Under the Moon Gate (22 page)

“What do you know about Patience’s grandfather?” Nathaniel asked. “What kind of man was he?”

“He was devoted to Patience and her grandmother.” Cecilia shrugged. “Loved them both to distraction. So much that he would have given his life for them. He cherished them. It was sweet, really.”

“How did he make his living?”

“He was a private investor, I guess. At one time he owned half the land and businesses on the island or was connected to them in some way. He ran the telephone company and the power company. He was on the board at several banks. He didn’t go to an office on a regular basis, not in recent years. He didn’t have to. He conducted business out of Marigold House. He was an astute businessman. They say he had the Midas Touch. Everything he handled turned to gold.”

“Interesting choice of words,” Nathaniel commented. Nathaniel surmised that with the lines of credit available to William Whitestone through Swiss banks and the capital he had been provided to set himself up initially, he had probably amassed a fortune many times over, thanks to his own business savvy. He might not even have needed the untraceable shipments of gold to maintain his lavish lifestyle. But in Nathaniel’s experience, it took money to make money. His solid gold foundation had given him an advantage.

“My parents said the Whitestones were devastated when they lost their daughter, Patience’s mother,” Cecilia continued. “Mr. Whitestone thought he should have been able to prevent the accident somehow. He was used to controlling everything. But after it happened, they never talked about it, like it hadn’t occurred. In fact, they never told Patience she wasn’t really their daughter until she was old enough to figure it out for herself. As far as Patience and the world were concerned, she was their daughter. They were as close as any parents and child could be. He spent most of his time and attention on Patience and Diana, and that’s why his death and her grandmother’s have left such a vacuum for Patience.”

“Was he a kind man?”

Cecilia mulled that question over before answering.

“He had a dangerous edge to him,” she acknowledged. “He was very cool, calculating, very controlling. He was overly protective, I guess, because Patience was his only child and a daughter. He hardly let her out of his sight. Either of them. He wouldn’t even let Patience go away to school or travel. He had tutors brought in to supplement her education. She’s never left the island. I always thought it was a bit unnatural. But Patience would never have questioned it or disobeyed her grandfather. She loved him. And she loves Bermuda. She says she never wants to leave. But was he kind?” Cecilia paused a moment. “He had a good heart, I think. Otherwise Patience would not have adored him so. She is a very good judge of character.”

“Sometimes love can blind you to the truth,” Nathaniel observed.

“Who’s a very good judge of character?” Patience asked sweetly, as she sailed out of her bedroom clothed in a white terrycloth robe. With that tousled look and the sun shining just so on her yellow hair, Nathaniel thought she looked like an angel, a fallen angel. The thought had his blood boiling. He could gaze at that face forever. A good night’s sleep had done wonders for her disposition. She wasn’t the same girl who had looked like she wanted to murder him right there on the deck of his boat.

Cecilia planted a kiss on her friend’s cheek. “Feeling better?” she asked solicitously.

“Much better, thank you. What brings you by so early?”

Cecilia glanced at her watch. “Honey, it’s almost noon. You overslept, big time.”

“She needed it,” Nathaniel said irritably.

Cecilia looked at him and shook her head. Then she stood on her tiptoes and whispered into his ear, “You’re acting like a protective mother hen, Cousin Nathaniel. You have it bad, and you don’t even know it. Well, good for you. I love it when a man suffers.”

Nathaniel shot her a venomous look.

“What are you two whispering about?”

“The menu,” Nathaniel said, ignoring Cecilia. “We were just discussing the menu. I’ve fixed us a traditional Sunday breakfast, Patience.”

“My cousin is not only a sailor, he’s an excellent chef,” Patience pointed out.

“I aim to please,” Nathaniel answered. “Now, come into the dining room. I’ve already set you a place.”

Cecilia flashed Patience a knowing smile. “I guess my work here is done. I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.”

“Cecilia!” Patience objected.

“Bye. I’ll call you, and I’ll let myself out.”

Patience followed Nathaniel into the kitchen.

“You chased her away,” she challenged.

“I didn’t want her here,” he said simply.

“What a spread!” she said, forgiving him as she looked around the kitchen, savored the smells, and lost her taste for argument.

“We have boiled salt cod, eggs, boiled Irish potatoes, and Bermuda onions, of course, with sliced bananas and avocados, and a sauce of onions and tomatoes,” he listed.

“A traditional Bermuda Sunday codfish breakfast.” She clapped her hands in delight.

Nathaniel beamed as his heart turned over. He was already in love with the woman. And he was wondering how it had happened so suddenly. He was just sailing through life when she surfaced and somehow reeled him in. He was caught in her net, and he only hoped she wouldn’t throw him back.

But there was a very real barrier between them. Her grandfather’s past and the gold. And, love or no love, he was determined to find the treasure he had come for. No woman was going to run him off course.

After breakfast, Nathaniel offered to clear the table and clean up the dishes, so Patience went into the parlor and picked up where she’d left off with her painting.

When he crept up behind her later, he thought he could watch her for hours. He had grown so used to watching her sleep, watching her read those history books of hers, and paint.

The small watercolor on the stand against the window caught Nathaniel’s attention.

“Did you really paint that?” he asked with sincere interest, approaching the painting.

“Yes,” she said proudly.

The scenic watercolor on the easel was brilliant. She had captured the mood and unique charm of the island. The play of light on the calm turquoise seas, dotted with sailboats and caressed by the curve of a pale-pink sandy beach; the pastels of the limestone cottages; the distinctive white-tiered stone-slate roofs ready to catch the rain water; and a graceful, snowy white, black-tipped Bermuda longtail in flight. The array of yellows, greens, blues, and pinks presented a calming effect that soothed his restless spirit and spoke to his lonely heart. He had to have it.

