The Tender Years

by Anne Hampton

  Then, as if a flash of lightning had entered the deep recesses of her mind to let in the light, she was seeing Steve, the man she loved and wanted to marry! He’d been forgotten completely! Just as if he had never even existed!

  She sat upright and drew her skirt down over her legs, then she slid off the bed.

  Pale and trembling she looked up at him, aware of the bronzed chest with its covering of dark, masculine hair.

  ‘I can’t,’ she faltered. ‘Steve ... I l-love Steve. . .’

  She was weeping into her hands as she heard the harsh and scornful words spoken through a surge of quivering anger.

  ‘Steve! You could think of him at a time like this? What kind of a girl are you?’ His mouth was curved contemptuously when at last she withdrew her hands and looked up at him. He was slowly buttoning up his shirt. She was overwhelmed with guilt and shame . . . but the sensation that seemed to be rising over all else was that of her mind fumbling through a mist of uncertainty. And suddenly, with a shock of enlightenment, she heard herself say, just as the door banged with unnecessary violence behind Luke, ‘It’s you. . . .’ in quivering wonderment, ‘you, dearest Luke, and not Steve at all . . . you were so right ... it was only infatuation.’

  Her tear-dimmed eyes were fixed on the door; she was willing him to come back, but she caught her underlip between her teeth as she heard the loud click of his bedroom door further along the passage. Should she go to him and confess her love? The instinct was strong, compelling, but doubts were there too because she had no proof that he was in love with her. The idea that he loved her had been born but surely if he did love her he would have said so before now? Christine knew her mind was travelling in unprofitable circles, for she had already been through all this and reached the conclusion that Luke would never confess his love while she was infatuated with another man.

  A sigh escaped her as she decided not to go to him. She would feel shamed and humiliated if, going to him and offering herself, he should not only tell her he didn’t return her love, but he would betray deep pity and concern that she had given her heart where it was not wanted.

  What a fool she had been all this time, caring so deeply for Luke and yet not realising it was love she felt for him. She had been steeped in the conviction that Steve was the man she loved and that life would only be complete if, now that his marriage had broken up, she and he could come together.

  What a disaster that would have been! For she would have soon discovered that it was Luke she truly loved.

  How wise he was. And she had condemned him as being dictatorial and officious because he disapproved of her association with Steve.

  What of Steve’s reaction when she told him she was in love with Luke? But would she tell him? It would be embarrassing to make the confession and discover that her love was unrequited. No, she would tell Steve only when she was sure that Luke cared, that he wanted to marry her.

  Thinking back and recapturing memories and certain allusions made at various times by Luke, Christine felt optimistic and was looking forward to seeing him at breakfast the following morning. She would find some way of discovering whether he returned her love or not.

  Chapter Nine

  Anna, the maid, was in the breakfast room when Christine entered. She smiled and said, ‘Good morning, miss. Are you having breakfast here or on the patio?’

  ‘Here . . .’ Christine’s voice faded as she saw the one place set. Had Luke set out already to have the confrontation with Steve?

  ‘Where is Mr. Luke?’

  ‘He said to tell you he’s gone to Miami and doesn’t know when he’ll be back, but he thinks he might be away a week.’

  ‘Miami?’ A week . . . The colour ebbed from Christine’s face. ‘He—he gave the name of the—hotel where he’s staying?’ Was he staying at an hotel? Christine felt he would be staying with Clarice.

  ‘No, miss. He was in a hurry to catch a plane and just left the message I have given you.’ She paused a moment, looking curiously at her. ‘You’ll have breakfast here?’

  ‘Yes—er—no, I’m not hungry, Anna, thank you.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I’ll have a cup of coffee on the patio, please.’ She turned and went out to the sunlit patio, seeing nothing of the beauty—the flaring hibiscus bushes brilliant in the sun’s slanting rays, the oleanders and opulent cactus flowers, the anthurium lilies and the great mass of other exotic flowers occupying the borders running alongside the pool patio, while the pool itself was clear and blue and she knew it would be warm and silky if she were to decide on a swim. But she had no wish to swim with this weight of depression on her, with this sensation of knots twisting in the pit of her stomach. She was frightened! She felt almost physically ill with the fear that she had lost Luke forever. He had gone to Clarice, the girl Greta had spoken about a girl whose beauty would have an attraction for any man.

