an expression like that. Christine certainly did.
‘You’ve been waiting a quarter of an hour,’ Luke was saying to Clarice, his words a
response to her complaint. ‘But we arranged to meet here at eight o’clock and it’s still two minutes to.’
Clarice lowered her lashes, hiding her expression. ‘I came early,’ she said.
‘Have you looked at the menu?’
Was that a snub? wondered Christine. Luke had a rather subtle way of making you feel small by changing the subject like that.
‘Yes, I don’t want much—just a salad and some cold meats.’
Luke shrugged; the dinner was a strain on Christine and she felt sure it was to Clarice also, but Luke? He appeared to enjoy the meal and he talked when he felt the silence was becoming too strained. It was impossible to know whether he had sensed the dislike the two girls felt for one another.
After dinner Luke had to leave them for an hour as he had an appointment with the manager of the hotel, so to her dismay Christine found herself alone with Luke’s friend, a situation she had hitherto managed to avoid.
‘Shall we go for a stroll along the beach?’ she suggested, hoping that Clarice would oblige by saying she would rather go straight up to her bedroom. But she said yes, she would like a walk along the beach.
They had not gone far when Clarice said, nothing in her voice to betray her dislike, ‘You’re lucky to be staying on for another few days. I wish I was.’
‘You couldn’t manage it, you said?’
‘I have a job. I took these few days of my annual holiday when Luke phoned to say he was here. I’d no idea he had anyone with him.’ She turned to look at Christine. ‘He thinks a lot of you. I feel he regards you as a daughter.’
‘He intimated that?’
‘In a way,’ answered Clarice, smiling. ‘He’s talked about you at various times and that’s the impression I had—that he has a fatherly feeling for you.’
‘He’s always been someone I could lean on. . . .’ Christine let her voice fade to silence, regretting the confidence.
‘You needed someone to lean upon, then?’
‘Everyone needs a friend,’ was Christine’s evasive answer. ‘Luke can always be relied on to be my very good friend.’
‘And that’s how you feel about him . . . nothing more?’
‘More?’ Suddenly she was living again that intimate experience when Luke had awakened—if only temporarily—emotions she had never known before.
‘Well, he is more than a little attractive, isn’t he— even with that scar which sometimes—to me anyway— is scarcely noticeable.’
‘Nor is it noticeable to me.’ A small pause and then, ‘How long have you known Luke?’
‘Not long—just over four months.’
‘I’ve known him for seven years.’ Christine didn’t know why she said that, unless she was being faintly patronising towards the other girl.
‘Long enough for the friendship to have gone rather stale,’ commented Clarice with a laugh that seemed to have no humour.
‘Our friendship will never grow stale.’ Christine was bored with the girl and would have done anything to be able to bid her good-bye and walk away. She wanted be alone, and as the beach was deserted that would have been possible had it not been for Clarice. A long curving stretch of talcum-soft sand, with trees backing the shore to provide welcome shade during the daytime from the intensely bright rays of the sun.
‘You sound very optimistic,’ commented Clarice, stooping to slip off her shoes.
‘I feel optimistic.’
‘What about when Luke marries?’ Slow the words and with an undercurrent that caused Christine’s blood to feel cold all at once. Yet why should she have any fears? Luke’s manner with Clarice was surely proof enough that he wasn’t at present contemplating marriage. Moreover, he had said quite firmly that he wasn’t.
‘I think that we might still be very good friends,’ she said at last.
‘Luke’s wife might not like it. Have you thought of that?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Christine injected a chill note into her voice because she had no wish to continue this sort of conversation. She felt that the other girl was playing with her.
‘If it were I, then I’d object. Strongly.’ Clarice straightened up and they walked on, Clarice swinging her shoes by their straps. Christine looked at her with a sidelong glance. A pretty dress of flowered cotton, low in the neck and without sleeves. A white kid bag over her shoulder, a diamante comb in her chestnut hair. Most attractive, Christine grudgingly owned. It was not beyond the bounds of possibility that Luke would one day fall for all these feminine attractions—yes, no matter how perfunctory his interest at the present time. A calculated technique on Clarice’s part, and given sufficient time and ample opportunity she could succeed in getting what she wanted, which was undoubtedly to win Luke for her husband.
‘It could be a long time before Luke marries.’ Christine spoke at last, remembering what he had said concerning the possibility of his marrying—one day.
‘You think so?’ There was the suspicion of a sneer about Clarice’s mouth when perceived in profile. ‘Perhaps the wish is father to the thought,’ she quoted.
‘It’s unprofitable to discuss it,’ said Christine coolly, ‘since it’s impossible to predict just how long it will be before he gets married.’
‘You’re not in love with him?’
The forthright question took Christine aback but she answered without hesitation, ‘Of course not!’
