“Not your husband? Of course he is, dear.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I saw your marriage license.”
“You saw...” Annabel raised herself to a sitting position.
“You were unconscious the first day after you were brought in. Mr. Alarcon came the second day. When he said he was your husband, the doctor asked to see some proof, and Mr. Alarcon showed him your marriage license and an old passport.”
So it was true. This man, this stranger, was her husband. She looked at the nurse and slowly shook her head. “I don’t remember him,” she said. “I don’t remember anything about him.”
“Would it help if I told you what I know?”
“Yes. Yes, please.”
“It isn’t much, only what I’ve heard from the doctor and the other nurses. Apparently your husband is something of a recluse. Stays right there on his island when he’s not off somewhere sailing. He has a home in Madrid, too, and he goes there once or twice a year. He inherited a fortune and he’s made a fortune.”
“Doing what?” Annabel asked, curious to know more about this man who said he was her husband.
“He’s a real adventurer,” she said. “Just like those old-time pirates. Only he’s a modern-day pirate.”
A modern-day pirate. The thought frightened her even more than he did.
That afternoon, two men from the coast guard, along with a man from the FBI, came to the hospital to speak to her. Luis Miguel was in the room when they arrived. He offered the chair to the FBI agent, then moved to the foot of Annabel’s bed and stood looking down at her.
One of the men from the coast guard called her Mrs. Alarcon. The FBI agent, who said his name was Charles Buchanan, took a tape recorder out of his pocket.
“I understand from your husband that you’re having difficulty remembering things.”
“Yes.”
“But surely you remember something.” He waited, and when Annabel said nothing, he asked, “Do you remember anything about the boat you were on?”
She shook her head.
“You were with other people. Who were they? Where had you come from?”
“I... I don’t know.”
“She called me from Miami to say that she was leaving from there with friends,” Luis Miguel said.
“What friends?” The agent turned back to Annabel. “What were their names?”
“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I don’t remember.”
“Do you know their names, Mr. Alarcon?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
Buchanan frowned. “What about Flynn? Have you ever heard the name Zachary Flynn before, Mrs. Alarcon?”
“No.”
“Mr. Alarcon?”
“Yes, I knew him. He worked for me for a short time.”
“When was that?”
“Several years ago.”
“You have no idea who he might have been working for at the time of the accident?”
“No, I don’t.”
One of the men from the coast guard stepped forward, a young man with an earnest face and nice brown eyes. “We’re pretty sure there were other people aboard,” he said, “in addition to you and Mr. Flynn. We picked up pieces of clothing, both men’s and women’s, but there was nothing we could find to identify the boat. You’re the only one who can help us, ma’am. Can’t you try to remember? Surely there must be something—”
“That’s enough,” Luis said, stopping him. “My wife has been through a terrible ordeal. She’s had a concussion and she suffers from headaches. This is a difficult time for her, gentlemen, so if you don’t mind, perhaps we could leave this until she’s feeling better.”
Buchanan frowned. He hesitated, looked from Luis to Annabel and asked, “What are your plans, Mr. Alarcon? I understand from the doctor that your wife will be released from the hospital the day after tomorrow. What will you do then? Do you plan on staying in Nassau for a while?”
Luis shook his head. “I’ve had my boat brought here to Nassau. My wife and I will sail back to San Sebastian as soon as she’s released.”
“San Sebastián?” Annabel clutched at the white spread that covered the bed. Her throat tightened and her mind screamed, No! No, I can’t!
Luis saw her panic and moved quickly to her side.
She tried to say, “Listen, I don’t—” Tried to tell these men that she didn’t want to be on a boat again, that she didn’t know the man who said he was her husband and she didn’t want to go with him.
But before she could say anything, he cut in and said, “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I’ll have to ask you to leave. All of these questions have upset my wise.”
He reached for the buzzer beside the bed and rang for the nurse. Rebecca hurried in. “My wife is becoming agitated,” he said. “She needs to rest.”
