by Anne Mather
Sara decided there was no point in pursuing the topic. Besides, if she was honest, she had to admit she had no desire to precipitate Lincoln’s return to the island. His presence created too great a disturbance in her life, and so long as he wasn’t here, she didn’t have to think about him.
Of course she did. Most particularly when she went to bed at night. It was impossible to slide between the sheets without thinking about Lincoln’s lean muscled body next to her own, and the treacherous emotions he had made her feel could not so easily be dismissed. Sometimes the memories caused her breasts to harden, and an actual physical ache throbbed between her legs. On those occasions, it was incredibly difficult to sleep at all, and in the morning she could see revealing little smudges beneath her eyes.
But luckily, during the day, Jeff’s activities submerged all other feelings. Much to Keating’s—and, she was sure, Grant’s—chagrin, Jeff soon got bored with staying indoors. Once he was up, once the shades were lifted, he embraced his freedom with both hands, and Sara was beside him when he went downstairs for the first time.
Nevertheless, Sara did have some bad moments when Jeff wheeled himself out on to the sun-drenched patio. In spite of the progress that he had made, she wasn’t at all sure how he would react to this new environment, and she remained in the shadow of the balcony as he took his first breaths of salt-laden air.
And then he turned and looked over his shoulder, and she knew it was going to be all right. ‘It’s a long time since I looked at this view,’ he said, beckoning her towards him. ‘Almost twelve years, to be exact. Amazingly enough, it hasn’t changed.’
Sara expelled her breath, unaware until then that she had been holding it. ‘Did you think it would?’ she ventured softly, and he cast her a rueful glance.
‘I was afraid it might,’ he admitted, resting his elbows on the arms of the wheelchair. ‘So much else has. I guess it didn’t seem conceivable that this place would stay the same. I used to love it here. That’s why I shut myself away upstairs. I didn’t want to remember, I just wanted to forget.’
‘And now?’
‘Now?’ he grimaced. ‘Now, I’ve got to remember, haven’t I? Haswell says the only way to cope with the present is to accept the past. It happened. I can’t change it. All I can hope to change is the future.
With Christmas only a couple of weeks away, Sara had a letter from Vicki. She had eventually written to her friend, explaining what was going on, but apart from a card, sent during a modelling assignment in Paris, Vicki had not replied. Now, however, she wrote to say that she hoped Sara didn’t mind, but she was going away for the festive season. ‘I’m spending Christmas in a château in the Loire valley!’ she explained, emphasising her words with underlinings and exclamation marks. ‘Believe it or not, but I’m staying with a real-life French count! And not an impoverished one either! His family have vineyards; acres of them, or is it hectares? Anyway, he wants me to meet his parents, so maybe this is it? I’m holding my breath!’
Sara had to smile. Vicki wrote as she spoke, and Sara could sense the other girl’s excitement. And why not? she reflected ruefully. Christmas at a French château sounded incredibly romantic. Maybe Vicki was serious this time. It certainly sounded as if she was. But she couldn’t help thinking how much she would miss her if Vicki went to live in France.
Jeff had become a regular occupant of the patio, and he and Sara spent most mornings there now, instead of in the artificial coolness of his apartments. She had even persuaded him to use a cushioned lounge chair to sunbathe, instead of his wheelchair, though so far he had resisted her efforts to get him to wear shorts. She knew he was self-conscious about his legs, and didn’t press him. But sometimes she sensed his raw frustration when the sun became too hot.
Then, one morning, returning from a stroll along the beach before breakfast, she heard the sound of someone in the pool. For a moment, the sight of that slick wet head reminded her of the time she had mistaken Lincoln’s dark colouring for Jeff’s. But this time she didn’t jump to that conclusion. Instead she sauntered across the patio area, steeling herself for the encounter, only to gaze disbelievingly into Jeff’s excited face.
‘Hi,’ he greeted her breathlessly, clinging to the side of the pool with his arms along the rim. ‘Surprise, surprise!’
Sara shook her head. ‘What are you doing?’
