by Anne Mather
When the phone rang, she hastily jammed her arms into the sleeves, and tugged it down around her. Then, halfway to answer the call, she halted. What if it was Cole? She was not sure she was ready yet for another altercation. She needed time to build her defences. She wasn’t sure she was as immune to his censure as she thought.
But the realisation that it was more likely to be her mother, calling to make sure everything was OK, forced her to think again. Neither of her parents had been particularly keen on her taking this holiday alone, not to mention travelling so far from her home in London. In spite of her abortive marriage to Cole—or perhaps because of it—they had become increasingly protective, and, although she had phoned them on her arrival two days ago, they probably wanted an update on her movements.
Even so, there was a definite edge to her tone as she picked up the receiver, and the woman’s voice that greeted her revealed a similar tension.
‘Jo? Jo, darling, is that you? Oh, God, you sound so clear. Are you really thousands of miles away?’
Joanna’s relief was almost palpable, and, running her tongue over her dry lips, she smoothed one damp palm down the seam of her T-shirt. But with the relief came a kindling of resentment towards her caller, and her voice was only slightly warmer as she answered, ‘Yes. Yes, Grace, it’s me. A sitting duck, as you expected.’
‘Oh, Jo!’ Grace sounded anxious now. ‘I know what you must be thinking, but try to understand my position. Ryan is my brother-in-law, after all. When—when Cole asked where you were, I had to tell him.’
Joanna absorbed this in silence. Although she still resented the fact that Grace had betrayed her whereabouts, without even clearing it with her first, she wasn’t unmindful of Grace’s family responsibilities. Oh, it was easy enough to dismiss them by reminding herself that Grace’s marriage to Ryan Macallister’s brother had been no more successful than her own, but the truth was Grace was more dependent on the Macallisters than she was. Grace and Luke Macallister had two sons, Evan and Luke Junior. If she wanted to continue seeing her sons on a regular basis, she couldn’t afford to offend the man who could deny her that privilege.
‘Jo? Jo, are you still there?’
Grace’s worried tones brought Joanna’s attention back to the phone. It was her own fault really, she thought. As soon as her marriage to Cole broke up, she should have found herself another agent. But she had known Grace for almost ten years. Grace had recognised her talent long before the water-colours she produced became popular. Heavens, it was through Grace that she had met Cole—though the virtues of that particular introduction had long since been debased. Nevertheless, she was fond of Grace, she owed her a lot, and it wasn’t fair to expect her to jeopardise her relationship with her own flesh and blood.
‘Yes, I’m still here, Grace,’ Joanna answered now, expelling her breath on a long sigh. ‘OK, I forgive you. I suppose you didn’t have a lot of choice. But, dammit, you should have warned me! I couldn’t believe it when I saw Cole across the terrace.’
Grace made a sound of surprise. ‘You’ve seen Cole?’
Joanna frowned. ‘Of course.’ She paused. ‘What did you expect?’
‘Oh—I don’t know.’ Grace sounded doubtful. ‘When he phoned, I got the impression he didn’t want to leave Tidewater at this particular time.’
Joanna shrugged. ‘Well, he must have changed his mind.’
Grace hesitated. ‘And are you going back with him?’
‘No.’
‘No?’ Grace sounded dismayed. ‘But Jo, Ryan’s dying!’
‘So?’ Joanna refused to allow the other woman to influence her.
‘He has cancer,’ Grace persisted. ‘According to Cole, the doctors give him a few weeks at most. Jo, he is Cole’s father. Can’t you find it in your heart to feel some compassion? I know you and he have had your differences, but——’
‘Differences!’ Joanna almost spat the word. ‘Grace, that man and I did not have differences! We were totally opposed to one another in every way. Ryan Macallister doesn’t deserve anyone’s compassion. He’s a twisted, evil man!’
Grace sighed. ‘You really hate him, don’t you?’
‘Wouldn’t you? Don’t you?’
‘Not hate, no.’ Grace was tentative. ‘Oh, I know what you’re going to say. If Ryan hadn’t made such a big thing of my wanting some independence, Luke would never have found the guts, strength—call it what you will—to make that ultimatum. But Jo, it was Luke who made me choose between staying at Tidewater, and vegetating, or making a life for myself. Ryan might have fashioned the bullets, my dear, but Luke fired them.’
