by Peggy Gaddis
“I’d want you for my wife any darned way I could get you,” he told her, and the force of his feeling made his voice a little harsh. “If I had to fling you over my shoulder, screaming and fighting the way the ancients are supposed to have done, I’d still want you for my wife.”
He stood up after a moment and turned toward the door.
“I don’t suppose there’s any more to say,” he said over his shoulder.
Claire said unsteadily. “You come right back here!”
Startled, afraid to hope, Curt turned, and her tremulous smile, the mist of tears in her eyes, lit a flame of hope in his eyes that made her want to put her arms about him.
“Yes, Claire?” he said huskily, while she struggled for words.
“Oh, Curt, you’ve taken me so by surprise,” she told him, and her tremulous smile deepened. “Isn’t that a corny phrase, though? ‘This is such a surprise!’ But it is, Curt. I’d — well, I hadn’t dreamed you could — it’s been so sudden. Golly, I’m digging up all the old corny phrases — ”
“So stop it and put me out of my misery,” Curt ordered, with a restrained violence that bespoke his inner hope and turmoil. “Is it ‘yes’ or ‘no’?”
She held out her hand to him and then dropped it before he could grasp it and turned away from him.
“Oh, Curt, you’ll have to give me a little time to get used to the idea,” she stammered shakily.
“How much time?” he insisted.
“Just — just until I can be sure!”
“Then — I do have a chance?” His tone was ardent, pleading, ragged with desire.
“I knew Rick so long,” she murmured as though she spoke only to herself. “It just sort of — well, grew into love. I was heart-broken when he ran out on me. And now, such a little while later, I don’t seem to be able to remember what he looked like. That’s very strange, isn’t it?”
“Not so very,” Curt countered, within reach of her, yet not touching her, though his eyes embraced her with an ardent yearning. “I think it just meant that you weren’t so much in love with him as you were — well, used to him.”
They had been standing so close to each other that she had felt he must surely hear the wild tumult in her heart. Now his arms went out and closed about her, gently, hesitantly at first; and then, as the warmth of her filled his arms, his embrace tightened until they were so close they were almost a part of each other. And his head bent, and his mouth closed on hers for a moment of such exquisite tenderness that she felt as though she swam in an enchanted shining sea.
It was a moment that endured until she felt that she could no longer bear the exquisite tenderness of it. Then he held her a few inches away from him, and his eyes were glowing with a warmth and a radiance that made her heart skip another fast beat.
“So now we know,” he said huskily, and though his voice was low, it held a note of such joy that it was like a shout.
“I’m beginning to,” she answered, and stood on top-toe to kiss him again. “But, you’ll have to give me a little time, Curt. This time I have to be — oh, so very sure!”
“You shall have all the time you need, dearest, now that I know there is a chance for me,” he promised her. And his cheek was pressed against her hair as he held her so closely that she could feel her heart pounding against his, as though the two hearts sang a lovely melody made perfect by being together.
Chapter Fifteen
When at last she had said good night to him and was once more in her own stateroom, she dropped down on the side of the bed, her face in her hands. She had the feeling that she had been rushed headlong through space and was only now being given a chance to get her thoughts in order.
She got ready for bed at last and lay wide-eyed, staring into the moonlight that shimmered through her porthole. It was a gorgeous tropic night; the deck would be awash with moonlight; there might be flying fish to see!
She glanced at the clock on the small bed-side table and saw that the hands pointed to two A.M. She slid out of bed, walked to the porthole and looked out. Then, moving very quietly, she got into slacks and a thin shirt, thrust her bare feet into brown leather scuffs and walked to her door.
She opened it very cautiously, thoughtful of the slumber of her fellow passengers. And then she stood rigid, speechless, dazed. Curt was standing at the door of the Barclay cabin, which obviously he had just eased shut behind him.
She watched him with wide, incredulous eyes as he stood there for a moment, his head bowed. And then he went swiftly, cautiously away from the door toward the stairs that led up to the deck.