“No,” Annabel protested, “I’m not. I—”
“Hush, dear,” he said, cutting her off again.
The nurse took her arm. Annabel felt the prick of the needle against her skin. “Gentlemen,” Luis said, “please.”
The member of the coast guard with the nice brown eyes looked upset. Buchanan said, “We’ll be back when you’re feeling better, Mrs. Alarcon.”
“But I’m not...” she tried to say. “I—”
Once again Luis interrupted. “Take it easy, my dear,” he soothed. “You mustn’t get excited. You’ll have a little rest and then you’ll feel better.”
“I don’t want to rest.” She fought the mist that threatened to close in around her. She wanted to tell the young man with the nice brown eyes not to go away, but he had already turned and with the other men had left the room. Left her alone with Luis Miguel Alarcon.
He looked down at her, a strange and knowing smile in his silver gray eyes. “Sleep now, my dear,” he said. “When you wake up I’ll be right here with you.”
And that, of course, was what she was afraid of.
Chapter 2
The dream, again the dream. Flashes of orange red fire. A man, mouth agape, screaming, screaming... And the woman? What woman? Facedown on the deck, blond hair matted with blood, unmoving.
She tried to scream a warning but her voice came out in a mewling whisper of sound. “Run...run...”
“Annabel.” Someone shook her. Someone said, “Wake up. You’re dreaming. Wake up!”
She opened her eyes and in the shadowed light of the room she saw him, the man who said he was her husband.
“What is it?” he asked. “What were you dreaming?”
“A woman...there was a woman. I tried to get to her, but I...” She looked at him. “Why couldn’t I?” she whispered. “Why couldn’t I help her?”
“You were hurt.” He stroked the hair back from her face. “Who was she, Annabel?”
“I... I don’t know.”
“Try to think. Try to remember.”
“I can’t! Don’t you understand that I can’t!” She turned away and buried her head in the pillow. “I don’t remember.” Her voice was muffled, weeping. “I don’t remember.”
“You have to...” He stopped, bit back the words. This wasn’t the way. He had to wait, be patient. Eventually she would remember. And when she did?
He stood for a moment looking down at her. Then he turned and left the room.
“I’ve got good news for you.” Dr. Hunnicut smiled down at Annabel. “You’re ready to leave the hospital.”
“Leave...?” Her hands clenched the white bedspread. “But I—”
“It’s all arranged. Rebecca will help you dress. It’s a beautiful day, good sailing weather.”
She hated his cheerfulness.
“I bet you can’t wait to get out of the hospital nightgown,” the nurse said. “Your husband has bought you some nice new clothes.”
She looked from the nurse to the doctor, who said, “You’re going to be just fine, Mrs. Alarcon. I’ve given Mr. Alarcon a prescription for pain in case you need it, and something to help you relax.”<
br />
The nurse took her arm and Annabel swung her legs over the side of the bed. For the past two days she’d been allowed to get up to take a shower and walk the halls. Though she still felt a little weak, she knew her strength was coming back. Her strength, but not her memory. God, how that frightened her.
“Come along,” Rebecca said. “You mustn’t keep your husband waiting.”
Her husband. She looked at the nurse, then the doctor. “I don’t remember him. I don’t want to go with him.”
“But, my dear...” Dr. Hunnicut shook his head. “I know this must be difficult for you, but give it time.”
She fought back tears. “How much time?”
“It’s difficult to say. You could remember everything tomorrow or...” He shook his head. “Well, actually, one can’t say in a case like yours.”
One can’t say? And what am I supposed to do meantime? Go into the unknown with a man I’ve never seen before?
And what if what he said was true? What if Luis Miguel Alarcon really was her husband? What would he expect from her? That she behave like a wife? Share his bed?
The nurse took her arm. “It’s almost noon,” she said. “We want to be ready when he comes, don’t we?”
We? With one last desperate look at the doctor, Annabel let the nurse help her into the bathroom.
