Images Of Love

by Anne Mather

  It was almost dark when she heard the sound of the helicopter. She couldn’t believe that was what it was at first. She thought perhaps it was the low rumble of distant thunder, but as the sound increased she realised it was an aircraft.

  Immediately her nerves tightened. Had Robert come back? Was she, after all, to be given the chance to speak with him? And why, if that were so, did she suddenly feel so inadequate?

  Realising she could not go down in the shirt and jeans she had worn all day, she stripped off her clothes and took a shower, wearing a cap to protect her hair. Then, suitably lipsticked and mascaraed, she put on the white chiffon evening gown Mrs Newman had left unpacked and descended the stairs on anxious feet.

  A man was standing in the drawing room, and she halted in the doorway uncertainly. He was tall and dark, yet curiously bulky, and as he turned, she realised this must be the helicopter pilot. He was wearing a navy blue uniform, and as her eyes adjusted themselves to the lamplight she saw the peaked cap lying on the nearby table. Looking into his swarthy Latin-type features, she wondered how she could have mistaken him for Robert, and then realised she was so emotionally tense, any dark man could confuse her.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, and his accent was unmistakably American. ‘I’m George Capra. Pleased to meet you.’

  Tobie allowed her hand to be enveloped in his huge paw, forcing a smile of welcome. ‘How do you do, Mr Capra,’ she responded politely. ‘So you made it here after all.’

  ‘Hell, yes.’ The pilot nodded vigorously towards the streaming windows. ‘This here is just the tail-end of the storm, Miss—er—’

  ‘Kennedy,’ Tobie supplied briefly, and he went on:

  ‘Well, Miss Kennedy, we have been mighty lucky, yes, indeed. Seems like we had a hurricane licking its way west of here, but all we got was the backlash.’

  ‘A hurricane!’ Tobie was appalled.

  ‘You never seen a hurricane, Miss Kennedy?’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’ Tobie caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘Was anyone hurt?’

  George Capra shrugged his bulky shoulders. ‘No one’s been killed, if that’s what you mean. Luckily she blew herself out off the coast of Cuba.’

  Tobie shook her head. ‘And yet you flew back here?’

  ‘Mr Newman, he seemed pretty anxious about you ladies. I said I’d bring him back if he offered me a bed for the night.’

  ‘It was the least I could do,’ said Mark, from the doorway, and Tobie turned to face him. It was the first time she had seen him since their unfortunate confrontation of the night before, but although her skin prickled, it was Mark who turned red. ‘Hello, Tobie,’ he greeted her rather stiffly, running a finger round the inside of his collar, as if it was too tight for him. ‘Have you had a good day?’

  Tobie thought the question ill timed, but she made a casual response. ‘It’s been—oppressive,’ she replied, wondering if he was aware of the ambiguity. ‘How is Mr Jennings? Did he recover consciousness? Has Cilla come back with you?’

  ‘Harvey’s going to be all right,’ Mark said shortly. ‘It was a stroke, but he’ll get over it. He may sustain some paralysis, who can tell at this stage, but it’s my opinion that he’ll make a complete recovery.’

  Tobie was disturbed by his indifference. She knew he didn’t like Harvey, but she was dismayed by his attitude. ‘And Cilla?’ she persisted, glancing awkwardly at George Capra. ‘Has she gone home?’

  ‘Cilla didn’t come back with us,’ stated Mark, walking across to the tray of drinks and uncorking the Scotch. ‘On the rocks?’ he suggested, waving the bottle at the pilot, and Capra nodded in some embarrassment. ‘She wanted to stay at the hospital, so they’ve provided a room for her.’

  ‘I see.’ Tobie digested this while Mark poured the drinks, and shook her head when he offered her the same.

  ‘Rob stayed at the hospital, too,’ he added, raising his glass to his lips. ‘I guess he thinks Cilla needs him.’ He shook his head. ‘He told me to tell you goodbye.’

  Tobie turned away so that he should not see how his words had affected her. She had absorbed the news that Robert had not returned with grim fortitude, still clinging to the faint hope that he might return in the morning before they were due to leave. Mark’s careless statement had negated that hope, leaving her with a feeling of complete devastation.

