ISLAND OF LOVE

by Rosemary Hammond

  “Anne!” she heard someone call to her, and she looked up to see Tim Farragut, the art director, coming through the open door.

  “Hello, Tim,” she said. “I see the place is still as busy and disorganized as ever.”

  He shrugged comically and made a face. “What did you expect? That we’d fall apart without you?” He laughed. “Although I’ll have to admit, I missed your smiling face. Did you get all your business taken care of?”

  “Yes, at last.”

  “Well, it’s great to have you back.”

  “It’s good to be back. I thought I’d better check in with our glorious leader. It’s a couple of days past the time off he gave me, and he’ll probably scream bloody murder. That is, if he doesn’t fire me. Any idea where he is?”

  “Well, you’re safe enough for a while. The invin-cible Jerry Bannister has succumbed to a bug. Claimed he picked it up in some ‘godforsaken wilderness,’ to use his terminology, but he never did clue us in as to exactly where.”

  “You mean he’s sick?” Anne could hardly believe her ears. Jerry hadn’t been out sick for a day for as long as she’d known him.

  Tim nodded. “He came slamming in here a week or so ago looking like death warmed over and even grouchier than usual, if you can conceive of such a thing. Finally last Friday someone got up the nerve to tell him he’d better see a doctor, and that’s the last we’ve seen of him since then.”

  “Well, I don’t see much point in sticking around here, then,” she said. “I still have unpacking to do at home.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and

  smiled at Tim. “I might as well play truant while I can get away with it.”

  She started to follow Tim out of the door, but not before she had taken a quick closer look at one of the bills lying on top of Jerry’s desk. It was addressed to him at his home.

  He lived in the Madrona District, on a street near the western shore of Lake Washington. It was an older part of town that contained some of Seattle’s most palatial mansions, as well as smaller cottages in beŹtween, its streets narrow and winding, conforming to the contours of the lake.

  When she reached his street, she drove by slowly. His house was in the middle of the block, set well back from the road, with a small but impressive garden in front. It was quite bare now in November, but it looked well cared for and, from the curving row of rosebushes that lined the drive, must be lovely in the summer.

  She parked across the street, and sat there for a good five minutes debating whether this was such a good idea after all. Perhaps it was premature, or taking too much for granted, to barge in on him like this at his home just on the basis of a few kisses, a few intimate encounters.

  Then inspiration hit. She’d put her camera in the glove compartment of the car when she’d picked it up at Roche Harbor yesterday. In it was the half roll of undeveloped film. She got out the camera, wound the roll to the end, and removed it. It was wasting film, but what did that matter? It would give her an excuse for dropping in on him this way.

  Before she could lose her nerve, she got out of the car and marched across the street, then hurried up the path, and rang the front doorbell. She could hear it chiming inside, but there was no other sign of life. After several seconds, she rang it again.

  Still nothing. She was just about to give up when she heard someone shouting from inside the house, actually more of a hoarse bark than a shout. “The door’s open, damn it! Come on in!”

  She turned the handle and poked her head inside a small entry hall. Beyond it, standing near a doorway at the far end, stood Jerry. And what a sight he was to behold! He was wearing his dark blue bathrobe, which was rumpled and wrinkled as though he’d been sleeping in it for days, and a pair of scuffed slippers.

  “Anne,” he croaked, and started walking slowly toward her. “What are you doing here?”

  “I heard you were sick,” she said hastily. She held up the roll of film. “But thought I’d better drop this off anyway. I forgot to give it to you before.”

  He stopped short a few yards away from her, and they stood there for a while just staring wordlessly at each other. He had several days’ growth of beard on his face, his eyes were red-rimmed and bleary, his dark hair tousled every which way, and he had never looked so dear to her, so vulnerable.

  He was eyeing her more carefully now, as though he’d just realized she was actually here, in his house. Finally he said, “So, Anne, what brings you back to town? I thought you’d be safely married by now to good old Ben and that’s the last we’d see of you.”

  “Well, as a matter of fact,” she began, hoping she was doing the right thing, “that’s all off.”

  His dark eyes lit up. He gave her a pleased smile and at the same time they each took a step nearer. Then, suddenly, his head jerked back, he sucked in a deep breath, closed his eyes and sneezed loudly into the handkerchief in his hand.

  “Better not come any closer,” he said when it was over and he had mopped his nose. “I think I’m still contagious.”

  “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” she asked.

  He waved a hand in the air. “How can I stay in bed? I’ve got too much work to do. I’ve been stuck here in this damned house for almost a week now.”

  He reminded her of a small boy, irritable because he couldn’t go out and play, and she had to smile. “I was just in the office, and they seem to be surviving without you.”

  “I don’t want to talk about the office,” he said firmly. “The only thing that interests me is what made you decide not to marry Ben Poole.”

  He was so patently pleased at the news, even in spite of his wretched condition, that she knew everything was going to be all right, that she’d done the right thing by coming to him this way.

  “Well, as it turned out, and much as I hate to admit it, you were right all along. You see, I found this letter from my father when I was going through“

  Just then the front door opened. Startled, Anne turned to see a tall blonde woman walk inside, her arms filled with grocery bags. She gave Anne a hesitant look, then smiled at Jerry and started walking toward him.

