True Claire’s mouth had nearly hit her chin in amazed admiration when she first saw Scott, but the fit of giggles that had followed hadn’t indicated any sort of romantic interest. Nor did she look as if she were smitten now. She just looked interested in what he was saying.
“Why don’t you come down to the print shop tomorrow? It’s my day to work with Carl so if you come down around lunchtime I’ll be able to introduce you.” Beth interrupted their discussion because she wanted to be able to talk about her matchmaking theories with Carl, and she couldn’t do that until he’d met Claire. Besides, the sooner Claire met him and realized that he really wasn’t going to say a word about the dating agency, the sooner she would lose that look of panic whenever his name was mentioned.
Her eyes met Claire’s and their conspiratorial smiles were not lost on Scott. He was still trying to find out what their secret was when Daniel came through the door. Seeing the three of them so cheerful and relaxed in one another’s company, he felt a twist of jealousy lodge in his heart. If only he didn’t have to run the family business then he could spend all day working with them too. All day with Claire!
“Good day?” he asked her, trying hard to ignore the unhappiness that was threatening to overwhelm him.
“Very good,” Claire admitted, wondering why he looked so terrible. He looked, she thought, like someone who has just had very bad news and was still trying to come to terms with it. The others didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, however. Beth just picked up her bag and made her usual breezy exit, while Scott started to bombard him with questions about a project that was behind schedule.
She took advantage of their conversation to sort out her desk. So far she seemed to have spent more time out of the office than in it, and it was beginning to show. Beth appeared to have relocated a couple of smooth rocks from the path outside to weigh down the growing pile of paper on Claire’s desk, but other than that the packets of pencils and pens were still unopened, and several notebooks were jumbled into the middle of some torn cellophane. There were several reports too, each at least a hundred pages thick, plus a separate pile of admin forms that she still had to complete.
Preoccupied with her own affairs, she didn’t notice that Scott was leaving until he called out from the doorway. Raising her arm in a belated farewell she was suddenly aware that she was alone with Daniel; a Daniel who still looked poleaxed.
“Are you okay?” she asked before she could stop herself.
He started to say yes and then changed his mind. “Not really.”
She waited, sensing that he was struggling with himself, and with his habit of keeping everything close to his chest. Her silence was his undoing.
“There’s been a fire in one of our holiday developments in Mexico. Fortunately nobody was hurt although a couple of guests were sent to hospital as a precaution, but now I’ve got to go there. I’m booked onto the first flight out tomorrow.”
“That’s awful!” Claire’s eyes grew wide with horror.
Having started to unburden himself, Daniel didn’t seem able to stop. “It gets worse! I already had finance meetings booked back-to-back in London and New York to discuss some investment problems, so I’m going to be spread pretty thin over the next week or two. No more early morning visits to the islands I’m afraid. Nor to any of the other places I wanted to show you. You’re going to have to rely on Scott and Beth to ease you into the job.”
“That’s the least of your problems,” Claire’s voice was soft with concern. “Is there anything I can do to help? Anything at all?”
He shook his head. “Thanks, but no. Scott and Beth will keep things ticking over here. They’re used to me being away. Besides they know that they can always contact me if necessary.”
She nodded as she gathered up her belongings. She was sure that Daniel would want to be alone in the office to write instructions for Beth and Scott, and to update himself on the work program, so she was surprised when he stood up as well.
“Actually…maybe there is something,” he said slowly. “It’s a bit unorthodox…but would you come and meet my parents…my mother actually…”
Clare stared at him as his voice trailed off.
“I will if you really want me to but I don’t understand why.”
He gave a grim smile. “Of course you don’t and I shouldn’t ask, not really. It’s just that I think…hope…that meeting someone new will cheer her up.”
Seeing the same bleak expression on his face she had seen in her mother’s kitchen all those weeks ago, Claire took a deep breath. “I know she isn’t well…that is…Beth told me she’s…depressed.”
“I’d say it was despair rather than depression,” he said. “Over the past five years she’s become so worn down emotionally and physically that she has no energy left for anything except caring for my father. She doesn’t go out, doesn’t read. She doesn’t even tend her garden anymore. Her friends have more or less given up on her too, because my father is so afraid they will involve her in things that will take her away from him that he makes himself as unpleasant as possible when they visit.”
“So why me?”
Suddenly he smiled, and it was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. “Because she doesn’t know you and nothing, not even her deep unhappiness, will stop her from being the perfect hostess. If you visit her then she will have to rally, even if it’s just for an hour or so. Her good manners won’t allow anything else!”
“Well if you’re sure it’ll help, then of course I’ll come with you,” Claire couldn’t help smiling in return. “After all I owe you one for the way you charmed my parents.”
He had the grace to look a tiny bit embarrassed. “I was a bit pushy wasn’t I?”
“Just a bit,” she confirmed, and then laughed. “It made their weekend though.”
