ISLAND OF LOVE

by Rosemary Hammond

  She slipped into it hastily, fumbling with the back zip, the tiny hook at the top, buckling the wide belt, then stood in front of the mirror to take a look. It was perfect! The fit was a little loose, but if she tightened the belt another notch it would do. Her mother had loved pretty clothes, even though she seldom had had an opportunity to wear them, and had chosen timeless styles. This dress had a wide, rather low neckline with tiny sleeves, tapered down to a narrow waistline, then billowed out in a full skirt. It looked a little dated, but was so flattering that she didn’t care.

  Ticked way back in the wardrobe she found a pair of high-heeled silver shoes which just fitted her, and thanked her stars that Ben was coming in Patrick’s car. She could never have walked the half mile to the village in them.

  She used the blow dryer and curling iron on her hair until it fell in soft dark waves around her face, then applied some subdued makeup. Her pearl earŹrings would have to do for jewelry, but the dress didn’t need much decoration anyway. It was lovely enough by itself. She was just putting the finishing touches on her eyes when she heard a car pull up outside and in a few minutes there was a knock on the front door.

  Ben! She gave her reflection one more quick look, decided it was at least a vast improvement over the sorry sight it had been half an hour ago, and ran to answer the door. When she reached the hall, she hesŹitated. Did she look cheap? Ben was such a conŹservative man. Maybe he’d think she was trying to seduce him.

  She reached into the hall cupboard, pulled out her black raincoat and slipped into it hurriedly, knowing full well she was being ridiculous since he’d see her at the dance anyway, but not quite yet ready to let him see her dressed in her party finery. Then she opened the door.

  “Hello, Ben. Right on time, I see.”

  He stepped inside. “And so are you. That’s nice. I like promptness in a woman.”

  Although he had obviously made an effort to dress up, he still looked as though he’d just come from his studio after a hard day’s work. He had on the same heavy dark pants and plaid flannel shirt he usually

  wore, and his only concessions to the festive occasion were a black knitted tie and a pair of shoes instead of boots.

  “Shall we go?” he said.

  “Yes. Just let me get my manuscript. I want to give it to Jerry tonight.”

  “Oh?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “I thought he’d left.”

  “He left my house,” she explained. “But the last I heard he planned to stay on at the hotel for a while. I can leave it with Carl at the desk.”

  They didn’t have much to say to each other on the short drive into the village. Anne was wrapped up in her own thoughts, on pins and needles wondering what was going through Ben’s mind, and Ben, unused to driving, was giving all his attention to it. The rain had stopped for a moment, but the leafless branches glistened in the moonlight from the earlier shower.

  When they reached the hotel and he’d parked down the street from it successfully, he finally turned to her just as she started to get out.

  “Just a minute, Anne,” he said gravely. “I think we need to talk.”

  She turned to him, hardly daring to breathe. “All right.”

  “I’ve been thinking over our conversation yesterday,” he went on. He laughed. “In fact I’ve thought of nothing else. I must say, Anne, when you drop a bombshell you don’t fool around. I was—I still am—stunned by the implications of the things you said, about your feelings, about us.”

  “Ben, maybe I was wrong to“

  He held up a hand. “No, you weren’t wrong. You were absolutely right. Anyway, what I wanted to tell

  you was that, after I got over the initial shock, I must say the idea began to appeal to me more and more.”

  “It did?” Anne was stunned. She’d been so prepared for a rejection that it was the last thing she’d expected to hear.

  He nodded. “Although art is basically a solitary occupation, every artist needs a Muse, an inspiration, an emotional support of some kind. Victoria proŹvided that for me beautifully, as you know, and I thought it was gone forever. Now, to my astonŹishment, you’ve come along.” He put a hand on her arm. “My only concern is that you’re so young, that there’s so much difference in our ages.”