  “What are you doing out of bed?” she asked sternly. “I leave you for ten minutes and the minute my back is turned you disobey orders. Go on, now,

  like a good boy. I got you some nice chicken soup for your lunch.”

  Of course, Anne thought. Wouldn’t you know he’d have another blonde on the string the minute he got back to Seattle? Sick or well, Jerry Bannister still functioned in the usual way. This one was new to her, but she had all the old familiar attributes. To her horror, she felt tears stinging behind her eyes, and her one thought was to get out of there before she made an utter fool of herself.

  “Well, I’d better be running along,” she said brightly. “Hope you’ll be feeling better soon.”

  She turned around and half ran to the door. She had just grasped the handle and turned it when she heard him calling to her.

  “Wait, Anne. Don’t go.”

  She turned her head to give him one last look. He was holding out a hand to her, his eyes pleading. No! she said to herself, steeling herself against it. I will not be taken in by that look again! She yanked the door open and stepped outside, slamming it behind her.

  She drove around for a couple of hours after that, fighting back tears, torn between disgust at herself for being such a fool as to think there was a chance for her with Jerry, and absolute fury at him for somehow managing to come up with yet another blonde when practically on his deathbed. If it hadn’t been so tragic, it would be funny.

  She stopped at a fast-food drive-in around two o’clock and choked down half a tasteless cheese-burger and a cup of coffee. By then she had calmed down enough to realize she wasn’t making sense. What right did she have to be angry at Jerry? He was a free

  agent. He had made her no promises. What did she expect? After all, the last he’d heard of her, she was going to marry another man.

  To Jerry, what had happened between
them had only been a game. He couldn’t help that; it was the way he was made. Might as well condemn the leopard for having spots as blame him for not being able to change.

  What a muddle she had made of her life! For one fleeting moment she was even tempted to make a dash for it back to the island and tell Ben she’d marry him after all, but that didn’t last long. Not only would it be unfair to him, but she was so sick of making bad decisions that she was almost afraid to do anything.

  The real problem was that seeing Jerry today in his weakened condition, pouting over his illness, tousled, rumpled, sneezing, unshaven, had made one thing clear to her that she’d only dimly suspected up until then. She was in love with him!

  The question was, how in the world could she manage now to work with him again, see him every day, be near to him, watch his parade of blondes?

  It was almost dark by the time she got home, the overcast skies creating a late November dusk. She’d stopped on the way to stock up on food for her bare cupboards and then just wandered around the mall looking in shop windows, trying to collect her scatŹtered thoughts and make up her mind what to do.

  When she stepped inside her apartment, her arms laden with groceries, the telephone was ringing. She ran into the kitchen, set the bags down on the counter and snatched up the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s about time you got home,” came the hoarse voice. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling all afternoon—first the office, then your place. I’m a sick man. Don’t you have any consideration?”

  In spite of her broken heart she had to smile. Above all else, she warned herself, sinking down on the stool in front of the counter, be calm and reasonable.

  “Sorry, Jerry. I had some errands to run.”

  “Well, what I want to know is why you ran off the way you did.” Then there was a pause as he sneezed. “Drat this blasted cold!”

  “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” she asked mildly.

  “I am in bed!” he croaked. “Why did you go, Anne? Haven’t you ever heard of succoring the sick? I thought the least you could do was soothe my feŹvered brow or read to me or feed me some soup.”

  “It seems to me you had that pretty well in hand,” she remarked tartly. She hadn’t meant it to come out that way, sounding so jealous, but it was too late to unsay it now.

  “You mean Sylvia? She’s only my doctor’s recep-tionist. She very kindly offered to drop off a pre-scription for me and do a little shopping. She felt sorry for me, even if you didn’t.”

  “Well, then, you didn’t need me, did you?”

  “What’s wrong? Afraid of catching my bug?”

  “Something like that,” she replied dryly.

  “Well, the doctor tells me I’m no longer contagious, so how about coming back over tonight?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “But I’m all alone here,” he moaned.

  “I think you’ll live. Besides, I’m busy. I just got back late last night.”

  “Tomorrow, then? You ran out of here so fast this morning that you didn’t finish telling me what hapŹpened to your great romance.”

  She’d had about all she could take. “Do you really think that’s any of your business?” she snapped.

  “Yes, I do!” he snapped right back. “Now, will you come tomorrow or not?”

  She sighed. “I’ll see, Jerry. I’ve been gone for a long time and“

  “I know,” he broke in. “Exactly three days over the two weeks I gave you.”

  “And have a lot to catch up with,” she continued, ignoring the interruption.

  There was a long pause. “Anne,” he said softly.

  “Yes?” she said guardedly when he didn’t go on.

  “I need to see you, Anne. We’ve got to talk. Please come tomorrow.”

  “I’ll see. I have to go now, Jerry. Goodbye.”