“Mine too,” he told her, his face suddenly serious. “I really enjoyed that weekend Claire, even though I didn’t think I would ever crack your resolve to turn me down. Your parents, the life they lead, their happiness with one another, the way they don’t interfere with your life, it was…I was…envious I suppose. ”
Their eyes met, and for one long moment Claire forgot to breathe as memories of that fateful weekend assailed her and she felt the full force of his attraction all over again. This was what she had been afraid of. Yet she didn’t have the heart to refuse his request to visit his parents, even though she knew she was opening herself up to all kinds of pain, because his worried expression tugged at her heartstrings in a way that his usual cheerful and practical manner never would.
* * *
It took longer to reach the Marchant’s family home than Claire had expected because it was out beyond the curve of Dolphin Key, and several kilometers past the local airfield. From a distance the airfield looked like a perfectly ordinary patch of rough grass. It was only when they drew close that Claire saw there was an airstrip marching alongside the road.
Instead of bypassing it, Daniel drove across the grass, stopped under a stand of tall pine and pointed. At the top, perched precariously, was an untidy nest of sticks. Sitting on it was an osprey, its expression imperious as it scanned the surrounding countryside.
“She comes back every year,” Daniel told her. “Why she likes the airstrip rather than the Reserve we have no idea. It seems to work though. She raises a brood of chicks every time. So far she hasn’t lost one.”
Taking the binoculars he handed her, Claire watched in fascination as the bird stood up, turned around, and then settled back onto her nest.
In turn, Daniel watched Claire, absorbing the warmth of her skin so close to his, enjoying the moment as he pushed his troubles into the background. She was so unconscious of her unusual beauty, so unaware of the effect she had on people. He had noticed Scott’s expression of appreciation when they had gone for a beer the previous evening, noticed, too, the way her striking looks had drawn glances from most people in the bar. So why was she still single, so uninterested in dating?
He wished he knew.
He was still watching her when she lowered the binoculars and turned to him. As their eyes met he forced himself to switch back to tour guide mode. He pointed to the osprey.
“They are sometimes called the fish eagle,” he told her. “They love the shallow waters around Dolphin Key because it’s easy fishing, so we get a lot of them.”
Claire hurriedly put the binoculars back to her eyes. This was getting more difficult by the minute. Although she was sorry he had so many problems to deal with, maybe it was good he was going to be away for a while. It would give her a chance to get to know Dolphin Key without the added complication of a pounding heart, a dry mouth, and an inexplicable catch in her breath every time she was near him.
* * *
The Marchant family home was set back off a quiet road shaded by tall cypress trees, each one trailing a gray beard of Spanish moss. As the golf cart trundled up the driveway Claire realized that the back of the house overlooked the gulf.
“What a wonderful place to live,” she gasped. “It must have been fantastic to grow up here.”
“Sometimes it was,” Daniel agreed as he turned off the ignition and stared at the building in front of him. He seemed about to say something else, but then he shrugged.
“Come inside. I expect my mother will be in the kitchen.”
He was right. A tall, thin woman, whose hair was fading from blonde to silver, she was staring out of the window of a large kitchen that had beautifully crafted granite counters and a red oakwood floor.
“Mum, I’ve brought someone to see you,” Daniel’s voice was gentle.
She turned around with a start of surprise and Claire was shocked by the misery in her eyes. Then it was gone as she visibly pulled herself together and smiled.
“You must be Claire. Daniel told me you were going to join his team,” her voice was cultured, her movements graceful as she walked across the kitchen with her hand outstretched.
Claire took it and was overwhelmed by the other woman’s fragility. Clasping her hand was like holding a dry leaf. It felt brittle, insubstantial, as if it might break.
“I was showing Claire around and we happened this way,” Daniel lied, avoiding Claire’s eyes.
“And I don’t suppose either of you have eaten yet.” Fragile she might be but Mrs Marchant’s comment was entirely maternal, a mother who knew her son’s habits, and whose instinct was to nurture.
Not waiting for an answer she turned to the stove where saucepans were simmering. “I’m cooking chicken and rice for your father and me but there’s more than enough for both of you because I’m cooking a double portion. I was going to freeze it for another day.”
“In that case we’d love to stay,” Daniel gave Claire a questioning look.
She nodded. “If you’re sure it’s not too much trouble.”
“Not at all. It will be nice to have some company. Now pour a drink for our guest Daniel and then take her out onto the deck until dinner is ready.”
Claire started to protest, to suggest that she help the tired woman who was Daniel’s mother. Then she stopped herself. Mrs Marchant didn’t look as if she would welcome the sort of casual domesticity that was the norm in Claire’s mother’s kitchen. This was going to be a formal meal, with formal conversation. Nothing alfresco about it at all!
* * *
The dinner was exactly as Claire had anticipated and yet she enjoyed it because, true to Daniel’s prediction, his mother rallied. A perfect hostess, she asked questions that were not too intrusive, and then listened intently to the answers. She entertained with stories of Dolphin Key; she talked about her one visit to Europe; and she smiled and offered more food, more wine, and dessert.
