by Mulry, Megan
“Julian?”
He looked somewhat startled, but she thought it might be the hesitance of old age, the need to cull his memory bank before the lights of recognition came on. Still, he said nothing.
“It’s Lady Wick…Claire?”
His wife remembered her then. “Oh, Claire dear. How are you? It’s been so many years. Since you and Freddy were first married, I believe.”
“Yes,” Claire said kindly, “I think that was the last time we saw each other. Maybe twenty years ago.”
Julian Stembridge looked perplexed, and it didn’t seem to be from a loss of memory.
“Is everything all right, Mr. Stembridge? I hope I wasn’t too familiar calling you Julian?” Claire tried.
He shook his head. “No, no. Of course not. I’m just so flummoxed. How did you get here so quickly?”
“Quickly?”
“Did you just fly in today?”
“I did, yes.” Claire smiled, worried the old man had gone a bit senile, poor thing. “From Philadelphia, actually. I’ve moved to New York. Late last summer. It’s been quite wonderful.”
“New York? I—you must forgive me. We spoke this morning and you told me you were in London.”
“We what?” Claire stood up straighter and felt the blood draining from her face. She rested her hand over her abdomen, then let it drop, not wanting to draw attention to her spontaneous, protective gesture.
“I spoke to you and Freddy this morning. You said you had a cold, because your voice was a bit froggy.”
“I’m sorry, Julian…Mr. Stembridge. You must have me confused with someone else. I haven’t been back to London since September. And I, well, if you must know, Freddy and I were legally separated many months ago and we are going through a rather acrimonious divorce right now. Perhaps you are thinking—”
“Oh dear. Oh dear.” Julian shook his head and his wife looked up at him with concerned, pale blue eyes.
“What is it, Jules?”
He patted his wife’s knobby hand against his forearm. “Nothing that should be discussed on such a lovely occasion.” He forced a cheerful smile. “Christmas Eve is no time to worry over such things.” His smile faded when his gaze slipped from his wife to Claire. “Lady Wick. Please accept my deepest apology for greeting you so shabbily just now. Will you be staying in the Bahamas long? I would very much like to meet with you at my offices on the twenty-seventh if you are free?”
Claire felt the frisson of dread creep back up her spine. She tried to tell herself it might just as easily be good news as bad. “Of course. We are here through the New Year.”
“Very well. We are closed for Christmas and Boxing Day, but please come in at nine o’clock on the twenty-seventh. Again, I’m so sorry to have been so thoughtless earlier.”
Claire felt the press of Ben’s hand against her lower back. “Everything all right, sweetheart?” he asked kindly.
She took another deep breath, but she felt like she couldn’t quite fill her lungs. “Yes.” There was an awkward pause as the four of them stared at one another. “Oh!” Claire realized it was up to her to make the introductions. “Ben Hayek, this is Julian and Amanda Stembridge. Old friends. Julian and Amanda, this is my…”
Ben smiled.
Claire looked at him then finished speaking with a slow, sure smile. “This is my fiancé, Benjamin Hayek.”
Mr. Stembridge tried to hide his shock as best he could. Ben was likewise pleased and confused to hear Claire introduce him as her future husband.
“Pleased to meet you both,” he said.
“Would you like to join us for a drink before supper?” Claire asked. “I know my mother and brothers would welcome the chance to say hello.”
Julian looked down at his wife, who nodded and smiled. “Very well,” he said. “We’d love to join you.”
Chapter 26
After Christmas Eve dinner, Devon and Sarah ended up coming back to Claire’s villa. Lydia had not overserved herself, for a change. She was bubbly and snarky as always, but without quite the spike of meanness. Or maybe Claire didn’t feel the need to monitor her so closely. Either way, she was funny and charming when the five of them returned to the villa for a nightcap.
Ben had managed to rustle up a guitar from the hotel somewhere, and they sat out on the porch while he played some Spanish flamenco music. Near midnight, Alistair knocked on the door to make sure they had everything they needed and to wish them a happy Christmas.
Lydia leapt up to say hello to him. She shut the door to the villa and didn’t return right away.
Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Who was that?”
“Handsome Alistair,” said Ben, without missing a chord of the complicated music he was playing into the night air.
“Quite,” said Sarah.
“Sarah…” Devon warned then kissed her cheek.
“I can’t even look at the bellman?”
“No. You cannot even look at the bellman.”
Claire smiled at the two of them, then watched Ben as his fingers moved over the guitar strings, his head bent and his neck tensing and flexing as he brought the notes from the instrument. She sat next to him on the outdoor sofa, her knees pulled up to her chest. Sarah and Devon were on the opposite sofa, leaning into one another.
