Native Affairs (76 page)

“It’s already yesterday’s news.”

“Don’t count on it. I’ll bet you didn’t get many regrets in response to your invitations to this party.”

“That’s true.”

“And you thought everybody was showing up because Heath was the boss?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Maybe. But they also wanted to see you.”

Ann sighed. “I hope I wasn’t a disappointment.”

“How could you be? A tall, slim blonde with cover girl cheekbones? The minute I set my eyes on you, all my questions were answered.”

“Really?” Ann said frostily, studying her companion. She was beginning to dislike this conversation intensely. If this woman had an ax to grind she was going to find herself alone out here with the Christmas lights.

Stacy waved her cigarette. “Don’t get your nose out of joint. I only meant that I understand what he sees in you. I come from a background like Heath’s. I came up from nothing, like him. I married my ex-husband, Jamie Barcroft, because he was born in Greenwich and went to Exeter and Yale. Heath and I both crave class and people like you are the closest we’re ever going to come to it.”

“Thank you for your analysis of my marriage. I think I’d better get back inside and look after my guests.”

Stacy put her hand on Ann’s arm. “I’m sorry if I offended you. Maybe there are some sour grapes in what I’m saying but it’s also true. Just a word to the wise, that’s all.”

“Thank you. Good night.”

“Merry Christmas,” Stacy said, turning away as Ann opened the door to the house.

Inside the first few leave-takers were getting ready to depart. Ann spent the next hour shaking hands and saying goodbye, her feet and her head beginning to ache. She barely saw Heath, who always seemed to be off in some corner deep in conversation with one of his executives. Finally she abandoned her post by the door and went up to the bedroom to get a glass of water to take some aspirin.

In the bedroom she found a man she had met twice that night and whose name she could not recall—the manager of the Bimini repair garage on Big Palm. She had danced with him earlier in the evening. He looked up as she arrived. He grinned sheepishly.

“Hi, Mrs. Bodine. I was just getting my raincoat, but there’s a pile here on the bed and I can’t find it.”

“Oh, please, let me help you. I’m so sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Ben Rowell.”

“I can’t believe so many coats wound up in here. I thought there was enough room in the front hall closet, but I guess I was wrong. What color is it?”

“Kind of an olive green—here it is,” Ben said triumphantly. As he turned to smile at Ann she felt the room spin and she reached out instinctively, clutching him to maintain her balance. He pulled her into his arms to keep her from sliding to the floor.

At the same instant Heath came rushing through the door, grabbed Ben by the shoulder to pull him off Ann, and then punched the other man squarely in the jaw.

Ben staggered back in shock, staring at Heath, his eyes wide with amazement and dismay. Ann was rooted, gaping in disbelief at her husband, who seemed to have lost his mind.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing with my wife?” Heath shouted, lunging for Ben again. Ann recovered enough to jump in front of Heath and block his path to the other man.

“Stop it this instant!” she snapped at Heath. “I felt a little dizzy and Ben was only trying to help me!”

“Why did you come back here to the bedroom with him?” Heath demanded, his eyes blazing.

“For heaven’s sake, Heath, I didn’t come back here with him. I found him in here looking for his coat. Will you calm down and apologize? You’re making a fool of yourself.”

“I saw him looking at you all night,” Heath insisted, taking a step forward again.

Joe Jensen arrived, drawn by the sound of raised voices, and Ann was never so glad to see anyone in her life.

“What’s going on here?” Joe demanded, looking around at the three of them.

“Ben was helping me when I felt faint and Heath misunderstood the situation,” Ann said quickly. “Will you take him outside for a walk, Joe? I think he’s had too much to drink.”

“I’m perfectly sober—enough to see what was going on right under my nose,” Heath said belligerently.

Joe gripped him firmly by the arm and steered him into the hall as Ann went to Ben and took his hand.

“I’m so sorry about this, Ben. My only explanation is that Heath has been under a strain, working very hard, and I think he just had one too many tonight.”

“It’s all right, Mrs. Bodine. Everybody gets a snootful now and then, there’s no harm done. Just the same I think I’d better go. I’ll say good-night now.”

Ann saw him out the door with extreme relief and then came upon Joe and Heath in the living room, where Joe was giving her husband a lecture, talking earnestly to Heath’s bent dark head.

“I’m telling you right now, boy, you’d better get hold of yourself and straighten up quickly. That little girl is going to leave you in the dust just as fast as she married you if you keep acting this way. You’re just lucky that everybody but Joanie and me was outside. You would have put on quite a performance for a whole houseful of your employees.”

Heath didn’t move.

“And first thing tomorrow morning,” Joe went on, “you get your tail over to Big Palm and apologize to that kid Ben. A few more incidents like this and you’ll get a reputation as a crazy man who can’t hold his liquor. What do you think that will do for your business, not to mention your personal life? These islands are small, word travels fast. And I don’t have to tell you that you owe your wife an apology, too.”

Heath was listening sullenly, his eyes on the floor. Joe looked up and saw Ann standing there.

“I’ll leave you two alone. Joanie and I will see ourselves out.”

Joe walked past Ann, patting her arm on the way. Ann went to the wall intercom, flipped the switch, and said into it, “Daniela, you and Victor can go to bed now. We’ll deal with whatever mess the caterers leave behind in the morning.”

“Don’t you want me to just run the vacuum, Mrs. Bodine?” Daniela asked.

“Never mind, there will be time enough tomorrow.”

“Mrs. Bodine,” Daniela said. “Your friend Amy left about half an hour ago. She asked me to tell you she was staying at the inn and would call you in the morning.”

“Thank you, Daniela. You did a wonderful job and Mr. Bodine and I are very grateful for your help. Good night.”

