What the Waves Bring

by Barbara Delinsky

  “I hope you didn’t mind, Dr. Wilde,” the postal clerk, who faithfully held her mail for pick-up each day, apologized. “But I did see your friend, here,” he said, eyeing Heath meekly, “and I knew I’d never seen him before yesterday. So I suggested that those two might want to speak with you. Did they?”

  “Yes, Mr. Frank. The woman was out at the house this morning, but she didn’t say where she was staying here in town.” Or that she had come all the way to find her fiancée, whom she half-feared lost at sea, and yet had slept peacefully through the night without knowing one way or another whether it was he.

  Heath had turned from the clerk to look out at the street. As April thanked the bespectacled man, he took her arm and hustled her out to the sidewalk.

  “There’s your man.” He pointed down a block.

  “Tom McGraw?”

  “Yes, Tom McGraw. He’ll know all about a woman who’s just arrived in town.”

  “Ah-ah. Look who’s being petty now …” she chided, but was fast alongside Heath as he crossed the street. “Tom!” she called, waving to get the sandy-haired one’s attention.

  “Hi, Miss April,” he grinned, doffing an imaginary cap to Heath. “Did that lady ever find you?”

  Ignoring Heath’s I-told-you-so nudge in the ribs, April gritted her teeth. “You mean, the tall, blond-haired one—”

  Tom’s grin didn’t falter. “That’s the one. A real beauty. Friend of this fellow’s?” He turned his attention to Heath, who deftly parried the question.

  “So to speak. You wouldn’t happen to know where she’s staying, would you, Tom?” There was a knowing lilt to his tone, one that was justified by Tom’s rapid response.

  “She mentioned the Jared Coffin House. I’m sure she’d have no trouble getting a room this time of year.”

  April knew the inn. “Thanks a lot, Tom!”

  “Any problem?” The islander frowned for the first time. “I can’t say I liked the look of that fellow with her. Angry-looking fellow, to be with such a pretty woman.”

  Heath smiled broadly. “It seems you islanders think the same. We’ll have to be on our guard.” As with the pharmacist, he extended his hand in thanks, clasping the other’s with the polish of a politician. A diplomat, she reminded herself, not a politician, then she eyed him speculatively. Perhaps one day … She grinned.

  Heath’s voice was deep by her ear as he ushered her off toward the inn. “I missed the joke.”

  “Oh.” She blushed helplessly. “It was nothing. Maybe one day I’ll tell you.” Her reference to the future sent a tremor of reawakened fear through her. The intrigue had deepened with yesterday’s arrival of Jane and her unknown friend. There were too many loose ends for comfort. As the majestically preserved face of the Jared Coffin House came into view, April’s tension overflowed.

  “I should have thought of this sooner!” she cried in self-reproach. “It’s the foremost inn in town. Why have we wasted so much time?”

  Understanding her frustration, Heath drew her to a halt before the entrance of the stately house. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wait in the car? I’d really prefer it—”

  “No!” Her eyes sparked. “I’m going in with you!”

  “It would be safer—”

  “No, Heath!” She had no need to say more. Determination was deeply inscribed on every one of her features. As she looked up at him, his essence tugged inexorably at her heart. In the midst of the unknown they were about to meet head-on, April felt the solace of her love for him. It gave her strength, the only strength she would need.

  For an instant, something flickered in his expression—but it disappeared before she could identify it. With his hand lightly at her elbow, they entered the inn. It was Heath who took charge.

  “Miller? I understand you have a woman by the name of Jane Miller registered here?”

  The clerk grimaced instantly. “I certainly do. She’s been tying up one of the phone lines all afternoon. I’d call her room for you, but”—her eye jumped to the switchboard—“I’ll not get through.”

  Heath was fully composed. “I understand she’s with a man?”

  “No, sir.” The woman was quite sure. “She’s here alone. Room two-twelve. Up the stairs and to the right. But it’s house policy to call first. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to wait until I get through to her.”

  It was April who was the more impatient. “Is there a bellboy—someone who could deliver a message to her room?”