Clarice made no comment, and after they had walked a little while longer over the moonlit sands Christine suggested they turn back. ‘Luke might finish the interview early,’ she added, ‘and so I feel we ought to get back so as not to keep him waiting.’
Chapter Five
Arthur Mead was sitting alone at the breakfast table when Christine went along to join him. He hadn’t been too well lately and it seemed wrong for his wife to go away on holiday at this particular time.
‘Are you feeling any better?’ asked Christine anxiously as she sat down opposite to him.
‘A little.’ He smiled at her and commented on her dress, saying it was pretty and that blue suited her. ‘Is it new?’ he added. ‘I don’t remember seeing it before.’ ‘It isn’t new. I’ve had it ages.’
‘I’ve had a letter from Greta,’ he said a short while later. ‘She and Steve are coming over for a visit next week.’
‘They . . . are?’ Steve—to see him again! ‘It’s just six months since they were married,’ she recollected. ‘Seems much less than that.’
‘How long will they be staying?’ Christine felt her pulses racing, her heart beating much too quickly. Steve . . .
‘Greta didn’t say. But it’ll be for a while, I think, judging by the gist of her letter.’
‘Did you write to tell her you weren’t well? Is that why they’re coming?’
He shook his head. ‘I haven’t written for over a month.’
‘Did she say what day they’d be over?’ Christine helped herself to toast and marmalade while Arthur poured her a cup of coffee.
‘She thinks Thursday, but she’ll give me a ring before then.’
Christine was suddenly puzzled by his manner and she was impelled to ask, ‘Is something wrong, Father?’
He was frowning, but at her words his brow cleared. ‘No—er—what makes you ask that?’ He was not looking at her and her puzzlement increased.
‘I don’t really know. You seem—worried, sort of.’
He shrugged his shoulders and lapsed into silence. After a while Christine asked if Loreen would be home for Greta’s visit.
‘I’ve no idea. I should think she’ll be back by then.’ His tone was flat, expressionless. ‘She’s been away ten days already,’ he added as if he had been mentally reckoning up the time.
‘Are you going to the office today?’ Christine felt the need of company and Luke was in Nassau. Her thoughts were all on Steve and would remain so unless she had some diversion. ‘Let’s go to the beach, just you and me, and have lunch at the Fisherman’s Reef—they do those delicious small sea fish marinated in l
ime juice, remember? They garnish them with herbs and garlic butter.’ Her voice was low and persuasive, her big violet eyes anxiously darkened by her plea. ‘We could swim first, then soak up the sun, have lunch, and afterwards have a little drive round the island. I want to buy some plants from Hydraflora—small palms and allamandas for my balcony.’ Eager and encouraging, she forgot her manners and leant her elbows on the table, cupping her chin in her hands. ‘You work too hard, love, so please take today off.’
‘It would be nice,’ he agreed, but—’ To her disappointment he shook his head, ‘I’ve a lot to do—some other time, dear.’
Her body sagged. She wished she had insisted on taking the job offered her. Of late she had known a strange restlessness and on a couple of occasions she could almost have run away, lost herself in some place right away from Cassia Lodge. Only Luke held her, she realised, and the promise she had made him. Luke, who was, as always, her prop and her haven. She had asked him recently how his affair with Clarice was progressing and had received the kind of noncommittal reply that had effectively discouraged any further enquiries on her part.
‘I ought to get a job,’ she said with a sigh. ‘This hanging around isn’t healthy.’
‘Healthy?’ with a lift of his bushy grey eyebrows. ‘That’s an odd word to use, isn’t it?’
‘One gets morbid. I like being alone sometimes—I think everybody does—but since Greta went, and with Mother . . .’ She tailed off but Arthur finished for her, ‘Being away from home so much you feel lonely.’
She nodded her head, ‘If I had a job, it would at least fill my days.’
‘You do a good job here—supervising the servants, planning the meals. You should be glad there’s no need for you to go out to work.’
‘I’d have company.’
‘You’ve friends, haven’t you?’
‘Some are married and others have jobs.’ She knew she sounded discontented but her voice was only a reflection of her thoughts. This life was becoming more and more boring; she felt as if she were drifting and sometimes the future frightened her.
‘What about boyfriends? Other girls seem to have several at one and the same time.’ Amusement edged Arthur’s voice as he added, ‘Greta had dozens before finally settling for Steve. . . .’ His voice trailed unexpectedly, his humour being replaced by a frown and a tightening of his lips as if he were suppressing a sigh. He glanced at his watch, then rose from the table. ‘I must be off. Have a nice day.’ He was gone; she sat there looking at the piece of pawpaw he had left, and the roll and butter on his side plate. His cup was half filled with coffee.
