Island Interlude

by Anne McAllister

  Dear Lord, Libby thought. 'But that note you wrote. It was so—so hard. "Forget me. You can be sure I'll forget you.'" Even now quoting it was painful.

  Alec winced. 'I didn't know!' he said, anguished. 'I couldn't string you along, damn it. It wasn't true. I didn't forget you, but I wanted you to forget me. I was married, for better or worse. And believe me, it was "worse" right from the start.

  'The whole time she was pregnant, Margo was in mourning for Clive, but she kept herself under control. Before Juliet was a week old, she was getting drunk. I think reality finally hit her. She'd hoped for a miniature Clive—a baby who looked just like him, who could re­place him. And instead she got Juliet—a girl, and one who looked very much like her.

  'Plus, Juliet wasn't an easy baby. She was colicky, fussy. She cried a lot. So did Margo. It was not a happy time.'

  Alec flexed his shoulders and shook his head. 'It went downhill from there. She didn't even want to see Juliet about half the time. And the other half, she fawned all over her, got obsessed by her. The hair, for example. She'd never let her cut it. There were other things, too. Malie kept an eye on her, which was a good thing because I had damned little time to.'

  Malie. He said her name so casually. But it made Libby realise that all she was getting was an explanation, not a declaration of undying love. She bit down on her lip and waited. It made sense, all of it. But it didn't mean things were going to work out.

  'I was busy, running all over the damned globe shooting movies,' Alec went on, 'and at the same time trying to keep things together at home, trying to make things at least look as if they were working.'

  He sighed. 'A losing proposition, as it turned out. Stupidest thing I ever did. Margo didn't want me, and I didn't want her. It didn't take long before she began to look for replacements for Clive.'

  'You mean…?' But Libby couldn't make herself voice the question.

  'I mean she started taking lovers,' Alec said flatly. 'Most of them were one-night stands. But the last one was a bit more. He was a reporter.'

  Libby blanched.

  Alec smiled bitterly. 'You begin to understand. His name was Jerry Corson—'

  'The man who died in the crash with her?'

  'The man Margo wanted a divorce to marry. He could be Juliet's father, she told me. I said no.' He sighed. 'I don't know. Maybe it was pure selfishness on my part. I hope not. I told myself I wasn't doing that to Juliet. I might not have been there always, but I was reliable at least. And I loved her.' He swallowed hard and shook his head. 'Margo ran off with him anyway. That's what they were doing when they were killed.'

  'But I heard she and a reporter were coming to meet you!'

  'No use raking up more muck when they were both dead. But it wasn't true,' Alec said heavily. 'I had been in Mexico, filming. I was coming home to Santa Barbara through LA. Margo and Jerry just happened to be heading toward LA when Jerry lost control of the car.' He shut his eyes, his face bleak. 'I can only thank heaven that Margo decided I was right about Juliet and left her at home for me. Otherwise she'd have died, too.'

  'Dear lord,' Libby whispered, sickened at the thought.

  'Exactly,' Alec said. 'So there you have it, the whole sordid mess. The only good thing to come out of it was Juliet.'

  'You don't regret Juliet, surely?' Libby couldn't help saying.

  'No. I love her. And for her sake I can't regret mar­rying Margo. But I will always regret that it took me away from you,' he went on. 'I used to console myself by thinking that at least I'd protected you, that even if my life was a mess, yours had been what you'd planned. What a noble bastard I was!'

  'Margo probably needed you more than I did,' Libby allowed, and knew that, for all her regrets, it was true.

  'I don't know,' Alec said, his voice toneless. He didn't look at her.

  'And…and Juliet probably needs you more than Sam. She's a wonderful little girl,' Libby said earnestly.

  Alec nodded. 'I used to think she was more a part of me than I could imagine any child of my own flesh and blood could be. But that was before I met Sam,' he said, his mouth quirking with a sort of wry bitterness, 'and now I don't know.'

  'Y-you can see Sam,' Libby offered in a low voice after a long moment, 'when you want to.' She gazed out of the window, refusing to meet his eyes.

  He didn't speak, but she heard him swallow, heard the floor creak under the shift of his weight. 'See Sam?'

  'You have the right,' Libby admitted, slanting him a glance.

  He had sagged against the counter, his expression bleak. 'So, that's it, then?' His voice sounded hollow, lifeless.

  'It?'

  Alec rubbed a hand down his face. 'I knew, of course. I just…hoped. Hell!' He turned and stared unseeingly out of the window. 'Is it Michael? Or Maxwell?'