  “Oh, not that much!” she assured him hastily. Her heart was beating fast. She felt exalted. He wanted her to take Victoria’s place in his life! She could hardly believe this was really happening. It was the fulŹfillment of all her childhood fantasies. She put a hand over his. “But, Ben, does that mean you care for me?”

  “Of course I care for you. I always have. Only now I care in a different way. And if you’re truly certain you’re not going to regret tying yourself to an older man, to be that inspiration, that support for a deŹmanding artist, I see no reason why we shouldn’t marry right away. You could sell your place and move in with me.”

  As he spoke, something strange seemed to be hapŹpening to her, a creeping sense of dismay. Marry him? Move into his house? What about her apartment in Seattle, her job? She’d been so sure he’d turn her down that she simply hadn’t thought that far ahead. Did she really want to spend the rest of her life playing Muse for his inspiration? During all the years she had adored him he hadn’t paid the slightest attention to

  her—at least not as a woman. Now, when he wanted it, he was rushing her off her feet.

  He was watching her, waiting for her answer. She looked over at him, wondering how to tell him he was moving too fast for her, but at the sight of that dear face, those kind eyes, the security of his big bearlike presence, she smiled and squeezed his hand.

  “Ben, I’m overwhelmed. I never dreamed you— you’d…” She faltered, unable to go on.

  He laughed lightly. “I think we’d better go inside now. We can talk about it later.”

  As they got out of the car and started walking toward the entrance of the hotel, faint strains of music drifted out on the evening air, the sound of voices, laughter. The party had obviously begun.

  Inside, both the lobby and the dining room were decorated in a Thanksgiving motif—oranges, browns, golds, rusts—in honor of the approaching holiday. Carl’s work, Anne knew, as she admired the black turkey cutouts, the basket of colored gourds on the counter, all very festive.

  They were among the last to arrive, and the dining room was already crowded. These gatherings were virtually the sole source of entertainment in the remote village, so isolated in the autumn and winter months, and eagerly anticipated by the natives, several of whom were already dancing with abandon in the center of the room to a lively pop tune.

  All the tables had been moved against the walls to clear the center of the room for the dancing. Three local amateur musicians were playing loudly and with gusto on an old upright piano, a violin and a trumpet, making up with volume and enthusiasm what they lacked in artistry.

  Anne laughed. “Well, as a matter of fact it’s her dress. I found it still tucked away in her closet. Apparently Dad never threw any of her things out after she died.”

  She turned to Carl. “I wanted to ask you if Jerry Bannister was still staying with you.” She held up the envelope containing her story. “If he is, I’d like to leave this for him, but if he’s left already I can mail it to him in Seattle.”

  “No, he’s still here,” Carl replied. He looked past her. “In fact, here he comes now. You can give it to him yourself.”

  She turned around slowly to see Jerry walking toward the table, with Linda, stunning in her sky blue dress, hanging on his arm and laughing up into his face. Anne’s heart turned over at the sight. He was grinning down at the lovely blonde, and looking very handsome in a formal dark suit Anne had never seen before, crisp white shirt and muted tie. He was exŹtremely well turned-out, in fact, with no sign of the rumpled look she was used to.

  When he looked up and saw her, the broad smile faded, his eyes narrowed and he stopped dead in his tracks. “Hello, Anne.”

  She handed him the envelope. �
�I didn’t know if I’d see you again before you left, so I brought along the story to give it to you tonight.”

  He took it from her. “Did you finish it?

  “Yes. It’s in final form. Ben has seen it and approves.”

  “Good. How about the pictures? Did you get any?”

  She nodded. “The roll of film I shot yesterday is inside.”

  Jerry turned to Linda, who was still hanging on to his arm, and patted her hand. “This is just some business I have to get out of the way. I’ll be back shortly.” He flicked a glance at Anne. “You come on along with me. I may need your help.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he had already turned and was making his way through the crowd. She stared at his retreating back for a moment, hesiŹtating. Although he was treating her exactly as he did in the office—boorish, arrogant and demanding—she was still a little nervous about being alone with him.