‘What does it look like I’m doing? I’ve been swimming, of course.’ He pulled a face. ‘Well, kind of,’ he amended. ‘But it feels pretty good.’
‘Oh, Jeff!’ She squatted down on her haunches beside him and shook her head. ‘That’s marvellous! Marvellous! I don’t know what to say!’
‘How about—I told you so?’ he suggested drily. ‘You knew that sooner or later I’d have to take my clothes off!’
‘But how did you——?’
‘Believe it or not, Keating’s been helping me,’ Jeff admitted. ‘This is my third swim, actually. But I wanted to be more proficient before asking you to join me.’
Sara expelled a trembling breath. ‘And it feels good?’
‘Bloody good!’ he assured her firmly, and then, pushing himself away from the side, he floated lazily out into the middle of the pool. ‘Aren’t I clever?’ he demanded and she nodded. ‘I guess when Christmas is over, I might let Haswell fix up some therapy, too. What the hell! What have I got to lose?’
And, in the days that followed, Sara was reminded of the realisation that once one set a snowball rolling, it quickly became an avalanche. She was delighted with his progress, of course. How could she not be, when everything she had ever hoped for Jeff was coming true? But she couldn’t deny the troubling sensation that time was running away with her, and that every advance he made was one step nearer her own departure.
A week before Christmas, she prevailed upon Grant to take her across to the mainland, so that she could buy some cards for her friends back home, and a few small gifts. She bought a silk scarf for Grant, and a tie for Keating, and after some consideration, some cassette tapes for Jeff and a personal hi-fi on which to play them. The shops in Cypress Beach were expensively dressed in festive garb, but Sara felt a faint nostalgia for cold weather and a touch of snow. It didn’t seem the same, shopping in a chemise dress and strappy sandals. Or maybe it was just her present mood.
When Grant spoke to Lincoln that evening, he asked to speak to her. Grant came to find her as she was changing for her evening swim, and she knew a sense of unease as she wrapped a robe about her bikini-clad body.
‘What does he want?’ she asked Grant, as he escorted her downstairs, and the man shrugged.
‘Who knows?’ he countered, leaving her at the study door. ‘If he wants me again, I’ll be outside. Don’t look so worried. He probably wants to congratulate you.’
She closed the study door behind her before picking up the phone. ‘Yes?’
‘Sara?’
‘Yes.’ She moistened her lips. ‘You wanted me?’
‘That’s a leading question,’ said Lincoln flatly, and then, before she could retaliate, he added: ‘I wanted to know if you’d any plans for Christmas. I mean, if you want to go back to England for the holiday, I shall quite understand.
Her stomach hollowed. ‘I—er—I hadn’t thought——’ she stammered helplessly. ‘If that’s what you want——’
‘What I want doesn’t come into it,’ Lincoln broke in quietly. ‘I just thought I ought to broach the subject with you. Your staying at Orchid Key has been pretty much taken for granted. But I realise you may have other commitments.’
Sara tried to think. What did he mean? Was this a polite way of asking her to leave? In spite of her earlier nostalgia, the idea of going back to London had never seemed less appealing, and with Vicki spending the holiday in France, the flat would be cold and uninviting.
‘Will you—I mean, do you intend—that is, would you rather I went back to England?’ she ventured. ‘I suppose, if you’re going to be here …’
‘… you’d rat
her not,’ he finished for her grimly. ‘I quite understand.’
Sara caught her breath. ‘That wasn’t what I was going to say.’
‘No?’ he sounded sceptical.
‘No.’ She paused. ‘I just thought—if you were bringing some friends—or family——’
‘What family?’ Lincoln sounded bleak. ‘My brother, as you know, lives and works in London. I have no other close relatives. And my wife—my ex-wife—has just informed me she’s getting married again.’
‘Oh!’ Sara swallowed. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why? Because you think it may upset Jeff?’
‘No! That is—well, I don’t know how Jeff will take it. I just meant——’
‘You surely didn’t think it might upset me?’ he exclaimed impatiently. ‘Sara, all it means to me is that I shall no longer have to pay an extortionate amount of alimony! Anything else is quite out of the question. I thought you knew that.’