  “Not at this hour, miss.” She glanced at her watch. “The extra help has left for the day. The last ferry’s come and gone; we’re not expecting other guests.”

  April followed Heath’s gaze as it circled to the quiet restaurant adjoining the lobby. Turning back, he spoke quickly to the woman. “I’d appreciate it if you’d call up to her as soon as the line is free. We’ll be in the dining room getting a sandwich.”

  “And who might I say is calling?”

  After a brief hesitancy, Heath spoke softly, a dark eyebrow darting up to meet the black hair that fell across his brow. “Drs. Wilde”—he glanced at April—“and … Addison.”

  Before April could comment, a firm hand at her waist guided her across the oak floor to the restaurant. When they were seated at a corner table, amidst furnishings of the early American flair that characterized so much of the town, April looked to him for reassurance.

  “Must I call you Evan?” Her heart constricted painfully at the thought of leaving Heath behind.

  The smile that enveloped her was warm and understanding. “No. Heath. Please.”

  For a moment she basked in its glow, savoring thoughts of the man she had known in her own private world. Then as reality closed inexorably about them, their closeness fell victim to a pensive silence. Finally April broke it.

  “What is it with her, Heath? She’s a very strange lady, arriving on the island with a male companion who then conveniently disappears while she claims to be engaged to you. Then to drive back here and spend the day on the telephone … who could she be calling?”

  Heath sat with his forearms resting on the table, his eyes lowered to his hands. Furrows cut across his brow as he frowned. “That’s a good question. My family? Friends?”

  “For the better part of the day?”

  He shook his head slowly, puzzling. “That’s what I keep asking myself.”

  “And what about this man? Who is he? Where is he now?”

  “April,” Heath grunted in frustration, “if I knew the answers to your questions, we wouldn’t be sitting here now waiting.” He winced, as though in pain. “If only I could remember …”

  She put out a hand to comfort him, then withdrew it as the waitress approached. “May I help you?”

  “Ah … yes,” April rebounded quickly, looking to Heath in evaluation of his appetite. To her knowledge, he’d eaten as little as she had today. “Two French dips, with … one order of steak fries to share. I’ll have a vanilla frappe. Heath … ?”

  “Milk,” he said, filling in the blank. Then he resumed his brooding. They sat in silence. Again, the barrier was tangible. And April herself was too keyed up to try to pierce it. Then, just as they finished, something caught her eye.

  “Do you see that man, Heath? No.” She grabbed his arm to stop him from turning. “Don’t look yet—he’s staring at us. Try to be … nonchalant …”

  By some miracle, Heath smiled. It was as though her unintended drama had tempted him from his private quandary. “April, you have that supersleuth gleam in your eye …”

  Gaze focused across the room, she ignored his wry humor. “Okay,” she whispered. “Now …” As Heath slowly turned, she averted her own gaze, so as not to look too obvious. “Do you see him?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What do you think?”

  Heath looked back at her blankly. “He’s a man having an early dinner. Just like us.”

  “He’s been staring at us for the past twenty minutes, Heath! There’s something … sin
ister about him.”

  “Looks fairly normal to me,” he contended, nonchalantly draining the last of his milk.

  April’s whisper exploded with tension. “This is ludicrous, Heath! Yesterday, you worried that everyone was staring at you. Today someone is, and you are prepared to blithely ignore it?”

  “What would you have me do?” The corner of his lips twitched. “Call him out for staring? Perhaps he can’t take his eyes from your beauty.”

  Her foot made contact, beneath cover of the table, with his shin, moving him but minimally. “Heath, he’s looking at you.”

  “Then, perhaps,” he grinned, “he’s fascinated by my beauty. And, April.” He paused, appreciating the slow rounding of her eyes as his hand slid tauntingly across her lap. “If you kick me again like that, I’ll retaliate …” His fingers closed around the flesh of her upper thigh; it was all April could do to keep from squirming.

  Even the most perplexing of circumstances could not negate the physical pull Heath wielded, the manly appeal embodied in his every cell. Now there were his fingers, warm and strong, burning through the wool of her slacks to the soft flesh of her inner thigh. He grinned knowingly as she gasped.