  Finally, with a sigh of resignation, she hurried after him as fast as she could through the crowd, almost tripping in the unfamiliar high heels. When she caught up with him, she tapped him on the shoulder. He turned his head and raised a heavy dark eyebrow at her.

  “Well?” he said curtly. “What is it?”

  “Can you please just wait a minute?”

  “Why?”

  “I want to tell Ben where I’ll be.”

  “What for?”

  “Well, it’s only polite since I came with him.”

  He gave her a cold stare, the deep brown eyes narŹrowed at her, and finally nodded. “All right. But be quick about it.”

  “Yes, sir!” she snapped. By now she was getting a little fed up with his high-handed manner. He’d got what he wanted. Why was he picking on her?

  She turned and made her way over to Ben, who was standing in a corner with three of his cronies. She explained the situation to him briefly, but for Jerry’s benefit made the short exchange look like a lovers’

  tryst, placing her hand on Ben’s arm and smiling up at him adoringly.

  By the time she came back, Jerry was already stalking out into the lobby, and she had to run to catck up with him. When she reached the foot of the stairs that led to the guests’ rooms, he was already halfway up them.

  She stopped at the bottom and called up to him. “Jerry.”

  He turned around. “What is it now?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To my room.”

  She shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so.”

  He gave her a disgusted look. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Anne, what do you think I’m going to do? Rape you?” He came back down a few steps and stood there looking at her, a mocking smile playing about his thin mouth. “Is it me you don’t trust?” he asked softly. “Or is it yourself?”

  “Neither. I just don’t see any reason to… I mean, if we go to your room alone, people will misunderŹstand.”

  “You mean Ben will misunderstand.” He smiled blandly. “We’re going to my room because it’s the only place around here where we can have a little peace and quiet. I’m sure Ben trusts you. It’ll take half an hour, then you can go back to him. Come on, Anne, don’t be difficult.” He turned from her and started back up the stairs.

  Finally, reluctantly, she began to climb after him. At the landing, he turned right into a narrow hallway. He stopped at a door halfway down, reached in his pocket and pulled out his room key. She stood to one side while he unlocked the door, then followed him

  inside. After he’d flicked on the overhead light, she made straight for the one chair against the wall, averting her eyes from the bed opposite it. She sat down and crossed her legs decorously, pulling the full skirt over her knees.

  Jerry closed the door and turned to lean back against it, a quizzical half smile on his face. “So,” he said, “you came with old Ben tonight.”

  She lifted her chin at him. “That’s right.”

  “Does that mean you’ve got him all sewed up nice and tight, the way you wanted?”

  She gave him a withering look. “That’s a pretty crude way of putting it, but if you mean do I owe him some explanation about my actions, then yes, it does.” She took a deep breath. “In fact, tonight Ben asked me to marry him.”

  For several moments Jerry stood absolutely still, not uttering a word. Then he asked quietly, “And are you going to?”

  She looked down at her feet. “I’m not sure,” she said in a halting voice. She gazed up at him again. “I think so.”

  “Well, congratulations,” he bit out through his teeth. “You worked a lot faster than I gave you credit for.”

  She folded her arms in front of her and glared at him. “You’re one to talk! What about Linda?”

  “What about Linda?”

  “Won’t she object to your being alone in your room with another woman?”

  “Why should she?” he shot back immediately. “Linda has no claim on me.”

  “No. Of course not. You’d never allow that, would you, Jerry?”

  He gazed down at her for a long time, his eyes guarded, his expression unreadable. “I might have,” he said at last in a low voice, “once. But the lady was hung up on another guy.”

  She was so taken aback by this totally unexpected statement that she couldn’t for the life of her think of a single thing to say. He turned abruptly from her and strode over to the side of the bed. It was probably better to say nothing anyway, she thought. He didn’t mean it, and even if he did she was already half comŹmitted to Ben. She folded her hands in her lap and watched while he sat down on the bed and took her manuscript out of the envelope.