She left the hospital forty-five minutes later in a wheelchair. She wore new white duck pants and a red-and-white-striped T-shirt. Shorts and shirts and swimsuits were packed in a new overnight bag.
Rebecca wheeled her out to a waiting taxi. Luis Miguel took her arm and helped her in. “Happy sailing,” the nurse called out when the taxi started up.
Annabel stared straight ahead, hands clenched at her sides, fear knotting her throat. “I don’t think I can get on a boat again,” she said. “You told me you chartered a plane to get here. Couldn’t we do that? Fly back to your island, I mean.”
He reached for her hand. “You’ve always loved the water, Annabel. Besides, the sea air will do you good, put some color back into your cheeks. With good weather the trip will take three days, four at the most. By the time we reach San Sebastian you’ll feel like a new woman. Besides...” He smiled. “The fresh air might help jog your memory.”
There was a part of her that didn’t want her memory jogged, that didn’t want to remember what had happened that fateful day. She looked down at the hand that covered hers. Had she really lived with this man on his island? Had she loved him? She gave him a sidelong glance, saw him watching her and quickly lowered her eyes.
What had it been like, she wondered, living with him, making love with him? He seemed so forbidding, so overwhelmingly masculine he frightened her. Would he expect her to sleep with him once they reached his island?
The taxi stopped at the entrance to the wharf and the driver said, “Here we be, boss.”
Luis Miguel offered his hand to Annabel and helped her out of the cab. All around were the bustle and the ripe, rich smells of the waterfront, the salty tang of the sea, of fresh fish and fruit and flowers.
Stall owners called out in a singsong calypso lilt, “Fresh fish! Come buy here, buy fresh fish. We got conch fresh from de sea, bass and shrimp and de shark. Fresh, fresh, lady and mon. Come see. Come buy.”
Food stalls hawked pigeon peas and rice, green turtle pie and baked plantains. Fruit stands sold papayas, mangoes, guavas and soursops. Dark-skinned children darted in and around the stalls, laughing, calling out to one another. Women with hair turbaned in red or blue bandannas wove straw baskets and wide-brimmed colorful hats. Men in undershirts and tattered jeans hefted whole hands of bananas. A skinny man with a wide, white-toothed smile strummed a guitar and sang, “Come Mr. Tallyman, tally me banana...”
Luis Miguel stopped in front of one of the stands that sold the bright-colored straw hats. “We’d better buy you a hat.” He picked out a big-brimmed one and handed it to Annabel. “Try this,” he said.
When she put it on, he nodded, paid the woman and, taking Annabel’s arm, led her through the crush of people toward the marina and out onto the dock.
There were so many boats, deep-sea fishing boats, small pleasure crafts, motor sailers and cabin cruisers, sixty-foot yachts and small sailboats.
“Our boat is down here at the end,” he said. “The Straight On till Morning. Do you remember?”
“Straight on?” She shook her head.
“It’s from Peter Pan. The way to Never-Never Land, Annabel. Second star on the right, straight on till morning.”
She looked at him, bewildered. “No,” she said. “I don’t remember.”
It lay sturdy in the water. Trim and sleek, white and royal blue. Forty feet? Fifty? She stopped. “I can’t do this,” she said.
“Do what?” He looked at her, dark eyebrows drawn together in a frown. “What do you mean you can’t do this?”
Her voice rose. “I’m not going with you.” She tried to back away from him. “I won’t go with you. You can’t make me. I don’t know you. I’m not going out on the water with you.”
He hesitated, as though not sure what to do, then with a muttered oath he scooped her up in his arms. When she struggled, he swore and, tightening his arms around her, hurried down the dock toward the boat. “Samuel?” he called out. “Samuel!”
A black man wearing cutoffs and a seaman’s cap came up from below. “Hey, boss man.” He grinned in greeting, then the grin faded. “The lady she be sick, sir?”
“Yes, she is. Help me get her aboard, please.”
