The quiet certainty in his tone was unnerving. And Libby looked at him anew, seeing how very much Alec had changed.
He wasn't a young man any more. At thirty-four he was in the prime of his life. He was strong, tough, powerful, determined—all the things she'd seen incipient in him eight years before. But he was also warm, steady, paternal.
Once she had loved the Alec he had been. She was afraid that if he continued this way she might learn to love this Alec, too. And that would be disastrous. Because Alec didn't really love her. He only wanted the son he thought she'd kept from him.
She wrapped her arms tight against herself, defending herself against him, against herself.
'Come on,' he said now, reaching for her hand. 'The kids shouldn't have all the fun.'
'I don't want—' Libby began, but Alec would have none of it.
'Damn it, Libby, lighten up. You want the kids to think there's something wrong?'
'There is something wrong,' she insisted.
He shook his head. 'Feels right to me.' And he grabbed her hand without giving her a chance to deny him. 'Come on.'
It would be a memory, Libby decided. A fairy-tale. One of those afternoons out of time which really don't have an effect on the reality of one's life. One day when the 'might have been's and 'if only's came alive instead of existing as mere dreams.
One day, she told herself. One simple day. A person couldn't ruin her life in one day as long as she knew that, like a fairy-tale, it would be over at midnight, if not sooner.
Her problem eight years ago had been confusing fantasy with reality. She wouldn't do that now. She knew who she was, where she was going, and with whom. She had Alec Blanchard in perspective now. She could handle him.
'All right,' she said slowly, and let herself go.
The afternoon was magical. The children came clamouring out of the water, wanting her and Alec to swim with them. But Juliet's hair kept falling in her eyes until Libby sat cross-legged on the sand and braided it so that it wouldn't snarl.
Together, like mother and daughter, they sat and watched Alec take Sam on to his back and swim out into the bay. He ducked under so that only his nose and the top of his sleek dark head were visible and blew bubbles as he approached the shore, making Juliet giggle and laugh.
Later the four of them built a sand-castle, then wrote their names in the sand and watched the waves erase them. They ate the sandwiches that Alec had bought in Spanish Wells, supplementing them with warm, fizzy cans of drink and sticky melting chocolate biscuits. Afterwards they licked the chocolate from their fingers, then ran into the water again. Libby felt happy for the first time in ages. It was amazing, she thought, what a little bit of fantasy could do.
By the time the sun had dipped into the west and the breeze off the ocean picked up, she didn't demur when Alec put his arm across her shoulders as they walked back into the water.
And after he helped her into the boat and draped a towel over his shoulder, he kept her close. The warm, wonderful feeling stayed close, too. And Libby found herself wanting to cling to it, preserve it, like the peaches she and her mother canned, to take out and savour when winter came once again.
It was the same insidious joy that had pervaded her soul the last time they had left Ben Bay.
But when they'd docked that time, there, waiting for them, had been Margo.
But there would be no Margo tonight. The fairy-tale would play itself out with the proper ending this time.
When at last the boat cruised slowly up towards the dock and Alec reached to tie it to its mooring, a flashlight beam gleamed in the darkness.
'Ah, Lyman?' Alec said. 'Catch.'
'Got it,' said a voice, but it wasn't Lyman.
It was Michael.
'Surprised you, didn't I?' Michael was beaming as he lounged back in the rattan sofa looking up at Libby, a cold beer in his hand.
'Stunned me,' Libby admitted, still stunned for that matter, and it had been two hours since she'd heard his voice coming out of the darkness. She was standing in the doorway to the kitchen now, carrying a glass of iced tea for herself, looking down at Michael with some of the same astonishment she'd felt at that moment.
She wasn't the only one who'd been amazed.
Sam had yelped, 'Is that you, Mike?' and had practically leaped from the boat into Michael's waiting arms. 'It is you!' The boy was clearly delighted.
And it was from his perch in Michael's arms that Sam had done the introductions. Libby couldn't have done them to save her life.
'This is my friend Juliet,' Sam said cheerfully. 'And Alec' Then as Libby angled the flashlight up into their faces, Sam hugged the bearded man holding him aloft. 'This,' he told them, 'is Michael.'
