Lexy drew a shaky breath. She flicked a glance at Dominic. Studying his hands, he neither looked at her nor his cousin, his face closed, his eyes shuttered. She looked back at Joey Compton, sitting back now, his eyes slyly triumphant.
Dominic did not look up.
With a small sound, Lexy flung herself towards the haven of the small forward cabin. She closed the door, flinging herself on her bunk, curling up into a small ball, the tears streaming from her eyes, wetting her face, soaking her pillow. The ragged pain tearing at her breast.
When would it end? Was she to be punished forever and ever for some silly mistakes when she was a teenager? It had been eight years since her one slip. Eight years of loneliness, uncertainty, fear. Was she never able to escape the consequences of her girlhood folly? It had been a defiant childish gesture. Would she never be free of it?
It was cruel to have two such nice, happy days as these last had been, only to have the happiness snatch away and Joey’s attack plunge her back into despair. She’d planned to tell Dominic. She could have explained it away, not like Joey had, so sordid and cheap, but showing it as a youthful folly. Given time, she would have told him herself.
She buried her face in the pillow, drying her tears, fighting to get herself under control again, fighting to ease the pain, ease her sense of loss. She’d have to leave. Pack her things and get off the boat.
Endless moments passed. Finally, she took a deep breath and lay back staring dully at the ceiling. Time to move. She would repack her duffel bag, re-tie her box of books. Sadly she turned her head to all the new books she’d bought. She wouldn't be able to carry all that along as well, and she had so wanted to read them. The tears welled again. Maybe with her next job.
She’d moved from job to job in the last eight years, all because of her hated reputation. Just when she would think herself safe and secure, a proposition would come. Men like Joey Compton who, if they thought she’d had slept with one man, saw no reason why she would refuse them. That awful Phil Bateson had tried. Joey had been most persistent, even offering to have her move in with him as he had said. Even Mrs. Culver's awful husband had tried. When she’d refused every one, they all got nasty, always after her for refusing them, making her life impossible with accidental meetings, quick, snatched kisses, until she’d up and leave. Not even getting a reference from Phil Bateson. It was unfair, so unfair.
She sighed. Well, that was that. She’d find another job here in Bridgetown. One, she needed to make sure would make it unlikely to run into anyone who knew her. It was a fair-sized city; she should be able to manage it.
Wearily she sat up, time to pack. Her eyes welled with tears again. She had so looked forward to sailing with him; looked forward to the promise that trip had held for them. Now it was gone. She brushed a tear away impatiently and set to work.
Her books repacked, she pulled out her duffel bag and opened the drawer, stumbling back as the ship lurched. Something was wrong. Something . . . she cocked her head. The engine. The boat's engine was running, its throbbing reverberating along the planking. She looked out of the porthole, the dock was slipping away. They were moving. They were leaving!
Lexy scrambled to her feet, threw open her door and stumbled into the cabin. It was deserted. She continued aft, bursting up on the deck. Dominic was at the helm, calmly maneuvering the sloop out, turning her bow seaward.
'Dominic, stop. I have to get off,' she cried, stumbling over to him. He regarded her coolly, disdainfully.
'You got your cakes, Miss Kent, what else do you need?' he asked in that hard, cold tone he had used once before, just a short time ago, in the cabin.
'I ... I have to get off,' she repeated uncertainly, looking at him through her tear-blotched eyes, red-rimmed and swollen. 'Don't I?' A small spark of hope burgeoning in her. Maybe he believed in her, maybe he would stand by her, discount what Joey had said and listen to her explanation.
'I told you we sailed at eleven.'
He looked out to sea, ignoring her.
'But that. . . that was before Joey said all those awful things. You can't want me to sail with you now. Do you?' Still that hope.
'To be forewarned is to be forearmed, Miss Kent. I shan't permit any of your blandishments to beguile me into thinking you’re the sweet, innocent young thing you obviously are not. However, if I do not sail with you, I have to find a replacement, and that could take days, several days. Time I don't have. I do have a schedule to meet and want to stick to it.'
