“Aren’t you happy there?”
“In a different way. I don’t know if you’d understand.”
“Try me.”
He gave a low laugh deep in his throat. “I don’t know if I can explain it. That’s the truth.”
“Well, can’t both be real, Michael?”
He looked at her, not smiling, his eyes as dark as the velvet sky above them. “I don’t know, Cathy.”
She swallowed, shrugged, then took his hand again and squeezed it tight. “Well, we’ll just wait and see, Papa. I’m not goin’ anywheres.”
In the morning, at “day clear” as the islanders called it, they set sail for a cay with a phone. Cathy was the navigator, and she sat holding the map the girl had drawn. For a moment she had an overwhelming desire to do with it just what she had done with the matches: dump it into the water, watch it float away, leave them stranded alone together—
But this time she knew life could not be that simple.
Thirteen
The island was quiet and secluded, but the dock that awaited Cathy and Michael was well maintained and dotted with several small dinghies and sailboats.
“Well, here we are,” Michael said, lowering the sail.
“Yes,” Cathy answered, her eyes darting from Michael’s face to the thick cluster of palms beyond the beach. Looking at him for longer than a few seconds at a time was not a good idea, she had decided. Not right now. Trees were far safer.
“Civilization is a phone call away.”
“That close?” Her eyes swung back to Michael’s face and she fought the wave of sadness that overcame her. This was crazy. She should be rejoicing. They were headed for home, for safety and security. But she didn’t feel safe or secure. She felt frightened and downright miserable.
A muscle jumped along Michael’s jaw. He looked away, studying the scene before them. “Pretty island,” he said nonchalantly, looping the rope through a ring attached to the dock.
“Maybe you should buy it,” Cathy teased, but her attempt at a joke fell flat.
“Hey, Indiana,” Michael said, his fingers locking around hers as he helped her out of the boat. “Don’t worry. This is just another beginning, another adventure together. Who knows what’s ahead?”
“You’re right, sorry.” She nodded, forcing a little smile. “So, where to?”
“Up this way.” He took her hand and they headed toward a carefully tended path that led off through the palms. They walked silently, the only sounds those of the creatures who lived in the dense foliage that spread off on either side.
“Up there,” Michael said a few minutes later, and Cathy looked ahead to a clearing where sunshine poured down on green lawns.
“Who lives here?”
Michael shrugged. “Someone who bought the island for a private vacation spot. Someone with a telephone.”
As they neared the clearing the house became visible, a large, open structure with broad verandas welcoming the sunshine. It was beautiful—spacious and well kept—a tasteful, expensive reflection of the island’s beauty.
They walked silently across the lawns and up three wide steps to the front door. Cathy clung tightly to Michael’s hand.
He looked down at her and grinned. “You’ve survived bombings and sunken ships and black nights on deserted islands—and a beautiful, civilized estate scares the hell out of you. Is that how they raise women in Indiana?”
Cathy wanted to turn it all into a joke, but she just couldn’t manage it. “I have a feeling there’s more danger here,” she said softly.
Michael dropped her hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, hugging her body into his side. “It’s okay, Cathy,” he whispered into her hair. “Honest, it’ll be okay.”
The door opened at the first knock and Cathy and Michael were greeted by a smiling young woman dressed in a crisp uniform. “Yes?” she said.
“We were shipwrecked,” Michael began as Cathy peered into the cool, bright interior. “Our yacht blew up, and we need to use a phone—”
“Michael!” came a cry from the next room. “Michael Winters! Oh, my God—” And to Cathy’s amazement, a tall, slender woman swept around the corner and threw herself into his arms.
Michael gave a low, rumbling laugh of surprise and pleasure as the woman rested her slender, manicured fingers on his shoulders and kissed him on both cheeks. “Michael, you are alive! The whole world’s been looking for you.”
“Marissa!” Michael said. “What incredible luck!”
