There were no words now as they clung to the fading heat, and knew a sense of loss, of sadness.
He held her close, stroking her back, the curve of a hip. Had he been wrong to be with her like this? he asked himself. But how could it be wrong when it felt so good?
He kissed her again, and though she made as if to move out of his arms, he held her there. For now at least there was no past, only the here and now with Annabel, his beloved Annabel, back in his arms where she belonged.
Chapter 8
The brown pelican perched on one of the dock posts, looking, Annabel thought, like a wise old country judge.
He blinked at her, as though in disapproval, and she laughed, which helped ease some of the tension she was feeling this morning. So did sitting here at the end of one of the docks, dangling her legs in the water. Actually she felt pretty good, better than she had in a long time. At least for as long a time as she could remember.
The air was clean and fresh, the sky a cloudless blue. Wind rustled through the palms, waves slapped gently against the shore, and from the other dock, the bigger one where Straight On till Morning was moored, came the voices of the men unloading the supply boat that had arrived earlier.
Rob was there with them, tail wagging, sniffing at the boxes, getting in the way. Luis, wearing only khaki shorts, worked alongside his men. Even from here she could see the sweat glistening on his body, the splay of the muscles of his bronzed shoulders.
And again she wondered, as she had this morning when she awakened alone, what manner of man he was.
They had made love in the early light of dawn. She wasn’t sure now how she felt about that. It was something she hadn’t intended to let happen, but when Luis kissed her it had somehow seemed natural to turn into his arms. Making love with him had been... She couldn’t put words to it. More than nice. More than pleasurable. Wonderful. Yes, wonderful beyond words.
Lying there alone in her bed after he had left her this morning, with the sheet thrown back and the sea breeze caressing her naked body, she had asked herself if there had been a familiarity about making love with Luis. If she was his wife, they would have made love hundreds of times in the eight years they had been married. But it hadn’t felt like eight years of lovemaking last night; it had felt like the very first time. Was that because she didn’t remember, or because in reality it had been the first time?
When she went into the bathroom she looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t think she looked different, yet in a way she couldn’t explain, she felt different. She touched the lips that he had kissed. And wondered about so many things.
He had been out on the terrace just finishing his breakfast when she’d left her room. He stood when he saw her and said, “Good morning.” He held a chair out for her, and when she was seated he rested his hands on her shoulders.
“Annabel,” he had started to say, just as Ambrosia appeared with a fresh pot of coffee and a plate of fruit.
She and Ambrosia exchanged greetings. Ambrosia asked if Annabel was feeling better. “Yes,” she said, “I feel fine. Wonderful. Better than I have in a long time.” And blushed because it was Luis who had made her feel that way.
The hint of a smile curved his mouth. “The supply boat arrived this morning,” he told her. “The men are busy unloading. I’d better get down and see how things are going.”
“Of course.” She looked at him, then quickly away. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but something, surely something to acknowledge what had passed between them. Their bodies had joined in the intimate act of love. What had that meant to him? Had it been only a physical release without meaning or emotion? Had the words he’d spoken in the height of mutual passion meant nothing? And when, after the loving, he had cradled her in his arms and held her until she slept, hadn’t he known the same sense of belonging she felt?
Last night she had experienced a bonding with Luis, a merging of her body and all that she was with him. Was it because this wasn’t the first time she’d ever made love to him? Had there been, without her having been aware of it, the memory of other times? Was that why she had responded with such feeling?
She looked up now and saw him hefting a crate onto the dock. Rob darted forward and she heard Luis raise his voice and try to push the dog out of the way. “Larguese!” he said. “Get the hell out of here, Rob.”
She stood then and called out, “Rob, come!”
The dog pricked up his ears and bounded out to the dock where she was.
“What’re you doing?” she said when he reached her, laughing and trying to fend him off when he jumped up and tried to lick her face. “Okay, okay, take it easy.”
He did until he spotted the pelican. With a “Woof!” he made straight for the bird, who, with a flap of its wings, sailed out over the water. Rob ran down the dock, barking frantically, but when Annabel called out to him, he came back to her.
She and the dog sat side by side, watching the pelican circle out over the sea, and two great white herons swoop low over the water for fish.
Luis, watching them, felt a sudden and inexplicable sadness, a longing for things to be not what they were but what he wished they could be.
This early morning he had left her bed without a word, slipping away as though ashamed by what had passed between them. It had been a mistake, but was he ashamed? Or sorry? Of course not. For how could he be sorry when making love to Annabel had been... He stopped, because it hadn’t been quite that way. He hadn’t been making love to her, he’d been making love with her. There was a difference. For the first time in his life he realized there really was a difference.
Had he been too controlling, too demanding during those first few years of their marriage? Too concerned with his pleasure and not enough with hers? He’d been so crazy about her, so much in love that he could hardly keep his hands off her. But had he taken the time to please her?
He wished he had kissed her sleeping mouth before he left this morning, wished he had told her what being with her like this meant to him. But he hadn’t; he’d simply left her bed. And this morning when she looked so shy and ill at ease, he should have said something. He’d intended to, but then Ambrosia had appeared and he hadn’t. He’d left Annabel alone with her doubts and her shyness. Left her as though nothing of importance had passed between them.
