'I thought you might try and make me stay.'
He smiled crookedly. 'I'm tempted, believe me. But I think it would
be a mistake. I think we need some time apart.' He jumped out of bed
and wrapped a blue plaid sarong around his hips and left the
bedroom.
Linden stared at the ceiling. He was right, of course. She should go
home and nurse her fragile emotions back to health. Pelangi was
supposed to have helped her recover from Waite. Now she was
leaving to get herself straight about her feelings for another man. Fate
certainly had no talent for timing.
Later, at the pier, she smiled a watery smile and he kissed her hard.
'See you in three months,' he said as he released her.
'Minus five days.' She turned and jumped into the boat. 'Please don't
stand there and wave to me all the way across or I'll jump overboard
and swim back.'
He grinned. 'Okay, okay, I'm going.' And with a wave of his arm he
stalked back down the long rickety pier. She watched his retreating
back, her throat thick with tears and suddenly paralysed by the fear
that she was making a terrible mistake.
The trip home was endless. From Penang Airport she flew straight to
Singapore without going back to mainland Malaysia. There were
several hours to wait before her connecting flight and she wandered
forlornly around the super modern Changi Airport looking
unsinterestedly at all the duty-free finery. At other times she might
have been tempted by the perfumes, the designer jewellery or the
Selangor pewter, but there were more important matters on her mind
now, apart from the fact that she had no money to spend on luxuries.
She travelled without stopovers for sleep, and the hours and days
blurred together as she dozed and slept and ate in one plane after
another. In Los Angeles she called Liz to let her know her time of
arrival in Philadelphia.
For two days, after she arrived, all she did was sleep and eat and then
sleep some more. Then, in a sudden burst of new energy she packed
up her belongings, arranged for storage, and packed her car for the
trip south to New Orleans. She was eager to get out of town as fast as
possible, before Waite could hear of her presence. The last thing she
needed was to see him again.
The evening before Linden's departure Liz invited some of their
friends for a small party and it was difficult then to realise what she
was giving up. But there was no turning back now and she pushed
the thought away.
Travelling by car in the dead of winter was not ideal, but at least she
was going south and not north. In a way it was a peaceful trip across
the country, all by herself, with only the car radio going. She ate at
roadside restaurants and slept in motels, speaking to no one, meeting
no one.
Stefanie was delighted to see her. Almost nine months pregnant she
welcomed some help and companionship. She and her husband and
their rapidly expanding family lived in a large sprawling old house
with plenty of room to accommodate Linden for a while.
'You look so thin,' Stefanie remarked. 'Or is it because I'm so huge?'
'I'm thin and you're huge. Good Lord, are you manufacturing another
set of twins?'
Stefanie laughed. 'The scan says no.'
Linden embraced her sister as best as she could, and laughing they
went inside where four small children descended on Linden for hugs
and kisses.
The weeks that followed were anything but quiet. Stefanie gave birth
to another baby boy. Linden ran the household as well as she could,
cooking meals, tying bibs, wiping noses, bathing small, squealing,
slippery bodies. Stefanie looked exhausted. Her husband Nick looked
exhausted. Linden was exhausted. After her quiet life on Pelangi, this
was bedlam. But four weeks later life for the family seemed to have
returned to its normal state of happy disorder rather than the chaos
that had prevailed right after the birth. Linden had to admire
Stefanie's stamina, her patience with her children, her obvious
happiness with the new baby.
Linden managed to get out and explore New Orleans. She was
offered help with this by one of Nick's colleagues, a young, divorced
lawyer, who came for drinks one evening. He invited her out to
dinner, which she refused politely, but firmly.
'What's the matter with you?' asked Stefanie after he had left.
'Nothing's the matter with me.'
'Why didn't you go out with him and have a good time?'
'I don't feel like it.'
'What's wrong with him?'
'I can't think of a thing, Stefanie. Young, good- looking, ambitious,
good career, New England accent . . . Yale or Harvard?'
'Harvard. And he's even nice, Linden. I mean, he's charming. He has
a sense of humour. Why couldn't you just go out with him? You don't
have to sleep with the man. Although ... I imagine that wouldn't be
half-bad either.'
Linden sighed. 'I'm sure he's a real catch, Stefanie, but I'm simply not
in the hunting mood.'
Stefanie shook her curly head in disapproval. 'How long has it been
since you broke up with Waite? Four months, five? Don't you think
it's time to get yourself back in circulation?'
'Why?'
'Well . . . eh . . . it's normal! I mean, you're twenty- six years old.
Don't you want a man in your life?'
'Are you worried I'm going to end up a sad, sour, shrivelled-up old
spinster?'
Stefanie sighed. 'I just want you to be happy.'
