by Susan Napier
‘Not yet,’ she temporised.
‘Soon?’
She looked back at him helplessly. ‘I—no—maybe...! I don’t know!’ She wrapped her arms about herself and shook her head. ‘I just don’t know! Can’t we let it drop?’
‘So you want us to go on as we are, then—no soul-searching confessions on either side...yet?’ There was a tormented edge to his words, a duality that suggested that in spite of his attempts to persuade her otherwise he too welcomed the reprieve.
‘Oh, you’re very clever,’ she said bitterly, recognising that he had brought her full circle, knowing no more about him than before, whereas he had managed to eke some valuable information out of her.
She flinched at his sudden movement, but he was only reaching for one of her fretting hands, lifting it unexpectedly to his lips.
‘Clever enough to accept the wisdom of the Bible when it says that there is a season to everything,’ he said, a strange serenity replacing the aggressive curiosity in his eyes as he kissed the underside of her encircled wrist and placed her hand against his warm chest, his rapid heartbeat providing a counterpoint to his slow words. “‘A time to every purpose under heaven...a time to keep silence, and a time to speak...’”
“‘A time to love, and a time to hate”?’ she quoted shakily as he ran his hand caressingly up her arm and cupped her shoulder, gently tugging.
‘Is that what you’re afraid of, Roz? Do you think I might hate you when you finally unveil your secrets?’ he whispered as he drew her inexorably down on top of his outstretched body.
A sudden smile chased the brooding shadows from her eyes and relaxed her supple body. Of course not. Why would he? ‘No...’ He might love her, though, if she gave him sufficient encouragement.
‘Well, then...’ Luke reached up to trace the outline of her soft lips. ‘Maybe you’re right... maybe this is our time for silence...our season for loving.’ His fingers stroked up over her temple and threaded into the shimmering red halo of her hair. ‘But that other time will come for us, Rosalind...’ He lifted his head and exerted just enough pressure on the back of her delicate skull to breathe his vow against her lips. ‘One day soon we’ll have our reckoning...’
It was a promise Rosalind tried hard to forget over the next few days. After calling Jordan later that same evening to reaffirm the details of Peter Noble’s death and check that Peggy Staines’s condition remained unchanged, she determinedly dismissed the tangled past and uncertain future from her mind. She decided that for the remainder of her holiday she would live in the golden present, storing up emotional treasures, stringing memories like priceless pearls—pure, precious, unique in their joyous lustre.
The long, blazing Tioman days gave way to equally long, blazing nights with Luke. For all his inexperience, he was a wonderful lover, tender yet fierce, hungry for everything that she could offer and disconcertingly eager to experiment, delighting in his ability to sometimes fluster the unshockable Roz Marlow.
Instead of easing with familiarity, their passion strengthened and deepened, and as they lazed away the days Rosalind knew with utter certainty that her instincts hadn’t betrayed her. Luke had melted into her heart until he was an indivisible part of it—part of her...
With Luke she could be gregarious and playful or silent and moody or broody and restless and he would simply be...Luke. He taught her to drink vodka without choking and she taught him to dance. He showed her how to tone her body with weights and she taught him how to abuse his with wickedly licentious desserts. He taught her astronomy while she quoted Shakespearian sonnets beneath the stars.
And they talked, not of important things but of the vital trivialities that bound people in intimacy—the foods they liked and music they preferred, the places they had been to and the books they had read as children. Emotions, like the immediate past and future, were a taboo subject, but Rosalind never doubted that, like her, Luke was discovering a part of himself that he hadn’t hitherto realised existed.
Once they came upon some young island children playing on an isolated beach and, as Rosalind stood there wondering what Olivia’s children would look like, she felt Luke’s hand slip warmly into hers and squeeze. She hadn’t been conscious of her melancholy expression and she banished it by flinging herself into the children’s chasing game, making them giggle and Luke laugh at her mad antics.
