Swansea Destiny

by Fayrene Preston

  She sighed and once more scanned the crowded pond. The seal, sable, chinchilla, and fox furs that the men and women on the pond wore had been dyed a myriad of fashionable colors and made her feel as if she were in a giant kaleidoscope. The crowd was gay and laughing. The scene would have been perfect if Jake were there. She wanted him to be there. She liked sparring with him. And Lord help her, she liked kissing him, flirting with the danger, knowing she had no intention of going further. The problem was, Jake had no intention of stopping with a little petting.

  Rubbing his hand over his face, Kenneth groaned. "Lord, I shouldn't even be here. I had trouble getting out of bed. What am I doing trying to ice-skate?"

  "You're out here to keep me company and fill your lungs with some of this marvelous fresh air," she said, frowning at the shadows beneath his eyes. How could she ever talk with him if, when he wasn't swoozled, he was so hung over he couldn't speak? "You're as pale as a ghost. The air will put color in your cheeks."

  "I could have opened a window."

  "But you wouldn't have been able to keep me company if you'd stayed in your bedroom. Quit complaining. Besides, it's your own fault you're feeling so bad. If you hadn't been so heavily into the hooch last night, you'd be full of pep."

  "Quit being a shrew, Bella. I laid off the giggle water after you brought me the coffee."

  She turned and skated backward in front of him, her brow pleated with concern. "Then why do you look like the wreck of the Hesperus? What's wrong, Kenneth?"

  "I say, is that hot buttered rum they're serving over there?"

  Her gaze followed his to the tables covered in crisp white linen that had been set up at the edge of the pond. Marlon was overseeing rows of silver chafing dishes and huge silver bowls of steaming liquid. Sheepskin-covered chairs and park benches rimmed the pond for guests to lounge in while they ate and rested. SwanSea's owner and staff certainly knew how to pamper people, Arabella thought.

  In the distance she could see the house basking in the sun, its shape a mammoth art-nouveau fan-shaped seashell. Where, she wondered, was SwanSea's master? Still sleeping? It hadn't been that many hours ago that he'd come to her room… "I'm sure they also have hot chocolate."

  He took her hand. "Let's go see."

  Jas was there, the tuxedo he had worn the night before showing beneath his overcoat. He was huddled in one of the chairs, sipping from a steaming bowl of soup. He brightened when he saw them. "Hello, Lindens." He placed the bowl aside, stood, and took Arabella's hand and kissed it. "My darling, you look entrancing this morning. Tell me, did I ask you to marry me last night?"

  "Yes, Jas, you did."

  "Good, I was hoping I did. Did you accept?"

  She smiled. "No."

  "As it turns out, that's terribly convenient. I have a date later to play tennis, and I'd hate to have to break it. But"—he held up a warning finger—"I'll ask you again."

  "I'll be waiting."

  He fixed his bloodshot eyes on her brother. "Kenneth old boy, you look like hell. What are you doing up so early?"

  Kenneth checked the watch on his wrist. "It's two o'clock in the afternoon, Jas."

  "Imagine that!" As if amazed, he glanced back at his soup. "I thought I was having breakfast. I must have lost track of time along the way. Poker game. You should have been there, Kenneth."

  Inside her fur muff Arabella unconsciously gripped her hands together.

  "I don't play cards for money anymore," Kenneth said easily, "but maybe later I'll be up for a game of bridge."

  Arabella's hands relaxed.

  Jas shook his head. "Count me out. I promised Julia Turngate a game of tennis. Jake has a swell indoor tennis court. Oh, look, that's Vanessa Martin standing over there with Jake. She's a real Sheba, isn't she? Great gams."

  At the mention of Jake's name, Arabella's head snapped around and she saw Jake, standing in almost the exact center of the pond. How could she have missed him? she wondered. The sunlight glinted off the snow and highlighted the healthy shine of his coal-black hair that was smoothed back from his forehead. He was wearing a sealskin overcoat with a sable collar dyed black, and he looked big, sleek, and excitingly mysterious. Draped over one arm he held a mink coat that obviously belonged to the breathtakingly lovely, raven-haired woman who slowly skated backward in a circle around him. She had a doll's face and a woman's body, and he was smiling at her in a way that spoke of long-time intimacy.