  ‘Dinner won’t be long, George,’ Mark was saying now, and Tobie was glad of the bluff pilot’s presence. She did not think she could have exchanged polite conversation right at that moment, and indeed, she faced the prospect of joining them for dinner with a sense of desperation. She longed for the evening to be over, to bring the morning that much sooner, and she knew she would not relax until she was on board the plane to London.

  Dinner was served half an hour later, with Mrs Newman presiding over the table. She obviously enjoyed the unexpected privilege, and she and the American did most of the talking. Tobie felt Mark’s eyes on her from time to time, and wondered what he was thinking. Had his mother discussed with him the conversation she had had with Tobie that morning? No, of course not. That was not for publication. Mrs Newman would no doubt content herself by consolidating the position she already held, and after Tobie’s behaviour the night before, Mark probably considered he was the injured party. She wondered if he had gone to her room, and if he had, what he had thought when he found it empty. Meeting his eyes across the flickering candle flame, she thought she saw a trace of anxiety in their depths, and guessed he was afraid she might betray him to his mother. He need not have worried, she thought dryly. Nothing she said would convince Mrs Newman he was anything other than a misunderstood boy, and remembering the good times they had had together, she half wished she could reassure him. In spite of what had happened, he was not entirely to blame for his misapprehension, and she condemned his mother for fostering his resentment. Even so, she was sensible enough to realise that Mark was as unlikely to be critical of his mother as she was of him, and in either case, Tobie was simply banging her head against a brick wall.

  Nevertheless, she sensed a certain cautiousness in his attitude towards her, and never once did he refer to the previous evening’s events. On the contrary, if anything he avoided her attention, and it was left to George Capra to entertain the female members of the party.

  It was towards the end of the evening that Mark dropped his bombshell. Under cover of the anecdote the American was relating with some hilarity to his mother, he told an astounded Tobie that he would not be returning with her to London.

  ‘I sent a telegram from Castries this afternoon,’ he said, speaking in an undertone. ‘I don’t think it would be fair to leave, in the circumstances, and Mother agrees with me.’

  She would, thought Tobie dryly, and then shook her head. ‘Aren’t you afraid the hospital board may dismiss you? They’re bound to be suspicious when you’ve been on holiday for two weeks.’

  ‘I don’t care if they do,’ replied Mark indifferently. ‘I’m bored with working in London. I’d welcome a change of scene.’

  Tobie could think of nothing to say. She guessed his mother was at the bottom of this. Perhaps Mrs Newman suspected that Mark might have second thoughts about her once they were back in England. After all, he was a different person away from his mother’s influence. Maybe she was afraid Tobie might persuade him to marry her without his mother’s knowledge. She guessed she could influence him if she really wanted to. Mark was basically weak, and responded to the strongest stimulus. Given time, Tobie was pretty sure she could erase any hesitation from his mind.

  But she didn’t want that time, and she didn’t want Mark. His mother could keep him. However, she couldn’t help speculating that there might be another reason for his desertion from duty. Did he think that by staying here, by showing concern for Cilla’s father, he might persuade Robert finally to finance his clinic? The precipitation of Mr Jennings’ illness might have accelerated his ambitions. Was it unreasonable to suspect that Cilla’s father’s stroke had made hi
m realise that if Robert did marry Cilla, his expectations need necessarily be greatly reduced?

  ‘Anyway,’ Mark was saying now, obviously glad to have got the unpleasant chore of telling her over, ‘I’ve arranged for George to take you back with him in the morning. There’s no point in Jim Matheson making the trip, when George is here. He’ll be leaving about nine, so he’ll take you direct to Hewanorra …’

  Tobie went to bed soon after that. She needed to get away from all of them, and even the rumbling aftermath of the storm was preferable to Mrs Newman’s pretence of bonhomie. In less than twenty-four hours she would be on the plane for London, and she clung to this thought and no other. Away from Emerald Cay, she would be able to think objectively again, and she refused to contemplate the images of what might have been.