  “Now then, will you be still while I think?”

  Her cheeks burned. It was one thing to play with fire in the privacy of one’s home; in a public restaurant, it was infinitely more dangerous. “Yes.”

  “Good.” His hand’s pressure eased, then slowly lifted from her leg, allowing her to breathe freely once more.

  But his threat had been unnecessary. Within minutes the clerk appeared by their table. “Miss Miller is expecting you. She’s ordered coffee sent to the room.”

  “Thank you.” Heath nodded, standing tall, pulling April’s chair out for her then escorting her to the stairs, where he paused a final time. “April, I’d rather—”

  As she anticipated his thought, her eyes held her stubbornness in vivid evidence. “Save your breath, Heath. I’m going up.”

  He raised a finger to her lips, then traced her jaw to her ear. “I wish you were twenty-one. Then I might have some control over you. As it is, you’re far too independent for your own good …”

  “If it weren’t for my ‘independence,’ you might be lying cold and still out there on the beach.” Pulse racing, her breath came in uneven waves. When Heath had that very tender look in his eyes, she was as helpless as he had been that day.

  “True, darlin’. But still, there are times I would like to spank you soundly.”

  “Tsk, tsk,” she chided him, tucking her arm through his to urge him up the stairs beside her. “Corporal punishment is definitely out. One has to use reason … .”

  The last of his humor fading with each mounted step, he cocked his head to the side, eyeing her skeptically. “And when reason fails?”

  “When reason fails.” She sobered and spoke soft and sure. “You try a little love … .”

  She hadn’t planned to say it, hadn’t wanted to use the word again. Fresh in her mind was his fierce reaction to the earlier declaration of her feelings. To her chagrin, his instant stiffening was consistent with that other farce, causing her to wither inside. His low growl chilled her.

  “Come on.” Quickening his step, he moved ahead and up, the added height giving him even greater superiority. Dusk was fast approaching, yet the hallway lights had not been lit. With each step, he seemed taken further into a frightening gray mist, further toward that other life, further away from her. All she could do, save turn and run, was to follow behind and pray.

  The numerals on the door were heavy and black. Two-one-two. Heath’s knuckles hit the hard wood firmly, the fist that remained balled long after his knock the only outward sign of the tension in him that was also playing havoc in April’s middle.

  The door opened slowly at first, then faster. “Evan, darling! I was so pleased to find that you had come!” Arms open, Jane slid them around Heath’s waist, offered each cheek to his in an oddly continental-style substitute for a kiss, then pulled away as quickly to stare at April. “Dr. Wilde.” She emphasized the title with subtle mockery as she nodded her greeting, then stood aside. “Won’t you both come in?”

  April’s hackles had risen quickly. She hated the woman for the perfection of her makeup, the sleek tie-back of her hair, the undeniably provocative lounging gown she had seen fit to entertain guests in, and the rich-bodied perfume that followed her into the room. She hated everything about the woman … yet when Heath looked down at April in silent invitation for her to precede him, she did so, docilely entering the sitting room of what appeared to be a two-room suite.

  “Thank you for seeing us, Jane,” Heath began, in perfect gentlemanly form. “I’m sorry we couldn’t be more hospitable this morning, but, well, this has all been quite a shock. I hope,” he said, watching the blond-haired woman closely as he spoke, “that you had no trouble finding this room when you came back into town.”

  “Oh, no,” Jane assured him quickly, making no correction of his misconception. “I had no trouble at all. The town is nearly deserted at this time of year. I had any number of rooms to choose from.” She smiled, utterly poised, and April hated her for that as well. But, from hate came suspicion; the woman seemed far too composed for April’s comfort. Just then another knock rattled the door.

  “That must be our coffee.” Jumping up quickly, Jane hurried to the door and took the tray that was offered from the hall. “Here we go,” she announced cheerfully. “I understand you’ve already eaten?” She put the tray onto the center coffee table.

