“I happen to like it this way, Cabot. I’ve been wearing it down most of the summer.”
Cabot took her arm and pulled her around the corner of the house, away from Brent’s penetrating gaze. He leaned down so that he could speak directly into her ear.
“You’re embarrassing me, Allison. And making yourself appear to be some sort of hoyden.
“Hoyden?” She fought back a grin. The word was so old it creaked.
Brent appeared at the corner of the house.
“Sorry to break this up, guys, but we really have to get going. Isabel’s going to be pulling out her hair. And everyone else’s, too.”
Allison jerked her arm from Cabot’s grasp and marched over to the truck. She opened the passenger door and climbed in, sliding over so that she was sitting in the middle. Brent grinned as he climbed in beside her, and she had to look away from the impish twinkle in his eyes. When Cabot got in, he didn’t look at’her and she was careful not to touch him.
Brent did all the talking on the way to the Cutler house, chatting amiably about the weather and the price of lobsters. Allison sat, staring down at her hands, intensely aware of the nearness of Brent’s thigh to hers. Once, when he was shifting, his hand casually brushed her knee, and she gave Cabot a startled glance, wondering if he’d noticed. But he was staring stonily out at the trees, apparently oblivious to her.
When they pulled into the Cutler driveway, Cabot got out immediately and stood waiting for Allison to join him. For a moment she was tempted to slide out on the driver’s side, just to let him know that she was still angry with his arrogant, superior attitude, but one glance at the gleeful look on Brent’s face changed her mind. The last thing Brent needed was any encouragement. He was undoubtedly already blowing their little lover’s quarrel all out of proportion.
She climbed out the passenger door, closed it behind her, slipped her arm through Cabot’s. “I’m sorry, darling,” she said softly. “I’ll go fix my hair as soon as we get inside.”
He acknowledged her apology with a quick nod, and together they followed Brent into Isabel’s bright kitchen.
“So you ‘re Cabot Wilder!” Abel was seated in his usual chair at the table as he pointed his empty pipe accusingly at Cabot. “You got yourself quite a little prize there.” He nodded at Allison. “Be sure you take real good care of her.” He got to his feet and came toward them, his hand extended to shake Cabot’s. “My wife’ll be right down. She’s busy getting herself all dolled up.” His eyes twinkled. “She loves company, you know.”
Allison ran quickly up the stairs to her bedroom and pulled a brush through her hair, coiled it quickly in a tight bun, and fastened it firmly to her head. When she descended to the kitchen, she found Isabel bending over a large pot on the stove. The men had gone into the living room; she could hear their low, resonant voices and Martha’s crows of delight from beyond the doorway.
“It’s so good of you to have us all to dinner,” Allison said brightly. “What can I do to help?”
Isabel smiled and handed her the wooden spoon she was holding. “You stir this while I go meet your young man.” She disappeared through the doorway, and Allison plunged her spoon into the pot and stirred the thick soup energetically.
She didn’t realize that Brent had come into the kitchen until he was standing directly behind her.
“Allison.” He took her left hand, held it up to the light.
A shudder ran the length of her arm.
“I see you still have the ring,” he said.
She pulled her hand away. She wondered if he had detected the trembling in the tips of her fingers. “Of course I still have the ring. I never said anything about giving it back. That was your idea.”
“I’ve never been so sure I was right in my life.”
She felt his breath on her hair. Gentle, warm. For a giddy moment she wanted to lean back against him, feel his arms go around her. She straightened her back, set her teeth together.
“I’m glad you know so much about what’s good for me, Brent, because I certainly don’t most of the time.”
He touched her neck lightly with his fingers, and a little thrill of pleasure danced down her back. His hands stroked her shoulders, and then he was rubbing her shoulder blades gently with his thumbs.
His voice was very soft. “I’d never do anything to hurt you, Allison. Ever. I know you don’t want to hear what I’m saying. But, in time, you’ll understand that I’m right about this. I just hope it won’t be too late.”