'But I don't want to go, not with you thinking those awful things about me,' she protested.
'I asked you if any of it were true,' he looked down on her, his eyes searching.
'A grain only. Not like Joey said,' she tried to explain. 'If you'll let me explain, you'll see it is not as bad as it sounds.'
'What about England?' he snapped, his eyes narrowed and hard.
She dropped her eyes, 'That was partly true. My grandfather disowned me. Sent me away from home, but–’
'Your grandfather? I thought you had no family?'
She made no reply, licking her lips, eyes still on the decking, color rising in her cheeks.
'Go get your passport,' he said unexpectedly.
She did look up at this. 'My passport?'
'I want to see it. You've probably lied about your age, too.'
'No, I haven't,' she said. 'Truly.'
'Let me see.'
'You don't need to see it,' she said, sick again. She pressed her churning stomach.
Dominic latched the wheel with an angry movement and strode below, Lexy following him frantically.
'No, Dominic, please . . .' She was too late.
Upending her bag on her bunk, he selected the blue passport and opened it.
'Alexandra Kentfield,' he read, 'Larchmont Tower, Brayford, Dorset, England. Damn! Your name isn't even your own,' he said in disgust. 'You are nothing but a cheap lying tramp. Joey was right, damn him.'
'No, please, I can explain. I had planned to,' she said desperately, frantic for him to listen to her.
He stared at her for a moment, assessing her, weighing things in his mind. His face hard, unyielding, unforgiving. Dispassionately, he replied,
'Joey explained everything most adequately, thank you. I don't want the subject raised again. Your past life has no interest for me, no bearing on the job at hand. I trust Miles Jackson's letter is reasonably accurate about your experience and expertise. Considering the circumstances I wouldn't be surprised if it exaggerated some things a little, but I have seen that you do know something about sailing.'
'But Dominic . . .'
He raised his hand, his face suffused with anger, 'I assume you need a job, if you want the one going on this ship, you will do as I say. There will be no explanations from you, I don't need any. I don't want to discuss the matter again, is that clear?'
'Yes, but. . .'
'No, Miss Kent. . . Kentfield, damn, even your name’s a lie.'
'More of a contraction,' she offered, biting her lip at his anger. 'Please . . .'
'How many people here in the Indies know your real name?'
'No one, I have always used Alexis Kent since I left England. I thought–'
'Then you can continue doing so, and leave it at that. I think I convinced Joey not to say anything further to anyone else, like Sarah or Robin. They liked you.' He sounded incredulous.
'Well, so did you until Joey came,' she replied smartly.
'Before I knew the facts,' he said in that hard, cold voice. 'You just do your job, and we will get on fine. I'll take her out. I'll call you when it's time to haul up the sails.' It was dismissal, clear and cold. He left the cabin and regained the helm.
Lexy held her head high as he left, cut to the quick he wouldn't listen to her, but refusing to show it. She sank slowly to her bunk, watching their progress through the portholes with dull, pain-filled eyes. She shook her head in confusion. Why was it everyone was so quick to believe somebody else? Why wouldn’t they list
en to her? Why not believe what she had to say? It happened over and over. She’d tried. On several occasions she’d told the truth, to no avail. No one believed her.
Dominic would not listen, preferring to believe Joey Compton.
Her grandfather had not believed her, nor Amelia Jackson, nor Phil Bateson.
She drew a shaky breath. Miles had believed her. Had met her and as a stranger believed her because of her truthful eyes. She sniffed, so much for truthful eyes with Dominic Frazer. She gazed out of her porthole as Bridgetown slid slowly by, seeing none of it, her thoughts turned inward.
They cleared the harbor, leaving the noise, the trash floating on the water and the diesel fumes hanging in the air, behind, gaining the clean open sea. At the wheel, the stern, determined man; below decks, a forlorn woman.
'Lexy. Hoist the mainsail,' he called when they had gained the open water.
She came slowly and moved to obey his order. Methodically, and without much thought, she unsnapped the canvas and hauled on the halyard. Dominic locked the wheel and moved to help, careful to avoid any physical contact with her. The sail bellowed, filled with wind, the boom swinging out to the proper angle. The boat leapt forward.