  “That’s right. We’ve just had sandwiches.” Heath leaned forward to take the cup she offered and passed it to April, keeping the next for himself. “You’re not joining us?” he asked, seeing that Jane had not poured any for herself.

  With patterned grace, the silken head shook slightly. “In a few minutes. Tell me, Evan … has anything come back?”

  He sat back against the sofa, an antique, as was most of the other furniture in the room. “Not yet. That’s why we’re here. There are several questions I’d like to ask … if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not, darling! That’s why I’m here! What is it I can tell you?”

  April sat kitty-cornered on the sofa, watching the give and take with caution. Jane seemed eager enough to be of help—but for what purpose? Her doe-soft eyes were too well staged for April’s liking. Sipping her coffee, she sat back and listened.

  “For starters, I’d like to know what I was doing out there on the ocean.”

  This question she took in stride. “You’ve always been an avid boater. It was your own sloop you were sailing when the storm hit.”

  “Where was I coming from?”

  “Gloucester. You wanted to sail around Cape Cod—”

  “In the storm?” he interrupted, incredulous.

  For the first time since they had arrived, Jane seemed uneasy. “I tried to stop you, but you were vehement. You wanted to make it back to Long Island Sound before the storm hit.”

  Heath regained control, a pulsing at his temple the only outward sign of his impatience that April could detect from where she sat, sipping her coffee for want of anything else to do. “If I was such an avid sailor,” he reasoned aloud, “I would surely have known the dangers. Why did I go out?”

  Jane shrugged, speaking quickly. “The boat was well equipped with a motor and all kinds of instruments. I suppose you felt that you could beat it. Besides,” she said with a naughty grin that was open to all different forms of interpretation, none of which April particularly liked, “taking risks is your style. I thought you’d know best. And I realized long ago,” she added, her gaze utterly personal, “that I couldn’t control you …”

  Hadn’t Heath used similar words to her just a short while before? What was it, exactly, that he had said? April couldn’t quite remember. Suddenly she felt tired. Tired of the coffee. Tired of the conversation. Tired of the blond-haired woman who seemed to grow more wary by the minute.
Tired of this whole heart-wrenching mystery. But Heath’s voice droned on. Determined to see the discussion through, April pulled herself up straighter, finished the coffee, and set the cup on the table.

  “You say that we’re engaged to be married?” His deep voice, directed intently at Jane, broke through her mind-haze. “I don’t see a ring …”

  “You … haven’t given me one … yet.” Jane looked dramatically at her slender fingers. “We had a personal agreement; it hadn’t been announced yet.”

  “Why not?” he persisted, maintaining a certain softness in his tone.

  “I don’t know … well … we weren’t sure … how the rest of our colleagues would react …”

  April roused herself enough to enter the conversation. “Why would there be any problem? Particularly if Heath—Evan—was on a leave of absence …”

  Jane tensed visibly. “How did you know that?”

  It was Heath who came to the rescue, casting an unfathomable look toward April before turning to the woman opposite him. “We were able to do some … research after you left this morning. My office at Georgetown is offering that information quite … freely.” He hesitated then, closely studying the woman’s averted features. “What was I doing—or planning to do—during that leave of absence?”

  Without looking up, Jane shrugged. “Oh, sailing, for one thing. Writing … consulting …”

  April felt strangely removed from the moment. She listened and heard, even reacted—surely his fiancée would be more specific than that—but, when she tried to argue, the words stuck on her tongue. Her hand trembled as she lifted it to her forehead. It was this movement that captured Heath’s attention.

  “April! Are you all right?”

  With a vocal protest, his cup of coffee clattered onto the table, its near-full contents sloshing onto the saucer. As he moved closer to April, she looked up. “I feel awful, Heath. Maybe I’d better lie down.”

  Her hand felt infinitely small within his larger, stronger one. “You’re as pale as a ghost. I’m taking you home.”

  Jane’s intrusion was loud and unwelcome, ringing in April’s ears with painful intensity. “Why doesn’t she lie down in the other room, Evan? There’s no need to rush off.”