‘Yes, but——’
‘Hear me out, Jo. I want you to know I haven’t regretted what I did. Not really. Oh, I miss the boys, of course, but it’s not as if they were babies when I left. And I’ve had a good life here. Running the gallery, becoming Ray’s partner. He and I have more in common than Luke and I ever did. Luke was different. He was exciting. And I don’t deny that Ray and I—well, we don’t have the same kind of relationship. Ours is more—intellectual, if you know what I mean. But I’m not bitter. I have everything I need. I can afford to feel pity.’
‘Well, I can’t.’
Joanna pressed her lips together, and Grace breathed deeply. ‘No,’ she conceded, after a moment. ‘No, I see that. I suppose I’d forgotten how much you love Cole——’
‘Loved!’ Joanna amended harshly. ‘You’d forgotten how much I loved Cole. Not any more. That love died when they killed Nathan. Or did you forget about him, too?’
There was silence for a while, and when Grace spoke again there was regret in her voice. ‘No,’ she said softly. ‘No, of course I haven’t forgotten Nathan. I’m sorry, Jo. Naturally you must do what you think best.’
Conversely, Joanna felt guilty now. Oh, not about Ryan Macallister, she consoled herself, but perhaps she had been hard on Grace.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, forcing her mind on to other things. ‘Um—how are the arrangements for the exhibition going? Do you think it’s going to attract enough interest?’
‘Are you kidding?’ Grace responded eagerly, evidently as anxious as Joanna to turn their conversation on to a business footing. ‘I’ve already had acceptances to the opening from all the most important critics, and even Howard Jennings has agreed to make an appearance.’
‘Oh, good.’
Joanna tried to summon some enthusiasm for the news that the editor and presenter of a monthly television arts programme was apparently interested enough to attend, but somehow the importance of the exhibition had been blurred. In spite of all she had said, the image of Cole’s father, sick and dying of that most pernicious of diseases, would not go away, and she was inordinately grateful when Grace said she would have to go, and rang off.
But, if she had hoped that by severing the connection with Grace she could sever all thoughts of the Macallisters, she was mistaken. Memories of Cole, and his father, and Tidewater just kept on coming back, and it was with an angry sense of resentment that she snatched up the bag containing her book, sun-screen, and dark glasses, and left the room.
CHAPTER TWO
THE sun was soothing. It was hard to think of anything with its rays beating against her closed eyelids, and bringing a film of perspiration to her supine body. It was hot beside the pool, hotter than on the beach, where there was at least a breeze off the water to temper the humidity. But Joanna welcomed the numbing effects of the heat, and the mindless lethargy it engendered.
Her hands uncurled against the cream towel she had spread over the slatted sun-bed, and she arched one leg in an unknowingly provocative pose. Oh, yes, she decided contentedly, this was definitely the life! She refused to think about anything, except what she was going to have for lunch.
She had chosen a chair in a secluded corner of the pool deck. It wasn’t that she was unsociable. It was just that she had no wish to appear in need of company. She knew perfectly well that a woman alone often attracted unwelcome a
ttention from the opposite sex, and indulging in any kind of holiday flirtation was not what she had come here for. At home, she did accept an occasional invitation to dinner, or the theatre, but that was different. On the whole, her escorts knew that she was not interested in any serious commitment, and if any of them showed they would prefer a more intimate relationship they were quickly discarded. She liked men, but at a distance. She was polite, and friendly, but nothing more. She had been hurt badly once, and she had no intention of repeating the experience.
Consequently, she was not a little irritated when someone came to occupy the chair next to hers. Through half-closed lids, she glimpsed the cuffs of dark blue swimming-shorts, and brown, muscular legs that curved beneath the cuffs into tight masculine buttocks.
Damn, she thought, closing her eyes again, and pretending she was unaware of him. There were at least fifty other sun-beds set at different angles around the pool. And surely among them were other single women, who would be flattered to receive his attention. Why couldn’t he have chosen one of them? She wanted to relax, not spend her time fending off passes.