Her arcing flashlight caught a kaleidoscope of impressions. She saw Michael, first grinning then looking curious as his gaze went to Alec whose arm was still around Libby. She saw Sam, overjoyed, Juliet open-mouthed, and Alec—
Alec was white as a sheet.
'Tie it off,' he said tersely to Michael and bent to grab the blankets and toss them on to the dock. He practically shoved Libby up, then handed Juliet out to her.
'Up you go,' he said briskly to his daughter as he clambered out after her. He manoeuvred her away from Libby, stepping between them. 'Did you plan it this way?' he demanded.
'I—'
'Because it doesn't matter if you did,' he went on harshly. 'It isn't going to make a damned bit of difference.'
'What—?'
'So you might as well send him home in the morning.'
If Michael's arrival hadn't already done it, the sheer audacity of Alec's remarks would have brought Libby down to earth with a thud.
'How dare you?'
'Oh, I dare, sweetheart,' he said so only she could hear. 'I dare a hell of a lot. Come on,' he said to Juliet, 'it's getting late. Time for bed.'
He gathered up all his gear, tossed a terse, 'See you,' over his shoulder and steered Juliet up the dock towards the road.
Libby stared after him until the darkness swallowed him up. His 'See you' rang in her ears, sounding far more like a threat than a promise.
'Night, Alec,' Sam called after him.
'Alec?' Michael dropped quietly into the silence. It was a question, but what it asked Libby wasn't sure.
'He…he's…his daughter is Sam's friend.' It was the best she could do. She began to rustle her belongings together, too. 'Take this, will you?' She handed a beach towel to Michael.
He took it. 'I see,' he said.
But Libby had no idea how much he'd seen until she'd tucked a sleepy, happy Sam up into bed and had come back downstairs.
Michael took her into his arms then and kissed her. It was a hungry kiss, warm and persuasive. And Libby wanted to be persuaded. She wanted to give herself to him with the whole-heartedness he deserved. But much as she tried, all she could remember was the way Alec had kissed her, the possessive passion which always flared between them and with which hers and Michael's couldn't compare.
Damn, she thought. Oh, damn! And the realisation made her want to cry.
Michael stepped back and looked at her, his expression worried, wary. 'Lib?'
But Libby looked away, unable to meet his eyes. 'I'm… tired. Sorry, I…' Her voice drifted off vaguely. 'Can I get you a beer?'
Michael shrugged, willing to wait. 'Sounds good.'
So she got him one, and a glass of iced tea for herself, and now they were facing each other once again.
'Shouldn't I have come, then?' Michael asked her, his grin fading, his voice soft.
'Huh? No. I mean, yes. I—I'm delighted you came. Just surprised, that's all.'
'Right.' His tone was dry. He took a long swallow of the beer, then stared at the glass, swirling the amber liquid as if he wasn't sure how to proceed. Then apparently he decided there was no way round the issue, only through.
He looked up and met Libby's eyes. 'Alec isn't only Juliet's father, is he?'
She felt the blood dra
in from her face. 'What?'
'He's Sam's father, too, isn't he?'
As long as the words were never spoken she could have continued to pretend. But there was no longer time for pretence, no longer room for the lies Alec had accused her of trying to tell herself just this afternoon.
Of course Michael had seen it. Anyone could. 'That doesn't change anything!'
'No?' Michael gave a snort of disbelief. 'Damn it, Libby! Why didn't you tell me?'
She paced the room. 'I couldn't. Anyway,' she sighed wearily, 'you're not the fool. I am.'
Michael shook his head. 'Why? Is he why you came here?' he asked her. 'Did you want to see if he'd have you back?'
'No! Of course not! I'm engaged to you! I didn't even know he was going to be here! I certainly didn't want him here!'
'It was just a coincidence, huh?'
'Yes.' She sat down in the chair opposite him, her fingers clenching round the glass.
'But he is Sam's father.'
Libby closed her eyes. 'Yes.'
Michael sighed. 'What's his name, Sam's father?' He seemed to need to keep saying it, hammering it home. 'Alec what?'
