by Anne Hampton
‘But after one’s teens one begins to get old.’ She snuggled close, savouring the delightful smell of aftershave mingling with the nice, clean odour of newly laundered linen.
‘Not old, dear, just a little bit more mature.’ His voice took on a tender note as he added, ‘You’ll never grow old, Chris. At ninety you’ll still be young.’
She sighed against him and her arm crept up and around his neck. ‘I love you, Luke. You know that, don’t you?’ Strangely, Steve was as vague as the misted heavens at this moment. She was glad she was with Luke and going to the party.
‘Do you love me, dear? Are you quite sure?’ The words came from the very depths of his heart but she did not understand what it was that he really wanted in her answer.
‘Of course!’ she returned eagerly. ‘You’re my haven, my sanctuary from pain and from the hurts that others sometimes give me. I shall always come to you, Luke, when I need sympathy.’ Lifting her face, she kissed him lightly on the lips. ‘Oh, Luke, you were so right in making me come here with you!’
‘You think that?’ He seemed rather taken aback for a moment. ‘What about your date with Steve?’ He spoke slowly, as if the mention of Steve came unwillingly.
‘I feel sorry for him, Luke; he’s very sad.’ She ought to add that Steve loved her but, somehow, she actually flinched at the idea of saying anything that would annoy Luke. ‘He’ll be on his own this evening.’
‘He can go out; there’s always plenty to do on Pirates’ Cay.’
Which was quite true. And as Steve was so well known on the island he’d soon find someone to talk to if he decided to go out to dinner at one of the restaurants.
‘Well, dear, we had better be going in.’ But Luke drew her close to him and, taking her chin in his hand in the most proprietorial way, he kissed her hard on the mouth. For a long moment she stayed close even after he had slackened his hold. A hand went tentatively to her lips and a finger caressed them wonderingly. Even yet again she was aware of changes in Luke . . . and in herself. . . .
Chapter Seven
SHE awoke to the beauty of a dawn sky and the realisation that she was being watched. She turned her head a fraction and looked into his eyes.
There was Jenny Cavendish who had made no secret of her liking for Luke; she was a charming girl, but although Luke was always gracious towards her he had never shown any real interest. Another girl who would very much have liked to gain Luke’s interest was Paula Reeves, daughter of a millionaire hotel owner and as beautiful as they come. Christine recalled one particu-lar occasion when Luke had danced with Paula; she had flirted with him, had used every trick she could command and Christine, feeling piqued for no reason she could explain, had said pettishly to Luke, ‘That girl’s a flirt! I don’t know how you could be so nice with her!’ And Luke had glanced at Christine very strangely indeed but made no comment on the complaint she had made.
‘Are you enjoying it, Chris?’ Luke’s quiet voice severed her musings and she glanced up with a ready smile.
‘Of course. These cutlets are delicious!’
‘I agree.’ His reply was brief and Christine had the impression that he had almost said, ‘Very different fare from what you’d have had at Steve’s.’ But he had refrained because he never spoke of Steve these days and she felt sure he was hoping she would forget him. And perhaps she would have, she thought, if the marriage had turned out right. But now . . . There was a chance that she and Steve would get together and make a wonderful go of their marriage. ‘What are you thinking?’ Luke’s voice again. He might almost be able to read her mind, the way he had broken into her reflections.
‘It wasn’t important,’ she replied, glad of the darkness which hid from his perceptive eyes the fact that she had lied. Steve was the most important person in her life.
She and Luke had wandered from the brilliantly lighted area to a warm, starlit clearing beyond the formal parts of the gardens. Here was the natural vegetation of the island, mainly palms and tall pines, and here and there a coloured electric bulb had been fixed to a branch so that the red and green and blue lights intermingled to give a soft romantic glow to supplement the light from the moon and a million stars flickering around it.
They found a seat and took possession of it, sitting with their plates on their knees, eating in a companionable silence, the kind of silence which they both enjoyed. For Christine it was the closeness of her companion, the knowledge that he was there for her to confide in if she wished. Tonight, she felt an added depth to this almost unreal hush that lay between them, as if magical vibrations were passing from one mind and body to the other.