And it had been something of importance. It had been a coming home, a rebirth of all the love he had felt in those early years of their marriage. And an awakening of tenderness he had not even known he possessed.
Later that afternoon when the supply boat left and all of the supplies had been stowed, Luis showered and shaved. Dressed in white shorts and a T-shirt, he went looking for Annabel.
He found her in the library, standing in front of the portraits of the sea captain and his wife.
“Alejandro de Alarcon and his wife, Maria de Castilta,” he said.
“He’s very handsome, isn’t he? His face is so strong, so masculine.”
“Yes, I suppose he is.”
“He looks like you. I...I mean you have some of his features.” Embarrassed, she stepped closer so that she could read the small brass nameplate at the bottom of the portrait. “Alejandro de Alarcon,” she read, “1712.”
“The portrait was done two years before his death.”
“How did he die?”
“He and Maria were lost in a hurricane somewhere here in the Bahamas.”
“She was with him when the ship went down?” she asked, surprised.
Luis nodded. “It was the first trip she ever made, the first time he’d ever taken her with him.”
Annabel looked up at the woman in the portrait. Maria, who must have been in her early twenties when the portrait had been done, was quite luminously beautiful. Her hair, a warm chestnut brown, curled softly about her face. She smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, for in their warm brown depths there seemed to be an expression of sadness. Sadness because her sea captain husband was away, or because somehow she knew how
very short their life together would be?
The bodice of her pale pink dress revealed only the suggestion of the rise of her breasts. Her skin was porcelain smooth. She wore a gold necklace set with rubies at her throat, a ruby ring on her finger.
“He shouldn’t have taken her with him.” Luis, as he had done this morning, rested his hands on Annabel’s shoulders. “He should have insisted she stay at home in Cádiz with her two young sons.”
Warmed by his touch, Annabel took a steadying breath. “No, I don’t think so, Luis. I think it was the way it was supposed to be. She was meant to be with him when his ship—what was it called?—went down.”
“The Cantamar.”
“Song of the Sea. What a lovely name.”
“You’re remembering your Spanish,” he said.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“The last time we were in Madrid we stayed for almost six months. You took classes.”
Madrid? How could she have been to a city like Madrid and not remember?
“You liked it there.” And when she shook her head, bewildered and uncertain, he said, “I took your picture by the Fuente de la Cibeles. The Cibeles Fountain.”
A picture? Then there was proof—he had proof that they were married. She stepped away from him. “Where...where is it?” She tried very hard to keep her voice steady. “May I see it?”
He hesitated before be said, “It’s somewhere here in the desk, I think.”
She watched him move to the desk. The fact that there were no pictures of either her or Luis in the house was something she hadn’t thought about until now. There should have been wedding pictures. And a wedding ring. If she was married, where was her wedding ring?
He opened one of the bottom drawers, shuffled through it and took out a five-by-seven framed photograph. He handed it to her.
There she was, a younger version of herself, smiling at the camera. “It must have been taken a few years ago,” she said.
“Yes, it was.”
She handed the photograph back to him. He hesitated for a moment, then, instead of putting it back in the drawer, he placed it on the desk.
Why hadn’t it been there before? Why had he hidden it away? Why weren’t there pictures of the two of them together?
“Did we have any pictures together?”
“Yes.”
“I’d like to see them.”
He avoided her eyes. “They must be around somewhere.”
“What about wedding pictures?”
“There weren’t any. We didn’t have a formal wedding, Annabel. We were married by a judge in Miami.”
“I see.” She hesitated. “What about our honeymoon? Where did we spend it? In Miami?”
“There was no time for a honeymoon. We spent the night in Miami Beach and the next day we sailed for San Sebastián.”
“From Miami?”
“Yes.”
Newly married, they would have spent a week at sea aboard the Straight On till Morning. That had been a honeymoon, hadn’t it? What had it been like? He’d told her they had been married when she was twenty-one. Had she been inexperienced? A virgin? Had he been a tender and patient lover? So many things she wanted to ask but was afraid to.
“Did I have a wedding ring?”
“Of course.”
She held up the ringless fingers of her left hand. “But I wasn’t wearing a ring when I woke up in the hospital in Nassau.”
“You...” He didn’t quite meet her eyes. “You must have lost it in the accident.”
“Yes, I... I suppose so.” Suddenly confused, once again unsure, she looked up at the portraits. “I wonder how long they were married,” she said.
“Almost fifteen years. I have a packet of their letters to each other. You can read them sometime if you’d like to.”
“I’d like to, very much.”
Luis looked at his watch. “It’s almost time for dinner. There’s something I need to check in my office. Why don’t you ask Ambrosia to fix us a couple of drinks. I’ll meet you on the terrace in, say, half an hour.” He started out of the room, hesitated as though to say something, then with a shake of his head left the room.
Annabel looked up at the portraits of Alejandro and Maria. What must it be like to have a love like theirs? she wondered. For though they had died together, they’d also loved together.