“No!” Annabel cried. “I don’t want to. I don’t want...”
He handed her down to the other man then quickly jumped down beside her. “She’s just out of the hospital,” he said. “I’ll take her down to the cabin. She’ll be all right. Are we all gassed up? Ready to go?”
“Soon’s you be giving the word.”
“I’ll take care of Mrs. Alarcon first. Bring me a glass of water, will you?”
He carried her, still struggling, down a few steps, past a galley and what looked like a salon and into a cabin, where he laid her on the bed. “Take it easy,” he said. “Just take it easy, Annabel.”
“Let me go!”
“Here be the water,” Samuel said.
Luis took two pills out of the bottle in his pocket and held them out to her. “Take these,” he said.
“No.”
“I don’t want to have to force you, Annabel.”
“But you are forcing me.”
“No, I’m taking care of you.” He sat down on the bunk beside her. To Samuel he said, “Leave us, please.” And when the other man had gone, he said, “I’m taking you home, to our island.” And more gently, “You really don’t have a choice. You have nowhere else to go, no memory, no money, no one except me.”
“But I don’t know you,” she whispered.
He clasped her hands in his. “I’m not going to harm you, Annabel. I only want to help you, to take care of you.” He released her and placed the two pills in the palm of her hand. “These will make you relax,” he said. “Please take them.”
She looked at him and knew he was right. She had no choice but to do what he said, to take the pills, to go with him.
She swallowed the pills with a sip of the water, and when he said, “Lie back now,” she did. She had no memory, no money. No one except him.
He left her. She felt the gentle rock of the boat against the waves, then the sound of a motor, the cry, “Cast off!” And the man Samuel calling out, “Have a safe trip, boss man. I be coming next week with the supply boat.”
The other man wasn’t coming with them. She would be alone on the open sea with Luis Miguel, the man who said he was her husband. But she knew, somehow she knew that he had lied. He wasn’t her husband. She wasn’t even sure she’d ever seen him before.
She struggled to stay awake, to fight the pills he had made her take. But the sound of the motor and the rocking of the boat lulled her so that, in spite of herself, her eyes kept
closing. In a little while, though she told herself she would not, she slept.
She awoke sometime later to the slap of waves against the hull of the boat, the metallic clink of the halyards against the mast, the creak of boards. They were moving but there was no sound of the motor.
She lay for a moment trying to figure out where she was, then sat up and brushed her hair back from her face. She looked for the head, saw a door and opened it, wondering how she knew that a bathroom on a boat was the head.
Toiletry things had been laid out on the washstand, a comb and brush, shampoo, a pale coral lipstick. She picked up the brush and forced herself to look in the mirror over the washstand. “Who are you?” she whispered, as if the mirror could give her the answer.
But the face that stared back at her was the face of a stranger.
She splashed cold water on her face and brushed her hair, and because she knew that she could not stay down here forever, she left the cabin and went up the few steps to the salon and the galley, then up onto the deck.
The sails, unfurled to catch the sea wind, were stark white against a clean blue sky. The man who said he was her husband stood at the helm, feet planted apart, facing into the wind, suntanned and fit. His body was lean, muscled, his waist narrow, his stomach flat. He looked like an athlete, not the muscle-bound, jock-type athlete, but like a long-distance runner or a man who scaled mountains just for the fun of it. He was, she supposed as she stood watching him, handsome in a rugged, totally masculine way.
He looked up and saw her watching him. “How do you feel?” he asked.
“Better.”
“Are you hungry?”
She nodded.
“There’s meat for hamburgers in the refrigerator, along with the makings for a salad. I’ll come down in a minute and show you how to light the stove.”
“I know how.”
He looked at her, suspicion in his eyes. “So you do remember.”
“No. I...” She looked bewildered, uncertain. “I...I don’t know why I said that.”
He shot her a look of disbelief but didn’t say anything.
Long-Lost Wife? Page 2