'Well, I want to be happy too. And I hear the baby crying. You'd
better feed the poor little critter.'
She managed to paint a little, but the children would not leave her
alone, fascinated as they were by the paints and the brushes and the
pictures. Her work was not up to par. Mostly she thought about
Justin. He had finished his book and was back in New York. He'd
sent her a cheque for the sale of the house and a short note. Even
seeing the few words scrawled on the note had made her heart beat
frantically. She saw his face everywhere, projected on the clouds, on
store windows, on her bubble-bath soap-suds, on the page of a book
she was reading. She carried his image with her all day—a mental
photograph, a good luck charm. She wondered if he really loved her.
When I'm with you I feel . . . different, I feel good, as if life makes
sense again. His words echoed back into her mind. She wondered if
she loved him.
What if she called his agent and he said sorry, Justin did riot want to
speak to her. What if she went to New York and realised it was all a
mistake? They'd been alone on the island and drawn to each other
naturally, but here, everything was different. Well, that's what these
three months were for—to get everything back into perspective, to
weed out the illusions and fantasies and see what was left. Maybe she
should have gone out with the handsome Harvard man.
In three months all manner of things could have happened. She tried
not to think of the various possibilities, but in unguarded moments
her imagination ran wild. Justin had decided he'd made a mistake.
He'd met another woman.
He'd met up again with Kate and she was getting a divorce.
He'd been in an accident and suffered from amnesia and did not
recognise her.
He'd been in an accident and he was dead. She began to have
frightening dreams, waking up shaking and soaked with perspiration.
She cursed herself for her neurotic fears.
She dreamed about making love to Justin again. It was an untenable
situation. She wanted to be with him. She longed to see him and hear
his voice and make love with him. Four more weeks to go. Three.
Two.
She thought about Waite. There was regret and sadness where once
had been pain. She wondered what had happened to him. She worried
about it. It was a shock to see his handwriting on a letter addressed to
her. Liz must have given him the address. She took the letter up to
her room and slid it open with a fingernail, her heart in her throat.
Damn, she thought, he can still do it to me.
The letter was short, only one page long, written by hand.
Dear Linden,
There are some things I need to say to you, so please bear with
me and read this letter.
I want you to know what I will always love you, but I know
that my love for you has not been a fair and giving love.
Nothing has shaken me so much in my life as losing you. You
loved me. I didn't think you would ever stop. I did not realise
until later how difficult it must have been for you to stay with
me as long as you did. I had no right to expect from you any
more than you had already given me. Please forgive me the
terrible things I said and did to you.
I'm seeing a counsellor. You urged me many times to find
help, but I did not. I see now that, in some convoluted way,
you saved me by leaving me. Had you not, I may never have
admitted to having problems. When I came back from Pelangi,
knowing I had lost you for good, that you could no longer
stand by me, I had to face up to my problems.
I left Pelangi without saying goodbye. I didn't know how to do
that. But maybe I am ready for that now too. So with this letter
I am telling you goodbye. I wish you all the happiness you
deserve. I will never forget you. My love, always, Waite.
Linden read and re-read the letter, going over the lines with tear-
blurred eyes. The words were like a balm to the remnants of pain and
regret still in the back of her mind. The dark weight of bitterness
ebbed from her chest. Gently she put the paper down, feeling peace
invade her. She wiped her eyes, 'Thank you, Waite,' she whispered.
'Thank you, thank you.'
Her finger was trembling as she pushed in the 'phone buttons.
'I would like to speak to Mr Cronin, please,' she said to the answering
secretary. 'My name is Linden Mitchell.'
'Mr Cronin is in conference with a client. May I take a message?' A
young voice, cool and impersonal.
Linden swallowed her disappointment. 'I want to contact Mr Parker.
Justin Parker.'
There was a slight pause. 'You can leave a message for him if you
like. Or write to him at this address.'
'I'd like to have his 'phone number, please.'
'I'm sorry, but I can't give out this information. It's against policies.'
'I see. I understand.' She tried not to have the irritation show in her
voice. Of course it was only normal they didn't give out their clients'
private addresses and 'phone numbers to anybody who asked for
them. What was she to do now? 'I'd still like to speak to Mr Cronin
then. Please give him my name and 'phone number and I'll wait for
his call. Mr Parker should have mentioned my name to him.'
For the rest of the day she waited in vain for a call from New York.
She was restless and irritable, and the children left her alone, sensing
her state of mind.
'What's bothering you?' asked Stefanie, wiping apple sauce off the
kitchen floor.
'I'm trying to contact somebody in New York and some battle-eager
secretary is protecting him and I can't get a hold of him.'
'Well, you know about good secretaries. They have to protect their
bosses from unwanted callers.'
