by Anne Mather
‘That I ordered Jeff to leave with his mother?’ His face grew cold and withdrawn. ‘Yes, it’s true. And I’d do the same again, in similar circumstances.’
Sara shook her head. ‘You can’t mean that!’
‘Can’t I?’ His lips twisted. ‘Well, I’m afraid I do. You don’t understand, do you?’
She frowned. ‘But surely you know what it did to Jeff!’
‘What it did to Jeff?’ Lincoln snorted. ‘I know what it did to me!’
Sara blinked. There was something she was missing here. ‘But then why——?’
‘It’s a long story,’ he interrupted her harshly. ‘And not one I chose to tell you right now. The decision’s yours. Either you stay or you don’t. It’s up to you. I’m not baring my soul to persuade you!’
The next few days were not easy ones for Sara. She was caught in a trap of her own making, and although common sense adjured her to leave, emotion compelled her to stay. And it was not just the feelings she had for Lincoln that made her choice so difficult. She had grown genuinely fond of his son, and the idea of leaving Jeff to turn in even more upon himself did not bear thinking about.
But it wasn’t easy going on as before when she discovered Lincoln had decided to stay for a few days. ‘I guess Becca got her own way, after all,’ Grant commented to Sara, when he learned what was happening. ‘But hell, there’s no reason why Link shouldn’t take a break. He’s got some good men working for him. It’s time he learned to delegate.’
For her part, Sara tried to avoid conversations about her employer. And he was still her employer, in spite of what had happened. She also did her best to avoid both him and Rebecca, and she was most at ease when Lincoln took his guest away from the island.
Breakfasts were no problem, of course. She had taken to having a tray in her room, and her mornings spent with Jeff were free of any outside influence. Lunch these days was usually a buffet, provided, so Grant told her, for Lincoln’s benefit, enabling him to eat when he chose. Lincoln apparently worked mornings in his study, and Sara managed to snatch a sandwich or a salad without encountering any awkward moments.
But afternoons were not so uncomplicated. Sara, who had been accustomed to spending the hottest part of the day by the pool, couldn’t always find excuses to keep herself indoors, and Grant would have got suspicious if she had shunned the sun completely.
All the same, it was incredibly difficult for her to appear quiescent when Lincoln was stretched out on a cushioned lounger only feet away. Particularly as Rebecca took every opportunity to display her prior claim. She was constantly flirting with him, or touching him, or drawing his attention to her, and Sara drew hot and angry at the thought that he knew she could hear them.
Yet, in spite of everything, she stayed on, numbing her mind to the kind of relationship Lincoln might be sharing with Rebecca, and concentrating her efforts on his son. The most important thing was proving to Jeff that people cared about him. And at least his father’s continued presence meant that he spent more time with the boy.
Then one morning, towards the end of the week Lincoln had spent at Orchid Key, she arrived at Jeff’s apartments to find Keating was not in attendance. It was most unusual. He invariably let her into the suite, and she was surprised when she found the outer door open and no one about. For an awful moment she wondered if Jeff had had a relapse in the night and been rushed into hospital, but then she heard voices from the bedroom and realised Keating must be with him. Crossing the sitting room, she tapped lightly at the bedroom door, only to be momentarily struck speechless when Lincoln opened the door.
‘Come in,’ he said, stepping back to allow her to enter, and because she could hardly refuse him, she found herself doing as he said.
But it was hard to speak to Jeff with his father at her side. Heavens, it was hard enough to look at him, when her eyes were continually drawn to the dark-clad figure at the end of the bed. It was the first time he had worn a dark suit since he came here, and she was painfully persuaded he had come to say goodbye.
Jeff, meanwhile, was regarding the two of them with watchful attention. Propped on his pillows, his pale face almost a match for the crisp white cotton, the contrast between him and his father had never been more marked, and ignoring her own feelings, Sara felt her heart go out to him. In consequence, when Lincoln spoke to her and she was forced to look at him, her eyes were bright with accusation.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I said—I’d better get going,’ said Lincoln levelly, meeting her hostile gaze without resentment. ‘If you’ll both excuse me …’
‘You’re leaving?’