She moved closer to study the portrait of the beautiful Maria, dressed in her pink gown, a pale hand touching the gold-and-ruby necklace at her throat, a necklace her husband had given her.
And Annabel knew, somewhere in her heart she knew, that when the waters of the sea closed over their heads and Alejandro clasped Maria in his arms for the last time, Maria did not weep or cry out in anguish, for she was with her love, now and for all eternity.
Annabel wore an ankle-length flowered cotton dress for dinner. Her hair had been pulled back from her face into a french braid in which she had woven a bright yellow ribbon. And because she was more beautiful than Luis had even imagined her to be, he said in a voice made gruff by all that he was feeling, “Here you are at last. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Sorry.” She took the drink he offered, sipped it and said, “It’s very good.”
“Are you hungry?”
“A little.”
“I asked Meadowlark to prepare Spanish food tonight.” And when Annabel didn’t respond, he added, “You like that kind of food.”
Do I? she wanted to ask. But didn’t.
“How’s your hand?”
“Much better. It doesn’t hurt.”
“Let me see.” She’d taken the bandage off. Her hand still looked a little red but it wasn’t swollen. “It looks all right, but you’d better put some more salve on it tonight before you go to bed.”
“I will.”
He kept her hand in his. “About last night.” He hesitated. “I didn’t intend for it to happen. I had hoped it would, of course, sooner or later, but I had planned to wait until you were more sure of yourself. Of me.”
He touched her hair and with a half smile said, “It was your fault, you know. You were close to me when I awoke, all warm and soft.” He touched a wisp of hair and gently tucked it behind her ear. “Making love with you meant a great deal to me, so much more than I can ever tell you.” He drew her into his arms. “I wanted to tell you this morning. I wanted to wake you and love you again.” He smiled. “Again and again.”
Why didn’t you? she wanted to ask. Then, confused and afraid he could read her thoughts, she turned away and went to stand by the railing looking out at the sea.
That’s where she was when Rob padded out to the terrace. He looked from Luis to Annabel and went to stand at her side.
Luis forced a chuckle. “Man’s best friend. He obeys me but I’ve got a hunch he’s your dog.”
She bent down and scratched Rob behind his ears. “I’ve never had a dog before,” she said.
“Oh? How do you know that?”
“Well, I mean I don’t think I ever had one. Did we have a dog?”
We. That gave him a sense of satisfaction, but he tried not to show it when he said, “No, we didn’t. We were traveling a lot, that’s why.”
“Where did we go?”
“To Spain of course. And once to Paris. I bought you a nightgown in Paris.”
If he had, it wasn’t with the new nightgowns on the shelf in her closet.
She finished her drink, but when he asked if she wanted another, she said no.
She wasn’t aware of it of course, but in the last rays of the sun he could see every line of her body outlined through the cotton material of her dress. He thought of how it had been last night when he had stroked all the lovely curves and planes, the intriguing hollows of her body. And because he felt his own body tighten, he turned away from her and called out, “Ambrosia! We’d like dinner to be served.”
The table had been set with flowers, fine china and crystal glasses. White wine was served with the cold gazpacho, a red Rio
ja with the Moros y Cristianos, black beans and rice, and the paella, a wonderful mixture of saffron-flavored rice with seafood, chicken and vegetables. Dessert was a fresh pineapple sorbet.
Luis poured the wine and served the after-dinner coffee. There was very little conversation. When he finished his coffee he said, “I’m sorry, Annabel. I hope you’ll excuse me because I need to check on some things in my office.”
“Of course.”
He stood and went around to her chair. Lifting the braid from the back of her neck, he kissed the tender skin there. “You smell of jasmine,” he said.
She felt his breath on her skin and a weakness came over her. But before she could say anything, he motioned to the dog. Rob lifted his head from his paws but made no move to get up. Luis snapped his fingers, and with something like a sigh the dog got to its feet and followed him.
“Well then...” He hesitated a moment more, then he said “Come” to the dog and left her alone on the terrace.
For a few moments in the library today she’d almost believed that she really had been Luis’s wife. And now, with that single caress, she had felt the same return of passion that she had felt this morning.
But the doubts were still there, for if she was his wife, would he have walked away from her like this just now?
Tears stung her eyes when she pushed back her chair, and with something close to a sob, she ran back into the house.
Luis worked at his desk until midnight. Rob snoozed close by and did little more than open one eye when Luis got up to study the sea charts spread on the big table in the center of the room.
It was hard to concentrate. He tried to focus his eyes on Matecumbe Key and Steamboat Channel. Then down to the Great Bahama Bank, the Crooked Island Passage. His vision blurred, his mind wandered, and it seemed to him that he could see Annabel swimming up out of the depths of the blue-water markings of the charts spread out before him. Annabel, with water glistening on her breasts, braided hair with the yellow ribbon trailing in back of her. And her face, so young, so beautiful.
He gave a hoarse cry and slammed his fist down on the chart table. He wanted her, he needed her so.
Long-Lost Wife? Page 9