Love and Dreams: The Coltrane Saga, Book 6 (14 page)

Gingerly, she made her way from the cabin up to the deck. Bryan saw her and rushed over to take her arm as she blinked against the startling brightness of a golden sun. Shading her eyes with her hand, she looked out at the dazzling blue water, had never seen such brilliance.

Bryan helped her to the gangplank that led to a long, narrow pier stretching from a glimmering white sand beach in the distance. “Let me help you. You’ve got sea legs, and you’ll be wobbly when you first stand on land.”

It was true, she silently acknowledged, reeling back against him as the wooden planks beneath her feet seemed to toss upward, rippling to and fro.

They made their way up the pier, and Bryan held her. She noticed he’d changed also, into a white coat and bright blue pants, a white cotton cap perched jauntily on his head.

As they walked, he told her how he’d come to build a home in so remote a place. “I first came here with an uncle when I was just a young boy, and I fell in love on sight. This part of the Atlantic is called the Bermudas, or sometimes referred to as the Somers Islands. There, must be over three hundred islands and islets around, but submerged coral reefs make navigation difficult. That’s why only a few of the larger islands are really able to be inhabited. I’m fortunate, because my little island has a deep channel into it on this side.”

He pointed toward lush greenery growing up a hillside from the beach they were approaching. “The house is up there, on the other side of those banana trees. I had the pier and dock built here, on the side of the channel, and faced the house to the other side of the island so there’d be an unobstructed view of the sea. Wait’ll you see it. It’ll take your breath away.” He gave her hand an excited squeeze and grinned down at her.

“My uncle,” he went on to say, “fell in love with the area during the Civil War. He was captain of a Federal runner, looking for blockade runners. The South, you see, had to try and get their cotton out for trade with England, and the Bermudas served as a transshipment port.”

Jade politely listened with her mind, but her heart was somewhere in time…with Colt. She blinked back tears, rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. Oh, dear God, she shuddered within, was it ever going to stop hurting? Would there ever be a waking moment when she did not grieve?

“It’s like one big flower garden,” Bryan was saying proudly, gesturing toward a sweeping view of oleanders and dazzling pink cyclamen.

They reached the end of the pier, and he pointed to the sand. “Have you ever seen anything lovelier? The color of pink-tinted coral, ground powder-fine by the wind and the waves. Marnia used to say it was like fine-sifted flour against your skin.”

Jade glanced up at him from beneath lowered lashes, wondered if she would ever be able to speak Colt’s name so easily…the sound flowing with pleasure, not pain. Now the very thought of him made a lump rise in her throat, her bosom heaving with pain too deep for words.

They made their way up a slight rise, then through the grove of banana trees, the leaves crackling and rustling in the balmy breeze like the applause of leprechauns, celebrating their arrival. The house loomed ahead, appealing, colorful. Bryan explained it was made of limestone coral rock, which was soft enough to be cut from the ground with a wood saw, but once exposed to the air, hardened with age; then it was painted pink. The roof was made of overlapping coral shingles, about ten by fourteen inches and an inch thick. Painted white, they were washed periodically with a coating of lime for sanitary purposes, because drinking water was channeled from rain over these shingles, funneled into a reserve tank.

“Look at the steps,” he said. “Typical of the islands. See how they’re wider at the bottom than the top? They’re called ‘welcoming arms’.”

He also drew to her attention the great chimney, told her how the windows were small-paned, with shutters hinged at the top to swing up and out.

“It’s no mansion like the one I built along the Hudson River in upper New York State, of course,” he said without apology as they reached the top of the steps and started to enter, “but it’s lovely and comfortable. Marnia loved it, and so shall you.” He flashed a hopeful smile.

A plump black woman, a native, Jade decided, displayed incredibly white teeth as she grinned and curtsied.

“Marnia taught all the servants to do that,” Bryan whispered, amused. “Meet Amelia, your housekeeper. Amelia, this is Miss Jade.”

“Missy Jade,” the woman cried, delighted. “She take Missy Marnia place?”

