by Anne Hampton
Christine awoke to the light of a new day pouring through the thin lacy material of the drapes; she heard birds chirping, a dog barking in the distance. All came back with a rush of embarrassment and shame. Luke! What must he think of her—? She stopped her thoughts, then switched them. Luke. What had he done? Worse still, what would he have done but for the intervention of John? John who was bent on protecting his employer, preventing him from an action he would by now have been regretting.
The blood was surging in her cheeks as she slid from between white linen sheets and approached the dressing table without even glancing around to examine the room and its luxurious furnishings. She was in a diaphanous nightgown which, she thought, must belong to Janet, the Bahamian girl who had worked for Luke since she was sixteen; and now she was almost twenty. Christine was naturally familiar with all Luke’s servants since she was a regular visitor to his house. She had never been in a bedroom till now, however, and the memory of how she came to be here was something she would recall with shame and embarrassment for the rest of her days—or so she believed at this particular time.
She looked at herself critically; she had grown up yesterday and last night and now she felt different, a little more self-possessed and sure of herself. But she knew she would still continue to lean upon Luke, and could only hope he wasn’t angry with her because of what had happened last night. Surely he would keep in mind that she had been tipsy? His reaction, though? She was puzzled by it, even though she was not so naive that she didn’t understand just how he had been tempted. The wedding and then the dinner, this by candlelight in the romantic setting of the Country Club Restaurant. The wine—which must have affected him too; the drive home in the moonlight and with the breeze of the island wafting perfumes and pine scents into the car. The necessity of carrying her into the house; the final temptation when she had gone to him in desperation and kissed him even while he was determinedly resisting her. Yes, she now realised why he had been adopting that rigid and forbidding attitude. He had been guarding himself and her . . . but finally his resolve had broken down and it had been her fault entirely. She had regarded Luke as a sort of uncle for so long that she had allowed the fact that he was a virile man to escape her altogether. Now, though, she saw him in a different light and she was earnestly determined to take more care in future.
She bathed and dressed, and it was as if she had fallen into a state of limbo because she had no qualms about facing Luke at the breakfast table until she was halfway along the corridor and she caught the whiff of bacon and toast. She stopped, aware of warmth in her cheeks, dampness in the palms of her hands. She turned and would have fled out to the garden but John was there, a smile on his good-natured face.
‘Mr. Curtis is waiting, miss. Please come this way.’ Deliberately he was making it impossible for her to escape, since she had no alternative than to follow him to the breakfast room. Luke was already there; John silently withdrew and closed the door behind him.
‘Sit down,’ invited Luke as if knowing she’d be too tongue-tied to bid him good morning. He had risen and with the old familiar gallantry he was drawing out her chair. She thanked him in a low voice and sank down, keeping her eyes averted. Where, she wondered, was the new confidence she had earlier believed she had acquired? ‘You look much better this morning,’ he went on to observe with a cool appraisal and an impersonal tone to his voice. ‘How do you feel? Not affected by a hangover, I hope?’
She shook her head. ‘No—I feel fine.’
‘Good. Then you’ll eat a good breakfast before I drive you back to Cassia Lodge.’ There were grey flecks in the tawny eyes which lent a metallic quality Christine had never noticed before.
‘Luke,’ she began, knowing that what happened must be mentioned if their relationship were not to be impaired. ‘Last night—’
‘Yes?’ casually, but the very fact of the interruption gave evidence of his interest in what she had to say.
‘I’m sorry. I was really tipsy. Forgive me for something which was entirely my fault.’
‘Your generosity is most gratifying,’ returned Luke sardonically. ‘Many thanks.’
Christine’s violet eyes flashed. ‘Sarcasm’s not clever!’ she told him spiritedly.
‘You’re growing up, Chris. You used to treat me with respect.’
She felt deflated and lowered her eyes. ‘I still respect you,’ she asserted. ‘I always shall.’
‘Then don’t give me any more of your back answers. I haven’t yet spanked you but that’s not saying I never will. I’m not used to receiving sauce from anyone, so remember that and take care.’