Claire watched until he had vanished, and then she closed her own door and dropped down on the edge of the bed. She was dazed and bewildered. What did it all mean? Just a little while ago, Curt had held her close in his arms and had asked him to marry him. He had said that he had never before asked any woman to marry him. Yet now he was hurrying stealthily away from Vera Barclay’s cabin!
Suddenly her thoughts fell into place and she could even laugh a little, though shakily, at her jealous suspicions, because it was jealousy that made her so angry at seeing Curt leaving Vera’s cabin at two in the morning. Now she told herself that Vera had not been alone in the cabin. Nora was there, of course. Vera had been very upset when she had learned that they were putting in at the port in British Honduras; she had left the salon in a fury. No doubt Nora had summoned Curt when she had been unable to quiet her mother.
That, Claire told herself with a relief so complete that it made her smile radiantly, was the whole explanation. Vera wasn’t ill; if she had been, Curt would have summoned Claire to attend her. No, Vera was merely indulging in a tantrum and Nora, unable to quiet her, had asked Curt’s help.
It was no more than that, Claire told herself, and was ashamed that within so short a time after Curt’s protestation of love, she should have plunged into such an abyss of doubt. She knew now that she was going to say “yes” to his proposal. And the thought brought a warm sweetness that made it lore than ever necessary for her to get out on deck in the glorious moonlight. The cabin seemed suddenly too small to hold her great happiness, and once more she opened her door, cast a swift glance along the empty corridor, and moved with a nurse’s accustomed silence toward the companionway.
She was passing the salon, which lay in darkness save for the moonlight that felt its way through the windows, when she heard the sound of sobbing, half-muffled, so desperate, so desolate that it stopped her in her tracks.
Somewhere in the salon someone was weeping heartbrokenly; someone whose grief was so deep that only tears could ease the unendurable tension. And Claire instinctively moved into the salon, intent on offering solace.
She traced the sound of weeping to a big leather-covered lounge that stood against the wall, and there, in the light from the moon and in the darkness to which by now her eyes were becoming accustomed, she saw a small, huddled heap of dim white. As she spoke softly, the sobbing broke off with a small, frightened gasp, and she realized the small heap of glimmering white was Nora.
“Why, Nora,” she said softly, and sat down on the lounge beside the girl. “What’s wrong, honey?”
“Claire?” stammered Nora.
“Of course, dear,” Claire said gently, and put her arms about the girl. “What’s wrong, dear? Why are you out here like this?”
“Oh, Claire,” Nora barely managed to keep her voice down from a wail, “Mother turned me out. We had a terrific battle — look!”
She extended her hand to a beam of moonlight and revealed in its palm the broken fragments of the necklace of shells that MacEwen had given her.
“She jerked it off my neck and threw it down and stamped on it.” Nora’s voice rose, choked with sobs, as though at an outrage that was beyond recounting. “She said Mac was a no-good and I mustn’t ever speak to him again, and that the necklace was a cheap, tacky thing I should be ashamed to wear — ”
She hid her face against Claire’s shoulder and clung to her,
sobbing wildly.
So this, Claire told herself, was why Curt had been leaving Vera’s cabin. Nora had gone for him, and he had — She heard herself asking, “How long have you been out here, Nora?”
“Oh, since midnight, maybe earlier,” Nora answered, and Claire felt as though a sudden numbing blow had fallen upon her.
“And did you go for Curt and ask him to quiet your mother?” Claire asked steadily, because she had to know.
Nora lifted her head in surprise.
“Why, no, Claire, of course not. Why should I?” she asked wonderingly. “I didn’t want anyone to know about our fight — we’ve had a lot of them, but never one like this. Because for the first time, I stood up to her. That’s why she turned me out of the cabin. She was so surprised that I talked back to her. I never did before — only she said such awful things about Mac. She’s never let me have any friends; not even girl friends — ”
Claire listened, and something died within her. So there had been no sane, logical reason for Curt to be leaving Vera’s cabin at two in the morning. She had been so sure of him — and then a small, biting thought like the darting of a tiny, venomous snake reminded her, you were sure of Rick, too — remember?