“Good night,” Daniela said, and Ann flicked the switch to the Off position.

Heath was still standing in the same spot, careful not to look at her.

“The party was a great success,” Ann said. “You should give Daniela and Victor a bonus.”

“And what should I give you? You planned it.”

“I assumed that it was part of my job.”

“And was flirting with Ben Rowell part of your job?”

Ann sighed and turned away. “Heath, you are deranged. I wound up with him in the bedroom at the same time by accident. He was looking for his coat.”

“He was looking for more than that.”

“Heath, I am not going to spar with you, especially on this ludicrous subject. It’s been a long evening and I am very tired. I’m going to bed.”

“Not so fast,” he snapped, covering the distance between them in two long strides. He grabbed her arm and she was unable to take another step.

“Heath, you’re hurting me,” she said, twisting uselessly in his grasp.

“Do you think I’m blind? I saw you dancing with Ben earlier tonight. I saw the way he was holding you, talking to you. You seemed to be enjoying yourself very much.”

“He was telling me funny stories about the grand opening of the Big Palm marina, about everything that went wrong that day. I was just trying to be a good hostess, Heath. If you had half a brain in your head you’d realize that the man wouldn’t endanger his job by courting the boss’s wife in front of the rest of the company. What the devil is wrong with you?”

“And who asked if you were hungry? Who ran to get you a plate?” Heath demanded, ignoring the logic of her last statement.

“Ben was just being polite. If it were up to you I would have starved! Has it occurred to you that just maybe he felt sorry for me? My husband ignored me all evening to conduct momentous business conversations that should have taken place in the office. At least, I thought you were ignoring me. Obviously you were keeping track of me by radar, watching my tiniest move while pretending to be absorbed in weighty discussion.” She finally yanked her arm free and stood rubbing her wrist, glaring at him.

“I was admiring your act,” he said.

“What act?”

“Your dutiful wife and hostess act. I must say that it was very entertaining.”

“I wasn’t acting, Heath. I intend to fulfill my part of our bargain completely.”

“No matter how much it hurts, huh?”

Ann didn’t answer.

“You think I don’t know what’s been going through your head?” Heath said. “You’ve been feeling sorry for yourself. Poor Annie, ignored by an indifferent husband, all your charms wasted on a brute who couldn’t possibly appreciate them. Then tonight you saw a chance for real admiration from that boy and you couldn’t resist it.”

“I’m not that shallow, Heath,” Ann said quietly.

“Of course not. You’re the Ice Princess—-ideal wife, arm adornment and party planner. I knew this evening would be perfect, you learned to entertain at your momma’s knee. Too bad she didn’t teach you about fidelity.”

“I’m not going to listen to any more of this,” Ann said, starting for the bedroom again.

He blocked her path. “You enjoy teasing me, don’t you? Making me imagine what you might be up to with a guy like that? It’s the only way you have of getting back at me—isn’t it?—letting me picture somebody else kissing you, touching you, holding you?” His eyes were wild, his face flushed, his fists clenched.

His attack was so baseless and unfair, and Ann was so exhausted, that she had finally had enough. Her patience ran out and she said icily, “You know, you really shouldn’t drink, Heath, not with your family history. A couple of more belts and you could permanently turn into your father.”

His hand came up like lightning and Ann faced him down regally, her gaze direct and unflinching.

“Go ahead and hit me, Heath. You’ve been wanting to hit me for eleven years. Maybe if you finally get it out of your system you’ll feel better.”

His hand faltered, then fell. He looked at her a long moment, then dashed headlong from the room. Ann heard the door to the garage slam and then the sound of his car starting. She listened as it roared into the street and then faded into the distance.

In the kitchen, Daniela had left the radio on the counter playing softly. In the new silence, the strains of “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” drifted into the living room.

Ann sat wearily on the sofa, too numb to cry.

* * * *

Heath drove in circles for half an hour before deciding on his destination—an all-night bar by the railroad tracks at the edge of Hispaniola. The plastic Christmas decorations on the door and the colored lights strung along the bar did nothing to lift his spirits as he slid onto a stool and ordered a drink he didn’t really want. When it came, he pushed it back and forth without touching it, watching the trail of moisture it left on the scarred wood of the bar.

Why had he behaved that way tonight? He couldn’t seem to stop punishing Ann, no matter how stoic she was about enduring his moods. He was proud of her, but couldn’t admit it; he admired her, but couldn’t say it. In fact, the more impeccably she filled her role as his wife the more enraged he felt. His need to make her pay was bottomless. She had done exactly what she’d promised to do before their marriage, and his inability to find fault with her made him want to kick in the walls. Why? Because she had to be a fraud, she had to be fickle and flighty and faithless, or else he had wasted more than a decade of his life hating a person who didn’t remotely deserve it.

Somebody put “Jingle Bells” on the jukebox and Heath tried to block out the sound; holiday music only depressed him further. He had felt like an actor, playing his role at the party tonight, all the while conscious that he didn’t deserve Ann or the dedication she had shown in making the event a success. He knew he was rude and unfeeling and charmless toward her. He also knew that he wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms all night long and tell her everything he was feeling, everything he had kept bottled up inside for years like champagne canted under pressure. But that would be folly, wouldn’t it? If she knew that his pretense of emotional indifference was becoming impossible to sustain, that he almost didn’t care anymore what she had done in the past or why, then she would win.

But was winning this contest—his unbending attitude versus her ability to endure it—really that important to him anymore? If he were honest with himself, he would have to admit that keeping her with him was fast becoming the major—possibly the only—consideration. Every time he thought of the way she turned to him so trustingly in bed, gave of herself so completely in spite of his churlish behavior, his will to continue the vendetta ebbed a little more.