Libby swallowed, licked her lips. 'Blanchard.'
Michael goggled at her. 'Alec Blanchard? The Alec Blanchard? That was Alec Blanchard?'
Libby nodded miserably.
'Lord.' He was looking at her as if he'd never seen her before. His brows were drawn together, his mouth pinched. He raked his fingers through his hair. 'Where'd you know Alec Blanchard from?'
'Here,' Libby said simply. 'I came here years ago. As a nanny. Before I went to college.' She'd never talked about it before to anyone other than her parents.
'So that's how you knew about the island. I wondered. How long were you here?'
'Just the summer. I worked for a family named Braden.'
'And Blanchard? Where does he fit in?'
'His parents lived here, too. He came to visit them. It was right after his first directing job.'
'Glory Field?'
'Yes.'
Michael leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, his hands loosely clasped. 'I remember it. Smashing movie. Did everything, didn't he? Directed, acted. Even co-wrote the screenplay.'
'Yes.'
'There was a scandal, though…' Michael's forehead furrowed. Then he shook his head, unable to bring up the exact event. 'Somebody got killed?' he ventured.
She nodded. 'A stunt man.'
His face cleared. 'Right. I remember now. Terrible.'
'It was,' Libby agreed quietly.
Something in her voice made him look at her closely. 'Did you know the guy?'
She shook her head. 'No, he'd been killed right before I met Alec. But it was… it was very hard on him.'
Michael didn't say anything then, just looked at her. In the darkness she heard a frog croaking and the putt-putt of a moke as it chugged down the street.
'You knew him well.' The moment he said it, Michael gave a short, harsh laugh. 'What am I saying? Obviously you knew him well. Better than well.'
'I…'
'You loved him.' He flung the words at her, daring her to contradict them.
She couldn't. She met his eyes for a brief moment, then ducked her head. 'Yes.' It was a whisper, nothing more.
Michael sighed, slumping back against the sofa. 'And you've loved him for—what?—eight years?'
'No.' She lifted her eyes again and met his gaze fiercely now. 'I didn't. I haven't. I don't. I didn't want anything more to do with him. I didn't expect to see him here when I came. I expected to put it to rest.'
'Tell me.' Michael leaned back, his eyes on her, challenging, waiting.
She knotted her fingers. 'I was a child then, you see. Just eighteen. It was an infatuation. So when I came back I thought that then I'd be able to put it behind me and come home to you.'
'Dare I hope, then,' Michael asked drily, 'that today was just a little hair of the dog that bit you?'
Libby looked at him, bewildered.
'Cure for a hangover,' Michael explained. 'Another taste of the stuff that did you in the night before.'
It was a crude notion, but Libby had to admit that there might be some truth in it. 'Does it work?' she asked hopefully.
Michael grimaced. 'Supposed to.' He crossed an ankle over to rest it on the other knee. 'Doesn't look as if it has for you.'
'I haven't… I didn't…' Libby protested, but then her voice trailed off.
'Glad to hear it,' Michael said wryly.
Libby couldn't look at him. She heard him take another sip of beer, then set the bottle down again and get to his feet. She heard his footsteps on the tile floor. She saw the toes of his shoes as he came to stand in front of her.
'Lib?' He reached down and pulled her, unresisting, to her feet.
'Oh, Mike, I'm sorry! I didn't mean for you to walk into this!'
'I walked into it of my own accord,' he reminded her.
'Yes, but it shouldn't have happened. It—'
'Shh. It's not important. As long as it's over.'
'It's over,' Libby vowed.
He smiled. 'Then relax.' He put his arms around her and drew her close, hugging her.
And Libby let herself be hugged. She relished the secure warm feel of Michael's arms around her and the hard strength of his chest against her head. It was the way she always felt with him—safe, secure, beloved.
There was none of the passion she felt with Alec. There was none of the pain.
'Oh, Mike, what am I going to do?'
'Go to bed.'
She looked up at him confused. 'About Alec, I mean.'
He shrugged. 'Ignore him.'
Ignore him. Was it possible? Libby wondered.