“Luck has nothing to do with it, Michael darling,” the woman replied. “It’s the fates bringing us together again.” She laughed her musical laugh, sounding rich and exotic.
To Cathy, it was all a part of a dream, or some movie in which she’d suddenly been cast as an extra. Her heart skipped a beat and she squeezed Michael’s hand.
“Cathy,” he said, “I want you to meet a friend of mine, Princess Marissa Aufhammer.”
“Princess,” Cathy repeated in amazement. But why should she still be surprised by anything that happened?
Marissa shook her head as she laughed, and long black hair swung across her narrow shoulders. “Cathy, I’m Marissa to you, just plain Marissa. Michael and I met eons ago at the home of a mutual acquaintance, and we’ve been fast friends ever since. And now I get to play a part in his rescue. This is so exciting! Better than the cinema!” She hugged Cathy warmly. “Now, come, come, come, you two, and tell me exactly how you ended up here on my doorstep.”
She waved them both into a sunny room off the entry. It was filled with wicker furniture, beautiful art, and looked out onto gardens and a swimming pool bordered in the distance by the untouched island greenery. “Iced teas, yes?” she ordered, “and something sweet. Wonderful. Now, tell me all.”
When Michael had finished the story, Marissa crossed one long leg over the other and shook her head. “My, my, that’s quite a tale. Of course, I heard about the yacht being blown sky high; you must have been terrified. And furious.”
“I imagine the sheikh had similar feelings,” Michael said. “But”—he shrugged and winked at Cathy—“we made the best of it.”
“How lovely it is that I’ve managed to be squeezed in on the end of your adventure. When the magazines write about this, will I get credit for being your rescuer?”
“It would certainly make good copy,” Cathy said.
“The Great American Bachelor Rescued by a Princess.” The light words stuck in Cathy’s throat and she covered it up with a swallow of tea.
Michael looked over at her but remained silent.
“Well,” the princess said quickly, filling the sudden awkward silence, “first things first. I’m sure you would both love a hot shower and some lunch. Jessa”—she rang a bell—“please show Mr. Winters to the guest wing. You may use my suite, Cathy. If you don’t find everything you need, just ring for Jessa.”
Cathy was ushered off into the sumptuous splendor of the princess’s bedroom before she could say No! Stop! Wait! And what was she thinking? What could she possibly want to complain about? Her own ingratitude embarrassed her. But somewhere deep inside she felt her heart tightening, squeezing itself into a miserable little knot. No, she wanted to say. Stop! Wait! I’m happy with everything the way it is.
But instead, she obediently stepped under the hot spray of the princess’s elegant shower, and sadly washed away the sand and smells of paradise.
“Cathy—” Michael stood up abruptly, his smile lighting his face. “You look beautiful.”
She stood in the doorway dressed in a gauzy white caftan that Jessa had laid out on the bed. It was cool and lovely and floated down over her tan breasts and hips. She felt as if she were smothering.
“Thanks.” She gave him a wry smile. “But clothes are going to take some getting used to.”
“I know what you mean.” Michael laughed, enduring the unaccustomed rub of slacks and a knit shirt.
Looking at him, Cathy let her imagination strip it all away, lea
ving the beauty of his body as she knew it. Her eyes lit and sparkled with mischief. “I have an idea: let’s leave them all here in a pile and go for a swim; I hear the ocean calling.”
He grinned. “What, and undo all the pleasure of that hot shower?”
“I can think of greater pleasures,” she answered, slipping one hand inside the collar of his shirt and stroking his warm smooth skin.
Michael groaned and grinned and pulled her tight against him. “Behave, woman! Our hostess will be back in a second.”
“Then we’d better act fast!” But they were not fast enough. Marissa caught them in their embrace, and chased them apart with that little tinkling laugh of hers.
“Well, there you are, looking much more civilized! Now, why don’t we relax out on the terrace with a light lunch?”