She had thought she had finally come to terms with her sterility long ago, but now she knew what her doctor of the time had meant when he’d talked warningly about cycles of acceptance. Loving Luke had made her aware that, no matter how full and contented a life she created for herself, a secret sorrow would always lurk in some hidden corner of her heart. Any man who loved her enough to be faithful would forfeit his only chance of immortality. She could offer him everything... everything but a child born out of their love.
The days slipped past with ever greater speed but the end of Rosalind’s holiday was still a small eternity away when the bubble of wonderful unreality abruptly burst.
Rosalind had breezed into Luke’s chalet, laden with new clothes that she had picked out for him from the hideously expensive hotel boutique, to find him on the telephone. He had been going through some of his electronic mail when she had left, as he did most afternoons, and he was still seated in front of his laptop at the small dining table, his reading glasses dangling from his hand as he pinched the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb, uttering brief, monosyllabic replies to whoever was on the other end.
Rosalind put down her packages quietly and as Luke looked up sharply at the crackle of the carrier bags she was shocked by the greyness of his face. His hand clenched on the receive and she hesitantly mimed herself going out again but he shook his head abruptly, his attention snapping back to the last few words of his call. After hanging up he sat for a moment, staring into nothingness, his cheeks hollowed with strain.
‘Luke? What’s happened? Is something wrong?’
He stood up jerkily, looking at her but not seeing her, tossing his glasses down on the table with unaccustomed contempt for the lenses. ‘That was my father.’
‘Oh,’ she said, taken aback by his harshness. Had they had an argument? ‘What did he want?’
She wondered whether the elder Mr James was anything like his adopted son. Had Luke still been young and impressionable enough to be moulded in his new father’s image?
‘Sit down.’ She blinked at the order, a little trickle of coldness running down her spine. ‘I’ve never told you much about my parents, have I?’
She shook her head as she perched uneasily on the edge of the couch, watching him prowl round the room tidying things that didn’t need to be tidied. He hadn’t told her anything but the bare fact of his adoption. Thinking it must be an ultra-sensitive subject, she had respected his silence.
‘Actually, my adoptive father is related to me, but only by marriage. My mother was his stepsister.’
Rosalind opened her mouth to protest that he had told her he had been orphaned without a family but snapped it shut again as he continued flatly, ‘My parents left a hell of a lot of debts when they died—my father had just mortgaged everything to go into business. His only legacy to me was his name; that was why I kept it when my aunt and uncle adopted me. They couldn’t have any children themselves and I’ve always felt I disappointed them by not taking on their name, but I just couldn’t bring myself to reject my last link with Mum and Dad.
‘They certainly loved me as if I was their own and I never lacked security, financial or otherwise, and although they demanded strict standards of behaviour of me I knew it was no more than they expected of themselves. When I was at school they never missed a sports day or a play, and they always welcomed my friends. They bought me the best education money could buy and gave me all the support I ever needed in my studies...’
Rosalind sat there listening to him describe how wonderful his adoptive parents were and how much he owed them, gradually feeling colder and colder unt
il her core was solid ice—numb and blessedly unfeeling. He still hadn’t mentioned any names, but as he rambled jerkily on she knew...she knew...with a black fatalism that made her wonder if she’d always known...
‘It’s Peggy, isn’t it?’ she uttered through white lips, when she could stand the torture no longer. ‘Donald and Peggy Staines are your uncle and aunt...’
He swung around, knocking one of her packages over, and out spilled a green silk shirt she had bought him because it was the colour of her eyes and she’d thought it would remind him of her when she wasn’t around.
‘She regained consciousness yesterday morning. Don didn’t ring me until now because her condition hadn’t stabilised, but now they’ve had time to make an assessment... The stroke has affected the movement down her left side and distorted her speech but she can make herself understood.’
Peggy was awake and starting to communicate! Rosalind could hardly take it in. She felt as if she was having a heart attack, the squeezing in her chest almost too much to bear. She looked up at the towering figure...at the adoptive half-brother of Peter Noble. Poor Peggy—she had had two sons and neither bore her name! She had been forced to give up her first-born child for adoption, who, it had turned out, was destined to be her only born, and then through a tragedy she had gained another son, whom she herself had adopted. Luke’s love and respect for Peggy bordered on reverence. What would it do to him to learn that she had been too ashamed to appeal to him for help?