‘Yes.’ Sara nodded. But she still had doubts. He must have loved Michelle once, or why had he married her?
‘Anyway,’ he continued now, his low attractive voice lifting the hairs on the back of her neck, ‘it might be as well to warn Jeff. Michelle might just decide to introduce his new stepfather to him.’
‘Here?’ Sara could hear the way her voice had risen.
‘It’s possible,’ Lincoln said laconically. ‘You don’t sound enthusiastic.’
‘I’m not,’ Sara admitted honestly.
‘Can I ask why?’
‘Well …’ she lifted her shoulders, ‘she hasn’t shown any interest in Jeff’s condition for the past six months, has she?’
‘Nor did I—for twelve years,’ he reminded her drily.
‘That—that was different.’
‘How?’
‘Oh …’ Sara sighed, ‘he was healthy then. I suppose—I suppose he didn’t really need you. But after the accident, when he did need you—you where there.’
‘That wasn’t why,’ said Lincoln quietly, and she frowned.
‘What do you mean?’
‘What I say. The accident—brought us together. But only indirectly.’
She was confused. ‘But I thought …’
‘I know what you thought.’
She wetted her lips. ‘And you’re not going to tell me about it.’
‘Not now,’ he conceded flatly. ‘So—let’s talk about why I rang, hmm? First of all, I’d like you to spend Christmas on the island, if you have no other plans. Okay?’ He paused. ‘And now, tell me about Jeff. I’ve spoken with Haswell, of course, and he’s kept me informed of his progress, but I want to hear it from you. Is it true that he can swim?’
‘I think Jeff hoped——’
‘—to keep it from me; I know,’ he sighed. ‘But surely you can understand how impossible that was. I’m responsible for him. I have to know his day-to-day development.’
Sara hesitated. ‘I think Jeff might find that hard to believe.’
The pregnant silence that followed this statement was eloquent of his feelings, and it was some time before he said tersely: ‘I thought we just covered that.’
She caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘I don’t believe we discussed Jeff’s feelings at all.’
‘Sara——’
‘Well, it’s true. Surely you must see that so much of Jeff’s progress is dependent on his psychological condition. Right now, he’s excited with his success. But when he has to face therapy, when he realises the barriers …’
She heard his indrawn breath. ‘And what do you think I can do?’
‘You could be there. You could share it with him. You need to talk to your son, Link. Sooner or later, you’ve got to.’
‘And how am I supposed to do that? Jeff doesn’t want to talk to me.’
‘Well, that’s because——’
‘Because what?’
‘Because—because he doesn’t understand about—about you and Michelle.’
‘Do you think he could?’
‘I think so.’
‘What faith you have!’ he jeered sardonically.
‘Well …’ Sara refused to be deterred, ‘there are always two sides to every situation.’
‘I’m flattered!’
‘If you’d stop being so sarcastic, you might learn something,’ she exclaimed impulsively, and then her shoulders sagged in helpless frustration. ‘Oh, what’s the use? You won’t——’
‘What makes you think Jeff would listen to my—side, as you put it?’ Lincoln interposed harshly. ‘Twelve years is a long time out of anybody’s life. I know.’
‘You could try,’ she insisted huskily. ‘Will you?’
‘And we’ll all live happily ever after!’ muttered Lincoln, with bitter irony. ‘Okay, Sara, I’ll see you on Christmas Eve. Until then—take care, mmm?’
The days to Christmas seemed to drag, and Sara knew it was because she was counting the hours until she would see Lincoln again. It was crazy, she knew. Their conversation had done nothing to solve her uncertainties about their relationship. But they had communicated about Jeff, and she wanted desperately for them to be friends again.
Jeff himself was getting stronger all the time. Doctor Haswell said that swimming was a therapy, and every day Jeff spent a little longer in the pool. The sun, too, was playing its part, and he had lost that pale and pallid complexion. Only the thinness of his legs betrayed his condition, and they had strengthened in the warm healing water.