  Arabella felt a stab of pain, and it took no great mental calculation on her part to identify the pain as jealousy, though she couldn't remember experiencing the emotion before. Jake's attention span was definitely lousy, she thought sourly. Last night he had sent his date out the door so he could be with her. And now he was with yet a third woman.

  "You know, I think I've seen her in a couple of movies," Kenneth was saying to Jas.

  "Yeah, she's under contract with MGM. She started out in silents and made the switch to the talkies."

  Kenneth nodded. "Now I remember. She's really good."

  "She's getting bigger with each movie. Everyone says she's on the verge of becoming a full-fledged star."

  Kenneth and Jas had completely forgotten she was standing there, Arabella thought with an amusement greatly tempered by the sight of how at ease Jake and Vanessa seemed to be with each other. As she watched, he pulled her to a standstill and wrapped the mink around her. She remembered him wrapping a fur around her, then drawing her out onto the dark balcony and kissing her until… A shudder of heat raced through her, and she turned her back on Jake, Vanessa, and the still-chatting Kenneth and Jas. With determined cheerfulness she made her way to the refreshment table.

  "Marlon, tell me about the hot chocolate. Was it bootlegged in from abroad or is it the potent, local bathtub variety?"

  He permitted a small smile to touch his stern lips. "It's definitely local, Miss Linden, and one of our better choices today."

  "And the marshmallows? Would you recommend them also?"

  "I would say they would add exactly the right touch to your chocolate."

  "Well, in that case, I think I'll have a cup."

  He bowed slightly. "I will pour it for you myself, Miss Linden."

  She smiled at him, then in spite of herself let her gaze return to where she had last seen Jake. He was no longer there. But Vanessa had skated to a stop at the table a few feet from her.

  "Everything looks tops, Marlon," Vanessa said.

  "I'm glad you're pleased, Miss Martin."

  The familiarity and fondness in Marlon's voice as he spoke to Vanessa irritated Arabella. She studied Vanessa while Vanessa in turn studied the tables laden with food and drink. She hadn't seen any of the woman's movies, but she saw so few. Real life had always appealed to her much more than made-up stories about life.

  "Here is your chocolate, Miss Linden."

  She tore her gaze from the lovely Vanessa and accepted the chocolate from Marlon. "Thank you," she murmured.

  "I think I'll have some of everything," Vanessa suddenly said, her gaze still on the table. "I'm starving."

  Marlon bowed. "I'll be glad to prepare a plate for you. Shall I make up one for Mr. Deverell too?"

  Vanessa gave a careless shrug of her mink-clad shoulders. "It wouldn't do any good. You know he won't eat. Now, let's see. I'll have some of the prime rib and the corn pudding. And the lobster. It looks wonderful. Add just a little of the crab. And the potatoes Anna. Marlon, you're the absolute berries."

  "Thank you, Miss Martin."

  "What's that cream sauce? I should probably have some of that too."

  Admiring Vanessa's unrestrained appetite, Arabella took a seat on one of the benches, then grimaced when she saw Randolph Bruce approaching. A man of medium height and build, his brown hair was parted in the middle and its natural waves combed back on either side of his large oval face. He was the society reporter for one of Boston's leading newspapers, and Arabella had learned to tolerate him over the years. She braced herself for one of his quizzes and t
hen was surprised and relieved to discover she wasn't the object of his attention.

  "Playing hooky from the studio, Vanessa?"

  Vanessa sighed as she turned. "Hello, Randolph."

  "Happy New Year. I didn't get a chance to tell you last night."

  "Yes, it was a bit hectic." She sent Marlon a smile as she took a full plate from him, then glanced around and saw Arabella. "Do you mind if I sit here?" she asked her, indicating the opposite end of the bench with a motion of her hand.

  "Not at all. I'm Arabella Linden."

  Vanessa's hand jerked and her gaze turned cool. "Of course. I saw you come into the ballroom last night, but I didn't recognize you without your peacocks." She dropped down beside her. "I'm Vanessa Martin."

