Second Tomorrow (11 page)

‘Good night, Luke. Yes, I’m sure I shall enjoy my holiday.’ She rose from the chair and Luke with his customary politeness inclined his head as she turned and left the restaurant by a different door from that to which he began to lead Clare.

‘We’re going to Silver Springs,’ he told her as soon as they were outside. ‘I’ve got the plans of one of the hotels up on the wall on my study and you ought to have a look at them. You’ll see the layout of all the principal rooms which will give you an idea of what’s wanted. I’m having another set made for you but they’ll take about a week. I thought it would be a good idea for you to get some idea of the sizes of the bedrooms, for instance, and the windows.’ He was striding out
briskly, with Clare having to skip now and then to keep up with him. ‘You don’t mind coming over?’

‘Not at all. . . .’ Her voice trailed unaccountably and he glanced down and one corner of his mouth lifted.

‘Not scared again, I hope?’

She drew a deep breath. ‘Let’s talk about the plans,’ she suggested coolly. ‘If this evening’s to be spent going over them, then let us keep to that particular business—’

‘Clare,’ he interrupted in a very soft voice, ‘be careful. I don’t allow anyone to talk to me like that, especially a woman.’

‘Phil said that you consider us as inferior.’ She hadn’t meant to say anything like that and wondered, with a little shock of surprise, how it had managed to escape.

‘Not inferior, but, as the weaker sex, dependent.’

‘And subservient?’

He glanced down into her eyes, a frown on his brow. ‘As you say, we shall talk business, nothing more!’

The gardens of Silver Springs were steeped in moonlight as they entered, but before they reached the house translucent clouds were sailing across the sky to drift over the moon, creating a mysterious purple darkness which spread like a cloak over the gardens and wrapped itself around the two people walking there. Its effect was magical; it cast a spell over everything so
that shapes were changed and colours darkened, and even the sea appeared smoother, motionless except where its waters flowed over the coral reef to settle in the drowsy lagoon. Clare, caught in the spell, trapped in the witchery of her surroundings, found herself sinking into a state of delicious lassitude, and when Luke stopped and took her in his arms she pressed against him for support, bringing her arms up to encircle his neck, making it easy for her to find a resting place for her head in the crook of his arm. He bent to take her lips and every nerve in her body tingled at the contact. Sensuous and warm, his mouth explored the tender, vulnerable places behind her ears, teasing, tempting, creating sensations that set her body on fire with longing for him. She felt him lift the edge of the loose-fitting evening blouse she wore, thrilling to the nerve-vibrating touch as his hand found and cupped her breast and then carressed it gently, stimulating her emotions to even greater heights until she was consumed by a searing flame of ecstasy that threatened to rise to a conflagration that would deprive her of her sanity, reduce her to complete and irrevocable surrender. Perhaps that was what Luke was intending, for if he really was intent on marrying her, it would be the most effective means to the end he desired.

Quivering still beneath his persuasive touch, Clare nevertheless was able to pull herself away, escaping the imperious hand that would have brought her back against his hard and
sinewed frame. She was a few paces from him, her breathing heavy, her nerves still out of control and for a few silent moments she and Luke just stared at one another, their senses becoming stirred in a very different way as, the clouds having disintegrated into wisps of swirling lace, the landscape was again flooded with moon-silver radiance that brought the trees into sharp relief against a lustrous, star-spangled sky. Magic was again unleashed upon the gardens and the fountains and the motionless dark sea, magic of a different kind from what had prevailed before, but just as effective in closing the mind to all sense of reality, and before she realised it Clare was once again held within the hawser-strong embrace of Luke’s arms and his full-lipped mouth was enclosing hers in a kiss so fiercely passionate that Clare, her senses reeling, felt that every primitive trait of the savage was released, draining Luke in the end so that when at last he held her from him he swayed, like someone intoxicated. ‘My God, Clare,’ he breathed hoarsely, ‘you’re the most desirable woman I have ever met!’

She managed the ghost of a smile then looked away, the image of Frank’s mother superimposing itself invidiously upon every other picture in her mind, ruthlessly dragging her back to reality, to the promise she had made . . . and broken.