Because he was stronger, Jeff now joined Sara and Grant for dinner most evenings. He even watched Sara sometimes, when she went for her nightly swim. With Grant’s assistance, she had arranged for a ramp to enable Jeff to wheel himself down on to the beach, and although the sand made movement hazardous, he enjoyed the small freedom. She guessed it was only a matter of time before he suggested joining her, but she didn’t know how he would fare in the rougher waters of the ocean.
That was something his father could decide, she thought with some satisfaction, the evening before Lincoln was due to arrive. As she plunged into the waves, she felt distinctly more optimistic for the future, and she felt sure that if Lincoln and his son could communicate, half Jeff’s problems would be over. She was still no nearer to understanding what had gone wrong between them, but she was convinced that time was all they needed.
About a quarter of a mile out from shore, she turned on to her back and allowed herself to drift with the tide. It was so good to feel the heat of the day seeping from her body. It had been a humid afternoon, and she was not surprised to see purplish clouds massing on the horizon. Cora had warned that the weather might be stormy the following day, and Sara hoped urgently that it would not delay Lincoln’s arrival. The plane he used seemed so small to combat the elements. Yet Grant had told her that it was just as stable as some of the bigger jets.
All the same, the weather in New York had been wintry. Low temperatures, and a biting wind, had produced a flurry of accidents, and on the nightly news Sara had seen a handful of cars that had been overturned. It had made her wish he was here already, and that the hazards of the journey could be behind him.
She was beginning to feel cold, as much with her thoughts as with the temperature of the water, she believed, but all the same, it was time to get back. She wanted to give herself time to shower before dinner, and she planned to do her nails before meeting Lincoln tomorrow.
However, when she pushed herself upright and looked about her, she saw she was much farther out than she had intended. The stronger current had swept her beyond her normal limit, and although she wasn’t frightened, it was a little daunting to face such a long swim back.
Still, she could see the beach in the half light, and if she was not mistaken, Jeff was sitting in his chair waiting for her. It was somewhat reassuring, knowing he was there, watching her. He might not be able to offer her any assistance, should she need it, but at least he could call for help if he saw she was in difficulties.
She sighed. Now why had she th
ought of that? she wondered impatiently. She had been swimming every night for weeks, without the slightest need for anyone’s assistance. So why should she need assistance now? She was being foolish; and unnecessarily pessimistic. Just because she was feeling the cold, for once, there was no reason to believe she was going to get into difficulties.
All the same, she swam back towards the shore with more enthusiasm than she usually experienced. She knew she was eager to get back to the beach again, and the abrasive rub of a dry towel. She couldn’t wait to feel the enveloping warmth of a sweater about her shoulders, and the prospect of a hot shower before dinner had never seemed so attractive.
The pain in her calf struck when she was still about a hundred yards from the shore. She had had cramp before, but never so violently, and the initial shock sent her floundering. Her nose and mouth filled with water, and the sudden shortage of air caused a tight constriction in her lungs. For a brief period she was actually under the water, and the thundering in her ears made her head ache.
She fought back to the surface, gulping as her lungs filled and the spasm receded. Dear God! she thought, struggling to remain calm, at least the pain had gone. But the leg still felt weak, and she had the horrible suspicion that if she used it again, the spasm would return.
It was about this time that she became aware that someone was calling to her. She thought she must have been listening to the sound for some time before it registered, but when it did, she looked towards the shore and saw Jeff waving at her.
‘Are—you—o—kay?’ he shouted, his voice almost carried away by the wind, and Sara knew a momentary fear. How soon could Jeff get help to her if she started to flounder? she wondered. In five minutes? Ten? Longer? How long could she stay afloat with that crippling gripe in her muscles? And what was the point of staying afloat if the tide simply carried her beyond their sight?
Such thoughts were foolish, but it was remarkably difficult to feel optimistic in her present plight. Without wasting her strength by replying to Jeff, she merely gave him a reassuring wave in answer. ‘I’m okay,’ she said, if only to prop up her own spirits, and refusing to give in to panic, she started to swim again.