“It’s wonderful,” he said and meant it. She had signed it with her initials, PKW. “You make the scene come alive.”

“It’s the scene I see from my window. My little window on the world. I’m calling it
Sanctuary
.”

“Yes,” he observed, because he understood and felt the pull of the place too. Nothing had prepared him for his reaction to the watercolor or the woman who painted it. “You should really take up painting professionally.”

“It’s just a hobby,” Patience dismissed, flustered. “An outlet. It helps me to relax, calms my nerves.”

I’d like to buy this, if it’s for sale,” he said.

“You want to buy one of my watercolors?” Patience asked, a smile of pure delight spreading over her face. “That’s the highest compliment anyone has ever paid me. But I don’t sell my paintings. I could give it to you as a gift, since you like it so much.”

Nathaniel seemed touched by her reaction and by her generosity.

“But I couldn’t possibly take it away from you. You’ve put so much of yourself in it.”

“How did you know?” she whispered. “I can paint another one. The scene has taken up residence in my head, and it doesn’t seem to want to leave.”

Later that night, his heart shifted when he saw the subject of her latest painting. She’d kept it hidden in her room behind a canvas cloth. But he was determined to unveil it and discover what she was hiding from him.

He came up behind her and placed a soft, wet kiss between the curve of her shoulder and the gentle slope of her neck. He was tempted to take a bite out of it. She turned, startled, and fixed him with those unwavering green eyes.

“I thought you were asleep,” she said, attempting to throw the canvas cloth back over the painting.

“And you’re supposed to
be
asleep,” he chided, “but instead you’re painting.” He stopped her hand and threw back the cloth.

She was painting him, dressed like a swashbuckler, with his ship, the
Fair Winds
, in the background.

“What will you call this?” he wanted to know, riveted, as he stared at the painting.

“‘Swept Away,’” she said, and blushed, turning her back to him to study the painting.

He moved his hands down her shoulders to her fingers, where their hands connected.

“It’s me, isn’t it?” Nathaniel whispered, trying hard to catch his breath.

“Yes. I can’t help painting you. It was just an urge.”

“Well, that’s a very fortunate coincidence. Because I have an urge too. To do this.”

He turned her around and kissed her until the paintbrush dropped out of her hand.

“Nathaniel,” she said huskily. Her arms went around his neck in unrestrained passion, and he answered with a deeper kiss.

“Patience. I can’t help myself when I’m around you. I want you. Please.”

She held her hand to her forehead like she was in pain.

“Nathaniel. I don’t think we… That is… I don’t think it’s smart for us to…”

“You feel it too, don’t you? I know you do.”

Shaken, she broke the connection.

“What I feel has to be tempered with what I think,” she answered slowly. “And what I think is that you are deliberately trying to soften me up and wear me down. That you’re not interested in me at all but only in how I can help you get what you want. I’m just the shortest route to the gold.”

He opened his mouth to speak.

“Don’t bother lying to me. I can see it in your eyes. Don’t worry. I’ll help you, but it’s only to clear my grandfather’s name. To protect him and my family. And then you will leave and whatever we feel will be over between us. So it’s better that we don’t let it begin. Suddenly, I’m feeling very tired. I want to be alone now.”

“I’m going to start digging tomorrow morning,” Nathaniel announced. “I’ve studied the architectural drawings. I’ve decided to start in the garden.”

Patience turned and fixed him with a frigid stare.

“If you pull up one flower in my grandmother’s garden, I will have you arrested!”

“Patience,” he pleaded. “Please be reasonable.”

“It’s all I have left of her!” she protested. “My grandfather wouldn’t have buried anything in her garden. It was too important to her. And he knew that. But you wouldn’t understand that kind of devotion. Now get out.” When he had walked through her bedroom door, she locked it behind him.

****

Patience lay on the bed. Her head sagged back on the pillow and she wept. She heard Nathaniel hesitate at the door, then walk away.

Was she crazy? Nathaniel was a complete stranger who had barged into her home uninvited. A stranger who didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave. So why was she willing to share her precious paintings with him, to give away her heart?

Sometime later, she slept and dreamed.

She had come home from a morning shopping trip in town, and when she wandered with one of the grocery bags into her grandfather’s study to show him a special treat she’d brought home for him, she’d found the blood on the rug. Dropping the bag she ran wildly around the house.

“Grandfather, Grandfather, oh God, Grandfather! Where are you?” She followed the trail of blood that led into the parlor, through the kitchen, and out to her grandmother’s garden, where she saw her grandfather struggling to reach the moon gate.

The sun was beating down on him from high in the sky.

“Grandfather, you’re bleeding! Have you been shot?”

“It’s nothing.”

“I’m calling 9-1-1,” she said and had started to run inside when he called her back.

“No,” he said. “No time.”

“Who did this to you?” she screamed.

“It’s not important. Your grandmother. Where’s your grandmother?” She could barely hear him now, his voice had grown so faint. “Is she safe?”

Patience was confused. “Grandmother is in town at a meeting. She’ll be home soon. I’ve got to call for an ambulance.” She headed for the house.

“Don’t leave.”

“Grandfather,” she cried, running to him, and held him against her, the thick, dark blood soaking through her yellow sundress.

“Diana,” he whispered. “You’re wearing your special dress for me.” Now the lights in his eyes were fading, glazing over, and she could tell he had gone back in time and thought she was her grandmother.

“Under the moon gate, my love,” he whispered and smiled.

How many times had she seen her grandparents dancing together, wrapped in each other’s arms, swaying in the moonlight under the moon gate? The one he had built for her after their marriage. A replica of the moon gate at the Castle Harbour Hotel where they had kissed for the very first time.