A Lonely Sky (25 page)

“No, I can’t.” She pulled away. “I have to do what’s right.”

“Marrying someone you don’t love isn’t right!”

“But giving my baby a good home is. And John loves me. I’ll be making him and my father happy.”

“Why are you settling to please them? Why not go for what you want?”

Julia turned a tear-stained face towards her friend. “I did that, and this is where it got me. I think I need to deal with what I have, and not look for something else.” She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “Sure, I wanted to be an actress, but that won’t be happening now. And why?  Because I took a chance and it led me right back here.”

“I feel bad for you.”

Julia stared into the hallway at the silent phone. “Don’t. I know now that my place is here, with this baby, and being content with the people who love me.”

Kim sighed. “So, if Sam doesn’t call, you’re definitely marrying John?”

Julia paused for a moment, and then turned, her jaw set. She wiped away a final tear.

“Yes.”

Sam woke to the scent of tropical blossoms, the kiss of a light breeze caressing his body, and an ungodly pain pounding in his skull. Lifting his head from the comfort of the soft pillow beneath him, he cringed as bright sunlight drifted in through louvered windows. He rested back on the pillows and attempted to open his eyes, hoping the pain wouldn’t further render him helpless. A few moments later he successfully attempted this feat and found himself staring at a vaulted ceiling and a whirling fan.

Where the devil am I? 
He sat up, slowly this time, the pain in his head easing a bit as his eyes adjusted to daylight. As he looked around, he realized he resided in a luxurious cottage, complete with king-sized, four-poster bed, dressing area, sunken Jacuzzi and veranda.

Glancing down, he found himself shirtless, a pair of boxers the only thing keeping him from complete nudity. His mouth tasted foul, and his stomach felt queasy.

Sam groaned, hungover as hell, and unable to remember much of how he got that way. He recalled his wedding, most of the reception and numerous strong whiskies. He certainly didn’t remember arriving at this cottage.

He glanced at the other side of the bed. The pillow and sheets were rumpled, but vacant. He assumed he spent the night with Deirdre, but hoped he hadn’t.

The door to the cottage opened and Deirdre strolled in, dressed in a light blue bikini top and floral, sarong type skirt. A wide brimmed straw hat shielded her hair from the sun’s rays and stylish flip-flops, sprinkled with sand, adorned her feet.

“Finally up, love?” She smiled as she closed the door behind her and removed a pair of dark sunglasses. “I’ve been waiting.”

Sam rubbed the sleep from one eye, and kept the other closed against the morning light. “I take it we’re not in Merry Old England anymore?”

“Good lord, darling!” Deirdre walked to the dresser and reached for a bottle of sunscreen. “Don’t you remember the trip to Fiji?”

“I’m in Fiji?” Sam’s eyes opened wide. “How the devil did we get here?”

“Private jet, darling. I hired it out of London.” Deirdre walked to his side and sat next to him. She stroked his back, but he pulled away. “You really don’t remember much, do you?” She glanced at her side of the bed. “Not that there was very much to remember; you were deplorably drunk. The pilot helped you onto the plane and you passed out.”

Sam rose, trying to comprehend it all. “Fiji?”

“Well, actually it’s a tiny island just south of Fiji…
extremely private
, Sam. There’s only a handful of guests here.”

“Why are we here?”

“It’s our honeymoon, darling!” Deirdre smiled and applied sunscreen to one long, lean leg. “I paid for it myself as a wedding gift to you. I thought that you could use a little time away from all the pressure of the wedding and movie making -”

“Bloody hell, Deirdre! I can’t take a vacation! I was in the middle of a shoot!”

Deirdre waved his fears away as if they were nothing but a nasty, annoying bug. “Oh don’t worry, Sammy. I arranged a few days off for you with your director. Actually, we have an entire week to spend here. And it’s so lovely, Sam! So quiet. Very secluded. And best of all
… no phones
.” She smiled.

Sam began to pace. The last thing he wanted was a week alone with Deirdre. He needed to return home and settle Polly’s finances. “I didn’t agree to a honeymoon.”