'Jib now,' Dominic said, returning to the helm.
That was one Lexy could manage on her own, and she did. When the sail was in place, she looked thoughtfully back at the boat's owner. He would probably work her harder now than before, but she would still find it easygoing. If he wanted it strictly impersonal, well, she would be happy to comply. From now on Mr. Frazer would get exactly what he paid for and not a smile or friendly word more. She faltered a moment as the pain tore across her again—he wouldn't even give her the opportunity to tell her side of it. He had judged and condemned without giving her a fair hearing. Well, no matter, she was back where she had been a week ago. She’d lived through worse and survived. She’d live through this.
It had been a mistake on her part to lower her guard at all, to hope, to dream foolish things. Her name was unusual enough that Joey had suspected, immediately upon hearing it, who she was. He had taken full advantage of that knowledge for a long-awaited revenge. She shook her head in remembrance of that awful weekend. She’d known Joey casually for several months, having met him through Amelia Jackson when she worked for Miles. Lexy remembered even now her surprise when Joey had invited her to go to that weekend party up in the hills above Bridgetown. Hesitantly, she had accepted. It wasn't long after Tom Bullocks' tragic death and she was still somewhat at a loss. The diversion might focus her attention elsewhere, she'd thought, might even be some fun.
The weekend had been a nightmare from start to finish. Beginning with Joey's veiled insinuations in the car on the way up; through his drinking heavily upon arrival, culminating with the awful scene in the lounge when Joey casually mentioned she was to share his room as part of the weekend. When she declined as gracefully as she could, Joey told her he knew that she had been living with Miles and Tom and that he was as good as either of them, and she could do a lot worse. Lexy had been stunned at his comment, shocked at what he thought. Was that what everyone thought–the same vile ideas Joey had of her living with Miles and with Tom?
Joey refused to hear her denials, of her attempted explanations. He grew more and more demanding, more obnoxious with each moment, oblivious to the couples that began drifting in drawn by Joey's loud voice.
Lexy had been unable to muster a defense. She hated scenes, felt sick and shaky, her mind would go blank, unable to think coherently. All she wanted was to escape.
That had been the final straw for Joey, when she, unable to endure any more, had walked out on him, in front of all his friends. She’d heard later that he had been the butt of many jokes from his friends for a long time after, and it was no wonder that he had wanted revenge.
She had felt a twinge of guilt from that trip. Perhaps by accepting the invitation she had led Joey on, given him reason to suspect she was that type of woman. Still, he should have accepted her refusal, not made such a big scene. She bit her lip. Another person would have maintained harmonious relations, not ended the event so scandalously. But that wasn't the way it had turned out, and he had paid her out fine for any humiliation he had suffered by his friends.
She sighed deeply. Lexy so wished he hadn't come, wished– She raised her chin. She’d count it another lesson learned. No more friendships, no more relaxing her guard, no more foolish dreams. She’d make her way alone. It was the safe choice.
Supper was a strained affair. Dominic neither looked at her nor spoke from the time the first plate was set before him, until his coffee was placed at his side. Lexy, not risking a snub, refused to offer a word. She took pains to cook a good meal, put it before him and tried to ignore his presence, to no avail. She refused to let herself look at him, but was aware of his every move. She was gratified with the way he ate everything, but would have liked some verbal praise. Still, she didn't ask, not wanting to hear his cold cutting tone directed towards her again.
He left for the deck immediately after dinner, leaving Lexy in solitude to clear the table and clean the dishes. She reflected bitterly how times had changed. Their last night before Bridgetown, they had shared the chore, laughing and clowning around. The remembered sounds of their laughter echoed mockingly around her as she slowly rinsed the cups.
She retired when the dishes were put away. Scrupulously setting her alarm watch to awaken her in time for her shift at the wheel, she crawled into bed, seeking the oblivion of sleep. For a few hours, at least, she could escape.