Christine glanced at him suspiciously. ‘You’re trying to avoid the issue of last night,’ she accused.
‘Issue?’ with a blank expression that infuriated her. ‘What issue?’
‘Oh, Luke!’ She subsided into silence and concentrated on the grapefruit which had been put before her by John, who had silently entered the room carrying a silver tray.
‘Shall we forget last night?’ suggested Luke when his servant had gone. ‘I know that neither of us is proud of our behaviour and, therefore, it’s easier on our consciences and self-respect to pretend it never happened.’ Luke dug his spoon into his grapefruit and put a segment into his mouth. He was not looking at her and his indifference angered her inexplicably. She ought to be glad he was taking this attitude and could not for the life of her understand why she was not greatly relieved by it.
‘It’s difficult to pretend it never happened,’ was all she could find to say, and this was after a long pause.
‘I shan’t find it difficult.’ He shrugged. ‘After all, it was not a unique occurrence, was it?’
‘For you—perhaps not,’ she agreed, hoping she was not revealing her embarrassment. ‘For me, though— yes, Luke, it—it was the first time I have—have ever had an—an experience like that.’
The tawny eyes flickered with an unfathomable expression as the slowly spoken response came through. ‘I’m happy to hear it, Chris. Don’t let it trouble you, dear—’ His hand was suddenly covering hers as he reached across the table. Their eyes met; she found herself affected by strange vibrations as her pulses quickened. Bewildered, she cast her eyes down, reluctant to let him see her expression in case it should reveal to his perceptive eyes the turmoil that was affecting the nerve centres of her mind.
‘It does trouble me,’ she whispered eventually. ‘You see, your opinion is the most important thing in my life.’ So frank the admission, so anxious the look she presently gave him, that he rose from his chair to come round and place a kiss on her forehead.
‘Child,’ he said gently, ‘you have no need to fear my opinion of you, not ever. I’ve known you a long time, remember, and we’ve been close. I could never think badly of you.’ His gaze was direct and compelling. ‘I want you to remember that always, Chris. Promise me you will.’
A lovely smile broke as all her anxiety dissolved. ‘I promise. Luke—I shall always remember what you’ve just said.’
‘Good girl.’ He sat down again. ‘I know I’ve just suggested we forget the whole thing,’ he said, ‘but I would like to ask you this: why are you taking it so calmly?’
‘I had time to think about it while I was dressing. I realise the temptation you had—and you were, like me, affected by the wine, you know, so that has something to do with it. But mainly it was the situation—a man and a woman late at night, together.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘It could have happened to any two people who were together like that. If I’d been someone else, you’d still have tried to make love to her, wouldn’t you?’
A long, tense silence followed before Luke spoke. ‘So your attitude’s a philosophical one? You just look upon yourself as a woman—any woman—whom I found attractive and wanted to make love to?’
There was an edge of bitterness to his voice which brought her eyes swiftly to his. She was puzzled again, and this time floundering to grasp something even while not knowing what it was
. ‘Yes, that’s how I see it,’ she answered after a pause. ‘The situation became more intimate by my attitude; I was unhappy. I kissed you and, because we’d both had a little too much wine, the inevitable happened.’
‘The inevitable,’ he murmured. He looted at her. ‘You believe that whatever female happened to be with me, I’d have acted exactly as I did?’
She nodded. ‘That’s what I’m saying, Luke—’ She stopped, troubled. ‘I hope I haven’t offended you by this perfectly logical explanation?’
‘Logical and clinical—’ Suddenly he had to laugh and a weight fell from her mind. ‘You haven’t offended me, Chris,’ he added and dug his spoon into his grapefruit again.
‘You asked me why I was taking it so calmly and I have given you the explanation. But as I admitted just now, I was troubled as to your opinion of me. When first I woke up I was filled with embarrassment and shame.’ She was staring straightly at him with no sign of embarrassment about her now. Her violet eyes were wide and limpid and innocent. ‘You’ve reassured me, Luke, and I thank you for it. I could never be happy if your opinion of me changed. I need you always and you know it.’ So serious her expression as the frank admission was made.