  She quickly hung up the telephone. In one more second she would have started blubbering. “Damn the man!” she muttered under her breath. What was it that made him even more endearing in his helpless, fractious condition than he had been in his full conŹfidence and strength? What fools women made of themselves over men! She’d been in love with two men in her life, both of them hopeless.

  She got up and started putting groceries away. Of course she wouldn’t go see him tomorrow. That was out of the question. It would be fatal.

  The next morning once again she sat in her car across the street from Jerry’s house, gazing glumly over at it, wondering if she’d trip over another blonde if she

  did decide to go in. It wasn’t too late to turn back. She hadn’t made any promises.

  Then what was she doing here? She’d planned to go straight into the office, but her car, as though it had a mind of its own, had driven straight here. She’d spent a sleepless night, tossing and turning, debating endlessly whether to come at all, and now, suddenly, she realized, deep inside her, that she’d come simply because she couldn’t live without him, that she wanted him on any terms she could get him.

  With a sigh, she opened her door, got out of the car, and walked slowly across the street.

  This time he answered the bell when she rang. “Glad you could make it,” he said, holding the door open for her. “Come on in.”

  He was looking much better today, still pale and drawn from his illness, but far more presentable. He was clean-shaven, his hair washed and combed, and dressed in a pair of dark pants, white shirt and rust-colored pullover.

  “Take your coat off and go on into the living room and sit down. I just made a pot of coffee, and won’t be a minute.”

  “I thought I was supposed to succor the sick,” she said, removing her raincoat and hanging it on the coatrack. “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll get the coffee?”

  He bowed and made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Be my guest. The kitchen is just down the hall.”

  What surprised Anne most about the house was its coziness and order. Somehow she had pictured Jerry’s home as a swinging bachelor pad, with ied-flocked wallpaper, thick pile carpets, gaudy mirrors all over

  the place, and, like his office, an untidy mess in general. It was nothing like that.

  The kitchen was papered in a cheerful yellow floral pattern, the countertops a deeper gold tile, and there were spotless starched white curtains at the corner windows. When she reached up into the cupboard for mugs, the plain white dishes were neatly stacked with orderly precision. On a tray laid out on the built-in stove sat a gaily patterned milk jug, sugar bowl and mugs, napkins and spoons.

  She put the glass cafetiere of coffee on the tray and carried it into the living room, where Jerry was down on his haunches lighting a fire in the white-paneled Adam fireplace. She set the tray down on the coffee table in front of the couch and watched him, the memory of the fires he’d built while he was with her on the island filling her mind. She was lost by now, and she knew it.

  “There,” he said, rising to his feet and heading for the couch. “That should do it.”

  There was still a slight nasal twang to his voice, the last remnants of his flu, but he seemed much better today than he had yesterday. He sat down beside her, poured out the coffee, and they both sat sipping in silence for a moment or two.

  “Now,” he said, setting his mug down. “Tell me what happened with Ben.”

  “Oh, Jerry,” she said with a sigh. “Must I? It was a mistake, and I’m just grateful I caught it in time. I don’t want to go into all the gory details.”

  “Well, I hate to say it, but I told you so, didn’t I? Wasn’t I right?”

  “Yes, Jerry, you were right.”

  “All right, then. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I am curious about one thing. What made you finally come to your senses? SomeŹthing pretty important must have happened to make you change your mind.”

  She hesitated. Of course something important had happened. She’d realized she was in love with him. But she couldn’t tell him that. �
�Well, it was several things, I guess. For one thing, Ben is so wrapped up in his work that he wants a ministering angel to give him inspiration more than he wants a wife. And for another, I found a letter my father wrote me before he died that changed everything.”

  He was leaning forward now, his elbows resting on his knees, a look of deep intensity on his face. “And what did the letter say?”

  “It was by way of apology, actually, explaining why he shut me out of his life the summer my mother died. It doesn’t really matter. The important thing is that it made me realize I was really looking for a father in Ben.” She lifted her shoulders. “It was as though when my real father gave himself back to me through his letter I didn’t need a substitute any longer.”

  “I told you that, too, didn’t I?”

  She turned on him, suddenly angered by the smug satisfaction written all over his face. “If you’re so all-fired smart, Jerry, why is it you haven’t got your own act together by now?”

  He reared back. “What do you mean by that crack?” he snapped.

  She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “Well, for one thing, why does a man who surrounds himself with a decidedly homely cozy atmosphere persist in

  avoiding family life? Why haven’t you ever been able to settle down with one of your blondes?”

  He colored deeply. “You’re crazy. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Besides, you have no right to judge my way of life.”

  “Oh, no! Of course not!” She glared at him. “It’s all right for you to go poking your nose into my business, dissect all my personality problems. What makes your foibles so sacrosanct?”

  Their eyes were locked together now in angry conŹfrontation, neither yielding an inch. Finally, he started to laugh. He reached out a hand and tousled her hair.

  “You’re so cute when you’re mad,” he said with a chuckle.

  Then the smile faded and a familiar gleam appeared in his dark eyes. Anne sat mesmerized by that steady gaze, the tart reply dying on her lips. How could you fight a man like this? In one word, one look, he’d swept away all her defenses, and she felt herself melting inwardly, waiting.