“Oh, Claire, what am I going to do?” wailed Nora, and once more her head was hidden against Claire’s breast and Claire’s arms held her closely.
“We’re going to put you to bed — ” Claire began.
“Oh, no, she won’t let me in,” Nora protested, and shivered.
“We’re going to put you to bed in my room, chick,” Claire comforted her. “And in the morning, you’ll find that things aren’t nearly so bad as they seem at night. Come along, and I’ll give you a sedative. And when you wake up you’ll find everything is fine. I promise.”
She guided the girl down the corridor to her own room. Nora paused uncertainly in front of her mother’s door and listened; and then, her tremulous mouth thinning a little, she walked on with Claire.
Claire turned down the covers of the bed and made herself smile at Nora’s tear-sodden face, though she felt that, given the slightest encouragement, she herself could have wept as forlornly as Nora.
“In you go,” she said briskly. She brought a cold washcloth and wiped the tears away and kissed Nora’s brow lightly.
“But if I take your bed, Claire, where will you sleep?” Nora hesitated even as Claire waited to tuck her in.
“Oh, nurses are trained to sleep standing up, if necessary,” Claire assured her briskly. “It’s only a few hours until morning, anyway, and this chair is very comfortable. Now you take this tablet and get to sleep like a good girl. Do you hear?”
Nora’s hand caught Claire’s and held it tightly, and her young face was touched with shyness as she said awkwardly, “Oh, Claire, you’re just the greatest! I hope some day I can be just exactly like you.”
“Well, now, that’s very sweet of you, Nora,” Claire said smiling.
“Maybe I could even be a nurse?” Nora asked eagerly.
“You go to sleep now, and we’ll talk about it in the morning,” Claire promised.
Nora rested her cheek for a moment against Claire’s hand, and then like a child snuggled down against the pillow and her eyes closed.
Claire sat down in the deep, comfortable chair in the warm darkness, safely out of reach of the vagrant moonbeams that spilled through the open portholes.
And aren’t you the smart one, my girl? she asked herself savagely. Falling for this handsome devil, after the treatment you got from Rick! Being so sure this time that it was love, and so sure that he loved you! Oh, how big a fool can you be!
Chapter Sixteen
When Nora woke Claire had showered in the tiny bathroom and was already dressed in a thin, cool frock for the morning. Seated at the small dressing table, she looked over her shoulder at Nora, who woke up with a deep yawn like a healthy child and looked about her, bewildered.
“Oh,” said Nora, and some of the light went out of her sleep-flushed face. “I remember now. Oh, Claire, you didn’t get any sleep at all, because I took your bed!”
“Of course I did, you silly.” Claire’s tone was light, mocking. “You hop out of bed now and scamper along to your own room and get ready for breakfast. I’ll wait for you, if you don’t take too long. I’m famished.”
Nora scrambled out of bed, a boyish, plump figure in her cotton pajamas, and caught up the terry-cloth robe that lay across the foot of the bed.
“Oh, I’ll hurry like the dickens, Claire, if you’ll wait for me,” she promised eagerly, and was gone.
Claire dropped the pretense of gaiety the moment the door closed behind the girl. She let the hairbrush drop to the table top and got up, to stand at the porthole looking out at a gorgeous tropical sky.
The thin grayness that had presaged the coming of dawn had been swallowed up in an almost violent burst of color against the sky, where the sun was just making itself ready to rise. There were purples such as she had never seen before: roseate pinks, blues — and none of it mattered in the least, she reminded herself grimly. Because inside of her, in her heart, there was an ugly, ashamed darkness. Twice now she had gone through this ordeal of losing someone she deeply loved; and in all honesty she had to admit that the pain of losing Curt was much stronger than what she had felt for Rick. And that in itself only added to her feeling of deep humiliation. She had known Rick for so long that their lives had almost been one. She could have married Rick, she knew now in this moment of bitter self-analysis, and been moderately happy with him. But Curt! Much as she hated to admit it, marriage to Curt could have been something utterly glorious! She had been accustomed to Rick, she had known him a long time, they were used to each other. But Curt! She chopped her thoughts off short, her teeth setting as Nora came in, fresh and youthfully attractive in the brief white linen shorts and halter that constituted her daytime garb.