Deirdre feigned shock. “But it’s a surprise dear. You need the rest. You’ve been looking so ragged since Polly died.”

Sam looked around for his pants and his cigarettes, unsure as to which he needed more. “Where the hell are my clothes?”

Deirdre sighed, but rose and walked to the wicker dresser. From a drawer she procured a pair of khaki shorts, a tan, lightweight cotton short-sleeved shirt and a pair of canvass, slip-on shoes. “Here. I took the liberty of packing for you since you were… under the weather.”

Sam took the clothes from her. “These aren’t mine.”

“I bought them for you, darling. Really, you can’t run around on an island in jeans and sweaters, now can you?  Your wardrobe is boring, darling, and I intend to fix that.”

Sam put the clothes on before he continued. “How long have I been here?”

“A day and a half.”

“Bloody hell! And I slept the entire time?”

Deirdre glanced towards the unkempt bed. “Sadly, yes.”

“And what have you been doing?  Did you take care of Polly’s finances before we left?”

Deirdre walked around to his side of the bed and sat. She pulled a pack of his cigarettes and a lighter from a drawer from the bedside table and handed them to him. “Well, there’s been a teensy, weensy snafu there.”

Sam felt his heart quicken. “No. There can be no snafu. I had until yesterday to make the payments or-”

“Or the estate went to auction. Yes, I know, dear.”

Sam resisted the temptation to strangle her. He clenched and unclenched his fists. “Did you pay the bills or not?”

“I tried.” Deirdre spoke, calm and collected, which only irritated him further. “But we ran into a stipulation in Daddy’s will.”

“Oh Jesus Bloody Christ.” Sam paced again. “What stipulation?”

“Really darling. Please watch your language. I won’t have it.”

“Just tell me what happened!” He stopped directly in front of her and stared her down.

Deirdre seemed nonplussed by his angst. She sat up taller and looked him square in the eye. “The will said I don’t get the money from the business until I’ve been married five years.”

Sam laughed aloud. “Bullshit.”

“No really, darling.” Deirdre stood and walked to the bureau and opened her purse. “I have a copy of it right here if you’d like to see it.” She pulled out some folded papers. “I’m terribly sorry, Sam.”

Sam grabbed the papers from her, not even bothering to look at them. Instead he ripped them up and threw the pieces at her. “This is bullshit, Deirdre! You are rich beyond words. You could have paid off that debt with your own money. You chose not to. Why?”

“I wanted us to have a nice honeymoon, darling!” She held up her hands. “This cost a fortune and you do need the rest!”

“I needed you to pay off the estates and clear Polly’s name! You could have done it! You have enough money, business inheritance or not.”

Deirdre looked at the copy of the will scattered about her feet, her voice steady. “That’s not true, Sam. I’ve been living off Mother’s side of the inheritance all this time, and I must be frugal since it’s hers as well. Believe me, I was as surprised as you that we have to be married for five years to get the fortune from the business.”

“And just why the bloody hell would your father put that stipulation in the will, Deirdre? Why?” Sam spoke between clenched teeth.

Deirdre’s jaw set. “Perhaps he didn’t trust me with the money, Sam, or-” she laughed a bittersweet laugh. “-perhaps he didn’t believe that anyone would marry me for love alone.” She paused, not looking at him as she spoke. “This way, you see, if a man did marry me only for my money, perhaps he might actually grow to love me in five years time.” She walked to the bed and sat down. “Imagine that.”

Sam held his hand to his aching forehead. “I didn’t marry you for your money.”

She turned to him, her eyes softening, and hope resonating in her words. “Oh Sam.”

He grabbed his wallet and cigarettes “I married you for
mine
.” He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Sam walked for what felt like an eternity. Deirdre had been right, the island was remote and hot as hell. After a while, he removed his shirt and used it to wipe beads of perspiration from his forehead and neck. Where he was going, he had no idea, but Sam simply knew he needed to leave this place, return to the mainland and call Julia.