Michael put a hand under Cathy’s elbow, and that simple formal gesture made her cringe. It was like the clothing: too many layers of civilized behavior suddenly coming between them. She wanted to turn time back, stop the hands of the clock ticking in the hallway and spin them back, taking her and Michael back to their island and their sand and their blanket under the sun.
Jessa brought them each a glass of wine and they sat silently at the glass-topped table, their eyes seeking each other and trying to avoid contact at the same time.
Cathy took a large gulp of wine and set her glass back on the table. The ring of crystal filled the silent, sun-splashed room.
Marissa looked from one to the other. “You must be exhausted, the two of you. Look at you, you’re nearly too tired to talk. Food will help,” she insisted, and smiled as Jessa returned carrying a huge white bowl of conch stew.
“Marissa, you’re wonderful to take care of things for us,” Michael said.
“Oh, dear me, no one will ever take care of things for you, Michael, of that I’m quite sure. But it is nice to be able to have a small part to play in this drama. And I have another surprise. I called over to Marsh Harbor and they are sending your helicopter over. Soon you’ll be home!”
Helicopter! Cathy looked up, startled out of her silence. “Helicopter?”
Michael stiffened, his skin gone white under his tan, his hand clenched around the stem of his wineglass. “You already made the call?” he asked softly.
“Why, yes … I haven’t done anything wrong, have I?” she asked with concern. “Here I thought I was being so clever and helpful, arranging the final stage of your rescue—”
“That was kind of you, Marissa.”
“But you’re not happy, not either one of you,” she said, looking from Cathy to Michael and back again. “Oh, I have done something wrong. It was a mistake, an indiscretion, no?”
“It was perfectly fine, Mari,” Michael assured her, reaching across the table to pat her hand. “As always, you were being most gracious.”
“And as always, you are being most diplomatic. But you were not quite ready to be rescued, I see that now. I am sorry, Cathy … Michael. I could call back—”
“Oh, the papers would have a field day with that one,” Michael said.
Miserable as she felt, Cathy had to laugh. “I can see the headlines: Missing Millionaire Chooses to Stay Lost.”
“That would be the truth if I had a choice; you know that, don’t you Cathy?”
And because she loved him, she took it as truth, and nodded.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just check on dessert.” Marrisa got up, the faint slap of her sandals on tile following her into the kitchen.
Michael walked around the table and opened his arms to Cathy. She slipped inside their warm, familiar circle. “I love you,” he said into her hair.
“I love you too,’ she answered, tipping her head back.
“Then there’s no problem.”
“None.” She tightened her arms around his waist.
“You guarantee that, right?” he asked, half laughingly, his eyes suddenly strangely vulnerable. “I didn’t expect this to be happening so fast.”
“Leave it to you to know the only princess with the only phone within a hundred miles, Mr. Winters.” She shook her curly head, teasing him.
“If I’d known, I would have headed for a different island. One with just a telegraph. Two cans strung on a line.”
“Tom-toms.” She grinned back, and then her brows swooped low. “Oh, Michael, I was good at tossing matches into the ocean, but what do I know about sabotaging phones … or helicopters?”
“Think you could take an emergency course?”
“Yes.” She smiled through her tears.
He held her face between his hands and kissed her gently on the mouth.
“You call that a kiss?” she demanded, and kissed him back, hard.
From outside came the sound of birds crying in the distance, their sharp, startled calls filling the bright sunlight. And then they heard the whir of the helicopter’s blades.
The sound shattered the silence like pieces of broken crystal, and Cathy felt her optimism shatter along with it.
“Oh, Michael—” she cried, but Marissa swept in, Jessa on her heels, and suddenly the whole room was filled with commotion.
“They’re here,” the princess announced.
Fourteen
It was a short trip, unbelievably short. The wide blue ocean it would have taken days to sail across, they flew over in only an hour: a miracle of modern technology.
Cathy wanted those days, those hours and minutes and seconds.