  Libby stared at him. 'Is what Michael or Maxwell? Maxwell who?'

  'Wayne Maxwell. Your reporter.' Alec's bitterness was apparent. 'Which one is it? Which one are you going to marry?'

  Libby stared at him, stunned. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

  'Oh, don't give me that,' Alec snapped. 'I've heard it all before from Margo. She denied Corson, too. But I saw her with him, the same way I saw you with Maxwell. And Michael just left here!'

  'You saw Maxwell? When?'

  'In Nassau,' Alec said. 'At that gift shop. I came out of the hotel with Carras and McKinley and I saw you through the window with him. He kissed you.'

  Libby didn't even remember the kiss. 'I had lunch with him.'

  'You didn't say!'

  'I knew how you felt about reporters.'

  Alec's jaw clenched. He shook his head stubbornly. 'Maybe not Maxwell, then. But Michael. You were engaged to him.'

  'Yes, I was,' Libby said tightly. 'And we all know how you took care of that.'

  'For all the good it did me.' He sighed. 'Serves me right, I guess. Fool that I am, I thought I could get you back.'

  He wanted her back? What about Amalia?

  'So he wins out in the end, does he?' Alec asked.

  For an instant Libby was tempted to take refuge in the lie. It would be so much easier on her pride to let him think that, to let him walk away feeling rejected for once.

  But she couldn't. She'd never been anything but honest with Alec no matter how much pain it had caused her. She would have to be honest one last time.

  'I'm not marrying Michael. I'm not marrying anyone.'

  'Why not?' Alec demanded.

  What did he care? 'Because I don't love him,' Libby flared at him, goaded at the inquisition. 'I won't marry a man I don't love!'

  'Would you have married me?'

  Libby turned away from him, looking down into the sink. The question reverberated in the room.

  She heard Alec move, felt the heat of his body close behind hers, then felt his fingers lightly touch her shoulder. Libby flinched.

  'Never mind, Lib. You've made yourself clear. You don't have to spell it out for me.' He bent his head then and touched his lips to the nape of her neck. Libby held herself rigid, tortured at his touch.

  At last Alec drew back, and Libby felt moisture there, trickling down the back of her neck.

  She turned her head and stared.

  He stepped back. 'A just revenge, Lib. I walked away from you. Now you can walk away from me. But at least know this. I love you, Lib. I always will. But I under­stand. I really do.' He faltered. His voice cracked. 'I— I would like to see Sam sometimes…if…if you can bear it. I…oh, hell, Lib.' He turned and walked quickly towards the door.

  Libby saw the tears, heard the words, and couldn't understand either, could scarcely believe either.

  He loved her? What about Amalia Webster? What about him leaving with her? What was he saying? She couldn't let him go—not without trying to understand, not without admitting her own love for him.

  'Alec!'

  His hand paused on the doorknob, but he didn't turn around.

  Slowly Libby walked across the room. She halted only
inches from his back, noting its rigidity, the tension almost vibrating through him. The ridge of his spine stood in stark outline against his shirt. Lightly Libby touched it, trailing her finger down its length.

  Alec winced.

  'I love you, too, Alec,' she whispered.

  For a long moment he didn't move, didn't breathe, didn't say a word. Then he turned around slowly, the look on his face incredulous, desperate. 'Lib?'

  She nodded jerkily.

  'Then—' his voice was anguished '—then why did you leave? I came back and you were gone. No word. No nothing.'

  'Amalia Webster,' Libby said simply. 'It was just like before. The actress from afar, swooping down, changing everything.'

  Alec groaned. 'No.'

  Libby pressed on. 'Yes. It was in the magazines I saw just the other day. You and Malie…'

  He said a rude word. 'No. Lord, no. First of all, the magazines are nothing but hot air. It isn't true, any of it. Please, listen to me. Malie is Clive Gilbert's sister!'

  Libby blinked. 'Clive's sister?'

  Alec nodded. 'Yes. She's the only one besides me who ever knew about Margo and Clive. She's also the only one who knew that Juliet wasn't my child. She always told both Margo and me that we should tell Juliet the truth, that we shouldn't lie to her. She said Juliet had a right to know who her real father was. She said her family had a right to know about Juliet. Sound familiar?'

  Libby sighed. 'Like Sam.'

