Roarke's Kingdom

by Sandra Marton

  “All right.” She ran her tongue along her dry lips. “All right, I will.”

  Her words faded away.

  What could she tell him? That he was not Susanna’s father?

  It would be like putting a knife into his heart.

  And what would such a revelation do to Susanna’s life?

  Roarke loved the little girl.

  Jennifer knew him well enough to be sure he wouldn’t turn his back on the child—but would it change how he dealt with her?

  She had already forfeited her right to raise her own child.

  To deny her little girl Roarke’s love as well would be the cruelest act of all.

  “I’m waiting,” Roarke said.

  Jennifer looked at him. The tears that had risen in her eyes began spilling down her cheeks.

  “I—I have no answers,” she whispered.

  For a few terrifying seconds, she thought he might kill her.

  His hands went from her shoulders to her throat; she felt the press of his thumbs in the hollow where her pulse leaped.

  She wrapped her hands around his wrists.

  “Roarke,” she whispered.

  He stared at her, his gaze flat and cold. Then he flung her from him, reached for the intercom and punched in a number.

  “John? You’re flying a passenger to San Juan. Yes. Immediately.”

  Alexandra Campbell moved to her ex-husband’s side.

  “It’s all right, darling,” she said softly. She touched his cheek, his shoulder, then his outstretched hand. Slowly, he reached for her and curved his arm around her, his fingers splaying just below the lush curve of her breast.

  It was the last thing Jennifer saw before she flew from the room, and it was an image that she knew would be stamped on her soul for the rest of her life.

  Chapter Eleven

  It came as no shock to find that life was filled with unimaginable cruelty.

  Things happened that seemed, at first, to be unbearable.

  But you could survive.

  You did survive.

  Jennifer had learned that a long time ago.

  She kept the thought as the helicopter carried her away from Isla de la Pantera.

  She kept it as she took her seat in the plane that would carry her back to Chicago.

  She would survive.

  Her life had been shattered. It lay in pieces all around her, and she couldn’t imagine how she could pick up those pieces and put them back together again.

  She had lost everything. Everything! The man she loved. The child she adored. She’d even lost her self-respect.

  She thought of how Roarke had looked in those last minutes—the dark coldness in his eyes, the tormented line of his mouth.

  Her throat tightened and she thought, with brutal logic, that yes, you could survive anything…but maybe there wasn’t really any reason to survive this. Maybe—

  “Miss? Are you okay?”

  Jennifer looked up. The flight attendant was standing in the narrow aisle, leaning toward her with more than polite concern.

  “Yes. I’m fine.”

  “You sure? If you feel sick or something—”

  “Really. I’m good.”

  The attendant hesitated. “Well, if you need anything—”

  “I’ll let you know. Thanks.”

  Jennifer glanced at the woman beside her as the attendant made her way up the aisle. The woman was watching her and Jennifer tried to smile reassuringly. But it didn’t seem to work very well because her seatmate quickly opened a magazine and buried her nose in it.

  Jennifer sat back and folded her hands tightly in her lap. She had a long trip ahead of her and she wasn’t going to make it if she fell apart.

  Survival. That was the key.

  She just had to find a reason for wanting to survive…

  And, in a heartbeat, it came to her.

  She had to survive because she had to confront Dr. Ronald. The immoral bastard who’d lied to her.

  Who’d sold her daughter.

  Dr. Ronald. Even his name was enough to make her gut knot, but it was a better pain than the one in her heart.

  She would never rest until she faced him.

  It wouldn’t be easy—he’d retired and moved away not long after her mother’s death—but she would find him and make him see what an ugly, awful thing he’d done. Nobody had the right to play God the way he had. With her life. With Susanna’s. With Roarke’s.

  And when she was done with him, he would know that he hadn’t got away with it.

  * * *

  O’Hare Airport was crowded with travelers returning from winter vacations. Jennifer heard snatches of cheerful conversation as she made her way to the baggage area.

  “…never saw a beach like that before, did you?”

  “…such a good time! The people, and the hotel—”

  Her fellow travelers were already reliving the memories of their days in the sun. She wanted only to forget, not to remember.

  If she remembered, how would she face the empty years that stretched ahead?

  And yet, how could she not remember? She had never known such happiness as she’d known the past weeks, and she had lost it all. She would never hold Susu in her arms again, never watch her grow, never hear her laughter.

  And Roarke. How could she not think about Roarke? He was imprinted on her heart. In her mind. She could hear his voice, see his face, feel the touch of his hands. Everything he was had become part of her.

  And now he hated her.

  It was agony to know that she would never see him again, but to know that he believed Alexandra’s ugly lies was even worse.

  She bit back a moan. At least she thought she had, but the couple standing beside her at the luggage carousel looked at her, then at each other. She turned and walked quickly to the other end of the revolving belt and when her one suitcase came into view—it was all she’d needed, since she’d left behind all the things Roarke had bought her—she snatched it up and hurried from the terminal.

