by Jane Peart
“On these layovers I’ve found that people do pretty much what they want to—live and let live. Besides, I really don’t care; Do you?”
Suddenly Robbie knew she didn’t. All she knew was that she wanted to spend this last evening in Bermuda with Tyler—alone.
Robbie was just getting out of her shower when there was a rap on her bungalow door. “It’s Stacy!” a voice called out. “May I come in?”
Robbie slipped into a short terry robe and shouted, “Sure!”
Stacy Culver opened the door and plopped down on the nearest chair. “I am for once ‘shopped-out’!” she declared. “But I got through my list! And everybody better be happy with their presents because I’m almost dead!” She paused arid then eyed Robbie speculatively. “You sure pulled a disappearing act. I stopped by before I went to breakfast to See if you wanted to go with me today and poof! No Robbie. I came home later and you still weren’t here. You missed tea,” she said accusingly. “And when I say you missed tea in Bermuda, you really missed something special. It’s the real thing. Lovely brisk tea with lemon or real cream, tiny little cucumber and tomato sandwiches, a fantastic cake; filled with fruit and nuts—” She broke off abruptly and demanded, “Where jn the world were you anyway?”
Robbie could not suppress a happy little smile as she told Stacy about the beach picnic with Tyler.
“Uh-oh!” Stacy’s arched eyebrows and sly smile spoke volumes.
“It’s not what you think!” protested Robbie quickly. “No?” Stacy was all wide-eyed naivete. “Tell me about it!”
Robbie gave as casual an account as she could manage of her day at the cove with Tyler.
“Why don’t we discuss it more in detail over dinner? Want to go to that same little restaurant?” Stacy asked.
There was a long moment of awkward silence. Then Stacy got to her feet; holding up both hands as if to ward off some flimsy excuse. “Nope, don’t bother to explain just hope you know what you’re doing, Robbie.” She started toward the door. “Good luck!” she called over her shoulder and was gone Robbie stood for a minute looking after her. There was no denying Stacy’s unspoken implication She doesn’t understand, Robbie told herself as she began to towel-dry her golden-red hair. We enjoy each other’s company, that’s all. Why ot spend the evening with someone you find interesting and amusing, and who finds you attractive? Robbie gave her head a defiant little toss. I’m not going to make more of this than there is.
But, as she dressed and hurried to meet Tyler, she felt as if little wings had sprouted on her feet. How many other girls have felt the same way about him? she asked herself anxiously. But she refused to answer her own question.
Chapter Six
Robbie saw Tyler before he saw her. He was standing at the top of the terrace steps looking out at the harbor, his handsome profile etched against the dark blue evening sky. She felt extravagantly happy as she ran lightly up the steps and he turned to meet her, his eyes lighting up with pleasure at the sight of her.
His approving glance swept over her, making her feel confident and pretty. She wore a sleeveless linen dress that was the color of ripe peaches; it was especially becoming with the glow the day in the sun had given to her skin. Her high heeled sandals showed off her delicate ankles and shapely legs and made her look taller.
“Bermuda certainly agrees with you;’ Tyler told her. “You look positively blooming.”
Robbie had bought the dress on impulse at the end of last summer in an expensive boutique, paying more for it, even on sale, than she would ordinarily spend. But now she felt that her indulgence had been worth it.
“You look mighty sharp yourself,” she told him. He did, in a natural hopsacking blazer, gray slacks, and blue oxford doth shirt. “We both look like we actually belong here! Bermuda is a way of life I could easily become accustomed to.”
“I knew you would,” Tyler said assuredly, guiding her to their reserved table overlooking the ocean, Dinner was a harmonious medley of gourmet food, good conversation, and guitar music provided by a small trio of brightly costumed native musicians. The atmosphere was so delightfully unreal that Robbie felt as if she were living in some kind of dream.
Time passed so swiftly and pleasantly that Robbie was startled to notice most of the nearby tables were empty, and couples had moved to the larger terrace where dancing had begun.