Luke seemed to give a little sigh but all he said was, ‘You’re not eating, Chris.’ He watched as she took up her spoon. ‘From this moment we shall forget it ever happened, all right?’
‘All right!’ She was happy again—well, as happy as she could be under the circumstances, she told herself. Strange, she was thinking, but the first thought that should have entered her mind this morning should have been about Steve, and his new wife . . . and the night they had spent together. Her heart should have been achingly affected by what her brain was imagining. But it was Luke’s face that came instantly before her. Luke whose opinion of her mattered so much. Yes, it was Luke who occupied her thoughts to the exclusion of everyone else . . . including Steve, the man she loved.
The plane made a smooth landing on Grand Bahama Island and they were in the car when Christine turned impulsively to her companion. ‘Thank you for bringing me, Luke. I had to get away from Pirates’ Cay for a while.’
‘It’ll all have settled by the time you get back,’ he assured her.
‘Everyone kept on talking about the wedding. Wherever I went I was having to listen to comments on the lovely bride and handsome bridegroom.’
‘This crush you have on Steve,’ began Luke when she interrupted him.
‘It’s not a crush, Luke, not calf love, as you insist. I love him and shall never marry anyone else.’
‘That’s how you feel now but in another six months you’ll have forgotten him. It’s a blessing that he and Greta won’t be living on Pirates’ Cay.’
‘I wonder how long it will be before they come back for a holiday?’
‘You want them to?’
‘Yes and no.’ She sighed. She was remembering Steve’s kiss and his saying that if he hadn’t been marrying Greta, then he’d have waited for her. Her heart had cried that he’d have had no need to wait; she would have been his for the taking. ‘I suppose I ought not to want Steve to come back yet. . . .’
An impatient sigh escaped her companion which made her subside into silence. It wasn’t difficult, for she had plenty to think about. The days following the wedding when, as she had told Luke, she’d been forced to listen to the comments on the wedding, and especially the lovely bride who had been lucky enough to win a man like Steve for a husband. Steve was popular and rich; he was handsome in his rugged sort of way. The moment she set eyes on him Christine had told herself that she preferred the rugged type even though she was willing to admit that Luke’s angular, aristocratic features were inordinately attractive in spite of their forbidding aspect at times.
Would she get over Steve, as Luke maintained she must? He was older than Luke by eight years, which meant he was seventeen years older than she. . . .
‘Perhaps he would have been too old for me—’ She stopped, not having intended to speak her thoughts aloud.
‘You’re telling yourself that—by way of compensation?’ The cool mockery of his tone brought a hint of colour to her cheeks.
‘I’m sorry— But I can’t understand why you are angered every time I speak of Steve.’
‘I’m more impatient than angry. Forget him! He wasn’t for you, so be big enough to accept that! Now, for heaven’s sake let me hear no more about your sister’s husband!’
‘Oh!’ She felt the tears stinging her eyes. ‘You’re cruel to put it like that—stressing the fact that he’s married to Greta!’
‘I could shake you,’ was his unexpected rejoinder spoken in a very soft voice. ‘Grow up, Christine!’
‘You’ve said I have grown up!’
‘Then I was mistaken. You act like a moonstruck schoolgirl!’
Again she fell silent, her mouth quivering. These changes in Luke of late—what was the explanation for them? He had always been so patient and understanding and she would have expected sympathy in her present affliction and heartbreak, but instead he was hard with her, and almost callous just now in emphasising the fact that Steve was now totally out of her reach.
‘I wish I’d stayed at home and started that job,’ she snapped.
‘Your father didn’t want you to have the job.’
‘Nor did you, it would seem.’
‘Christine, I have no say in whether or not you take a job!’
Christine again ... He only used that when he was angry with her ... so very seldom. . . .