‘I feel strange,’ she whispered, not meaning to voice what was in her mind.
‘Strange? In what way?’
‘It’s—it’s magical out here tonight.’
‘No different from any other night of its kind. You’re on an exotic island, remember.’
‘I know—but—’ She raised her face in the cool moonlight. ‘Don’t you feel anything, Luke?’
‘Such as?’
‘A closeness between you and me— A different closeness, I mean,’ she added hurriedly.
‘Different . . .’ The dear familiar voice held an odd inflection. ‘Many things are different between you and me, Chris. Time alone creates changes.’
Something in his voice that was significant, but she railed to catch it. She said with a sudden frown, ‘You enjoy talking in riddles, don’t you, Luke?’
His slow smile did something to her it had never done before. ‘I merely stated a fact: that time alone creates changes. We have to accept them and live with them— or we can reject them and veer onto a different course. Either way the changes play a significant part in our lives, and sometimes the veering of a different course can bring us nothing but heartache and regret.’
So he wasn’t talking in riddles now.
‘You’re referring to the way Steve and I are with one another?’
‘I warned you not to do anything you’d regret.’ Luke’s voice was terse now and Christine found herself changing the subject.
‘When are you going to Grand Bahama again? I loved it there. Have you decided to buy a house—You mentioned something about it, didn’t you?’
For a moment he made no reply but just looked at her, and it was plain that he was well aware of the reason for this apparent interest in the house he intended buying on Grand Bahama Island. ‘I shall be going next week. Perhaps, seeing that you like it so much, you’d come with me? I intend staying for about ten days.’
She shook her head immediately. ‘Not this time, Luke,’ was all she said and the silence fell like a cloak around them again, but this time its effect was smothering.
‘Shall we go back to the others?’ His voice was still terse as he rose from the seat. ‘We haven’t spoken to Martha yet.’
‘I didn’t see either her or David when we first arrived, and when I eventually did see them they were far too busy.’
‘Slaving over that hot charcoal grill. They’ve always insisted on doing the cooking themselves, as you know.’
Conventional talk . . . Where had the closeness gone? Christine sighed with regret and knew that she alone was to blame for this chilly atmosphere that had replaced the intimate warmth of a few minutes ago.
Martha came up to them immediately they reached the swimming pool. ‘We were so glad you could make it after all, Christine,’ she said, her round homely face wreathed in smiles of pleasure. ‘What was it? You merely rang and told David you weren’t able to come, after all.’
At a loss for words Christine sent Luke an imploring glance. And as always he came to her rescue. ‘Christine felt she ought not to come without Greta, but I persuaded her.’
Coerced, you mean, said Christine with her eyes.
‘Greta . . . and Steve? They wanted to be alone, I suppose?’
‘Something of the kind,’ agreed Luke in an expressionless voice.
‘I accepted for her and I ought not
to have done,’ put in Christine apologetically.
‘Well, never mind, so long as you two are here.’ Martha, approaching forty but looking rather older because of her chubby face and rounded figure, was a Bahamian and so was David. They ran a general store on Pirates’ Cay and were about to buy another one on Grand Bahama Island. She and her husband were famous for their parties, their going to a great deal of trouble and always making sure the food was delicious and plentiful, with gallons of champagne flowing in addition to other wines and beer and liqueurs. ‘Have a lovely time, won’t you? I must be off or David’ll be telling me I’m shirking!’
‘She’s super!’ exclaimed Christine. ‘I don’t know how Greta could resist coming.’
‘Have you any idea when her mother’s coming back from her . . . holiday?’
The hesitation . . . Where was Loreen? In New York with her boyfriend? Last time she went away it was because she wasn’t feeling well and the doctor had recommended a cruise.
‘No, I haven’t any idea. Father’s becoming impatient, but he’s scarcely ever in at nights now, so he’s certainly not feeling lonely.’ Her voice was edged with sadness and Luke slipped an arm about her shoulders.