  As he read, she glanced nervously around the room. It was quite small, but extremely tidy. The bed was neatly made, his dark blue robe laid carefully at the foot of it. Beside her chair, on the floor, sat his open suitcase. A few crisply folded shirts lay on top, and she quickly looked away.

  The door to the adjoining bathroom was open, and through it wafted faint traces of the masculine scent she had come to associate with Jerry from his stay at her house. Suddenly, all the anger drained out of her. It hadn’t all been bad. They’d spent some quite pleasant hours together there. A strange, unexpected yearning rose up in her at the memory.

  Quashing it down quickly, she glanced over at him. He was totally absorbed in his reading, sitting in a typical pose, his broad shoulders hunched over, his feet flat on the floor, his long legs spread apart, holding her manuscript loosely between his fingers-long tapering fingers that evoked a more intimate memory of their time together. She gritted her teeth and lowered her eyes to her hands, twisting now in

  her lap, struggling in vain to blot out her wayward thoughts.

  I’ve got to get out of here, she said to herself grimly, and had half risen to her feet when she heard the bed-springs squeak. She looked up to see him walking toward her.

  “This is really good work, Anne,” he said, gazing down at her with a smile of satisfaction. “Your writing has improved immensely since you’ve been with the magazine. You have a much surer touch now, and really know how to say what you mean, instead of imitating someone else.”

  She beamed up at him, pleased. “Do you really think so?”

  He nodded. “In fact, I think it would be a good idea to collect some of your best stories and look into getting them published in book form. I have some contacts in the business, and, while I can’t promise anything, I think it would be worth a shot.”

  She rose slowly to her feet. “Jerry, I’m overwhelmed. It’s been my dream to freelance eventually, but I didn’t feel I was ready yet. Do you really think they’re good enough?”

  He shrugged. “Well, there’s only one way to find out, and that’s to try.”

  As they stood there, quite close together, smiling into each other’s eyes, the atmosphere between them altered subtly. The room began to seem quite warm to her, even in the thin silk dress, yet at the same time a cold shiver ran up and down her spine.

  “You look very beautiful tonight, Anne,”
he said at last in a low intimate tone. “In fact, I’ve never seen you look quite so lovely. That dress suits you. It’s the exact color of your eyes.”

  She tried to speak, but her throat was dry and her mouth seemed to be filled with some sticky substance that kept her tongue fastened to the roof of her mouth, her lips glued together.

  “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since yesterday,” he went on, staring down at the floor. “We seem to have got off on the wrong foot here.” He gave a difŹfident shrug and raised his eyes to hers. “Can’t we start over?”

  He had moved a step closer to her so that then-bodies were just touching now. She searched desperŹately for the words that would stop him, but she still couldn’t speak. She could only stand there, as though mesmerized, watching his dark head bend toward her. The next thing she knew, he had reached out for her and, with a little choking noise deep in her throat, she had fallen into his arms.

  His lips were on her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks, then finally on her mouth, pulling at it, as though to draw the very life out of her. As her hands snaked up around his neck and she clung to him tightly, his lips parted and his tongue pushed past her lips, filling her mouth.

  Finally, with a low groan, he tore his mouth away from hers and moved it to her jaw, her neck, coming to rest at the base of her throat. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, totally lost in a thrilling torrent of mindless surrender. At that moment she would have given him anything he asked of her.

  One hand was moving across her breasts now, which were heaving and straining against the thin material of her dress, his long fingers skimming over the bare flesh above the low-cut bodice. The hand that still gripped her waist moved downward, clutching her

  hips, pulling her tightly up against him so that she could feel his hard arousal pressing urgently on her thigh.

  She felt his cheek pressing against hers, the slight scrape of his jaw, his hot breath in her ear. “Does Ben do that to you when he kisses you?” he murŹmured.