Jade tensed, did not miss the quick shadow that touched Bryan’s blue eyes before he tightly corrected the servant. “She’s our guest, Amelia, but you’ll obey her and serve her as though she were mistress of this house. Understand?”

The woman nodded obediently and eagerly, and Bryan guided Jade inside. One huge room ran from front to rear, with glass affording the most spectacular view of the ocean. Blue water glistened in the sun; a bright green lawn led away from the pink sand, sentinels of rose bushes lining the way.

To each side of the huge room, in the rear, were service areas, Bryan explained. He pointed out fireplaces at ankle, knee, and waist levels, and tray ceilings—to cool food. Beyond, there were separate little buildings added on, called butteries, having no windows, only a door, air vents at the top, shelves along the walls—all this for keeping food as cool as possible.

He led her to the front, where a wide terrace beckoned. There was a large bedroom on each side, with French doors opening to the outside. Bryan showed her to the one on the right, dominated by a huge lace-canopied bed, not unlike the one on the yacht. “This was Marnia’s room,” he announced quietly, reverently. “You’re welcome to anything you like.” He gestured to the dressing table with its frothy pink net skirt and then to a huge mahogany wardrobe, which he opened to display a rainbow array of stunning gowns and dresses.

He went to the French doors and pulled a velvet cord that opened the white sheer curtains so that the magnificent view could be seen in all its glory. “I’ll send Amelia to help you with your bath. You’ll find an alcove behind that silk screen over there”—he nodded toward it—“with a tub unlike any you’ve ever seen, I’m sure. Marnia had one of the natives carve it out of coral in the shape of a seashell. You’ll also find the finest of bath oils and soaps, imported from Spain and France.

“Remember,” he said, going to the door to leave her, “if you need anything at all, you’ve only to ask. If we don’t have it here, I’ll send the boat to the mainland to get it. Rest this afternoon, and I’ll see you at dinner.”

When she was alone, Jade went to stand at the open doors to gaze out at the dazzling sea and drink in the sweet smell of the flowers. She could hear the soft rustling of the leaves of the banana trees, the birds singing. It was painfully odd, she acknowledged, to realize there was nothing out there beyond that stretching horizon that beckoned to her. No one was waiting. No one cared where she was or what was happening to her. It was beautiful here, and, so far, there was kindness. But without Colt, what did any of it matter?

She turned from the window, her eyes swept the room, and suddenly a heart-shaped frame on the dresser caught her attention. She went to pick it up, saw that it was a picture of a bride and groom. The groom was Bryan, and the bride was a breathtakingly lovely woman in white satin and lace. Her elegantly styled hair beneath her delicate veil was the color of Jade’s own. Her eyes were shining green, fringed with thick lashes. The couple was the image of two people desperately in love with each other, optimistic of a future as bright as the smiles on their faces.

So this, she acknowledged, was Marnia.

Jade thought she was incredibly beautiful.

“You and she, you are alike.”

Jade whirled, startled, at the sound of the native woman’s voice. “Oh, Amelia, I didn’t hear you come in.”

The pleasantly plump woman was contrite. “Me not mean to scare. I come to see if you need me. Master Bryan tell me to.’’

Jade waved away her apology. “It’s all right. I was just lost in thought.” She gestured to the picture. “Is this Master Bryan’s wife, Marnia?”

Amelia nodded sadly. “She was beautiful lady. Like you. You look like her. So pretty.” She flashed her smile once more, hopefully asked, “You will be her, no?”

Jade was at once horrified at such a concept, quickly shook her head, and set the picture back on the dresser. “No. No, nothing like that. I’m just Master Bryan’s guest, that’s all. But tell me,” she went on, turning to her curiously, “what happened to Mrs. Stevens? How did she die?”

Amelia’s eyes clouded then, and she busied herself by going to the bed and turning the covers back. “You need to rest, master say. I bring you egg soup, tea. You eat. You drink. You sleep. First, I make bath. He say you want bath.”