As he trudged through the soft, white sand, his headache and thirst returned full-force. The beach seemed to stretch for miles, yet he spotted nary a soul, only stray, thatched roofed cottages like the one in which he awoke.

His legs began to cramp, and hunger gnawed. Nearly ready to surrender to the heat, lie down and let nature play out as it would, Sam spotted two people in the distance. He shadowed his eyes with his hand, and tried to focus. They appeared to be a man and a woman. As they drew closer, Sam smiled, relieved.

“Hello!” He walked up to meet them, wondering if he looked as awful as he felt.

The man, sunburned, balding and dressed in wildly printed shorts and an equally tacky floral shirt, returned the greeting. “Howdy!”

“Pardon me,” Sam said, happy the couple seemed cordial. “But I appear to be dreadfully lost.”

“How can we help?” The man offered his hand. “I’m Don Parsons. This here is my lovely wife, Cheryl. We’re from Omaha. I sell insurance. You sound British, are you?”

“Yes, yes, British,” Sam said, his head aching as he eyed the cool, tall umbrella drinks Don and Carol from Omaha carried. “Where did you get the drinks? Is there someplace near?”

“New here, eh?” Don Parsons laughed and his heavy belly shook. “Just up the beach there, about another ten minutes or so. It’s the only place on the island if you want to get away from the honeymoon huts, heh, honey?” He winked at his wife.

Cheryl, slightly overweight but pretty, smiled at Sam. “You look familiar, honey. Have I seen you somewhere before?  Perhaps at one of the island get-togethers?”

“No,” Sam wiped the sweat from his brow. “I’ve been under the weather and in the hut.”

Don laughed heartily and nudged Cheryl. “Under the weather, heh? Is that what you youngsters call it now?  Back in our day-”

“Look, Don,” Sam interrupted. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m feeling a tad faint from the heat. Does the place ahead sport a phone?”

“Oh yeah. Keep walking. You can’t miss the place. It’s the only hotel on the island. But take my drink, boy. You look awful.” Don offered up his glass.

“No thank you, Don.” Sam’s stomach lurched at the thought of alcohol. “Those spirits delivered me here. Thanks for the directions. Excellent to meet you.”

“Give him your card, Donny.” Cheryl smiled again at Sam.

Don reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a business card. “There you go fella. Give me a jingle if you’re ever in Omaha.”

Sam took it. “Brilliant. Very well then. Goodbye.”

“See you around, fella.” Don and Cheryl continued on their way as Sam headed quickly towards salvation.

As Don predicted, Sam spotted the small resort set back from the beachfront. Sam plodded up a grassy hill to the open-air lobby. A cool breeze from overhead fans greeted him like a long lost kiss. He walked to the front desk.

“Can I help you?” A dark-skinned concierge stood behind the counter. He appeared unhurried, friendly and eager to help.

“I’m in need of water and a phone. I need to call the States.” Sam slipped his shirt back on, although the concierge seemed nonplussed by his rough appearance.

“You can find drinks in our restaurant, sir, and I’m afraid we don’t have phones for guests use. Unless it's an emergency. We pride ourselves at being a very private and exclusive island. People come here for peace, sir.”

Sam looked around, unsure what to do. Remembering his credit card, he pulled his wallet from his pocket, shocked to find it stuffed with several hundred pounds. Where the devil had this money come from?  Suddenly he knew, and the thought of Deirdre padding his wallet infuriated him. She swore she lacked money to pay off Polly’s estates, yet she stocked his billfold?

He felt the inquisitive eyes of the concierge eyeing his fortune. His anger dissipated as he realized how helpful these funds just became.

Without hesitation, he lifted a crisp bill from the wallet and slid it across the shiny desk. “I really need to call the States, sir.” He pulled out another bill. “And it is an emergency.”

The man eyed the money, glanced around the lobby, and then returned his gaze to Sam. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I have a phone in the office.” He motioned for Sam to follow him around the desk and through a doorway.