“So you go after what you want—it’s not a crime. You’re a success but you’ve worked like a dog for it. I’ve watched you do it, remember. The only reason you’re sitting in that very comfortable leather chair, my friend, is because you’ve earned it. Yes, you get what you want. It might take ten years and a piece of your heart but you get what you want.” His friend shrugged. “Don’t start feeling like a heel, please. I admire your tenacity.” He grinned. “Besides, I want at least one filthy rich friend around to wine and dine me at their expense.”
David felt his own smile forming. Hugh had done it again…lifted his spirits. “I’m glad your mother told you not to play with me when we were kids, Hugh. I’d never have met you, otherwise.”
Hugh looked uncomfortable, as he always did when David was candid about his feelings for his friend but there was a gleam of pleasure in his eyes. “You can show your appreciation at dinner tomorrow night, then,” he said. “The Downtown Dining Club. Eight o’clock.”
He nodded. “Sounds good.”
“Anastasia hasn’t been there, yet. You can teach her how to taste wine properly. I always end up coughing and spluttering whenever I try it.”
“I would love to,” he replied honestly. Hugh went to the Dining Club because of its reputation but David was always drawn back there because of their unparalleled wine cellar. The chance to share that with Anastasia was irresistible.
Hugh looked at his watch again and stood. “Got to go.” He hesitated and looked uncomfortable again. “About Saturday…”
David waited, suddenly sure that the sole purpose of Hugh’s side-trip to the marina to see him had been whatever he was about to say now.
“Anastasia was…” Hugh shrugged awkwardly. “She wasn’t herself.”
“She seemed fine to me.”
“She’s wary of you,” Hugh said apologetically. “She can’t help it—she hasn’t known you all her life like I have. Give her a little time. She’ll come round, I’m sure.”
“I don’t have to give her time. I already think she’s wonderful.”
The other man grinned, relief lighting up his features. “Tomorrow night, then.” He headed for the door.
“Tomorrow night,” he confirmed, as Hugh slipped out the door and shut it quietly behind him.
David was alone with his thoughts again.
Hugh hated having to deal with emotions. Discussions about feelings made him deeply uncomfortable. He liked his water smooth and unruffled.
Anastasia would make his life a torment. She was already stirring up ripples.
Back off! David’s conscience demanded.
With a curse, he stood abruptly and grabbed his keys. He needed to get out on the boat and feel the wind through his hair and the crystal-bright winter sunshine on his back.
Anything but stay here with thoughts that roiled through both his mind and his body. .
* * * * *
If she had laid bets on it she would have sent herself bankrupt. Totally against the odds, relaxing became the chief characteristic of the time Anastasia spent in David’s company over the next few weeks.
Sometimes Hugh was with them, often he wasn’t. No one seemed to mind either way, including Anastasia herself, much to her surprise.
Hugh encouraged her to spend time with David to get to know him better. It was important to him that Anastasia like and trust his friend and he was far too busy himself to spare much time chaperoning when he trusted them both.
And Anastasia found Hugh’s assessment was correct, which was why she could relax so completely in David’s company. True to his word, he did not signal by so much as a look or a word any deviation from the role of a trusted friend. There was no repeat of his successful effort to throw her off-guard as he had at his “picnic” lunch.
Whenever Hugh and she could spare the time, there were dinners at elegant restaurants and another lazy weekend lunch at David’s home. David was expert at finding hidden pockets of time that fit everyone’s maxed-out schedules. He spent time at Numeralla with them both and he took Anastasia on a tour of his company headquarters in Seattle before taking her to a lunch at one of the best restaurants downtown.
There was a Sunday trip on one of his luxury catamarans cruising slowly up the coast. And he taught her the rudiments of sailing, taking her out on one of the yachts his company designed, produced and sold worldwide.
There were visits to galleries, theatres and concerts in between, where she discovered that David’s taste in music, drama and art was strongly developed, eclectic and above all, sensuous.
It was one such visit to a gallery that was the birth of a custom that sprang up between them. The gallery was displaying a collection of old masters’ paintings and the highlight of the collection was a pair of Rubens portraits, on loan from the owners. David had been mesmerized by the paintings and she was equally fascinated with his reaction.
“You’ve lost touch with your real nature, Anna,” he told her. “It’s a deplorable deficiency that should be put right.”
“Maybe it’s a deficiency I’d rather live with,” she returned. It was as close as she could get to revealing her inner soul to him.
“How can you make that decision if you don’t know what you’re missing?” he replied.
That night she found tucked into the side pocket of her purse a small book on Rubens, discussing his life and his art. And from that day onward, every day, a gift would be delivered to her. Each gift was unique and could be large or small, expensive or not. But each was an assault on the senses, designed to stimulate a neglected realm of delight. Tucked into her bag, or delivered to her office were flowers to admire and smell, perfume to wear and enjoy, a silk teddy in delicate coral pink that floated against her skin like a cool sea breeze on a hot summer’s day, a small lavender bush in a miniature terracotta pot, CDs of music to listen to, a string of tear-drop pearls, and one single, perfectly formed brightly-polished red apple, its symmetry exquisite, and more.