Luke, perceptively aware of what was happening to her, took hold of her shoulders, his fingers iron-hard probes which, she knew, would leave ghastly bruises. She flinched and steeled herself
for what was to come, but to her surprise and relief he changed his mind about the shaking he had intended giving her and instead he released her and said in a voice that was briskly devoid of all emotion, ‘Come along—we were intending to devote this evening to business!’ And with that he swung around on his heels and strode away, uncaring that Clare had to trot to match his pace.

Chapter Seven

It was at breakfast the following morning that Clare broke the news to her brother that Mrs Weedall was coming over to Flamingo Cay and would be arriving in two days’ time. ‘Can I have an hour or so off to meet her and see her settled in?’ she added swiftly on seeing Phil’s mouth compress. ‘And can I have the car, please?’

They were on the sun-terrace and the miracle of dawn had only just unfolded, its golden lustre showering the sea and highlighting the sparkling crystal waters cascading over the reef into the lagoon. Already a couple of pleasure boats were out and as she watched, shading her eyes
from the sun’s bright glare, Clare saw a man in mask and flippers dive into the water, and in imagination she was down in a spectacular marine wonderland, gliding languidly through a constantly-changing maze of incredibly beautiful coral formations where—among the waving gorgonians and sea-fans—thousands of multicoloured tropical fish moved about, often so used to the divers that they would swim right up to their masks.

‘She’s coming here?’ For once Phil’s customary calm deserted him and Clare saw to her dismay that he was angry. She had half-expected him to be, though, and there was nothing she could do about it. Even had there been time to ask Mrs Weedall to cancel the trip, Clare could never have done so. She had extended the invitation and it would have been cruel to have disappointed her. ‘In two days time! I invited her, when I first wrote after I arrived here,’ explained Clare. ‘I don’t remember mentioning it to you—’

‘You certainly did
not
mention it,’ he broke in, frowning darkly at her. ‘If you had, I’d have refused to have her.’

Clare bit her lip, and toyed with a morsel of food on her plate. ‘I’m sorry, Phil, for not asking you first. It was impulsive of me, I suppose, but Mrs Weedall had been so tragically hurt by my coming here—leaving her to look after Frank’s grave all on her own—that I was filled with pity and asked her over for a visit. I’ve not heard from her until yesterday when I received the
letter telling me she was coming on the tenth of this month.’ Her voice had a melancholy sound and her eyes were apologetic as they looked into his. ‘We must make her welcome, Phil,’ she went on perseveringly. ‘She’s lonely and sad and needs this break. Have pity on her,’ she begged finally, a plea that melted her brother on the instant, a smile restoring the familiar softness to his face.

‘There isn’t anything we could do at this late stage, anyway,’ he said, ‘and so we must, as you say, welcome her.’

‘Can she have one of the deluxe rooms facing the sea? We have several vacant,’ she added persuasively.

‘All right,’ he agreed. ‘As you say there are several vacant.’

‘And I can have time off to bring her?’

‘Of course.’ He fell silent, considering. ‘I think we can manage to let you have a week at least of the holidays that will be due to you later.’ Another pause before he said, looking up from the toast he was buttering, ‘Does Luke know of her visit?’

Clare nodded her head, colouring at the memory of Luke’s reaction. ‘Yes; he wasn’t pleased.’

‘It’s understandable. He’s been working hard to help you forget the past and now Frank’s mother’s coming over to open up the wound again.’ Clare had nothing to say to that and after a space Phil asked how long Mrs Weedall would be staying.

‘I don’t know,’ she answered. ‘She hasn’t said.’

‘Let’s hope it isn’t too long.’

‘We can’t push her off until she’s ready to go,’ protested Clare with a pained expression.

‘No, I agree.’ Phil smiled suddenly and said, ‘Don’t look so anxious, Clare. You know me well enough to be sure I shan’t do or say anything to upset her.’

She nodded, responding to his smile, and nothing more was said on the matter until that evening when Luke came into the hotel after dinner and found both Clare and Phil drinking coffee on the patio.

‘Ah, Luke,’ smiled Phil, indicating a chair. ‘How are things? We half expected you for dinner.’