The indignant words were out before she could prevent them, and a line appeared between Lincoln’s brows. ‘I have to return to New York this morning, yes,’ he conceded politely, ‘I thought Grant might have told you. Rebecca is leaving with me.’
‘No. No, I didn’t know,’ said Sara tautly, and then, realising that Jeff’s interested gaze was upon them, she struggled to compose herself. ‘Well …’ she bared her teeth in the semblance of a smile, ‘I hope you have a safe journey.’
‘I would have told you myself, if I’d thought it would mean anything to you,’ said Lincoln in a low voice, and she wondered with some amazement if he had forgotten his son was listening. ‘I have to attend a board meeting this afternoon,’ he added, apparently indifferent to her signals. ‘And unfortunately it’s not something I can lay off on anyone else.’
‘What a shame!’ she sympathised, her eyes darting pointedly from his face to the bed and back again. ‘Well, I’m sure we don’t envy you having to go back where it’s cold and damp, do we, Jeff? I—er—I saw the weather forecast on television last night, and I believe they said the temperature was something like minus three degrees.’
‘It doesn’t make much difference to me,’ remarked Jeff without emotion, but his eyes belied his bored expression. For the first time in days, he was actually showing some interest in something, Sara realised anxiously. But what he was thinking, and how it might affect him, was just another worry to add to all the rest.
‘You’ll be—all right, won’t you?’ Lincoln asked now, and Sara drew a steadying breath.
‘I’m sure Jeff is going to be just fine,’ she said, deliberately misinterpreting his words. ‘Er—say goodbye to Miss Steinbeck for me, will you? I don’t think I’ll have a chance to see her before you——’
‘I don’t think he means me, Sara,’ drawled Jeff, at her elbow. He had levered himself up on to his arms and was regarding her now with malicious enjoyment. ‘Why don’t you tell the man to get lost? Or would you like me to do it for you?’
‘Just keep out, Jeff, will you?’ exclaimed Sara revealingly. And then, turning to Lincoln, she spread her hands. ‘I think you should go, Mr Korda. I don’t think this conversation is getting us anywhere.’
Lincoln’s lean features hardened. ‘If you say so.’ He looked at his son for a long moment, and then walked towards the door. ‘Okay.’ He rested one hand against the side of the door. ‘I’ll see you two later.’
He let the door swing to behind him, and feeling the need to ascertain that he had actually gone, Sara went to close it. Then, turning, she rested her shoulders against the panels.
‘You enjoyed that, didn’t you?’ she demanded, losing her temper with her charge for the first time since their initial encounter, and Jeff slumped back against the pillows.
‘Why not?’ he countered, adopting a defiant tone. ‘It’s not my fault if he fancies you. You should have let me tell him to——’
‘Don’t say it!’ She thrust herself away from the door and came towards the bed. ‘You know nothing about me or your father, and I should have thought you were a little old to play stupid childish games!’
Jeff scowled. ‘I noticed you don’t deny it.’
‘Deny what?’
‘That the old man fancies you!’
‘He’s not an old man,’ said Sara automatically, and then wished sh
e hadn’t when he crowed in triumph.
‘You see,’ he sneered, ‘you can’t deny it. I saw the way you looked at him. I may be stupid, but I’m not blind!’
Sara’s hands clenched. ‘You like hurting people, don’t you? she exclaimed. ‘That’s how you get your kicks. I should have realised. We were getting along too well before, weren’t we? When you had that little mishap, it must have pleased you no end. At last you could blame someone else for your own ineptitude!’
‘That’s not true!’
He was defensive, but she had no sympathy for him. ‘It is true. That’s why you’ve let me come here every day, trying every way I knew to get you to show some interest in living again. It wasn’t good enough to send me away. There wasn’t any fun in that. No, you had to have me sitting here, making amends, feeling guilty, giving you a fillip every time I opened my mouth!’
‘No——’
‘No?’ Her lip curled now. ‘But you’ve just proved it. The way you treated your father just now. The way you speak about him makes me sick! He could tear you into strips if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. He’s trying, if you could but see it, to make amends for the past. He loves you. He wants to be your friend. And all you do is feel sorry for yourself.’