  She was almost dizzy with fatigue by the time the bus dropped her off in front of the dark post office in Broadwell. The little town, wrapped in the icy silence of late winter, seemed foreign after the warmth and brightness of Isla de la Pantera. But it was home, and it had never looked as welcome as it did now.

  Jennifer ducked her head against the wind and wheeled her suitcase through the frigid streets to her apartment.

  The small rooms were cramped and stuffy. How close she’d come to giving up the place, she thought as she dragged her suitcase into the bedroom and hoisted it onto a chair. Roarke had urged her to cancel her lease and put her things in storage when she’d first agreed to stay on as Susu’s nanny.

  “I’ll take care of the arrangements,” he’d said.

  But something had urged her not to cut all her ties to home and now, as she turned on the kitchen light and filled the kettle for tea, she was glad she hadn’t. She was weary to the bone with the kind of numbing exhaustion that was not so much physical as it was emotional, and she knew that to have had to make any kind of decision now, even one about where to spend the night, would have been overwhelming.

  She drank the tea. Brushed her teeth. Showered and fell into bed.

  What she needed now was to empty her mind of everything for a few days. And then—and then—

  Darkness rolled up and swallowed her.

  * * *

  She lost touch with reality.

  The one thing that had seemed important—locating Dr. Ronald—faded in her endless need for sleep.

  Time passed.

  She knew it did because sometimes she woke to sunshine, sometimes to darkness. She ate when she was hungry, taking stuff from the kitchen cupboard without reading labels, eating cereal or crackers or soup or whatever came tumbling out of the cans and boxes she opened.

  What did it matter what anything tasted like?

  The only thing that counted was sleep.

  Sleep took away the pain of all
that she’d lost and it brought her dreams—sweet, wonderful dreams—of Roarke and of the time she had spent with him.

  Then, one day, as she turned from the sink to put the kettle on to boil, she looked out of the kitchen window. The previous spring, in a rare moment of whimsy, she’d bought a flat of pansies and planted them in a window box.

  “They’re so beautiful,” she’d told the florist. “I love the way they seem to be smiling.”

  “Yup. They’re certainly cheerful looking.”

  “I just hope they survive.”

  “They will,” he’d said positively. “They’re tough as nails. Just don’t expect them to come back, miss. They’ll bloom this season, and then they’re done.”

  She set the kettle down and opened the window. Spring had come at last; the scent of green growing things was in the air, but the miracle that had caught Jennifer’s eye was the one unfolding in the window box.

  No one had told the pansies that they’d never see a second summer. Soft green shoots were pushing up through the soil, heralding the velvety flowers that would soon appear.

  Jennifer touched the delicate shoots in wonder. Then she looked around the kitchen, seeing for the first time the dishes piled in the sink, the overflowing the garbage can. She moved slowly through the apartment, her fingers leaving trails in the dust that covered the furniture, inhaling air that smelled of staleness and despair.

  When she reached the bedroom mirror and looked into it, she winced.

  Her hair hung in unruly tangles. She was wearing pajamas that looked as if she’d slept in them for days—and she had.

  She looked like a woman who had given up.

  But she couldn’t give up. She never had before, despite whatever life threw at her. And wasn’t there something she’d wanted to do?

  Dr. Ronald. Yes, that was it, she wanted—hell, she insisted—on facing him.

  She pulled off her PJs and stepped into the shower. She scrubbed her body and her hair and let the water sluice over her until she began to feel alive. Then she slipped on the white cotton blouse, black twill skirt and flat-heeled oxfords that came as close to a uniform as waitresses who worked for Bernie ever wore. One last deep breath, and she stepped out into the world again.

  * * *

  Bernie was at the cash register when she pushed open the café door. If he was surprised to see her, he didn’t show it.

  “Son of a gun,” he said laconically, “look what the wind blew this way.”

  Jennifer smiled. “Hello, Bernie. How’ve you been?”

  “Can’t complain,” he said, shutting the cash drawer. “We were talkin’ about you just the other day.” He leaned his meaty forearms on the counter and gazed at her. “Couple of customers and me, that is. We figured maybe you liked it so much you’d decided to stay down there, in—what was it—the Bahamas?”

  She shook her head. “Puerto Rico.”

  “Yeah, well, one island’s the same as another, right?”

  “No,” she said softly, “not—not really. They’re very different.”

  Bernie straightened and took a wet rag from behind him. “So, what’re you doin’ here?” He made a desultory pass at the counter with the rag. “You sayin’ hello? Or are you lookin’ for a job?”

  “A job,” she said levelly. “If you can use me.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Can always use a good waitress. Only thing is, Amy took your shift. You wanna work, you take the four to closing.”

  “Four to midnight?” She blew out her breath. Why not? She was almost broke and the tips would be better on the late shift. Besides, what did it matter when she worked? She had hours to fill and no life to fill them with. “Sure, that’s fine. When do I start?”

  Bernie grinned. “Is today too soon?”

  It was hard, the first couple of hours. Jennifer’s feet ached as if they’d been away too long from these hard tile floors. She singed her fingers the first time she picked up a plate that had sat too long under the heat lamp and she was careless when she leaned over the grill so that hot grease splattered up and pocked her blouse.