  The coffee arrived but it was like bitter aloes in her mouth and she left it almost untouched. Restless and weighed down by misery, she got up and paced about, uncaring if Anna were watching from one of the windows.

  ‘I can’t stay here!’ she whispered chokingly. ‘I can’t!’ Yet where could she go? Luke had brought her here to Grand Bahama Island in order to keep her away from Steve, had done it for her own good, but he could not have visualised a situation like this to occur, where she was obviously going to be all alone on her birthday, alone and more unhappy than she had ever been in the whole of her life.

  She went out and strolled around the International Market in Freeport, seeing nothing of all the glamour, feeling nothing of the atmosphere that had previously been so attractive to her. She did not even feel the warmth of the sun on her bare back and arms—in fact, she felt cold, icy cold.

  She was crying, and stumbled; someone caught her and steadied her. She thanked them and moved away, not even knowing if it was a man or a woman.

  At lunch time she was still walking, this time having reached the grounds of Luke’s hotel. She remembered the time when Clarice was here and she, Christine, had not liked the idea of the intimacy between the two as they swam together in the pool, then sat on the side, close together.

  ‘Why didn’t I know then that it was jealousy I felt!’ she quivered, tears starting to her eyes again. She became more and more filled with self-pity as the hours wore on. Her birthday coming and no one cared—not Arthur nor Greta, and certainly not Loreen, who, these days, cared for no one except the man who was her lover. Even Steve hadn’t tried to get in touch lately—but he couldn’t very well phone her when she was living in the house of a man who objected strongly to the friendship.

  Desolate and with her feet dragging, she made her way back to the bungalow. Her eyes lighted on the phone as soon as she entered the hall and she decided to phone Steve. What would she say to him, though? She shrugged. It didn’t seem to matter what she said so long as she had someone to speak to, just for a few minutes in order to relieve this monotony.

  There was no reply from his parents’ house and because she just had to phone somebody she decided to ring Arthur. But it was Steve who answered the phone.

  ‘Oh—well—Christine,’ he replied awkwardly after she had greeted him. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Okay,’ she answered casually, and then after a tiny pause, ‘I didn’t expect you to be at Cassia Lodge.’

  ‘I’m living here—for the present, of course.’

  ‘You and Greta have made up your quarrel?’ She supposed her voice must have sounded flat to him but it hadn’t been intentional.

  ‘I’m sorry, Christine. I feel the rottenest sort of heel—the way I led you to believe—’

  He broke off and there was a tense moment of silence before Christine said, ‘Don’t apologise, Steve. We both made a mistake.’ Her voice was hard and curt. ‘I take it you and Greta are all right again?’ She was glad of course, but for all that she could not soften her voice even though she tried. ‘I hope you can make a go of it this time.’

  �
��Christine,’ he said in a voice gruff with contrition, ‘I’m so sorry, dear. You’re trying to take it well and I wish I were there with you, just to make it easier for you—’

  ‘Steve,’ she broke in quietly, ‘I have asked you not to apologise. You see, there’s no need. I am not “trying to take it well” as you say, because I’ve no need to do so. I never loved you, Steve,’ she went on with slight emphasis. ‘Luke always said it was infatuation and he was right.’

  ‘When did you make the discovery?’ he enquired interestedly.

  ‘Last night.’

  ‘I see. So you don’t feel upset about Greta and me getting together again?’

  ‘On the contrary, I hope you’ll be very happy.’

  ‘I wonder if in your generosity you’re making it easy for me? I do have a conscience, Christine, and it’s troubled me a lot since Greta and I talked and decided we hadn’t given the marriage a fair trial.’