‘Whose fault is that?’ muttered Jeff sulkily, and Sara heaved a sigh.
‘I suppose there are faults on both sides,’ she admitted wearily, realising it was the first time she had acknowledged that there might be another side. ‘But you make everything harder. Not only for him, but for yourself.’
He hesitated. ‘Have you ever met my mother?’
‘No.’ She felt her colour rising. ‘What has that to do with anything?’
‘You don’t know her, then?’
‘No. How could I?’
Jeff shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I just wondered.’ He paused. ‘How long have you known Dad?’
He had not called his father ‘Dad’ before, and Sara was almost afraid to answer him, in case she said the wrong thing. ‘Oh, just since I came here,’ she answered cautiously. ‘Why? What does it matter?’
‘So you’ve never talked with him—really talked with him, I mean?’
‘About what?’
‘About me. About my mother.’
Sara shook her head. ‘No. I’ve told you, it’s——’
Jeff nodded. ‘I didn’t blame him, you know,’ he broke in ruefully. ‘Not at first anyway. I suppose I didn’t really understand what was happening to begin with, but even when I did, I didn’t blame him. Michelle’s not the constant type—I could see that. What I couldn’t see was why he blamed me as well! What did I do? Why did he turn against me?’
Sara felt the remaining vestiges of her anger drain out of her. That was a question she couldn’t answer, and like Jeff, she couldn’t understand it either.
‘Who knows?’ she said now, not making the mistake of lying to him. ‘I expect he had his reasons. But you’re here now; isn’t that what matters? When you really needed him, he came through.’
Jeff didn’t answer her. He seemed lost in thought. But Sara had a curious feeling that the morning had not been wasted after all. She was almost inclined to believe their argument had cemented the cracks in their relationship, and she felt distinctly brighter when she went down for lunch.
The next morning, she had another surprise waiting for her when she arrived at Jeff’s apartments. The wheelchair, which she had previously seen on the patio downstairs, was standing in the middle of Jeff’s sitting room, and she gazed at it disbelieving when Keating let her in.
‘He asked for it to be brought upstairs,’ said Keating shortly, when she cast an incredulous look in his direction. ‘Don’t ask me why. It’s nothing to do with me.’
Shaking her head, Sara let herself into the bedroom, only to stand and stare at the sight of Jeff, sitting on the side of the bed, trying to haul a knitted jersey over his head. His pyjamas had been discarded, and a pair of jeans and a cotton tee-shirt had taken their place. And presently, he was endeavouring to push his arms into the sleeve of a cashmere sweater.
In spite of her excitement, she was half afraid to move in case he noticed her intrusion and took exception to it. But a moment later he looked up and saw her, and a becoming wave of colour swept up his cheeks. ‘Well,’ he growled, ‘don’t just stand there—come and help me! Keating is no good. He fusses over me like I’m a baby!’
‘And whose fault is that?’ enquired Sara drily, coming to perch on the side of the bed and guide his arm into the sleeve. ‘There. I bet that feels good, doesn’t it? You know, I didn’t realise how handsome you are until now.’
‘Rubbish!’ he muttered, but she could tell he was flattered. Besides, it was true. The sweater and jeans gave substance to his wasted frame, and without the bony hollows in his neck to detract from his lean features, he definitely stood a second glance.
‘Did you send for the wheelchair?’ Sara ventured, feeling her way, though she guessed it was not something Keating would have done alone, and Jeff nodded. ‘So,’ she smiled, ‘what’s the action?’
‘The action?’ He grimaced. ‘Something tells me I’m going to be exhausted by the time I get into the chair. But I might get a chance to try and move it. Even if it is just around the room.’
She bit her lip. ‘I could wheel you down——’
‘No!’
‘No?’ She swallowed. ‘I’m sorry, I thought——’
‘I know what you thought.’ Jeff spoke abruptly, but then he sighed. ‘Look, I know you mean well, Sara, and I’m grateful to you honestly. For—for everything. But I have to do this my way. I don’t want anybody wheeling me around. I want to wheel myself.’