It was an education in more ways than one.
Despite David’s more than decorous behaviour toward her, Anastasia was aware of an element of waiting in him. She knew he had a hidden agenda. He had declared that much from the very beginning. Only…what was it he wanted from her?
Every now and again she would catch an expression on his face, when his guard was down and be startled by the depth of feeling. These off-guard moments built up a mystery in her mind. What were David’s final intentions? Would he be content to wait for her to come to him, as he said he would do? Or would he eventually realize that moment would never arrive and attempt to take matters into his own hands?
She wondered how long he would let matters drift. And a part of her regretted that eventually it would all have to stop, that a final reckoning would be needed. For despite herself she liked him, very much.
David had become a friend.
* * * * *
Anastasia had always found her sleep hard to come by. Lately, it seemed to be getting harder. Sleep took on the form of bliss she aspired to and only hoped to achieve on rare occasions.
It was past midnight one night, almost three weeks after David had appeared in her life, when she gave up the fight and looked for alternatives, roaming the downstairs rooms of the house in her dressing gown. Passing the row of elegant French doors that led out to the back of the house, she paused to stare out at the swimming pool. Someone had left the underwater light on and it beckoned, a sea-green haven.
“A quick fix,” David had called it.
She let herself out through the door and walked swiftly over to the side of the pool. It was a mild night but even so, the tiles were cold underfoot. She didn’t stop to think about how cold the water would be. She stripped off her robe and gown and without pausing to consider her rashness, dived into the water.
It was icy and bit into her skin like millions of needles. She found her breath deserting her at the impact of the cold on her senses. Deliberately she set out down the length of the pool i
n a swift overarm crawl, feeling the water stream down along her body as she cut through it.
After ten laps she stopped to catch her breath. The initial numbing coldness had worn off and now every nerve was alive and tingling from her exertion. It was cold when she stopped moving but vitally refreshing.
Reluctantly, she climbed out of the water, slipped back into her robe, picked up her gown and raced inside. She headed for the family room next to the kitchen. The gas fire had been turned off only an hour or so before and the room would still be warm.
She started the fire again, setting it to high. Moving fast, so she would not lose too much warmth, she took a towel and bathrobe from the downstairs guest room and went back to the fire. She took off her gown and rubbed herself until she was dry and glowing and slipped into the towelling bathrobe.
She felt wonderfully alert. Her body was buzzing with energy.
Her stomach gave out a pang of protest.
With a smile, she headed into the kitchen, feeling like she was back in high school again, on a midnight munchie run. She found exactly what she wanted at the back of the freezer unit. Half a carton of chocolate fudge ice cream.
She piled up her bowl and got a large spoon. All the while her mouth was watering. She set up a chair in front of the television and a footstool and switched the set on. There was a rerun of Rebecca on and she settled down to watch it and to tuck into her ice cream.
During an ad break, she reflected that she had known, unerringly, what it was her body needed instead of sleep—exercise, ice cream and relaxation in private. Not so long ago, she would have continued to toss and turn all night, worrying. Now, she felt balanced again and recharged. She knew when she returned to bed she would sleep soundly. She was in tune to her body’s needs.
Is this another side-effect of David’s campaign? she wondered.
“Anastasia?”
She whirled, surprised. She had thought everyone was asleep. Her father stood in the doorway, still dressed.
“Hi. Come and join me,” Anastasia offered, flourishing her bowl and spoon. “Chocolate ice cream. I found it at the back of the freezer. It’s probably been there since the last dinner party but it still tastes wonderful.”
“It’s past midnight.” He moved into the room a few paces.
“Mmmm, I know. There’s a rerun of Rebecca on. I haven’t seen Rebecca since I was a teenager.”
“You never watch television.” He peered at her over the top of his reading glasses. “Your hair is dripping.”
She touched the rapidly drying locks. “I’ve been swimming,” she confessed. “Goodness knows what it was that made me decide to swim but I saw the pool there—the light was left on—and I just decided on the spur of the moment. It was cold at first but I feel terrific now. I didn’t stay in long but it was good.”
“I know. I saw you,” her father returned evenly. “I just came down to see if you’d remembered to reset the security alarm.”
Anastasia put her bowl down. “I hadn’t forgotten,” she said.
“Good.” He turned to go.
“You won’t stay?” she asked.
Christopher turned back to face her. “Stay? To watch television? It’s one thirty in the morning, Anastasia and you’ve been swimming. In October. You should be upstairs, having a hot shower and then going to bed.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Count sheep. Count architraves. Read a book. There are other means of courting sleep than diving into a swimming pool.”
“I needed to swim,” Anastasia said, her voice low.
His lips pursed tight and she saw a flicker of a shadow across his eyes. “That sounds like something your mother would have said and it’s just as illogical too. Goodnight, Anastasia. Don’t forget the alarm.”
He left.