  She was even more beautiful close up, Arabella thought. Her raven hair was bobbed, her skin was like porcelain, and her eyes were the darkest of blues and held an expression that bespoke many years of living. They were old eyes, she realized. Vanessa Martin, who couldn't be any older than she, had old eyes.

  "Happy New Year, Arabella," Randolph said, having trailed Vanessa. "I saw your entrance last night. Congratulations. It was your best yet. I plan to give it a nice write-up."

  "I'm sorry to hear that."

  "Arabella, one of these days you're going to hurt my feelings. All your friends court me so I'll write about them. Everyone does except you. Lord, you wouldn't believe the things I've been promised."

  "I'm sorry, but I can't seem to do what other people do."

  "Ah-ha! And that's exactly what makes you so newsworthy. You're just like Jake." His gaze drifted to the opposite side of the pond, where Jake was standing.

  Arabella looked, too, and saw him with the man he'd been talking with the night before. They made interesting foils for each other, Jake with the tension that was so much a part of him, the other man more at ease with himself and his surroundings.

  "Jake is the, bar none, most colorful and fascinating person I've ever encountered," Randolph said admiringly. "Lucas tries to keep out of the limelight, but he's nothing short of the cat's meow himself. Right, Vanessa?"

  She forked a bite-size piece of lobster into her mouth and ignored him.

  Randolph let out a belly laugh. "But Jake—he makes even better print than you, Arabella. What are you doing here, by the way?"

  "I decided to take a break from skating and have some hot chocolate." She held up her cup. "You should get some. It's delicious."

  He rolled his eyes at her deliberate misinterpretation of his question. "Finding you on a bench isn't unexpected. Finding you on a bench at SwanSea is. Unless, of course"—his tone turned speculative—"you're Jake's newest girl."

  "I met him for the first time last night."

  "That doesn't mean a thing."

  Desperate to pull herself from a trap she could see closing around her, she nevertheless kept her head. "Really, Randolph, I don't know why you should be so surprised to find me out of Boston. I might live there, but I've never restricted myself to the city limits."

  He snapped his fingers. "Now I have it. Kenneth went to Harvard the same time as Jake, didn't he? Jake invited Kenneth and Kenneth invited you."

  She bent her head for a sip of hot chocolate, feeling relief that she and Jake wouldn't be sharing the headline of Randolph's next column. Up until this moment she had accepted her frequent presence in his column with a calm because she understood the part Randolph played in the life of society—sometimes greatly annoying, sometimes fun, columns like Randolph's were in essence an adulation and, generally speaking, harmless. And because nothing he had ever printed about her, whether it was true or untrue, had really been important to her, she'd never minded. But now the idea of having thousands of strangers read something that wasn't true about her and Jake made her shudder.

  Satisfied with his own explanation, Randolph turned back to Vanessa, who had been steadily eating.

  "You never answered my question. Are you playing hooky?"

  "You're screwy, Randolph. The studio knows exactly where I am."

  The wind ruffled his hair, picking up thick chunks on either side of his part and making it look as if his head had sprouted wings. "Oh? And if I telephoned them and mentioned I had seen you here, they wouldn't get upset?"

  The stare she gave him was without any visible emotion. "Do whatever you like, Randolph."

  He laughed. "Don't worry. I'm not going to call them. Why should I? I want you to become a star. You'll make much better print. At any rate, I've told you before, I think you ought to have Jake and Lucas buy you your own studio and then you wouldn't have to dance to Louis B. Mayer's tune." He tucked the ends of his silk muffler more neatly into his chesterfield. "Ladies, I'm sure I'll see you tonight at dinner."

  Vanessa returned to her plate of food and Arabella was left to deal with the questions careening through her mind. Vanessa had visibly cooled when she had told her who she was. Even now she was ignoring her. She glanced down at her nearly empty cup of hot chocolate. Maybe she should get up and leave, she thought. But why should she? There was nothing wrong with a good, healthy curiosity. "Are you a friend of Jake's, Vanessa?"

  Vanessa nodded and kept eating.

  "How long have you known him?"

  "A long time."

  "Where did you meet?"

  Vanessa set down her fork and turned her head to gaze at Arabella with the same expression she had given Randolph, one that gave away nothing of what she was thinking or feeling. It was an expression common to Jake, Arabella realized.