T. J. reached over and took one of her hands. “I’d suggest we join them but we both know we have an eight o’clock wake-up call and have to be out at the field at nine.”
Robbie sighed. “Yes, I know. It’s all gone so quickly. Tomorrow we may be back in rain and sleet and all this will be just a—”
“Dream?” he prompted.
“A memory.” She smiled. “An unforgettable one.”
He looked at her for a long time before speaking, then said, “Don’t be so pessimistic. You may be back in Bermuda again sooner than you think.”
“I wish I thought so.” She smiled wistfully.
“Haven’t you heard of the power of positive thinking?” he teased as he rose from his place and came around and held out her chair for her. “I’m a great believer in going after whatever you decide you want in life.”
“And do you always get it?” Robbie asked curiously.
“Most of the time. And when I don’t, it’s usually because I didn’t want it badly enough in the first place.”
They went down the shallow terrace steps and across the grass to the paths that led back to the cottages. The air was fragrant with the scent of frangipani; the breeze softly rustled the fronds of the palm trees lining the way. Over all the moon shed a silvery sheen. They walked in silence, the only sounds their footsteps on the crushed shell path and the rhythmic reggae melodies floating from the dance pavilion.
As they neared her cottage, he slowed and reached for her hand. The feel of his palm against hers and the strong grip of his fingers as they closed over her hand sent little tingles rippling through her and made it suddenly difficult to breathe.
The small lantern outside her cottage door was lighted and, as they walked up to the doorstep, its light silhouetted Tyler’s profile. He halted on the steps and took both her hands. Raising them to his mouth: he kissed her fingertips and said, “I’ve been to Bermuda a dozen times at least, but this has been a very special time. It’s you, Robbie, who made it so special. Do you have any idea how tempting you are, Robbie?”
Then he was holding her, his chin resting on the top of her head. He brushed back her russet hair with one hand, tucking it behind her ear. Then she felt his lips on her temple; the side of her cheek, the edge of her ear. She heard him whisper her name. He turned her head slightly, and his kiss covered her mouth. For several moments she was caught up in his strength and tenderness.
“Robbie, you’re so sweet, so very special—and beautiful. But, luckily, you don’t know it. That’s what makes you so—” he broke off. In the pale light filtering through the overhanging trees, Robbie saw him smile and frown a little, too, as if at a loss. “Good night, and thank you. Sweet dreams, little lady.”
For some reason Robbie felt a small ripple of alarm. T. J. sounded as if he were saying more than good night. It sounded more like good-bye.
“But, I’ll see you in the morning,” she said.
“Sure, in the morning. Eight sharp.” He touched her cheek softly and turned away, walking with long, swift strides. Soon he had disappeared into the shadows.
Dazed, Robbie went into her cottage, closed the door behind her, and leaned on it for a moment, taking a long, deep breath. She felt lightheaded, happy, yet sad; exuberant, but a little depressed; bewildered and still incredibly alert.
Had that embrace really happened? Or had she simply dreamed it? She could still feel the pressure of his hands on her shoulders; the warmth of his kiss, brief as it was, on her lips; and the disturbing effect he had on her.
Was it only the moonlight, the music, the magic of Bermuda? Or had she made the mistake of falling i
n love with a man who probably would break her heart?
By the next morning, Robbie began to feel as if it bad been a dream or even a figment of her imagination. In the van on the way to the airport, Tyler was remote and impersonal. He did not come back to the galley once during the flight back to the States, and by the time they landed in Atlanta, Robbie was convinced that Tyler J. Lang was proving true to form. A fling, that’s all it bad been—two and a half days to amuse himself in Bermuda with a new conquest.
Robbie tried to cover her inner hurt by smiling more and filling up the time on flight chatting lightly with the passengers. But her throat ached with the effort at small talk and her face felt stretched from the strain of smiling. She was hoping desperately that she could hide her humiliating embarrassment until she got home. What a fool she had been to think that he had meant anything of what he had said or the flattering attention he ha9 lavished on her for that brief time!