The seductive stroke of a cool finger along her arm brought her eyes open with a start. The light, sensitive touch was unwillingly sensual, but she was too angry to admit its effect. What cheek! she thought furiously, pushing herself up. Was it too much to expect that she should be left alone?
Jerking down her sunglasses, which she had been wearing as a kind of surrogate head-band, she turned her incensed gaze on the man beside her. And then her jaw sagged disbelievingly. It wasn’t some pool-side Romeo who was resting on the chair beside hers. It was Cole!
‘Hi,’ he said non-committally. ‘I’m pleased to see you don’t encourage boarders.’
Joanna’s anger floundered. ‘What are you doing here, Cole?’ she exclaimed. ‘I thought you’d be on the next flight back to South Carolina.’
‘Hmm. I guess you did.’ Cole stretched his long legs comfortably, and laced his hands beneath his head. ‘Well, as you can see, I’m still here.’
‘I won’t change my mind, you know.’
Joanna’s response was half peevish, and she wished she hadn’t felt the need to defend herself, when Cole merely shifted to a more restful position.
‘I haven’t asked you to, have I?’ he countered, looking up at her through the sun-bleached tips of his lashes. ‘Relax, Jo. It’s much too hot to fuel all that adrenalin.’
Joanna pressed her lips together mutinously, trying to regain her composure. Now that she was assured that no one was trying to proposition her, she ought to be able to rekindle her sense of well-being.
But, of course, she couldn’t. Although she determinedly lay down again, the feeling of tranquillity had left her. She felt on edge, and agitated, and far too aware of the man on the sun-bed beside her.
His arm was only inches from hers, she observed covertly, tautly muscled, and displaying the tiny tattoo of a venomous bushmaster, which he had had etched when he was just a boy, and for which, he had told her, his father had soundly beaten him. The muscle flexed, as she watched it, tightening and hardening, before relaxing once again. The skin that covered the rest of his arm was brown and smooth and flawless, almost hairless, and lightly sheened with sweat.
Without any volition on her part, her body responded to the sensual appeal of his. The sight of his bare chest, with its flat nipples, and light dusting of hair, disturbed her. She found her eyes following the provocative arrowing of hair that disappeared beneath the elasticated waistband of his shorts. His restless movements had inched the waistband of the shorts down below his navel, and his pelvis made a cradle of his sex.
God! She tore her eyes away, and stared blindly across the pool. What was the matter with her? she chided, as her hands coiled into tight fists. It wasn’t as if Cole’s naked body was any novelty to her. She had lived with him for more than two years, for heaven’s sake! She had seen him in every pose and attitude, in every state of undress. He had a beautiful lean body—a perfect specimen of American manhood. It was a pity the contents didn’t live up to the wrapping!
‘Do you want a drink?’
She was so tied up with her thoughts that Cole’s first question didn’t register. ‘I—beg your pardon?’
‘I said—do you want a drink?’ he repeated, propping himself up on his elbow, drawing up one leg, and half turning towards her. ‘There’s a waitress making a tour of the deck, taking orders. I thought you might like something long and cold and refreshing.’
‘Oh——’ Joanna swallowed, and explored her dry lips with her tongue. ‘Well, yes. I think I will have some lemonade. But I’ll get my own. You don’t have to bother.’
‘It’s no bother,’ Cole assured her, swinging his feet to the ground. He moved swiftly, so that by the time the bikini-clad waitress reached them he was standing up, and Joanna saw to her chagrin that his southern courtesy did not go unnoticed.
‘You didn’t have to stand up,’ she muttered irritably, as he resumed his seat, and Cole’s mouth tilted.
‘No, I know,’ he agreed, brushing an insect from his thigh with a lazy hand. ‘But it costs nothing to be polite.’
‘Would you have stood up if it had been a man?’ she persisted, and Cole’s lips parted to reveal a row of even white teeth.
‘I guess,’ he said, his eyes leaving hers to move insolently over her body. ‘What’s the matter, Jo? Something eating you?’
Joanna shifted uneasily beneath his taunting gaze, and she was aware that she was still aroused from her thoughts earlier. Her own nipples were as taut as buttons, and she tugged surreptitiously at the front of her swimsuit to hide their provocative display.