  The international airport on St Lucia was a busy place. They had landed at Hewanorra two weeks ago, when they arrived in the islands, before driving the several miles to Castries on the northwestern coast. But to reach Emerald Cay they had flown from the smaller, commercial airport at Vigie, which was nearer the capital, and where Jim Matheson would have taken her had she flown with him instead of George Capra.

  The American had been very kind, however, escorting her personally to the terminal buildings, and assuring himself that she had no problems before leaving her. If he thought it was strange that Mark had not accompanied her to the airport himself, he made no mention of it, and in all honesty Tobie was glad Mark hadn’t. They had nothing further to say to one another, and small talk was beyond her right now.

  With her luggage checked in, she still had some time to wait before her flight was due to be called, so she made her way to the airport bookstall. She spent a good half hour studying the latest paperbacks and then, having purchased a rather luridly-jacketed thriller, she bought herself a cup of coffee and sat down to wait.

  But she couldn’t concentrate. She told herself it was the constant surge of humanity that swelled about her, but in her heart of hearts she knew it was not that at all. She was leaving the islands, that was her real affliction, the malady that made nonsense out of the words on the paper, and drew her eyes irresistibly towards the exits. She was leaving knowing that by doing so she would never see Robert again, and there was a physical ache inside her at the knowledge.

  Putting the book away, she finished her coffee and rose to her feet. Perhaps if she cleared passport control, she would feel less restless. Once she had passed through the barrier she would to all intents and purposes have left the island, thus preventing any reckless impulse to remain.

  She was making her way towards the controlled area when an angry cry hailed her. She thought at first she must be mistaken, that her inner turmoil had invented an halucinatory voice to torment her. But the hand that reached for her arm and grasped it in a pitiless grip was not an hallucination, and the pain on Robert’s face as he struggled to maintain his balance was not an hallucination either. He had evidently been hurrying, judging by the tenor of his breathing, and the effort had almost been too much for him.

  ‘Damn you, Tobie!’ he muttered, as she automatically put a supporting arm about him. ‘Won’t you allow me to keep what little self-respect I have left?’

  Tobie drew back again, hurt by the bitterness in his tone, but his hold upon her prevented her from walking away from him. In fact, in the press of people their little altercation went unobserved, and only she was conscious of the angry accusation of his gaze.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ he demanded, his lean face taut with feeling. ‘I asked you not to leave. Is it too much to ask that you might give me a chance to justify myself?’

  Tobie stared at him. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said at last, stiffly. ‘You knew we— I—was leaving today. You even said goodbye.’

  ‘I asked you to stay,’ he corrected grimly. ‘You haven’t forgotten what I told you yesterday. I said we would talk, and that is my intention, although God knows I didn’t want it to be like this!’

  Tobie shook her head. ‘You stayed in Castries last night. You told Mark to say goodbye to me—’

  ‘I did what!’ Robert’s expression was eloquent of his disbelief. ‘Mark knows exactly what I told him, and wishing you goodbye had no part in it!’

  ‘But—’ Tobie moved her shoulders helplessly, ‘why would he lie?’

  ‘I can think of half a dozen reasons offhand,’ retorted Robert harshly, recovered now and getting restless. ‘Come on, we can’t talk here. I’ve got a taxi waiting outside. We’ll go back to Castries.’

  ‘But I can’t—I mean—my luggage—’ Tobie began to protest, and then broke off at the darkening impatience in his eyes. ‘Robert, my flight leaves in under an hour. I can’t leave the airport. I’ve already checked in.’

  Robert frowned. ‘So your cases are on board. That’s okay. They can send them back from London. Give me a minute to speak to the stewardess at the desk, then you’ll be free to go.’

  Tobie licked her lips. ‘But there’s not another flight until tomorrow!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘You won’t be taking that either,’ retorted Robert shortly, and leaving her, he limped rather more slowly than usual across to the check-in counter.

  Tobie did a nervous pirouette as she waited, her thoughts in a turmoil, her stomach fluttering rather nauseously. She didn’t really understand any of this even now, but after the devastation of these last hours, seeing him again was enough—for the moment.