“This is heaven,” Claire whispered.
Ben smiled but didn’t take his eyes from his hands working the more complicated notes on the frets. “Do you remember the first time you came to hear me play in the Village?”
“Of course I remember. I loved it.”
“So did I.”
“You did? You didn’t even look at me. I thought you were sort of ignoring me.”
He finished the complicated Flamenco song and started into something simpler, a Mozart minuet. Claire knew it was like child’s play for him, but he still didn’t look away from the instrument. “I couldn’t look at you because I was so blown away that you were even there. Like I am now. Before we met up again…” His voice was harsh and soft at the same time. Almost desperate. “You blind me, Claire. You really do.”
“Oh, Ben.” She reached up and rested her hand on his shoulder, feeling the muscles work beneath her fingers. He finished the easier song then set the guitar down carefully. He turned and kissed her. A simple declarative kiss. An I-love-you kiss.
“Oh my god! Is this like a kissing parlor game or something? Stop!” Lydia was standing in the doorway, watching with horrified eyes as the two couples disentangled themselves. “What is with you people?” She reached for a cigarette and lit it while Sarah sat up a little straighter and Claire adjusted a strand of her hair.
“I wish you wouldn’t smoke, Lyd,” Claire said on a sigh.
“I wish you wouldn’t make out with some guy in front of your daughter.”
“Ouch. Now I’m ‘some guy’?” Ben asked, sounding wounded.
“All right, fine. You’re too old to be a boyfriend. Beau? Partner?”
“Fiancé,” Claire said.
“What?” Sarah leapt from the sofa and darted around the coffee table to hug Claire. “Oh my god! You’re engaged? When?”
Lydia narrowed her eyes. “How can you get married when you’re still married to Daddy?”
“I won’t be married to your father much longer. You know that. I just want what’s best for you, Lyd. You have rights too, you know.” Claire’s voice was somber. She hated that her happiness seemed to be forever compromised by a man she never wanted to clap eyes on again. She hadn’t wanted to put it quite this way, but it came out just the same. “I’m staying married to your father until I make sure he’s not hiding your inheritance.”
“What?” Lydia furrowed her brow. “Daddy would never steal from me. He’s maybe a bit reckless, but he’s not…”
Devon and Sarah looked at their clasped hands and tried to be invisible.
Ben held on to Claire’s hand. Claire looked straight at Lydia.
“Lydia.”
“I don’t believe you.” Her v
oice was cracking. She was cracking. “Just because you hate him doesn’t mean I have to!”
A mantel clock in the villa began to chime the twelve tolls of midnight.
“Happy fucking Christmas.” Lydia stamped out her cigarette and turned back toward the villa. “I’m going for a walk on the beach,” she said, pulling the door shut with a dramatic slam.
“Well,” Devon said. “That could have gone worse.”
Claire smiled because it was easier than crying. “Oh, Devon. Can you imagine if we learned Father was stealing from us, from his own children?”
Devon lifted a careless shoulder. “We would have made our way, because he raised us to make our own way, regardless of our inheritance.”
“Oh please.” Ben regretted it as soon as the sarcastic words slipped out.
“Please what?” Devon asked coolly.
“Never mind.”
Sarah bit her tongue.
“No. Say it,” Devon challenged. “You think we’re a bunch of spoiled wankers and you’re the only one at this party who knows how to earn a buck?”
“Devon—” Claire wasn’t quite sure what to say after that. She was afraid that was precisely what Ben thought.
“What, Claire?” Devon continued. “I’m sick of it. I know we were all born with silver spoons and all that, but we’re not wastrels and it’s tedious. I work. You’re working now. Max works his ass off. Abby isn’t even here because of some damn pestilence in Kenya. Honestly.”
“Look,” Sarah interjected. “Let’s not have this turn into some pissing match.”
Ben kept looking at Devon. “I only meant…Lydia just took a huge emotional hit and I don’t think expecting her to pull herself up by her bootstraps is really the best strategy just now.”
Devon was about to say something then shut his mouth.
“This is the last thing I wanted to happen,” Claire said. “I wanted us all to get along. But I can’t pretend with Lydia anymore. You know that, Dev. She’s going to have to see her father for what he really is. And we need to be a little sympathetic, all right? Can you manage that?”
Devon shrugged again, as if he’d give it a shot but he wasn’t going to guarantee any results.
“Please?” Claire asked.
Sarah shoved her husband.
“What?” he grumbled.
Sarah widened her eyes at him.
“Okay fine. But she’s just such a spoiled brat.”
“Lucky you two have so much in common, then.” Sarah kissed him on the cheek to soften the blow.