'I'm not an unwanted caller, and if she's a good secretary she ought to
know.'
'Secretaries are not all-seeing and all-knowing.'
'Then they shouldn't be secretaries.'
Stefanie rolled her eyes in exasperation as she rinsed out the cloth
with which she'd been wiping the floor. 'Who are you trying to
contact in New York?'
Linden hadn't told her sister anything about Justin, and Stefanie,
Linden had to admit, had been good at not trying to pry too much for
information.
'A man.' She took a tomato and cut it in pieces for the salad.
'That much I could guess.' Stefanie poured noodles in a pan of boiling
water. On the back of the stove simmered a pan of minced-beef
stroganoff. Nick would be home any minute now and the three
grownups would have their dinner. He was home late every day and
the children had already been fed and bathed and were happily
playing for the moment.
'Actually, you know him,' believe it or not.'
'I do? Who is it?'
'Justin Parker.'
Stefanie frowned and shrugged. 'Daddy had a friend named Parker.
Leon or something. When he lived in Kuala Lumpur.'
'It's his son. He and his father came to Pelangi for Christmas dinner
one year. I was sixteen.'
'Good heavens, that's ten years ago!' Stefanie bit the tip of her thumb
in concentration, a habit she'd had since she'd been a child. 'I
remember, vaguely.'
'It was that awful dinner with the tough chicken and the bad wine.'
Stefanie groaned. 'Yes, I remember now! Oh, Lord, that was so
embarrassing!' She grinned. 'And how did you come across him
again?'
'On Pelangi.' And then she told Stefanie the rest, leaving out the
juicier details. But Stefanie, having a romantic mind, had no trouble
imagining what Linden didn't tell. It was obvious in her eyes, but
Linden said no more.
The next morning, Linden called again. The same girl answered the
'phone.
Linden took a mental breath. 'I haven't heard from either Mr Cronin
or Mr Parker,' she stated bluntly.
'I'm sorry,' the girl said smoothly, 'but Mr Cronin had to leave
immediately after his appointment yesterday and I'm afraid he didn't
get a chance to return your call.'
Linden gritted her teeth. 'I'll right, we'll have to do something else
then. I'm sorry to bother you with this, but it is important. It concerns
the sale of Mr Parker's house in Malaysia and I need to speak to him
urgently.' She was making it up, but she hoped this little bit of
information about a house in some exotic part of the world would
lend her plea some substance and credibility. 'I would appreciate it if
you could contact him this very minute and give him my 'phone
number and I'll be waiting to hear from him.'
There was a slight hesitat
ion. 'I see. Well, I can try. I can't guarantee
I'll get hold of him.'
'Keep trying until you get him, please.'
'I'll try.' It sounded reluctant.
'Thank you.' Linden replaced the receiver and looked at her watch.
Four minutes later the 'phone rang. She picked it up at the first ring,
her heart suddenly racing in anticipation.
'Hello?'
'Miss Mitchell? The Cronin Agency. I called Justin Parker, but his
answering service tells me he's gone to Connecticut and cannot be
reached. He's expected back after the weekend.'
Linden felt her heart sink into her shoes. 'Did you leave a message?'
'Yes, I did.'
There was nothing to do but thank the girl and hang up. She felt
utterly deflated. She stared at the pale blue telephone that matched
the pale blue wall paper, bedspread and curtains of Stefanie's
bedroom, and wondered what to do. Well, she wasn't going to sit
around and wait any longer. It was time for some action. Now that
she had made up her mind she was going, she might as well get
started. She'd pack up the car and drive. It would take her a couple of
days at least.
All through the long days on the road, doubts assailed her. What was
Justin doing in Connecticut? Why couldn't he be reached? What if he
had changed his mind and didn't want her anymore? And here she
was with all her worldly goods in the car (except what was in
storage), offering herself.
What if the meeting was a fiasco? After all, life on Pelangi was not
life in New York. He would be different here. Undoubtedly she
would be different here. Pelangi was months and many miles away—
a dream, an illusion.
She'd never driven in New York and she got hopelessly lost, taking
the wrong exits, going around the through ways in what seemed
endless circles. When she finally made it into Manhattan, her hands
were clammy and her clothes damp with perspiration. My God, what
a jungle it was out here. She thought of Pelangi with its absence of
cars, the peaceful paths, the empty beaches.
She found a parking space in an underground garage. By the end of
the day she'd have to pay a fee that would feed her for an entire week
on Pelangi.
The Cronin Agency had its offices in a building several blocks away
and she walked in the April sunshine, glad for the exercise after
sitting for so long. It was Monday. Maybe Justin was back in town
Pelangi Haven Page 18