In the helicopter there was the pilot, the accountant who had to fill Michael in on a million details, the chatter of the princess, the whir of the blades. Cathy sat in the backseat, pretending to look at a magazine. She felt utterly and completely lost. Every few minutes Michael would turn in his seat, crane his neck, look back at her, and smile. Cathy waved her fingers and smiled back reassuringly. But her heart was breaking.
“Here we are, Mr. Winters,” the pilot said. “Right on schedule, and you’ve got yourself a welcoming committee.”
Michael groaned. Cathy could feel it, and she had to smile, thinking of how fiercely he’d be frowning; she knew what he was feeling: his annoyance, his irritation. He was thinking of their wide sandy beach, and the lobsters waiting to be caught, and the trade wind blowing, and he’d be pushing that all aside into a separate compartment, getting ready to deal with reporters and photographers, impatient with the whole thing before it even happened, pulling on his armor, gearing up.…
He turned back to her. “Can you believe this?” he grumbled across the rows, his eyes locking into hers, wanting what they were leaving, needing her.
“It’ll be okay.” She waved it all away. “Give ’em a couple of pictures and a few heroic words and they’ll be happy. If they bother you too much, I’ll just have a sudden relapse of some dread tropical fever and keep them busy till you can get away.”
“Thanks, pal.” He smiled.
“You’re welcome, pal.”
He reached back through the space between the seats and she took his hand, twining her fingers with his, holding tight for a second until the helicopter settled and the door was shoved open.
“Mr. Winters! Mr. Winters! Is it true you were shipwrecked?… Where have you been?… Have you heard about the merger between MorTech and Metro Development?… Were you alone all this time?… Are you going to give up any of the property that Wintex now holds in the mid-Atlantic region?”
The flashbulbs exploded as he stepped out. He looked handsomer than ever with his shirt open at the collar, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow. He was tan, fit, and rugged. The scene was absolutely guaranteed to sell another hundred million magazines.
Someone shoved a microphone in his face. Michael swallowed a sharp retort, forced a smile, and said, “It was a hell of an adventure, and I’ll have a press statement for you all in an hour. Thanks for showing up. And now we’ve got to get to our rooms and clean up. Thanks.” With at quick glance over his shoulder to make sure Cathy was okay, he strode on up to the hotel.
A reporter, a fellow with keen eyes and a good nose for news, put his hand on Cathy’s arm. “I recognize Princess Marissa and the others, but I haven’t met you before. Ms.?” His words lifted into a question that expected an answer.
“Stephenson,” Cathy replied softly.
“And—?”
“And I’d better get going.”
“Going where? And where have you been? You look very tan and healthy, as if you’ve been outdoors a great deal lately.”
Cathy tilted her head to the side. “Funny how deceptive appearances can be. I actually have this terrible tropical fever, and I can just feel my temperature climbing.”
“I bet your temperature’s been climbing,” the man said, eyeing Cathy with a knowing smile. “Well, I hope we’ll have a chance to talk another time.”
“That would be nice.” Cathy nodded, and followed the others into the hotel.
Her room was on the floor below Michael’s. She had nothing to put in the drawers or hang in the closets, so she sat down on the edge of the bed. Such a big bed, with a white lace comforter and two pillows. It made her sad. For the first time in many nights, she wouldn’t pillow her head on Michael’s shoulder, wouldn’t sleep with her hand thrown across his chest, wouldn’t wake to see his dark head there next to hers.
She started crying and couldn’t stop. It was silly. Nothing had changed really, nothing had been decided, but she felt washed with grief, aching, alone, as if someone had died.
“Stop it!” she commanded herself, and wiped her face with the back of her hand, but the tears wouldn’t stop. It was awful, stupid, and embarrassing.
Grabbing a tissue, she placed a phone call through to the States. The phone rang in Indiana, and her grandmother picked it up. “Hello?”
“Gap? Hi, it’s me, it’s Cathy.”
“Well, of course I know who ‘me’ is! How are you, dear?”
The Great American Bachelor Page 13