She swallowed the hurt in her throat and said spiritedly, ‘As it’s such a bad start to this visit, I think perhaps I shall go home!’
‘Very well! Do you want to be taken back to the airport?’ It was his own car they were in, as he kept a car permanently at the hotel in Freeport. ‘Shall I tell Joseph to turn around?’
Staggered, she could only stare at him, aware of the rigid set of his profile, the tightness of his mouth. She was lately seeing a man she had never seen before. Was this the man on whose shoulder she had so often wept and been comforted each time? Luke, her support through all the years when in moments of craving for affection she had not been able to find it at Cassia Lodge. True, her adoptive father did care for her, but he cared for his business more. And there was no affection to be had either from her mother or from Greta. No, always it had been to Luke she had turned, and never had he failed her . . . never until now, and the only explanation that occurred to her was that he had become tired of the relationship now that he was getting older. Changes. How she hated them!
‘I’ve asked you a question,’ she heard him say crisply. ‘Do you want Joseph to turn around?’
‘N-no,’ she murmured on a tiny sob. ‘You know very well I—I don’t.’
Luke seemed not to have the patience to reply and the rest of the journey passed in silence. On entering the hotel, however, Christine could not suppress the impulsive exclamation that came to her lips. ‘It’s beautiful, Luke! All these chandeliers! How they sparkle, and this crystal cascade—!’ She pointed to the imitation waterfall in the centre of the massive lobby. ‘It looks so real!’
‘The glass came from Venice,’ he told her, a chill edge to his tone.
‘It was here when you bought the hotel?’
Luke nodded and strode towards the lift, Christine following with the heaviness descending on her heart again. However, once in his private suite Luke soon became his own amicable self.
‘I’m sorry, Luke.’ Christine’s manner was contrite. ‘I won’t be stupid and childish again. It—hurts when you’re angry with me.’
He shook his head and gave a small sigh. ‘Sometimes, Chris, I just don’t know what to do with you.’
‘We’re both getting older, and changes are coming. I don’t like them but realise they’re inevitable.’
He was by the window, looking down at the pool around which a number of guests were sunbathing, attired only in the briefest covering. Brown bodies lazily
taking on more and more sun. In the pool itself the swimmers enjoyed the warmth and the pleasure of the bar which Luke had recently had put into the centre of the swimming pool. It was something different which the hotel guests seemed to find intriguing.
Luke turned on Christine’s words and a wry smile touched the fine outline of his mouth. ‘Yes, we’re getting older,’ he agreed, ‘and the changes come.’
‘What shall I ever do without you when eventually you cast me off?’ Not words she had really meant to utter but she was keenly interested in his response. Her lovely eyes were wide and appealing, her fingers nervously plucking at one another.
‘What makes you suppose I shall ever cast you off?’
‘I’m beginning to bore you,’ she asserted, trying to read his expression, but his face had taken on a masklike quality—a calculated act, she felt sure, in order to keep her in ignorance of his feelings, and her heart sank a little as she was sure he was mentally agreeing with what she had said.
‘I shan’t cast you off,’ was all he said, glancing to the door as a porter brought in their luggage.
‘Is that meant to be reassuring?’ she wanted to know after the man had left again.
‘I hope it is reassuring, Chris.’ Serious the tone and the honest look as his eyes met hers.
Nevertheless, she was impelled to say, her mind having winged to what Greta had told her about Luke having a glamourous girlfriend, ‘You’ll marry, Luke, and then I shall be without you, for I’m sure your wife won’t want you to be bothering about me and my troubles.’
‘Troubles,’ he repeated and was suddenly amused. ‘At your age, child, the only troubles are those of the tender years, but, sadly, you don’t realise that, and if you did you wouldn’t accept it.’
‘The tender years . . .’ She looked questioningly at him. ‘You mean the teens?’
‘Yes, I expect the teens is what I mean.’
‘They should be the best years of a girl’s life.’
‘Usually they are—’
‘For most girls, yes, but for me—’ She stopped as a sense of ingratitude assailed her.