Jade watched her silently, decided she would not impose herself by prying. Bryan would tell her what he wanted her to know when the time came…and she had to ask herself if she really cared, anyway. As cold as it seemed, her own misery was enough; she did not want to share anyone else’s.

She waved away the offer of the bath for the moment, for she was terribly tired. “Let me just lie down for a little while,” she said drowsily, and in seconds was fast asleep.

Amelia stood beside the bed uncertainly, her heart going out to the pretty young woman who lay across the bed, tears flowing down her cheeks even as she slept. She heard a soft sob, then the whispered plea, “Come back, Colt, please…”

Feeling she was intruding, she tiptoed from the room, closing the door gently behind her.

Chapter Twelve

Jade slept the rest of the day, a soft breeze flowing across her skin, which was deliciously soothing to her sunburn. She awoke feeling refreshed, but she found herself in an odd emotional limbo.

She could now acknowledge, with pain instead of hysteria, that Colt was dead.

She experienced no trepidation at the awareness of being somewhere in an isolated part of the world, around people she did not know.

She realized that everyone who knew her presumed her dead, but that thought provoked no emotion whatsoever.

It was as though the restful sleep had prepared her to be resilient to worries and concern; had enabled her to accept, without question, that nothing else could cause her despair.

She had suffered, been wounded…and now withdrew within herself to feel nothing.

Amelia came to tell her it was time for dinner, which would be served on the terrace so she could enjoy the sunset. She went to her former mistress’s closet and presented to Jade a soft cashmere robe with the explanation that Master Bryan thought it might feel more comfortable against her sunburn than a gown. Jade gratefully accepted it.

Amelia helped her brush her hair and pin it in soft curls atop her head, then suggested a pearl necklace from Marnia Stevens’ onyx jewelry box to complement the rounded neckline of the robe, with drop earrings to match.

When she was ready, Jade opened the French doors and stepped out onto the terrace and breathed deeply, deliciously, the heady fragrance of night-blooming jasmine. The sun had almost dropped below the horizon, painting a rippling swirl of luscious pink and coral across the turquoise water. A half-moon was rising; tropical breezes caused the leaves of the banana trees to dance and undulate seemingly in rhythm to the musical calling of macaws and parrots in the branches of swaying palms. The world was bathed in a chiffon light of rainbow hues.

“Have you ever seen anything quite so beautiful?”

She did not jump at the sound of Bryan’s voice, for she still felt as though all her nerves and emotions had left her. She could have told him that the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen was Colt presenting her with a diamond ring, and a proposal, before throngs of people at the Mariinsky Theater.

Finally, she responded, “No, I don’t think so. You should take pride in knowing you created such a place.”

He handed her a glass of wine, which she gratefully took. “It wasn’t my creation,” Bryan explained. “It was ours—mine and Marnia’s. We did it together, and now I think of it as a shrine to what we felt for each other.”

Once more she was impressed by, and envious of, how easily the name of the woman he’d adored slipped off his tongue. Wishing to think of other things, she gestured to the robe she was wearing. “Thank you. It was a good idea—much more comfortable than regular clothes—but I think by tomorrow I’ll be over the worst of it.”

“Let’s enjoy our dinner now. Later, if you’re up to it, we can go for a walk on the beach. It’s going to be a lovely evening.”

He led her to a small round table situated at the edge of the terrace. It was covered with a pale pink linen cloth, and there were matching napkins and crystal glasses and fine bone china and silverware. A centerpiece of wild orchids rested between softly burning candles. He held out her chair for her, and she thought she could not eat a bite, that this was all a waste of time. But then Pauly, the houseboy, began to serve the food, and suddenly her appetite surged.

“This is a cassava pie,” Bryan explained, delighted when she accepted a second helping. “Actually, it’s a traditional Christmas dish of Bermuda, but I asked Pauly and Amelia to make one especially for tonight because I thought you’d enjoy it. Each household has its own recipe, I’m told. This one is made of pork, chicken, and the crust is from the grated root of the cassava plant.”