Her husband was an entirely different proposition however. Although he was courteous enough when he was introduced to Claire, he maintained a brooding silence throughout the meal, only speaking when he wanted more rice or when his glass needed refilling. After several unsuccessful attempts to include him in the conversation, Daniel gave up and concentrated on Claire, joining in with his mother’s stories, making her laugh. Only Mrs Marchant persisted, ignoring every snub and acting as if every dismissive grunt was just a normal part of the conversation. Watching her attempt to include him, Claire felt desperately sorry for her.
“Do you have a Talking Books Service in Dolphin Key?” her question, asked in a lull in the conversation, was a blunt attempt to engage the man sitting at the head of the table. If she could talk to him about books, find some sort of common ground that would move them away from the topics that were obviously boring him, then the desperation might fade from Mrs Marchant’s eyes.
Her question was followed by a long silence. For a moment she thought he hadn’t heard her and she was about to repeat it when she caught sight of his wife’s face. Mrs Marchant looked horrified. Daniel, sitting opposite Claire, put down his dessert spoon as he waited for his father to reply. When no answer was forthcoming he pushed back his chair in disgust.
“Florida has an excellent Talking Books Service,” he told her. “Unfortunately my father doesn’t like it. Instead he prefers that my mother read to him.”
Suddenly she understood. Her innocent question was a direct acknowledgement that Mr Marchant could no longer see, and his blindness was something nobody ever spoke about. This proud man, whose sightless eyes looked like milky brown buttons under a lowering brow, had never admitted publically that he was blind. Instead he had made his wife complicit, forcing her to pretend everything was okay. She took a deep breath.
“Well I think that’s a real shame,” she said, steadfastly continuing to direct her conversation to the silent man at the head of the table. “There must be so many hours when she is too busy to read to you. What do you do then?”
“I sit and think young lady,” when he finally answered her, his voice was husky, as if he didn’t use it very often. He was a handsome man whose iron gray hair had once been dark, and whose loose limbed body was as tall as Daniel’s. His features were different though. His face was sharp; almost hawk like, with discontented grooves on either side of his mouth, and a fierce furrow between his brows.
“What do you think about?” she asked him.
He gave a snort of derision as he carefully returned his wine glass to the table before he gestured around the room. “Not that it’s any business of yours, but I think about work. Real work. The sort of work that brings in the money to support all of this, not the airy-fairy stuff Daniel does in his spare time.”
Ignoring his implied criticism of her involvement with Daniel’s organization, Claire soldiered on.
“I guess that means you like reading biographies, with perhaps crime thrillers for light relief.”
He turned towards her with such a surprised expression on his face that Claire had to remind herself he couldn’t see her.
“And what makes you think that?”
“Experience. I am a librarian after all. I know what people like to read, even though I have decided to take a break from the public library service to concentrate on some of the airy fairy stuff for a while!”
The silence that followed was unexpectedly broken by a bark of laughter. “Touché! Well in that case why don’t you tell me what biographies I ought to read and then I’ll tell you that I’ve already read them!”
“If you like,” Claire glanced at Daniel. He was smiling.
Mr Marchant pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. His wife immediately rushed to his side, ready to lead him into the sitting room where she was going to serve coffee. He brushed her aside.
“Daniel’s young lady can take me. It seems we have a lot to talk about.”
Daniel watched Claire lead his father across the room with something close to amazement. He had long ago given up hope of anyone getting through to him and yet somehow she had managed it. He wasn’t sure whether he should be pleased or not because if anyone could turn Claire against having anything to do with the Marchant family, it was his
father. Then he heard what Claire was saying as she and his father disappeared into the sitting room and acknowledged afresh that his father’s rude and erratic behaviour was the least of his challenges.
“And for the record, I’m not Daniel’s young lady, Mr Marchant. My name is Claire Harris and I’m just one of his employees,” she said.
Chapter Twelve
Daniel was thoughtful as he arrived back at his own waterfront property. Built on stilts in the ubiquitous clapboard style, it was much smaller than his parent’s house and without the high ceilings and wood beams. Instead it was open plan, and sparsely furnished with wooden tables and chairs, a well-worn saggy couch, and sailcloth cushions and drapes. Whitewashed walls, rush matting and a scattering of interesting pieces of wood and unusual shells gave it character, while a wall full of rough-hewn shelves crammed with books, reports and piles of paper reflected his busy life. A half built boat took up most of the open space under the house, and in front of it, tied to a small wooden dock, was another boat and a yellow inflatable.
Climbing out of the golf cart he walked to the water’s edge. The full moon was so bright it cast a silver path across the bay. At his feet the waves whispered and sighed where they met the sand. For the first time in a long time it all failed to soothe him.
Instead of absorbing the view he found himself reliving an evening where he had watched in growing admiration as Claire pitted her wits against his father and won. Sure that she wouldn’t have heard of half the authors he enjoyed, the old curmudgeon had deliberately quoted name after name, only to discover she knew them all.
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