She had just seen the last passenger off the plane and down the ramp and turned to get her handbag and weekender out of the locker when Tyler emerged from the cabin. No escape, she thought with a sinking heart.
“Could I drive you home?” he asked.
She was stunned. He was smiling, easy and relaxed. What kind of game is he playing?
“No thanks, I’ve got my car; she stammered.
He tipped his hat and gave her a little salute and said, “Well, then, I’ll call you later.” And he was gone, walking with long strides along the ramp and into the terminal.
Robbie stared after him in disbelief. Happiness flooded all through her again. She tried to tell herself she was crazy. She shouldn’t allow any man to put her on this kind of emotional seesaw. But even as she scolded herself for being so relieved that he had promised to call, she felt scared.
Down deep inside Robbie Mallory had the silly premonition that, somehow, Tyler Lang was going to change her life irrevocably.
Chapter Seven
“I’ll call you later,” Tyler had said.
But, two days later, he still had not called.
It was almost time for Robbie to leave on her next scheduled flight; so, even if he did call, she would be out of town.
Two hours before she was to leave for her Chicago-Denver trip, Robbie stood in her apartment kitchen and glared at the phone.
Maybe the whole thing, the “Bermuda experience,” as she began facetiously to call it, had added up to a big zero—a three-day interlude in her life—enjoyable, fun, exciting, romantic. But, she was not at all sure she would ever hear from T.J. again. It had been just happenstance that they had been scheduled on that flight together. Their paths had never crossed before and might never again.
Part of her mind told her that, but another part was not so sure. Every time the phone had rung, she had felt a surge of hope, followed by disappointment and self-doubt. His evident indifference should have confirmed her first impression of Tyler Lang. But somehow, it didn’t.
Robbie thought she had caught a glimpse of another side of Tyler Lang that no one else had ever seen. He had charm, tact, and distinction, but they were the surface of his personality. What lay beyond was what interested Robbie. Was there character there, some foundation of beliefs, or only a determination to wall the real inner person from prying eyes, keeping him immune to emotional involvement, protecting him from love? Under that easy exterior, what kind of man was really underneath?
Robbie thought of her conversation with Stacy Culver on the first leg of the flight back to Atlanta from Bermuda. While they had been stashing trays in the galley, Stacy had cast several speculative glances at Robbie and then said hesitantly, “I don’t mean to pry—well, yes, I do! I have to confess I’m bursting with curiosity. What have you been up to the last two and a half days?”
Robbie had turned to her, wide-eyed and with simulated bewilderment. “Whatever do you mean, Stacy?”
“Come on, give!” Stacy had demanded, her eyes brightening eagerly. “I mean, besides his being the eighth wonder of the world, how did you happen to spend so much time with our illustrious captain?”
“Are you asking what do I see in him?” Robbie had asked, again feigning puzzlement.
“Robbie!” exclaimed Stacy in frustration.
Robbie laughed easily. “There’s nothing to tell really! Nothing to start the Trans-Con grapevine buzzing. We just had a great time together. Sightseeing, mostly! And if you’re asking ‘what is Tyler Lang really like?’, all I can say is that he’s intelligent, charming, witty…what else?” Her eyes sparkled mischievously.
“Oh, you’re too much!” Stacy lifted her shoulders hopelessly. “I don’t know any other stew he’s spent practically a whole layover with, and you act like it’s no big deal.”
Robbie had just smiled and finished fastening the tray lockers. She had not wanted to fuel the gossip mill with too many details of the last couple of days. She did not know Stacy quite well enough to trust her not to spread a lot of false rumors.
Robbie opened her refrigerator door and took out the ice tray and banged it irritably against the edge of the sink to dislodge a few cubes. She pulled the metal tab off the can of diet cola and poured its contents into a glass. Staring out the window over the sink, she sipped her drink, thinking. He won’t call. He’s never going to call. Ever! she concluded. Well, so what? She had other things to think about, other things to do besides wait for a silly phone call.