  "What exactly is it you want to know?" Vanessa asked.

  Why, Arabella wondered, was this woman so hostile toward her? "I'm curious about your relationship with Jake."

  "You said it yourself. We're friends."

  "Randolph mentioned a man named Lucas. Who is he?"

  "Another friend of Jake's."

  She was telling her nothing, Arabella thought, frustrated but still curious. "Have I done something to offend you, Vanessa?"

  "Nothing you could help."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "It's who you are—a rich and spoiled girl. I have trouble with your kind." She shrugged. "Nothing personal."

  "Vanessa, you're judging me without knowing me."

  "Is your family rich?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you only have to ask to get what you want, no matter what it might be?"

  Arabella paused, getting her first glimpse of herself as someone else might see her. "I gather your background is different."

  "I grew up in the North End. My name is not Martin. It's Martignetti."

  "Did you know Jake there?"

  "Oh, yes. He and Lucas both. Usually Irish didn't mix with Italians, but they made no distinction." Vanessa handed her empty plate to a passing footman. "Don't worry about what I think about you. Jake has had a lot of girlfriends over the years that I didn't like."

  As Vanessa had intended, the remark hurt Arabella. It wasn't her way to give hurt for hurt, but in this case she felt it would be a mistake to allow Vanessa to see her wither beneath her remark. "You know," she said, her tone thoughtful, "I'm sure I've seen some of the movies you were in. I just can't remember you. Silly of me, isn't it? But then, it's so difficult to keep track of all the bit players."

  One perfectly arched brow rose slightly, a salute to the well-executed parry. Then with a smile Vanessa rose and skated away, passing Jake on his way to Arabella.

  "Sleep well?" he asked, gracefully sliding to a stop in front of her.

  Did he do everything gracefully? she wondered. Even seduction? "Yes. Did you get any sleep?"

  "A few hours. Skate?" he asked, taking her hand.

  She grinned, feeling unaccountably happier now that he was by her side. "You have a unique way of inviting a girl to skate."

  "I have a unique way with quite a few things, Arabella."

  "No doubt," she said, prudently deciding not to pursue his remark.

  He put his arm around her waist and took he
r hand in his, and they glided off. To her surprise, they skated well together, Jake pacing himself so that their rhythm and strokes matched. Out of the blue the thought came to her: They would make love wonderfully together. Shaken, she groped for a subject to get her mind off such a dangerous idea. "Who is that blond-haired man over there? The one with Vanessa."

  "Lucas Moran. Vanessa is his girl."

  The wave of relief that swept through her surprised her, and she realized that despite Vanessa saying she and Jake were just friends, the germ of jealousy had remained. Well, nerts! She had to overcome these new and strange emotions. They were confusing her, and she was finding that being confused wasn't a pleasant experience. "I wondered. Randolph Bruce mentioned him and so did Vanessa. She said the three of you had grown up together."

  "What did Randolph say?"

  "He said Lucas made good print but not as good as you. Apparently you outdo even me in that department."

  He laughed. "And how does that make you feel?"

  "Unfazed. My mother was raised with the precept 'A lady's name appears in print only twice in her lifetime: when she marries and when she dies.' To a point, Mother's opinion has relaxed with the times, but if I were to do anything truly scandalous and it were to be printed in the columns, she would be horrified."

  "Scandalous? Such as?"

  She looked up at him through the thickness of her golden lashes. "Such as the item that appeared last year about you. I believe it concerned you, a certain young married woman, and a hotel in Atlantic City where you bought out an entire floor of rooms to give yourself and your guest privacy."

  He laughed again, remembering how enraged Edward had been when he had read that particular item.

  "Or," she said, continuing, "anything that might be illegal, such as, oh… boodegging, for instance."

  Damn, but she entertained him. "You know, don't you, Randolph will write that you attended my New Year's Eve party?"

  "Yes. In fact, he's already told me so. But Mother's in Europe with my father on an extended tour. Besides, I didn't say the idea of my name appearing in print would prevent me from doing something I truly wanted to do."

  "A thoroughly modern young woman." His black eyes glinted.