  Bernie’s bushy brows rose. “You okay?”

  She nodded as she rubbed impatiently at the spots. “Fine.”

  “What’d you do down there in those islands?” her boss said as he slid a spatula under a hamburger and flipped it. He laughed. “Musta been pretty good to make you forget your way around a hot grill.”

  Jennifer looked away from him. “It just—it feels as if I’ve been away a long time.”

  He grinned. “Musta been like paradise, huh?”

  The seconds ticked away before she trusted herself enough to answer. “Yes,” she said finally, “that’s exactly what it was. Paradise.”

  The other waitresses wanted to hear all about the Caribbean.

  “Is it really as pretty as they say?” one asked over coffee during the after-supper lull. “Palm trees, white sand, sunshine?”

  “And gorgeous guys,” another said. “Come on, Jennifer, tell us you met some Prince Charming on the beach.”

  “I—I met a lot of people.”

  The first girl made a face. “Yeah, those TV ads lie. You know, the ones that make it look like you’re gonna find the man of your dreams on one of those islands.” She drank the last of her coffee, sighed and got to her feet. “There are no happy endings in this world, and that’s the truth.”

  Jennifer swallowed and looked down into her cup. “No,” she said softly, “there aren’t.”

  By the time she was halfway through that first shift she felt as if she had never been away. Her feet had gone from hurting to feeling numb, the way they always had in the past. She smiled politely at jokes she’d heard a million times before and called out orders in diner lingo as if she’d never stopped using it.

  Days passed.

  She worked hard, taking on extra shifts for whoever needed time off.

  Working was good for her.

  After a while she began to feel almost human again—if she didn’t worry about the hollow place in her breast where her heart had once been.

  But she didn’t expect that to change.

  The best she could hope for was to survive like the pansies.

  But to bloom as they had—that was not about to happen.

  * * *

  The days became weeks. Weeks became months, and everything she remembered of Isla de la Pantera began to seem unreal.

  Could she have ever been so happy?

  It didn’t seem possible.

  But she knew the truth when she woke up crying in the middle of the night, or when she’d look up suddenly and see a man with dark hair and broad shoulders.

  Roarke, her anguished soul would whisper.

  Except it never was Roarke or even anyone like him. How could any man be like her lover?

  As for confronting Dr. Ronald… By now, at least, she knew where he was.

  All it had taken were a few questions—after all, Broadwell was a small town—and she’d learned that he’d moved to Florida. To a retirement community.

  She made a mental note of the place. It would take time for her to save enough money to fly down and face him, but she was determined to do it.

  And then, one hot summer evening, when business was at its slowest, fate stepped into her life.

  She was leaning on the counter, trying to concentrate on the day’s newspaper, when she looked up and saw the doctor walk through the door.

  She thought, at first, that she might be mistaken. He looked old and tired, and there was an unhealthy pallor to his skin.

  She put down the newspaper and glanced around her. The other waitresses were at a booth in the rear, drinking Cokes and gossiping. Bernie was in his office.

  She took a deep breath, then stepped around the counter into the aisle.

  “Dr. Ronald?”

  He smiled hesitantly. “Yes? Who is—Jennifer?” His smile faded. The color drained from his face. But he drew himself together quickly and held out his hand
. “Jennifer, my dear. What a lovely surprise. I’d forgotten you worked here. My wife and I were just—”

  “Dr. Ronald,” she said evenly, ignoring his outstretched hand. “Yes. This is definitely a surprise.”

  “It’s wonderful to see you, dear. How have you been?”

  Did he really think they were going to have a polite conversation?

  “I want to talk to you, Doctor.”

  The old man took a step back. “Sorry, but I’m in a devil of a rush. I only stopped in to use the—”

  Jennifer grabbed his arm and pulled him through the room and out the door. She was trembling from head to foot. Now that the moment was here her rage threatened to overcame her.

  “How could you?” she hissed.

  He paled. “How could I what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  But he did. She could see it in his face.

  “Don’t pretend, damn you! I know the truth, Doctor. I’ve seen my daughter.”

  Ronald’s jaw grew slack. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” she said, staring into his face, “I know what you did. You sold my baby. Sold her, as if she were a—an object, not a child!”

  “She was adopted,” he said quickly. “It was all legal.”

  “Since when is selling babies legal?”

  “Jennifer, you mustn’t make such swift judgments.”

  “You lied about everything, Doctor. You told me you’d met the parents. But you never did.”

  “No. In adoption cases like this—”

  “Did you ever even ask any questions? About who these people were?”

  The old man seemed to shrink.

  “I dealt with their attorney. He assured me they would be devoted to the baby. The money was a gesture of their commitment.”

  “The money was for you,” Jennifer hissed, “because what you did was against the law. How could you have done it?”

  His defenses crumpled in the face of her anger.

  He leaned back against the building and the sad, sorry story tumbled from his lips.

  It was the first time he’d ever done anything like it, he said. He was old, his practice was failing. His wife had become ill.

  Maybe it was true.

  Maybe it wasn’t.

  Jennifer didn’t give a damn.