‘Stop worrying,’ he advised, ‘because you can’t alter anything.’
‘So much is going wrong,’ she mused, falling into step as he urged her towards the place where the grill was glowing and appetising smells pervading the area all around it. David was browning sausages and he smiled and handed them some as they held out their plates.
‘The sauces are over there, on that table.’
‘Thanks, David, but these don’t need sauces.’ Luke chatted for a few minutes and Christine’s thoughts sped to the shop they intended to buy, and she wondered if they would eventually move to Grand Bahama Island. She would miss them. . . . Changes again! If only she could halt them; if only things would stay as they were. But no. She wanted certain changes, for she wanted to become Steve’s wife. She was madly in love with him ... yet she was enjoying herself with Luke. . . .
‘Come on, dear, we ought to be socialising.’ Luke slid an arm about her shoulders again. She became vitally conscious of the warmth of his hand, the gentle —and probably unconscious—caress of his fingers on her nape.
It was much later that they again found themselves straying away from the other guests, from the lights and chatter and the dying charcoal fires.
‘I feel heady,’ she admitted. ‘Champagne’s beautiful!’
‘You didn’t overdo it, though.’
‘Only because you wouldn’t let me.’
‘I’m gratified to know you obey me,’ was his dry response to that.
‘Not always willingly,’ she returned with an arch smile and lift of her shoulders. ‘You domineer over me, Luke!’
‘You don’t resent it, though.’ They were well away now, strolling into the darkness beneath the tamarind trees backing the shoreline. The light of the moon was a spread of silver over the sea whose surface was a gentle ripple of silk. Luke sought her hand as the ground became a little stony. She curled her fingers around it and happiness flowed through her.
‘I expected you to deny my assertion,’ she murmured, sending him a swift oblique glance and noticing with a little sense of shock that the tiny wrinkles etching the comers of his eyes were becoming more pronounced. But it was the sun, she decided, not a sign of age. Twenty-seven . . . Nine years older than she. It had once seemed a lot but now . . .
Steve was seventeen years older than she—almost twice her age.
‘Assertion?’ belatedly from Luke, whose voice had a faraway tone to it. ‘What assertion?’
‘You weren’t listening. It doesn’t matter.’
‘If I domineer over you,’ he said, ‘it’s for your own good.’
‘Oh, so you were listening!’ She laughed. ‘For my own good . . she murmured. ‘Will you always domineer over me?’ she asked and her brows drew together because she had to admit that, once she was married to Steve, Luke would be forced to drop his mastery over her.
‘I don’t really domineer,’ he denied in gentle tones. ‘Someone, dear, has to take an interest in you, now haven’t they?’ He stopped and placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘You don’t receive much attention at home these days,’ he added and it was now his turn to frown.
Christine was nodding her head reflectively. ‘That’s why I need you so much.’ She sighed. ‘You’ve become my only prop, Luke.’ She lifted her eyes to his, eyes limpid in the moonlight escaping through the feathery foliage of the tamarind trees. Luke’s frown smoothed out and his slow smile came. He was fascinated by the seductiveness of her lips, parted softly as if to accept a kiss. He sighed and thought of Steve. Then the man’s image was dismissed and Luke was bending his dark head. Quivers of expectation sped along her spine as she felt the caress of his cool clean breath on her cheek. His lips found hers, gentle at first, but as before his ardour was spurred by the behaviour of Christine herself as, in her bewildered and floundering way, she was reciprocating, physically and emotionally aroused, and as he slid his hands with gentle, possessive slowness right down her back she felt faintly shocked at the knowledge that she hoped the nearness of her body excited him.
‘Come on,’ he suddenly said in a brusque voice. ‘This is no way to contribute to the success of a party.’
He drew away; she knew a sense of loss ... of a moment in time which had escaped her grasp, a moment that could have meant so much. . . .