‘I was busy perusing estimates for the building project, so I just took a snack in my study.’ He sat down, stretching his legs out in front of him. Dressed in a light grey linen suit with a soft, draped line to the jacket, he lent a certain elegance to what was designated as casual informality by the tailors. His burnt-sienna skin seemed even darker than usual against the gleaming whiteness of his shirt, his hair shone, immaculately clean and healthy. The narrowed smile hovering on his lips revealed equally healthy teeth, pearl-white and even. Clare’s senses stirred as usual and she frowned inwardly and wished it were possible to secure complete control over one’s emotions. But owing to some unfathomable caprice of nature emotions danced to their own particular tune and there was no rein by which they could be held in
check. She felt his eyes upon her and glanced up, but before either of them had time to speak Phil was asking Luke what he was having to drink.

‘I’ll have a brandy,’ he said, falling silent until Phil got up and went inside to find a waiter. ‘How long is this woman staying?’ he inquired, a strange impenetrable air about him that both puzzled and disturbed her. She recalled fleetingly the events of last night, the atmosphere of camaraderie that had come to them after they had entered his home. He had shown her the plans, appearing to have forgotten all that had gone before, especially his anger at her change of mood. He had slipped an arm about her waist as they stood examining the large drawing on the wall; he had discussed with her at some length what he required, had warned her of likely pitfalls and finally told her not to become disheartened when snags occurred. They were bound to, he warned her, and she herself would make mistakes, but she was not to worry because mistakes, tackled properly, could almost always be put right. Yes, it had been a pleasant and friendly interlude and when eventually Luke had walked her back to the Rusty Pelican, she was. feeling far happier than she would have believed possible a couple of hours earlier. Luke broke into her train of thought, inquiring again how long Mrs Weedall was staying on the island.

‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘Phil asked me the same thing this morning when I told him of Mrs Weedall’s visit.’

‘How did he take it?’ asked Luke interestedly.

‘He accepted it.’ She broke off as his eyebrows lifted, reminding her she was evading a direct answer. ‘He didn’t like the idea any more than you do,’ she admitted with a sigh, ‘but he did at least promise not to do or say anything that would upset her.’ She looked at him levelly, a challenge in her eyes.

‘You’re afraid that I might do or say something to upset her?’

‘I don’t know. . . . I’m not sure, Luke, because you’re so unpredictable.’

‘Unpredictable!’ he echoed. ‘I like that—coming from you!’

She had the grace to blush, a circumstance which afforded him immense satisfaction.

‘I’ve a good reason for changing my mind from time to time,’ she just had to point out, but before she could expand on that he was interrupting her.

‘There’s no tenable explanation for your attitude, Clare, so don’t try to make excuses for yourself.’

‘You’ve no patience,’ she complained. ‘But let’s get back to Mrs Weedall. You did say that there was nothing you could tell her about us, and in my opinion that’s tantamount to a promise not to upset her in any way at all.’

‘It might be a promise in your opinion, but it isn’t in mine, and if you suppose I’m intending to go out of my way to be pleasant to this woman then you’re mistaken. I detest her even before I’ve met her!’

‘You won’t when you do meet her,’ she assured him. ‘You’ll pity her, in fact.’

‘That,’ he said shortly, ‘is a matter of extreme doubt!’

‘It’s a beautiful evening,’ she said, deliberately changing the subject. The majestic moon was rising over the water, and a cool sundown breeze wafted across the garden to fan her cheeks. ‘I do love it here.’

‘Well, that’s something. There was a time when I felt you would decide to leave.’ His smile taunted as he added, just as if he had to, ‘It soon became obvious, though, that you couldn’t bear the “sweet sorrow” of parting from me.’

She gasped, and it was several seconds before she could articulate words. ‘What an inflated opinion you have of yourself!’ she exclaimed, sending him a scathing glance. ‘That wasn’t the reason at all!’

‘Liar,’ he accused, and suddenly his voice was soft. ‘You can neither fool yourself nor me, Clare, and you know it.’

She coloured faintly and looked away, her eyes wandering in the direction of the Clipper Inn as the sound of calypso music drifted out over the sweetly perfumed air. His meaning could not possibly elude her and there was no doubt in her mind that if she were to steer the conversation in the right direction the finale would be a declaration of love on Luke’s part followed by a proposal of marriage.

But what of Mrs Weedall? Clare could think of nothing more devastating than for her to come
here believing Clare to be cherishing the memory of her son only to learn that she had pledged herself to someone else. There was, of course, the possibility of keeping her in blissful ignorance, but as Clare was totally inexperienced in the art of subterfuge she dismissed the idea immediately.