She had been invited to spend Thanksgiving with her nursing school roommate, Martie Evans, and her husband Tom. Robbie was looking forward to that. Lisa Young’s transfer had been approved, and she would be leaving at the end of the week. That left Robbie with the problem of finding new roommates or looking for a smaller place of her own.
When she left for the airport, she took the day’s newspaper along, determined to examine the apartment rental ads and to start checking some out. What she needed was a new environment, a fresh outlook, a different view.
Forget him, she commanded herself. If he hasn’t called by now, he isn’t going to call.
But he did call.
Returning home from her flight, Robbie automatically checked the recording device on the phone and found three messages from Tyler Lang! Listening to his warm, exciting voice with its hint of a drawl, she felt an unexpected thrill.
She turned off the answering machine and sat down in wonder. It had happened after all. She felt her heart do funny little somersaults.
Do I return his call? Robbie asked herself. Maybe the question really was sbould she returnit.
No matter how attractive Tyler was and how intriguing the idea of going out with him might be, Robbie felt uncertain. Tyler had a reputation for “loving and leaving.” Wasn’t she playing with fire? Was it worth the risk that she too might be caught in a dangerous flame?
Robbie decided to wait for a while before calling him back. On her layover in Denver she had spotted an interesting ad in the Atlanta paper for an apartment back in Atlanta. She had called from the airport before coming home and made an appointment to see it that afternoon. That would give her time to think about what she wanted to do about Tyler.
SPACIOUS GARAGE APARTMENT, the ad read NEWLY REMODELED, DECK, LR, BDRM, 13TH, MODERN ALL-ELECTRIC KITCHEN, PRIVATE ENTRANCE, ONE CAR SPACE AVAILABLE.
The address led Robbie to a two-story frame house in a settled area. It was neat and freshly painted with a large porch and well-kept lawn, located on a pleasant, tree-shaded street in an older part of town.
Robbie parked her small car in front and took a critical look. There was a driveway that curved around to the back, and Robbie could see the building behind the house that must be the garage over which the apartment was built. It had a balcony something like a Swiss chalet and an outside staircase. If the inside of the apartment was as inviting as the exterior, it seemed promising. Robbie got out of the car, walked up to the porch of the house, and rang the front doorbell.
A gray-haired, sweet-faced lady of about sixty answered. She was Martha
Holmes, the owner. As she took Robbie to show her the place, she explained that the apartment had been built for her son and daughter-in-law to live in while he attended Georgia Tech.
“But now they’ve moved to Texas and it’s been empty for nearly a year. I never really planned on renting it—”
As Mrs. Holmes was showing her the apartment, a persistent meowing caused Robbie to look down at her feet and see a big, fluffy marmalade’ cat with a beautiful white ruff and eyes gleaming like peridots.
“Oh, that’s Cyrano. Mrs. Holmes explained. “Don’t Jet him make a nuisance of himself. Jeff and Donna couldn’t take him with them when they moved. Even though he’s my cat; he spent a lot of time up here with them and must still think of this as a part-time home.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t mind. I love cats. We aren’t allowed to have any pets in the building I’m living in now.”
Afterwards, Robbie thought it was Cyrano who had really cinched the deal and Settled her indecision about taking the apartment.
After a long, rambling conversation in which Robbie expressed her love of antiques and her interest in having a garden, Mrs. Holmes brought out a lease, and they went inside to sign it over a cup of tea.
It was late by the time Robbie got back to her own apartment. To her surprise and delight, she found another message from Tyler waiting! This time he had added the information that he had tickets to the ballet, Sleeping Beauty, next week, and he wondered if she would like to go.
Sleeping Beauty! She adored ballet, and of course she would love to go. All the cautious reservations she had had about seeing Tyler Lang again vanished in her excitement. Her heart did pirouettes as her fingers whirled the digits of his phone number on the dial.
After his “hello” came on the line, Robbie had barely identified herself before he said with a low chuckle, “Well, finally!” I was beginning to wonder if I’d dreamed you up or if you were some kind of myth. I’m glad to know you’re real.”