  ‘Don’t let your conscience worry you any more, Steve. I really mean it when I say I never loved you. I know it now and had we married we’d have bitterly regretted it very soon afterwards.’

  ‘Greta didn’t have anyone else,’ he said, ignoring her statement altogether. ‘She just said it because her pride was hurt and in order to make me jealous.’

  ‘She herself was jealous that night when you and I were intending to dine together at your house.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I heard all about the scene she caused; she seemed sorry about her conduct but at the same time she was furious with you.’ He paused to let Christine say something but she remained silent and he asked, ‘Are you all right on your own over there?’

  ‘You know I’m on my own?’ she said, puzzled.

  ‘Greta went over to Miami yesterday morning to do some shopping for a couple of days. She phoned me about an hour ago and mentioned seeing Luke a few minutes previously with his girl friend hanging on his arm. They were coming out of a plush hotel, so Greta’s guess was that they’d had a night together.’

  ‘Luke slept here last night,’ Christine corrected stiffly. ‘He left very early this morning on the first plane out.’

  ‘Oh, well, Greta’s mistaken, then.’

  ‘She is!’ tautly and with force.

  ‘I wonder if there’s anything serious in the affair?’ ‘There wasn’t a few weeks ago. . . .’ But now? Now Luke might be feeling different. He had certainly been eager to see Clarice, she realised, seeing that he was away so early this morning. Had he phoned her to say he was coming? Yes, he must have done. Perhaps he had even now asked her to marry him. The thought crucified her; she could not continue for the raw feeling at the back of her throat.

  ‘He’ll have to think of marriage one day,’ Steve was saying, ‘but I always imagined his choosing a sweet little innocent, someone docile, too, whom he can domineer over—the way he domineers over you at times, if you know what I mean?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said bleakly, aware that she would give ten years of her life if Luke were here to domineer over her. ‘Yes, I do know what you mean.’

  ‘Clarice has something, though. She’s very beautiful, so Greta tells me.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘And Luke’s always had an eye for beauty.’

  She sighed and said, ‘I really rang because I wanted to speak to Arthur. Is he in?’

  ‘He’s in his study. I’ll tell him you’re on the line.’ He went off without saying good-bye. Christine pressed her lips together. She felt like an outcast whom nobody had any time for.

  Arthur, though, might show some affection for her, she thought optimistically, for he knew now that she hadn’t come between Steve and Greta after all.

  ‘Hello,’ he said quite affably and Christine’s spirits lifted a little. ‘How are you, dear?’

  ‘Fine—well, not really, Father. You see . . .’ almost without her own volition words came tumbling forth as she bared her heart to him. ‘So I’ve lost him,’ she added finally, ‘and all through my own foolishness.’

  ‘Lost him? But are you saying he might have fallen in love with you?’

  ‘He could have, yes.’

  ‘Luke’s been a father figure towards you far too long, my dear. If and when he marries, he’ll want someone new and exciting—yes, if you know Luke! He’s far too familiar with you, too used to your ways. Besides, he looks upon you as a mere child. No, Christine, you haven’t lost Luke—not in that way, because you never had him. However, you’ll not have lost his affection either. I guess he’ll always be protective towards you even when he’s married to someone else.’

  She said chokingly, ‘He’s in Miami at this moment— with Clarice. Greta saw them.’

  ‘Greta?’ A small pause followed. ‘You’ve been talking to Greta?’ he added in bewilderment and surprise. ‘She phoned you from Miami?’

  ‘No, but I’ve been speaking to Steve just now and he told me.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course.’

  ‘Luke won’t be home for my birthday,’ she just had to say.

  ‘Your birthday? When is it?’

  ‘The day after tomorrow.’ So he had forgotten her birthday—for the very first time.

  ‘Oh, well—I haven’t sent you anything. I’ll post you a cheque today, Christine.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she returned dully. And then after a long pause during which she wondered if he were still there, ‘If I come over will you take me out to dinner, Father?’ She didn’t quite know the reason for that question because under the present circumstances she had no wish at all to return to Cassia Lodge. ‘You’re back there altogether now, I take it?’