Unable to think of an answer sharp enough to puncture his mocking self-confidence, she turned her head, and pretended to watch the antics of two young people in the pool. They were teenagers, she guessed, holidaying together for the first time, and from the way the girl draped herself around her companion they were not ignorant of each other’s bodies. There was an intimacy between them that spoke of long nights exploring the intricacies of love. She and Cole had once explored those same intricacies, she remembered. During those long southern nights, before things started to go wrong …
The waitress returned with two tall glasses of lemonade, liberally spiked with ice. Cole took one for himself, and held the other out towards Joanna, and although she was loath to take anything from him it would have been childish to refuse. So, sitting up, cross-legged, she took the perspex tumbler from him, drinking from it thirstily, before tipping her head back on her shoulders, and luxuriating in the intense heat.
Cole was still sitting sideways on the sun-bed, legs spread, bare feet resting on the tiled surface of the pool-deck. It meant she was constantly aware of his eyes upon her but, despite her irritation, she supposed his presence was deterring any unwelcome attention.
‘You look good,’ he said suddenly, and her eyes jerked towards his before she could prevent them.
‘Thank you,’ she returned, striving for a careless tone as she took herself in hand again. ‘So do you. Sammy-Jean’s evidently doing something right.’
Cole’s expression hardened for a moment, but then he returned to the attack. ‘You always were a beautiful woman,’ he murmured. ‘And, if anything, you look better now than you did when we got married.’
‘Then I must be doing something right, too,’ declared Joanna shortly, impatient at the wave of colour that swept into her neck at his words. ‘Living in London isn’t all bad, whatever you think. Our climate may not be as good as yours, but it has its compensations.’
Cole’s brows arched for a moment, and then he looked down at his drink, resting in hands hanging loosely between his thighs. ‘I guess it does,’ he conceded at last. ‘I’m sure Grace would agree with you.’
‘I’m sure she would.’ Joanna nodded. But she didn’t like this conversation. It wasn’t what Cole was saying that troubled her exactly. But the tone he was using did. He was so polite. His
lazy southern drawl scraped across her nerves, like a nail over raw silk, and every time he looked at her she grew more and more tense.
‘Um—how—how’s your mother?’ she asked, hoping to divert the conversation away from herself, and Cole lifted his head.
‘Ma’s OK.’ His eyes skimmed her mouth, and although she had just drunk about a quarter of a pint of lemonade Joanna’s lips felt parched. ‘She’s getting older, like the rest of us. But she still works just as hard as ever.’
‘And—and Ben and Joe?’ Joanna felt compelled to keep him talking about his family. ‘And the twins? I bet Charley can swim now, can’t she? Did they start high school yet? Oh, yes, of course, they must have done.’
Cole regarded her between narrowed lids. ‘Are you really that interested?’ he queried, his brooding gaze bringing a deepening of colour in her cheeks. ‘Sure, Ben and Joe are fine. Joe’s married now, and his wife’s expecting their first baby. Charley and Donna started high school last year, and Sandy’s going to join them come fall.’ He paused. ‘I guess that about covers it, wouldn’t you say?’
Joanna bent her head, the weight of her hair sliding over one shoulder to expose the vulnerable curve of her neck. ‘I was just being—polite, that’s all,’ she said, half defensively. ‘I—like your brothers and sisters. And, I used to think that they liked me.’
‘They did.’ Cole shook the ice around in his empty tumbler. ‘Charley often used to talk about the time you and she got stuck out on Palmer’s Island. If you hadn’t swum back to get help, you might both have been swept away.’
‘Oh——’ Joanna made a deprecating gesture. ‘You’d already discovered we were missing. When the boat was washed on to the bank, you’d have guessed where we were.’
‘Maybe not soon enough,’ he insisted, and Joanna felt a remembered sense of apprehension. She could still recall how scared she had been in the water, fighting her way against the current, feeling her arms getting weaker by the minute. She had been unable to stand, when she hauled herself out of the river. If Cole and his brothers hadn’t been searching for them, it might still have been too late. The flooding torrent of the Tidewater River had left Palmer’s Island under several feet of water for hours. No one could have survived its fury, least of all ten-year-old Charley, who couldn’t even swim.