Tears started into her eyes as she responded to his voice, to the gentle caressing tone, the deep concern. Was Brent right? Would she be making a huge mistake if she went ahead and married Cabot? And what would her life be like if she broke the engagement? Suddenly all her dreams of financial security would vanish. Her family and friends would be shocked, stunned. She could just imagine the disappointment in her parents’ eyes when she called to tell them she wasn’t going to be marrying Cabot Wilder after all. Her mother would never forgive her for throwing such an opportunity away. She took a deep breath, put the spoon down on the stove and turned to face Brent.
“I thought you promised to leave me alone.”
His face went suddenly pale, as if he was seeing something deeply disturbing. “You’re right,” he said quietly. His arms dangled at his sides. “I did promise to leave you alone. I’m just not sure I can keep my promise. It seems to be even harder than I expected.”
“That’s because you haven’t even tried! Not once since I got here!” she said hoarsely. “You are the most difficult, upsetting man I’ve ever met in my life!” Her eyes were blinded with tears as she ran for the privacy of her room. Behind her she heard Isabel come into the kitchen and speak quietly to Brent.
Allison slammed the door behind her and threw herself down on the narrow bed to bury her face in the pillow. The soft foam muffled her sobs, but nothing could muffle the intense shame she felt. How could she have lost control that way? Her angry words had certainly been overheard by everyone in the living room. Including Cabot. What must he think of her now? His fears of her becoming a “hoyden,” as he called it, must have all been confirmed. Perhaps he would no longer think she was refined enough to be his wife. She smiled grimly. How ironic it would be if he broke the engagement.
There was a light knock on her door. Allison sat up, wiping her wet face with the palms of her hands.
“Just a minute.” She found a tissue in the clutter of things on her bedside table, blew her nose, and got up to open the door.
It was Isabel, holding a tray of steaming food and smiling fondly at her.
“I thought you might like to have your supper up here tonight.” She bustled into the room, set the tray on top of the bureau. “It’s nothing fancy—just chicken curry stew and biscuits—but it’ll make you feel much better. You’re welcome to join us, of course, but I thought you might not be up to facing everybody just now.”
“Thanks.” Allison sat back down on the bed, lowered her face into her hands. “I’m terribly sorry. I’m afraid I’ve spoiled all your plans.”
“Nonsense! It’d take more than a few angry words to spoil an evening at the Cutler house.” Isabel sat next to Allison and slid an arm around her sagging shoulders. “You’ve had a difficult day, dear. It’s never easy for couples to be reunited. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”
Allison felt the tears well again, tried to shake them away.
“Maybe it would help if you talked a little bit, dear. I’m always willing to listen.”
“Oh Isabel!” Allison couldn’t hold back the tears any longer; she buried her face in the older woman’s shoulder.
“There, there.” Isabel patted her back with a gentle hand. “I understand. Brent can be a real trial at times. He’s just like his grandfather—stubborn and opinionated.”
“It’s not that . . .” Sobs drowned Allison’s words. She sniffed, swallowed. “It’s . . . He wants me to break up with Cabot.”
“Oh, my dear! No wonder you’
re so upset!” She stroked Allison’s back. “I don’t blame you for crying.”
Gradually Allison felt her sobs subside. She straightened to wipe her face and look at Isabel. “It’s been so hard! Brent’s been after me to break the engagement ever since I came here. He claims I don’t really love Cabot.” She swallowed a hard knot, went on. “I know Cabot and I aren’t a passionate couple. But things are different in Cabot’s world. There are all these proprieties and important considerations that Brent just doesn’t understand. . . .”
“Of course.” Isabel smiled. “But maybe there’s one important thing you don’t understand, dear.”
“What’s that?”
“Brent isn’t beleaguering you out of spite or arrogance. He’s a boy who’s always spoken what’s on his mind, but he’s not vicious.” She smiled and tilted her head to one side. “To be perfectly honest, I think he’s fallen head over heels in love with you.”
Allison’s breath caught in her throat. She shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so, Isabel. He’s never said anything like that.”