  Alec nodded grimly. 'Exactly. And we didn't want to listen either. Margo was too unstable, and I—I thought it would crush Juliet. She had enough to contend with.' He sighed. 'I never thought about Clive's family. Until this summer.'

  He paused, drumming his fingers on the counter-top. 'Then I realised how much I would have missed if I'd never found out about Sam. I hated that, but it made me think. I wanted you to tell him who I was, and when you wouldn't what could I say? It was precisely what I'd been saying to Malie for years.'

  'She called you,' Libby remembered.

  'Yeah. Her mother was going in for heart surgery. Malie wanted to tell her about Juliet, give her someone to live for. I still hesitated. It still seemed like opening a huge can of worms. I pointed out the problems, the pitfalls, told her that her mother would have other grandchildren. And she said, "Does one child ever replace another?"' His eyes met Libby's, his expression wry. 'You know the answer to that.'

  Indeed Libby did. She reached out and took hold of Alec's hand.

  His thumb rubbed along her wrist. 'I told her I'd talk to Juliet, tell her the truth. I was going to talk to you about it when we were in Nassau, but at first I was too busy loving you, and then—' his jaw tightened '—there was Maxwell.'

  Libby groaned.

  'I didn't know what to think. I didn't know if you were interested in him, if you might tell him…'

  'I wouldn't have—'

  'But I didn't know! I thought I was making progress with you, getting you to love me again. But I didn't know. You were so cool, sometimes—

  I was afraid.'

  'I was, too.'

  Alec, afraid? It hardly seemed credible. But a look at his face told her the truth of what he was saying. Libby squeezed his hand and his fingers tightened around hers.

  'Malie was waiting when we got back to Harbour Island. Her mother was desperate to see Juliet before she went into surgery. It would take two days. Three at most. What could I do?'

  He had done, Libby realised, the only thing he could.

  'I could hardly send her to California with just Malie. It was a shock. She was confused. I couldn't say go without me or she'd have thought I wasn't only telling her she had another father, but that I was abandoning her. I wanted to tell you. I got up at dawn to come down and talk to you. And then I thought, no, I couldn't burden you with it. It was my problem. I'd started it by marrying Margo. If I was going to come to you and try to make you love me again, I had to do it with every­thing settled. I got back three days later and you were gone.'

  'Oh, Alec' Libby's eyes burned, her throat felt tight.

  'So I figured I was right all along, that you hadn't ever got over Michael, that I'd got rid of him, but not your love for him.'

  'Whatever made you think it?' Libby asked him.

  For a moment he didn't answer. Then, colour running high along his cheekbones, he muttered, 'When we made love.'

  'What are you talking about?'

  'Afterwards. You weren't exactly thrilled.'

  She hadn't been. She'd been worried because her love had been as strong as ever and she had no idea what it was that Alec felt. 'I didn't know why you'd done it,' she said simply.

  Alec stared. 'Because I loved you! Why else?'

  'Because you wanted Sam and thought that a bit of sex might be nice, too.'

  Alec said a rude word and kissed her fiercely. 'I love you,' he said firmly. 'Then. Now. Always.'

  'And I love you.'

  'Thank heaven.' Alec's kiss was long and hard, pos­sessive, hungry. He clung to her like a man lost, now found, once adrift, now saved.

  'I thought you hated me,' he whispered against her hair. 'When I opened the gate for you today I thought I was a fool to have come. You looked at me as if you wished I were dead.'

  'I thought you'd come for Sam. To take him from me.'

  'Never. I love Sam, but I came for you.' Alec stroked her hair away from her face. 'I don't want to be away from you ever again.'

  'Nor I you.' And Libby lifted her face to his, kissing him again, revelling in the feel of the hard warm length of him against her. 'You are the other half of my soul.'

  Neither of them spoke then, just held each other, savouring the moment, the peace, the possibilities. The past, painful as it had been, no longer mattered.

  'You know,' Libby said finally, tipping her head up to look into his eyes which were still unusually bright, 'I want to regret it all. I want to have those eight years back, to have spent them with you. But I love Juliet, and I can't. I just can't be sorry.'

  Alec nodded. 'I know. I feel the same.' He touched his lips to hers, gently, longingly. It was a kiss full of love and infinite promise, and Libby met it with one of her own.

  There was a slight noise just beyond the screen door. Alec and Libby pulled apart and looked around.

  Sam stood there, a grin as wide as the Mississippi on his face. 'Does this,' he asked happily, 'mean we're marrying Alec after all?'