‘It wasn’t just an incredible coincidence that you were on that Tioman flight, was it?’ she whispered. ‘Somehow you found out and you were following me.’
‘Don begged me to find out what kind of trouble Peggy was in. He wanted to know if he ought to resign before the scandal breaks. He’s that kind of man—painfully honourable,’ Luke said grimly. ‘He couldn’t remember anything of what you’d said at the hospital, only that you’d been vague and evasive, and you’d disappeared pretty sharply. He couldn’t leave Peggy so I said I’d track you down and find out what he needed to know.
‘Don’s police connections were of the opinion that you were certainly hiding something, but they had nothing to work on and they suspected you would bolt at the first sign of pressure, so I put some feelers out at Pendragon before I flew up to Auckland and, thanks to my security rating, I found out about Jordan’s extremely confidential travel booking...non-tax deductable.’ The typically meticulous addition was made totally without humour. ‘I knew the best chance I had to persuade you to help me was to be on that plane.’
Rosalind massaged her aching chest. ‘But—I can’t believe that Jordan—’
He cut her off with an impatient shrug. ‘Our friendship was largely confined to the Pendragon offices; he has no idea who my parents are. Seeing him at the airport—now that was pure coincidence. And a profound piece of luck for me. But unfortunately he couldn’t tell me anything more than the police, so I knew then that if you weren’t even talking to the people you trusted most you certainly weren’t going to open up to me. Given what you were being accused of, I didn’t think compassion would be one of your strong points. I was wrong about that, wasn’t I?’
His sober question threw her off balance for a moment but she quickly regained it. ‘Did you think you might have a better chance conning me into some pillow talk?’ she flung at him bitterly.
His eyes narrowed. ‘It occurred to me—especially considering your royal reputation for reckless behaviour.’
She went white, leaping to her feet, her hand itching to hit him. ‘You bastard!’
He was equally pale. ‘I told you how much Peggy and Don mean to me—’
‘And that excuses what you did? I suppose you’re going to say the ends justified the means!’ she spat furiously. ‘And how proud of you would your parents feel now, knowing that you prostituted yourself with a little slut for nothing?’
His complexion flooded with brilliant colour. ‘I said it occurred to me, that’s all,’ he said roughly. ‘Damn it, Roz, I’m trying to be as honest as I can with you, for both our sakes. I didn’t know you back then. I do now ... probably better than you would like me to. You know damned well I made love to you because it seemed the utterly natural thing to do. There was no ulterior motive, except maybe to build an intimate bond between us that was strong enough to survive whatever truths we had to tell each other.
‘And it is, isn’t it, Rosalind? Yes, we’re angry with each other, and yes, you’re feeling frustrated and hurt, and so am I, and yes, yes, I’m going to use every argument in the book to get you to tell me what I need to know, but whether you do or not this is not over...I won’t let it be...’
Rosalind had had plenty of flamboyant rows in her time, but never one in which she had felt the pain of the attacker as acutely as her own defensive wounds. On the ferry to Singapore the next morning, clutching only her small overnight bag, she shakily congratulated herself for withstanding Luke’s powerful assault on her conscience, on her see-sawing emotions and... finally... on her body. They had made love all night long with a fierce, bruising urgency that should have left her feeling fragile and vulnerable but instead had left her charged with a furious energy. Luke seemed hell-bent on staking a claim to Rosalind’s loyalty, both in bed and out. Well, first she would have to clear the decks of prior claims...
She had left him still sleeping and signed an early checkout, arranging for the rest of her luggage to be packed and sent on to her the next day, hoping that her scattered belongings would fool Luke long enough for her to make a clean getaway. Unfortunately, when she got to the tiny airport there wasn’t a spare seat until an afternoon flight to Kuala Lumpur, so instead she headed for the wharf and gained a last-minute berth on the high-speed catamaran.