“Oh, my dear, he wouldn’t! It’s a code of honor around here. I guess we’re a little old-fashioned on Harper’s, a lot old-fashioned, some would say. Brent isn’t going to tell you he loves you while you’re engaged to somebody else. But to me it’s as clear as the sun in the sky. It’s written all over his face every time he looks at you. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed it yourself.” She beamed happily. “I understand why you’re not interested, under the circumstances. But you have to forgive a man for being a little insistent when he’s so love-struck.”
“But what about Tracy Lawton?”
Isabel’s expression sobered. “If it were anybody else but Brent, I might think he was just on the rebound. But Brent’s a man who’s scrupulously honest with himself. If there was even a shred of possibility in his mind that he still loved Tracy, he would never even have looked at you. Believe me. The man is the most straightforward person on God’s green earth. He’s not the kind who can fall in love with more than one woman at a time.”
“Well, he seems to be seeing a lot of Emily Potter.”
“Emily? Oh, pooh! She hasn’t got the brains she was born with. She’s about as interesting to him as a stick. Brent’s not going to get himself tied down with somebody like that. If he’s paying attention to her, it’s for your benefit.”
“My benefit?”
Isabel nodded. “Maybe he’s hoping to coax a little jealousy out of you. He’s not used to women who keep him at arm’s length. He’s had more problems the other way—women throwing themselves at his feet. It’s one of the hazards of being a handsome man.”
“Some hazard. Most men would kill for it.” Allison blinked away the last of her tears.
Isabel smiled and stood up. “Don’t let it worry you, dear. Brent may be persistent and a little trying at times, but there’s a line he won’t step across.” She reached down to pat Allison’s hand. “And I’ll have a little talk with him. I can’t promise you anything, because he’s as stubborn as they come, but if I explain how upsetting this is to you, maybe he’ll leave you alone.”
Allison took a short, sharp breath. “I appreciate it.”
“Don’t worry, dear. Things will work out. Enjoy your meal.”
Isabel left before Allison could work out the confused emotions that tumbled through her. There was a part of her, she realized suddenly, that didn’t want Brent to leave her alone. And there was another part that sought the peace that only his distance could bring her.
She went to the bureau and lifted the tray down, carried it to the little ladder-backed chair. As she spooned the thick, spicy stew into her mouth, she could hear Brent’s laughter from the kitchen. Her stomach turned over. She fought the sudden desire to run down the stairs and throw herself into his arms.
For the next ten days Allison didn’t see Brent at all. It was as if he had completely vanished from the island. She spent the weekend showing Cabot around the island and listening to him and Martha talk about the exciting social world of upper-crust Boston. She went back to the schoolhouse on Monday, while Cabot buried himself in his papers and stock sheets.
Her days quickly developed an enjoyable, predictable rhythm. She threw herself wholeheartedly into supervising the children. She grew increasingly fond of Ricky Flory. His mischievous intelligence drew her to him; she liked his spunk and creativity. She remembered what Isabel had told her about how much he resembled Brent as a small boy. As she watched him lead the other children through the complicated patterns of an old island chanting game, she was struck by the maternal feelings that rose in her. More than once she imagined herself as a mother on Harper’s Island, sitting on the front porch of her little cottage, watching her children playing in the sunshine of a summer’s afternoon. The bright green schoolhouse lawn that sloped down to the sea was an idyllic setting of great peace and beauty. She enjoyed the children’s sweaty hugs as they left to go home at two, and she felt a kind of bereft sadness creep through her as she walked along the wooded path to the guest house to meet Cabot for a late lunch.
He always greeted her warmly at the door, pulling her into his arms and kissing her tenderly. While she prepared their meal in the tiny kitchen, he regaled her with the rigors of price wars and company mergers. She had no desire to study stock reports, and was relieved when he didn’t offer them for her perusal. She savored the mild domesticity of the afternoons, eating in the dining room at the small wooden table by the window, looking out to sea and chatting casually with Cabot. On good days sailboats regularly passed the island. Cabot pointed them out to her, elaborating on the design and seaworthiness of particular boats. He was planning to buy her a fifty-foot yacht, he told her. On summer weekends they could cruise up the coast all the way to Prince Edward Island. She noted ironically that, in contrast to the pleasure boats, the fishing boats were out in all weather.