  ‘I’m selling the business—in fact, it’s practically settled already and the prospective buyer’s only waiting for the bank to advance the loan. Then I’m going to live with my sister, as I’ve already told you. I shall be putting Cassia Lodge up for sale any day now.’ He sounded a trifle impatient, she thought and bit her lip. Arthur didn’t want her even for a short visit.

  Yet she said persistently, ‘If I flew over to Pirates’ Cay today or tomorrow, you could take me out to dinner on my birthday, just like you always did.’ Why was she going on like this? She couldn’t go over to Cassia Lodge and meet Greta and Steve, not after all that had happened.

  The small pause told her all she wanted to know even before Arthur spoke. ‘I shan’t be here, Christine. I’m sorry. You see, I’ve already made arrangements to dine with friends.’

  ‘I see. . . Her desolation was almost physical, for even though she would not have gone over to Pirates’ Cay the fact that she was not wanted there hurt unbearably. ‘Well, I expect you’re busy so I’ll say good-bye.’

  ‘Good-bye, dear. Have a nice birthday. I’ll not forget the cheque,’ he added as an afterthought.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said briefly.

  ‘I’m sorry for sending you away, dear, but I was upset by so many things all at once.’

  ‘I understand. Luke explained—’

  ‘He did? But Luke would, of course. Such a dependable guy, Christine. He’ll take good care of you. I expect you’ll get a job after all?’

  ‘I hope to get one, yes.’

  ‘Well, don’t go too far from Luke. You know how you’ve always leant on him.’ A fleeting pause and then, ‘I really must go, dear. Ring me again sometime.’

  Sometime . . .

  As she was at this moment she felt she would never ring him again as long as she lived.

  It was half past seven in the evening when Christine, sitting by the pool with an unopened book in her lap, heard voices and suddenly stiffened. Luke—and Clarice! He had brought her back here with him. Christine stood up and the book fell at her feet. She wondered if she were as pale as she felt and wished the patio lights were a little less bright. Automatically she reached for a switch and tried it. All the white lights went off, leaving the amber ones which were suspended from branches of tall pines, the natural vegetation of the island.

  Dusk had fallen swiftly while she had been sittin
g there but she had scarcely noticed. No though, the sky had taken on that mother-of-pearl aspect which fleetingly reigns supreme before the onset of night spreads its spangled mauve colour that rapidly changes to deep purple. It could have been magical, she thought. Christine’s ears were alert to catch any words she could.

  ‘Yes, sir, she’s on the patio.’

  She wanted to shrink to nothingness but instead she was able to step forward as Luke came out through the window after he had drawn back the fly netting. He stood there a moment, looking at her, and she realised that now she was seeing him in a very different light, seeing him as the man she loved rather than the man she had leant upon for so many years. She felt the presence of flutterings within her, the stirring of mind and nerves and heart; she was profoundly aware of his vitality and strength, of the powerful draw of his magnetism, and with a little shock of disbelief she realised that this knowledge of his attraction as a man had been with her for some time. But it had lain hidden away, wrapped in the veil of her subconscious.

  ‘Hello, Christine,’ he greeted her impassively at last. ‘Have you had a nice day?’ The thread of satire hurt as cruelly as he meant it to.

  ‘It hasn’t been so bad. And you?’ She glanced past him to where Clarice seemed to be giving orders to Anna about a suitcase, and she wondered how long the girl was staying.

  ‘Very pleasant, thank you.’

  ‘Anna said you’d left a message to say you might be away a week.’ She was all confusion, with the memory Of last night’s intimacy superimposed on everything else.

  ‘I changed my mind.’ His abruptness only served to increase her discomfiture.

  ‘I phoned Arthur,’ she said feebly. ‘I wanted to go back.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He didn’t want me.’ She looked down at her feet, wishing she had moved away when she first heard the voices, moved into the enfolding gloom of the more wooded part of the garden.

  ‘I asked you not to judge him too hard.’

  She nodded her head. ‘He was sorry for sending me away.’