“Ready, Claire?” she asked eagerly. “Mother has already gone to breakfast. At least she’s not in the cabin, so I imagine she’s gone to breakfast.”
“Fine! Then come along,” said Claire, and linked her arm through Nora’s as they walked down the corridor toward the dining salon.
Most of the other passengers were already at the table, and Curt stood swiftly as he saw Claire, and his eyes blazed a joyous welcome as he smiled and spoke her name. But the warm, eager light in his eyes was followed by surprise and bewilderment when she gave him the briefest of good mornings and went to her place beside the Major.
“Did you see the sunrise?” the Major asked eagerly, as Carl, smiling at Claire, placed an iced melon on her plate. “Wasn’t it glorious?”
“Oh, yes, wasn’t it?” Claire agreed with an enthusiasm so specious that even the Major was somewhat dashed.
Nora looked swiftly up and down the table, and as Carl brought her melon, asked eagerly, “Has Mother already had her breakfast, Carl?”
“No, miss,” answered Carl, and glanced swiftly at Curt, who looked at Nora and then at Claire before he returned his attention to his breakfast.
“Did she ask for breakfast in her cabin?” Nora wondered.
“No, miss,” Carl answered politely. “I haven’t seen her since dinnertime last night.”
“Have you?” Nora asked Curt.
“I’m afraid I haven’t, Nora,” Curt answered with a smile.
Puzzled, Nora asked, “But where can she be? She wasn’t in our cabin when I went in to dress — ” She caught herself, looked swiftly at the others and bent her head above her breakfast.
MacEwen came in late, and Claire saw that his eyes went first to Nora and then to the empty seat beside her. There he paused, looked down at Nora, and with his hand on the back of her mother’s chair, asked, “Hi, Nora, mind if I sit here?”
“Mother’s late this morning, Mac,” Nora apologized. “She may be here any minute, so maybe you’d better not — ”
“You’re not wearing your necklace,” MacEwen said accusingly.
Nora’s
hand went up to her bare throat, and color poured into her young face.
“Well, of course not, silly!” She managed to make her voice sound gay and care-free. “I’m wearing shorts and a halter. And one doesn’t wear necklaces and bracelets and high-heeled pumps with shorts!”
“Well, of course I wouldn’t know.” MacEwen grinned and moved around the table to his accustomed place.
Major Lesley was rattling on to Claire as usual. Now and then Claire, feeling Curt’s demanding gaze on her, glanced up, met his eyes briefly and coldly and looked back at the Major.
When breakfast was over, Claire came out of the dining salon to find Curt waiting for her, his face stern and set.
“Why the brush-off this morning?” he demanded without preliminary.
Claire lifted her chin and eyed him levelly.
“And why not? What’s changed?” she asked.
Puzzled, angry he said very low, “Surely, after last night — ”
Claire’s smile was thin-lipped, mirthless, and her eyes met his straightly.
“After last night,” she told him coldly, deliberately, “I find I like you even less than I once thought I did!”
“Oh, now wait a minute,” Curt protested, and drew her aside so that they were not blocking the door to the dining salon, “I don’t know what this is all about. Last night you gave me to understand that you didn’t dislike me at all, quite the reverse — ”
“Oh, really, Curt!” she mocked. “For a veteran of shipboard romances, you sound impossibly naive.”
“A veteran of shipboard romances,” he repeated as though he could hardly believe she had really said that, and his jaw was set hard, his eyes blazing. “Are you trying to tell me that’s all it was — a shipboard romance?”
Claire widened her eyes at him in pretty astonishment.
“But, goodness, what else could it have been?” she mocked. “Surely you aren’t going to tell me you didn’t know that?”