  Robert came back to her, lean and familiar in the denim outfit. He had not had an opportunity to change his clothes since yesterday morning, and as her eyes searched his face more closely she doubted he had even been to bed. He looked tired and hollow-cheeked, and lines of exhaustion were etched beside his mouth.

  ‘Okay, that’s settled,’ he stated, taking her arm forcefully. ‘We’ll pick your luggage up tomorrow. But right now we have more important things to do.’

  ‘We have?’

  Tobie glanced at him anxiously as he urged her towards the glass doors, but he did not respond to her. He was only intent on steering her out to where the cab he had mentioned was waiting, propelling her into the back when the driver opened the door and half falling in beside her.

  ‘You know where we’re going, Juan,’ he said to the olive-skinned individual behind the wheel, who was grinning at Tobie through the rear-view mirror. ‘Remind me I owe you—we made it just in time. Now let’s put on some speed.’

  ‘Yes, sir, Mr Lang.’ Juan glanced over his shoulder and raised a stubby thumb. ‘You just leave it to me. The Hotel Regency, wasn’t it? No sooner said than done!’

  Even Robert’s lips twitched a little at that, but it was a grim inflection. He looked bone-weary, and Tobie forgot everything else in her concern for him.

  ‘You’ll kill yourself if you go on like this,’ she protested, once Juan’s attention was taken up with his driving. ‘I know you’re not an invalid, so don’t look at me like that, but I’m sure you’re not supposed to put so much strain—’

  ‘What would you have had me do?’ he demanded, hauling himself up from the slumped position he had assumed after collapsing beside her. ‘Do you realise I’ve spent the last three hours looking for you?’

  ‘Three hours!’ Tobie stared at him. ‘But—how—you were at the hospital—’

  ‘Correction, I spent the night at the hospital,’ he returned harshly. ‘I flew back to Emerald Cay this morning. On the plane that was supposed to be taking Mark to Vigie.’

  Tobie blinked. ‘But I went on the helicopter—’

  ‘I know that now.’

  ‘Didn’t Mark tell you?’

  ‘When? This morning—or yesterday afternoon?’

  Tobie tried to think. ‘Well—yesterday afternoon, I suppose.’

  ‘You forget—so far as I was concerned, you were not leaving.’

  Tobie sighed. ‘But you must have known—’

  ‘I didn’t know anything,’ he retorted. ‘After the conver
sation I’d had with Mark, the last thing I expected was that you should walk out on me once again.’

  ‘I wasn’t walking out on you!’

  ‘What would you call it, then?’ he demanded.

  ‘You were with Cilla. I thought—oh, I thought—’

  ‘I told you on the yacht, Cilla and I mean nothing to one another.’

  ‘She—she may mean nothing to you, but you—’

  ‘Tobie, Cilla’s going to marry Jim Matheson. She and I are only friends. Whatever impression you gained, it was the incorrect one.’

  ‘But—’ Tobie caught her breath. ‘That night—that night the Jennings came to dinner—’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You said she had plans to marry you.’

  ‘No, you assumed that,’ Robert corrected her harshly. He sighed heavily. ‘I’m not denying I let you go on thinking it. After what you said, I wanted to punish you.’

  ‘As you did later?’ she reminded him tremulously, and his eyes darkened with sudden emotion.

  ‘Not here, Tobie,’ he muttered, with an eloquent glance at the back of Juan’s head. ‘Don’t push me too far. Right now, I’d like to get my hands on you, but I’m afraid I might strangle you for the torture you’ve put me through, and I don’t want any witnesses!’

  Tobie trembled. ‘At—at least tell me what you want of me,’ she begged, half afraid of the passion in his face, and with a groan of self-disgust he pulled her into his arms.

  ‘What do you think I want of you?’ he demanded hoarsely, against her ear. ‘God, Tobie, I love you. I want to live with you for the rest of my life—if you can stand it.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  IF I can—’ she started, only to be silenced by the hungry pressure of his mouth. Ignoring Juan, and the delighted glances he was making in his mirror, Robert kissed her with all the eager urgency of his nature, crushing her back against the leather upholstery, his hand possessively gripping her waist. He kissed her long and searchingly, making her insistently aware of what he was feeling.