It rained on the last day of June. Sitting by the window in the guest house kitchen while Cabot paced up and down, complaining about the cramped quarters of the cottage, Allison saw the Blue Lady go by. She thought she could make out a figure in a yellow slicker standing in the shelter of the pilothouse. Something tightened in her throat and she couldn’t swallow the crabmeat sandwich she’d been chewing. She hadn’t seen Brent in almost two weeks. She took a sip of white wine. The comfortable familiarity of her pleasant afternoon with Cabot suddenly struck her as constricted and lifeless. She pushed the thought away, took another sip of wine, and gave Cabot her most brilliant smile.
Cabot smiled back. “You look so lovely today, darling. But when are you going to have your hair cut?”
She reached to stroke a strand off her forehead. The length of her hair seemed to be the only point of contention between them. She wondered suddenly if her long hair was responsible for Cabot’s lack of passion. If she were to cut it, would he become suddenly sensuous and masterful? The thought excited her. If she could only feel the same thrill in Cabot’s arms that she had in Brent’s, she would be the happiest woman alive.
She leaned toward him across the table. “I was keeping it as a surprise. But if you must know, I’m cutting it this afternoon.”
She fought tears later, as she hacked off her long curls alone in the cottage’s tiny upstairs bathroom. But she resisted the temptation to save even one long tendril. After she washed and dried her hair with Cabot’s expensive blow-dryer, she decided that she didn’t look so bad after all. Her hair hung to her shoulders, gently swaying as she moved. She sighed as she ran a brush through it one more time. It was merely something she had to do as a woman marrying into the Wilder fortune. The first of many things.
She went downstairs and found Cabot sitting in the living room, reading. He rose when she entered the room and came toward her, his arms open, a huge smile lighting his face. “That’s so much better, darling! As soon as we get back to Boston, we’ll have Andre trim it. You’ll look gorgeous on our wedding day!”
For a moment
she thought he was going to take her in his arms and kiss her passionately. Instead he grasped her hand and suggested they go out for an afternoon walk.
The wind in her short hair felt strange. She no longer had the sensation of flowing beauty all around her body. She struggled once again against the tears that threatened to overwhelm her, and grasped Cabot’s arm tightly as they walked along the path to Lookout Point.
She thought suddenly of Brent, of the many times he’d complimented her on the length of her hair. What would he say when he saw she had cut it? She lifted her chin resolutely. It didn’t make any difference what Brent said. She was going to be Cabot’s wife. He was the man she had to please. She raised her hand to shield her eyes from the setting sun. Maybe it was a good thing she had cut it. Her short hair would send a clear message that Brent was wrong about her lack of love for Cabot. It would show him that his opinion didn’t matter to her in the least.
Cabot was full of wedding plans the next day, excited about the lengthy guest list he’d received in the mail from his mother, pleased with the Regency Hotel accommodations for the reception. He’d already chartered a private yacht for their honeymoon trip to Greece, and he spent hours detailing the luxuries that would be at their disposal and the beautiful sights they would see on their trip. Allison smiled, trying to imagine what it would really be like to be catapulted into his world of elegance and power. Her hand went frequently to her hair, as if in search of a long strand, but she felt less bereft, more relaxed about its length, especially since both Isabel and Martha had complimented her on the new style.
That evening, she and Cabot ate dinner at the Cutler house and talked with Martha, who had recently had her cast removed. She was starting to hobble around without her crutches, and chattered excitedly about her plans.
“I’m definitely going to be ready by the fourth,” she boasted happily. “Don’t forget our double date!” She looked meaningfully at Allison.
Allison gave her a doubtful look. “The fourth is only three days away. Are you sure you’ll be ready to dance by then?”
Island Summer Love Page 18