Before going up to take her watch, she piled her books on her hastily made bunk. If Dominic was still using the vacant bunk when she was on watch, she didn't want him annoyed with her possessions covering it. She pulled on her sweater and turned off the light.
'You are always prompt, Miss Kent, I will say that,' he mocked her when she rose from the main cabin. Lexy ignored this and came to the helm. The breeze was up, snapping the sails, driving the Marybeth along at a fine clip. The sea was a bit heavier than she remembered at supper, and she was surprised she hadn't felt it in the forward bunk.
'You have to hold her hard on the course, tonight, Lexy, she wants to veer left.'
'Right.' She stepped in and took the wheel, bracing herself for the pull when Dominic released it. It was strong. She stood still, holding the wheel steady, the sloop on course. He watched her a moment, a pale wraith in the fitful light, then he softly taunted her, 'You missed your chance, Miss Kent, you should have acted faster, you know.'
She looked at him. What now?
'I'm a chivalrous man or like to think I am. You should have used my sleeping in the port bunk more to your advantage. Snuggled in with me one night. Compromised, I might have felt I owed you.'
Lexy's fingers tightened on the wheel, but she gave no further sign she had heard him.
'You should have tried before Joey came, however, because now the game's up.'
'I know, forewarned and forearmed,' she said tiredly. What was he trying to do? Why not go to bed and leave her alone.
'I don't think I'm such a great catch, but I can see why an old maid like yourself might try for anyone. You aren't getting younger, and must be getting tired of your, er, occupation.'
'Shut up!' she snapped.
He smiled, glad at last for some reaction from her, somehow his shaft had hit hard. 'You’re here to work, just don't forget it. None of your wiles, they won't work.'
Lexy glanced at the soft light of the compass. They were right on the course he had plotted, but her wrists were beginning to ache with the strain of the wheel. She glanced again at Dominic. He seemed to be waiting for something; he was very still, poised as if to pounce. Bewildered she tried to guess what he wanted.
'Goodnight,' she said politely at last.
He hesitated another moment, turned, and without another word left the deck.
Lexy let out a sigh of relief and shifted her weight to counter the pull of the wheel more effe
ctively. Reaching around, she grasped the wheel lock and snapped it on. The release of the pressure was heavenly on her wrists. She gazed out to sea, the phosphorescence of their wake glowing in the starlight. Whitecaps frothed here and there in the wind. The sloop was moving rapidly, the sails trimmed, the wind abeam. To the starboard, in the distance, other running lights were moving on a parallel course. Lexy wondered who was traveling on that boat and if the person on watch there felt as lonely as she did. Briefly she raised her hand and waved, smiling at her own foolishness. No one could see her in the dark. She checked the compass.
At half past four the wind died. It had been slowing for a while, but still moving the boat. She trimmed the sails again, coaxing as much from the breeze as she could. Then it died completely. Lexy checked their course, still on. She pulled in the mainsail, taut as it would go, no movement, no flutter, the boom swinging aimlessly now as the sea began to turn the boat to its whims. It was still running high and the swells were rocking the boat side to side now that it had lost its forward propulsion.
Damn, just what I need, she raged, lowering the jib, keeping the mainsail up, hoping for a breath of air. The boat was wallowing now, turned in the waves, at the mercy of their swells, of the current. She checked the compass again, they were turned off course now. She sat undecided for a moment, then checked the engine. The key was not in it. Dominic must have it with him. She’d have to wake him up and get it. Still she sat on the helm, delaying her move, reluctant to waken him, reluctant to face his scorn and dislike again.
Finally she forced herself up and into the cabin. Softly she went forward and reached for the door. It was locked. She stared at it in stupefaction for several minutes before the full significance of it hit her. Dominic had locked the door against her. She didn't know whether to laugh or scream in rage. She did neither. Taking a deep breath she rapped on the door.
'Dominic, open up,' she called, pounding on the door, 'Dominic!'
'Ummm, what d'you want?' a muffled voice came through.
'Open the door. I need the key,' she shouted back, pounding again. The door opened so abruptly she almost knocked on his chest.
Destination Romance Page 36