He was later troubled about leaving her at the door of Cassia Lodge. ‘Will Greta be in bed?’ he murmured almost to himself, his eyes sliding to the window of the room which used to be hers.
‘I’ll be all right.’ Christine spoke lightly to hide the unease which his softly spoken words had engendered. There was a pensive silence before he spoke again.
‘I’ll come in with you, Chris. And if Arthur’s not home yet I’ll wait until he is.’
Always concerned for her . . . Christine swallowed hard and slipped a hand into his as they stood close together by the door.
‘I’ll be all right,’ she said again even while hoping he would ignore her self-assured words and come in with her. For some indefinable reason she wanted to keep him with her, a reason which, she felt sure, had nothing at all to do with any fear she might have regarding her sister.
‘You might not be all right,’ he began. ‘Have you a key?’
Christine produced it and he unlocked the door. There was no sign of life until the appearance of a maid.
‘Is Mr. Mead in?’ enquired Luke and the girl shook her head.
‘He’s late, Mr. Curtis. I had expected him to be in for dinner.’ She sounded a trifle worried and this passed itself on to Christine.
‘It’s almost midnight, Luke. Do you think something might have happened to him?’
‘He’s probably had dinner with friends and stayed on chatting.’ He added after a slight pause, ‘Mr. and Mrs. Walworth—they’re in?’
The girl’s face took on a wooden expression. ‘Mr. Walworth came and packed some of his things.’
‘Yes?’ prompted Luke.
‘He took a suitcase—er—I got the impression that he was going to stay at his parents’ house.’ She was embarrassed but for all that, Luke surmised that she had not kept the circumstance to herself. All Arthur’s staff would know that Steve had left his wife.
‘And Mrs. Walworth?’
Again the girl paused. ‘She went out and later phoned to say she was staying the night with a friend.’ ‘What a business!’ Luke was saying a few minutes later when he and Christine were alone in the sitting room. His face was set, his eyes dark and unreadable. He had been standing by the window but he came towards where she was sitting on the couch. He stood above her, a towering giant looking suddenly angry.
‘I ought to take you out of this!’ he said harshly. ‘Chris, will you come and live at my house?’
‘Live . . . !’ Staggered by the suggestion she could only sta
re, dumbfounded, for fully twenty seconds. ‘Leave my parents? Luke, what are you saying?’
‘This family’s getting itself into the kind of coil I don’t want you to be a part of.’ Imperious his voice and compelling. Not for the first time Christine was impressed by his manner of authority, his almost arrogant domination. It was just as if he were in sole charge of her, body and soul! Her chin went up.
‘Whatever troubles they are in, Luke, they are my family—the only family I have. I ought to be sharing their troubles, not running out on them. Why, you said yourself that Arthur needs me.’ Funny, she mused with a frown, but recently she had come to regard her adoptive father as a man somewhat remote, so that she found herself more easily thinking of him as ‘Arthur’ rather then her father or her uncle.
‘I admit saying he needs you, but things are happening that worry me. He’s never in, and Loreen’s scarcely ever at home. And now you have this trouble between Greta and Steve.’ He strode away towards the drinks cabinet. ‘I shall speak to Arthur,’ he decided as he sought for a glass. ‘Something has to be done about you.’
‘I am almost nineteen,’ she reminded him.
‘And more like sixteen!’ Anger edged his tone and she had the impression that he wished she were older than her age rather than younger. She resented his words, though, because she was sure she did not act like a sixteen-year-old. However, she had no chance of voicing a protest because at that moment the front door was heard to bang and Arthur came into the room.
‘Hello.’ He seemed only vaguely surprised to see Luke there, pouring himself a drink. ‘Where is everybody?’
‘If you mean Greta and Steve,’ answered Luke crisply, ‘neither is coming home tonight.’
Arthur looked blank. ‘I don’t understand.’
Was he troubled? wondered Christine as she looked at him closely. He had certainly been troubled about Greta and Steve at first. He seemed to be acquiring a hard shell of indifference, she thought, and sighed for the days that had gone.