'We'll talk about it in the morning. Nothing's going to change before then.'
'I suppose,' Libby said doubtfully.
He dropped a kiss on her forehead and stepped back. 'I'm sure of it. Unless, of course, I can tempt you into letting me into your bed?'
Libby shook her head.
Michael grinned ruefully. 'I was afraid of that.' He sighed. 'Don't worry, Lib. Just because he's wealthy and powerful, it doesn't mean he can run your life.' And he moved around her, heading up the stairs to the bedroom she had told him he could share with Sam.
Didn't it? Miserably Libby watched him go. All the joy, all the happiness, all the euphoria she'd felt that evening had vanished as if it had been no more substantial than a puff of smoke.
It was what you got, she told herself savagely, for even for one minute allowing yourself to believe in fairy-tales.
Why had she been such a fool?
* * *
She spent a sleepless night and came downstairs the next morning to find Michael already sitting at the breakfast-table, nursing a cup of coffee.
He gave her an encouraging smile. 'Morning.'
Libby nodded wordlessly and poured one for herself. Her head pounded. Her eyes felt gritty. Her mind was as shredded as a pad of steel wool.
'Still fretting?' Michael asked her.
'Mmm.'
He got up and put his arms around her. 'Don't. Entertain me. Show me the island. Blanchard won't bother you.'
Michael didn't know Alec.
He was on the doorstep almost before they'd finished breakfast.
'I came to meet your friend,' he said blithely to Libby when she gaped at him; And he brushed past her into the living-room before she could protest.
'Sam tells me you and he raised frogs together last year,' Alec said to Michael, finding him in the kitchen.
'That's right.'
Alec pulled out a chair and dropped into it. 'Thanks.'
One of Michael's eyebrows lifted. Libby made a strangled sound.
Alec shrugged. 'I'm sure he needed a bit of fatherly companionship then.' His voice trailed off; his meaning didn't. It was perfectly clear: Sam doesn't need it now. I'm here.
'I'll show you the island,' he offered. 'Libby has work to do.'
'I don't—' Libby began.
'She doesn't have much time,' Alec cut in. 'She needs every moment. She's always telling me so.' He gave her a conspiratorial smile that made, her want to deck him. 'I've got a moke outside. Come on.' Michael looked from Libby to Alec and back again, then shrugged. 'Sounds fine.'
After Alec had taken Michael on a tour of the island, he and Juliet took him to the beach to go snorkelling. Then they picked up Sam at school and dropped by Libby's long enough to tell her that they had reservations for dinner at one of the inns.
'Get dressed up,' Alec said imperiously.
'I was planning dinner for us here,' Libby argued.
'Not tonight,' Alec said implacably.
Sighing, Libby went. Alec entertained them royally, playing hot-shot director, impressing the usually unimpressionable Michael with his anecdotes and charm, plying him with brandy and good food and, not co-incidentally, Libby was sure, keeping him clear on the other side of the table from her.
He didn't even let them sit together in the moke. He stuck Michael in the back with the kids while he and Libby sat up front. It was past ten at night when he finally dropped them off at Libby's house. And Libby was sure if he could have thought of a way to come in with them, he would have.
Michael thought it was all somewhat amusing. He kept looking at Libby now and shaking his head.
'What did he say to you?' she demanded.
'Warned me off,' Michael said, still grinning as he flopped down on the sofa.
Libby sputtered. 'Warned you off? Off me?'
'That's the general idea. He wants you back.'
Libby said a rude word. 'He just wants Sam.'
'I'm not sure about that.'
'I am,' Libby said darkly.
Michael's grin vanished. He reached for her and pulled her down into his lap, holding her so he could look her squarely in the eyes. 'The question isn't whether he wants you or not, Lib. He does. The question is, is he going to get you?'
'No!' She was sure of that. 'I'm marrying you.'
Over Alec's dead body, she was. At least, that was the way he acted. He didn't leave them alone for a minute, showing up at all hours of the day and night with something he'd 'forgotten to show Michael' or something he'd 'forgotten to say'. He wasn't obnoxious; he didn't have to be. His persistence was enough.
Island Interlude Page 10