Anastasia stared at the doorway, her ice cream forgotten. Tears pricked her eyes. She’d done it again. Just when she thought she’d been starting to get it right.
Chapter Eight
Hugh and Anastasia were to meet David at Numeralla the next day, for a long walk across the property over rolling hills, if the weather was good. It was an outing that contrasted sharply with the elegance of the other occasions they had arranged over the last three weeks. But it did have a common thread in that David had been the main instigator of the idea and Anastasia knew he would manage to weave a lesson for her senses into the day.
She had been looking forward to the outing, for it had been a long while since she had indulged in a hike and she wanted to reacquaint herself with some of her favourite places in the area. But after the scene with her father the night before, she found all the promise had gone from the day.
The situation was made even more unappealing when Hugh rang her early in the morning to bail out. He had been called by one of their best clients, who had a problem that must be solved as soon as possible, so even though it was Sunday, he would have to drop everything and go.
Anastasia took the call in her father’s study and after replacing the receiver, sat on the edge of the desk to stare out the window. It was becoming overcast.
It wasn’t the first time Hugh had backed out of an arrangement and left her alone with David but it was the first time she had felt any reluctance to be alone with him since that night, weeks before, when he had taken her in his arms and shown her just how much power he had over her body and mind and senses.
Her reluctance stemmed from her father’s off-hand comment, “That sounds like something your mother would have said.”
Was David’s gentle tutoring leading her to the same dangerous ground her mother had danced upon and been buried in?
But reluctance wasn’t a sufficient excuse for letting David down. He had expressed a keen interest in walking the boundaries of Numeralla on several occasions and Anastasia suspected she would have to be suffering the equivalent of the bubonic plague before he would allow her to cut out too.
The reluctance was coming from deep inside. She knew David would behave the same as he had been behaving for weeks. She would be depriving herself of good company for the day simply because of her father’s intimation. She needed to get out of the house and not dwell on the incident. She needed to push it away.
She would go.
But the decision was an easy one to make in theory. In reality, Anastasia found herself moody, preoccupied and her attention span had diminished to zero.
As she moved about the house, seeing to personal chores and preparing for the walk, her mind was withdrawn, focused internally. All those doubts, fears she had managed to push aside for some time, came crowding back into the forefront of her mind to plague her.
What was David trying to do to her? Why?
What was his ultimate aim?
And there were new questions bothering her.
Why had he kept his distance? Why hadn’t he tried to make love to her? He’d wanted to, she knew. She had seen the look in his eyes on many occasions, veiled but recognizable because she had seen raw want radiating from him before. What was the point of keeping such a diplomatic distance from her? He had promised her he would prove Hugh was not the man for her and although she hadn’t fully accepted the challenge herself, she knew David would not be deterred from his goal. Yet he seemed to have subsided.
It was that subsidence that filled her with questions.
She found she was ready for the walk too early and wandered downstairs slowly, intending to fill the time by making some sandwiches and a thermos of coffee for them to take along on their walk. She passed her mother’s portrait without glancing at it, her mind fully occupied. As she descended to the lower floor her footsteps became slower and slower, until she halted three steps from the bottom of the flight, completely lost in thought. Slowly, she sank down to sit on the step above her feet and dropped her chin into her hands, to think.
Her attention was brought back to reality by the opening of the front door. David stepped inside, peering around.
At the sight of h
im, warm happiness rushed through her. He wore jeans and good hiking boots and a dark sweater that failed to hide the width of his shoulders and his strong arms and chest. A fleece-lined jacket was in his hands.
He saw her sitting on the stairs and smiled up at her, his eyes lighting up.
“Waiting for me?” he asked.
“Thinking,” she confessed. “Hello, David.”
He balanced one foot on the second stair and rested his hand on the thigh. “Hugh phoned me. So it’s just us again.”
She nodded.
“Ready to go?”
She stood, which brought her almost up against his knee and she paused for a moment to glance at his face, to see if there was any change in his expression when she was this close.
But there was no reaction that she could discern. She felt a queer sort of disappointment.
“Well, hello, David. I didn’t realize you had arrived.”
They turned back toward the entrance hall, where Christopher Kirk was standing in the doorway that led onto the formal drawing room—the “ballroom”—and then to his study.
“Hi, Christopher,” David replied. “I just got here.”
Her father glanced at her, then back at David. She wondered if he was subtly expressing disapproval for their proximity to each other. She could have reassured him that he had very little to worry about. With her, David was disinclined to step over the boundary of polite behaviour.
“Hugh hasn’t arrived yet, so far as I know,” Christopher told him. She thought she could detect a note of chiding in his tone, as if to say he should have been informed about both arrivals.
“Actually, Hugh isn’t coming today, Dad,” she told him.
Her father’s pause this time was quite distinct and loaded with meaning.
David took up the lead. “He phoned me to say he couldn’t make it. Your old clients—Robinson Co—are having fits about the air-conditioning specifications on their new headquarters. He’s had to rush into town to hold their hand.”
It was a clever reply, for it subtly reminded her father that Hugh was out there looking after his interests.
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