As the twin granite peaks of Tioman receded into the glassy South China Sea Rosalind refused to look back. No regrets, she told herself. She had made her decision; now she had to stick to it.
Don’t look back, she told herself half a day later as she boarded a first-class flight from Singapore to Auckland via a couple of long, tiresome stop-overs which had not figured in Jordan’s original flight plans. She sat bolt upright as they chased the daylight all the way down the Pacific rim, rehearsing scenarios over and over in her head until she thought she was prepared for every eventuality.
Nearly twenty-seven hours after she had blown a farewell kiss to the sleeping man on a tumbled bed in a faraway paradise she stumbled into the starkly modern clinical ward in the Wellington hospital where Peggy Staines was listed as not receiving visitors and immediately got into a full-blown argument with a tank commander in nurse’s drag.
‘It’s all right, Sister, I know she looks dangerous, but she’s with me.’
Rosalind gasped at the mirage hovering before her in a faintly rumpled suit, his hair flopping over his tanned forehead, his eyes almost as bloodshot as hers.
‘How did you—?’
‘Because I told you—I know you almost as well as you know yourself, Roz Marlow. This is exactly your extravagant style—the hotheaded decision, the dramatic exit, the flamboyant gesture of self-sacrifice! Did you think I didn’t know the instant you left the bed? Did you think I didn’t immediately pick up the phone and ask Reception to let me know if you checked out? Did you think I couldn’t spin a good enough sob story to touch the heart of the woman on the flight-information desk at Singapore?
‘You taught me well, Roz—you should have stuck with me then you wouldn’t look such a total wreck,’ he said cruelly, his eyes flicking over her jeans and travel-stained T-shirt topped with her denim jacket. ‘I pleaded a family emergency and got priority-bumped all the way from Tioman. I understand you took the scenic route...’
Her blood sugar shot sky-high—quite a feat since she hadn’t eaten for a day and a night. ‘Why, you—!’
The sergeant major harrumphed. ‘Don’t disturb her for too long, Mr James. She needs her rest.’
‘Uh, that’s very kind of you...’ Rosalind was mortified.
How could the woman be so caring about someone who had been so insulting? She flashed her a brilliantly apologetic smile.
‘She’s talking about Peggy, Roz,’ Luke reproved her as the nurse trod heavily away.
‘On.’ Her eyes darted to his. ‘How is she?’ He hadn’t tried to stop her leaving Tioman or entering the hospital, yet he was here lying in wait for her. Was he now going to show her how futile any cunning attempt to see his aunt would be?
He took her elbow and turned her down the long corridor, shortening his stride to match her wobbly steps. ‘Well enough to see you.’
She just stopped herself leaning on him. ‘You told her I was coming?’
‘She’s in no condition to take any shocks. Don’t worry,’ he said wearily. ‘I reassured her that although we know each other we haven’t discussed anything that happened between you two. She seemed pathetically relieved.
‘She told me that she was horribly embarrassed ...that she’s been a closet fan of yours for years and got carried away having recognised you having coffee at the hotel. She said she followed you up to your room and got you to ask her in by pretending to be a hospital employee, and that you kindly let her stay for a drink and a chat while you got ready for your appointment. She said she thought Don would be angry with her for behaving like a teenager and she’s sorry that she put you in such an awkward position by making you promise not to tell anyone of her foolishness when she started having pains.
‘I didn’t mention the extent of the publicity but I did say the press interest had put quite a lot of pressure on your silence, and she said she had no idea that her silliness would get blown so out of proportion or she would never have asked such a thing of you...’
Rosalind’s heart sank at the blow. Peggy was scarcely awake yet she was already frantically covering her tracks. She expected them to continue their charade for ever! The story actually sounded quite plausible but it was obvious from Luke’s toneless delivery that he knew Rosalind too well to believe that so frivolous a reason was behind her unshakeable show of loyalty.