‘All right.’ She stood up. ‘So—shall I get Keating?’
‘What for?’
She faltered. ‘To—to help you into the chair, of course!’ she murmured, and he smiled.
‘Just get the chair, will you?’ he requested gently, and ignoring Keating’s disapproving gaze, Sara did as he suggested.
It was nerve-stretching watching Jeff’s efforts to lever himself into the wheelchair. To begin with, he forgot to put the brake on, and when he tried to use the arm as a crutch, it moved away from him. Sara felt as if it was her fault the chair had moved, causing him to teeter for an awful moment between chair and bed. She should have put the brake on for him, she realised, but when she stared forward, his expression drove her back.
The second time, he made sure the brake was secure, and this time his attempt to use the chair as a support was more successful. But it still took a tremendous effort of will to shift his useless legs off the bed, and she had to steel herself to remain motionless when she desperately wanted to help.
‘Would you rather I left you alone?’ she asked once, and Jeff paused in his manoeuvrings and regarded her, red-faced.
‘I guess you’d like to get the hell out of here, wouldn’t you?’ he countered, and Sara didn’t bother to deny it. ‘Anyway, I’d prefer you to stay,’ he added, resuming the rocking motion which he hoped would eventually enable him to swing out into the seat. ‘If you go, Keating will come back, and right now I need encouragement, not his procrastination.’
He succeeded in levering himself into the wheelchair a few minutes later. Even so, there was a heart-stopping moment when Sara thought his efforts would come to grief. The weight of his body on his arms seemed almost too great for the weakened muscles to handle, and for what seemed an inordinately long period of time, but which was probably only a few seconds, he looked as if he was going to end up on the floor. But then, controlling his wobbling arms, he threw himself forward, and much to her relief—and his, no doubt—he lodged on the edge of the seat.
‘I made it!’ he muttered unsteadily, and then, more confidently: ‘I made it!’ and unable to resist the temptation, Sara ran to give him a swift hug.
‘Yes, you made it!’ she exclaimed, feeling a swelling of emotion in her throat. ‘Oh, Jeff, I’m so pleased for you! And this is only th
e beginning.’
‘Is everything all right here?’
Keating’s voice from the doorway brought Sara up with a start. Wiping a surreptitious tear from her cheek, she turned to face the man, guessing as she did so that he had never been in any doubt. He just wanted to know what was going on, she bridled, but almost immediately she stifled her resentment. It was only natural that Keating should be concerned, she told herself reasonably. He had been looking after Jeff ever since the accident, and he was bound to be apprehensive when something so arbitrary was taking place. All the same, she wished he had knocked before opening the door. Although she had only been hugging Jeff, Keating’s air of disapproval made her feel as if she had been caught in some illicit act.
‘Everything’s fine,’ Jeff answered him now, his hands groping for the brake and releasing the wheels. ‘How’s that?’ he asked breathlessly, rolling the chair across the carpet. ‘Step out of the way, will you? I want to go into the next room.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
IN the days that followed, any lingering doubts Sara had had concerning her justification in being here were dispelled. If nothing else, she had been instrumental in getting Jeff to leave his bed, and Doctor Haswell was lavish in the praise he bestowed upon her.
‘You know, I always thought Antony Korda was a bit of a poseur,’ he told her ruefully, ‘but I’ve been forced to revise my opinion. Sending you out here was an inspiration! I must remember to shake his hand, next time his camera brings him Stateside!’
Keating was predictably less enthusiastic, although he evidently approved of his patient’s change of attitude. Sara guessed what galled him most was her involvement in Jeff’s improvement. He still resented her intervention, and the fact that Lincoln had taken her side.
Of Lincoln himself there was no word. Doctor Haswell had wanted to ring Jeff’s father and tell him how his son was progressing, but Jeff had asked him not to. ‘What’s to tell?’ he had argued, when Sara had suggested his father should be told. ‘I can sit in a wheelchair! So what’s new? Wait until I’ve gotten used to getting in and out of it. There’s no point in making a fuss over something so trivial.’