“What did I do?” He kissed Sarah on the cheek then said, “Sorry, Ben. I didn’t mean to snap.”
“No problem. It’s not my business.”
“But it will be…” Claire added.
Ben smiled at her then turned back to Devon. “I don’t have any of my own children…yet…” Sarah’s eyes focused on Claire like a laser, as if to say don’t even! “But I sympathize, you know. We were all twenty once, and trying to find our way in the world. No matter how rich or poor or happy or miserable our parents were. That’s all I was trying to say.”
“I get it,” Devon said. “But I’ve seen a lot of shit over the years with Lydia. I’ve seen how she’s hurt her mother and manipulated people and I just…” Sarah gave him another elbow in the ribs. “Okay. I’ll try.”
“Good,” Claire said. “Well, now that we’ve solved the problems of the known universe, I think I’ll beg off. Are we all meeting at Mother’s villa in the morning?”
“Yes, presents at ten,” Sarah said. All four of them stood up. Sarah hugged Ben and then Claire. Devon shook hands with Ben then hugged his sister. He held on to her hand a moment longer and said, “I also want to talk to you about Stembridge. I saw you talking to him and I have some ideas about that.”
“You do?” Claire asked, surprised.
“I do.”
“Excellent. Thanks, Dev. Happy Christmas.”
“Yes, Happy Christmas.”
Devon and Sarah held hands and wandered off into the balmy night, wending through the tropical paths back to their villa.
“So.”
“So?” Claire asked.
“You want to go find Lydia?”
“Where can she go? No. Just let her walk it off. I’ll talk to her when she comes back.”
Walking down toward the beach, Lydia was torn between getting a taxi and heading into Nassau for a night of debauchery, or just lying on one of the stacked beach loungers and staring at the stars. Both offered their own form of oblivion, but the debauchery would be far more effective, she decided rashly, and turned toward the main building with renewed conviction. She sped up her pace before she lost her nerve and slammed into a wall of hard flesh.
“Whoa! Where are you headed in such a rush?”
She could barely see him in the darkness, but his voice was unmistakable. “Of course it would be you.” She pulled a cigarette out of her slim clutch and held it unlit near her lips. “Well, are you going to light it for me or not?”
“Not. I can’t stand cigarette smoke.”
She returned it to the pack and closed her bag with a sullen snap. “Aren’t you all pure and perfect.”
“No, my dad had lung cancer last year. I used to smoke. Now, I just can’t be around it anymore.”
“Sorry.” She let out a sigh of resignation. Apparently, the more she tried to find something to dislike about this guy, the more she ended up liking him.
They stood in the dark, there at the turn of the path, neither one saying anything. The sound of the lizards and the whisper of night creatures settled around them.
“Are you lost?” he asked.
She was not going to burst into tears. That was simply not on. But the way he asked—not trying to be a jerk or prying, probably just trying to show her back to her villa—made her want to wrap herself around him like a vine. She felt so lost. And he seemed so solid, so sure of himself. So grounded.
“I am, a bit,” she answered softly. “Are you?”
“No, actually. I know my way around.” He smiled, a welcoming, inviting smile, and reached for her hand. “You were probably headed to the beach for a walk, right?” When he spoke to her like that, he made it seem fine, that he was holding her hand and sort of leading her away from that bad, bad decision she was about to make. That he must have known she was about to make, the way she’d been barreling around, probably wild-eyed and looking like she was craving trouble.
She looked down at their clasped hands. “Will you get in trouble for…fraternizing?”
He burst out laughing, and it was probably the most wonderful sound Lydia had ever heard. It was deep and rich—the sound of rolling pleasure—and it held her to the earth like an anchor. “You are quite something, Lydia. Fraternizing? Hilarious.” He shook his head. “I don’t really even work here. My mum’s brother is the general manager. He asked if I could help out this weekend, with it being so busy, and”—he shrugged—“I tend to be the helpful sort, I guess.”
Lydia exhaled, and it was so obviously the sound of relief that he laughed again.
“Does that put an end to your cabana boy fantasy?”
She looked up at him, her pale eyes sparking with mischief. “Thankfully, yes. I was having a hard time getting my mind around the whole cabana boy part of the fantasy.” Her breath hitched when she said that last word, such a blatant admission.
“Busted,” he said softly, squeezing her hand in his.
They spent the next two hours staring at the stars, holding hands while they lay on adjacent lounge chairs that they dragged down near the edge of the sea. Lydia’s heart was a fluttery mess when he caught her out in that whole fantasy business, but he never pushed her.
Well, he did push her verbally, he taunted her and made fun of her in some ways, but he never let go of her hand when he did. He never pulled away. And it was such a remarkable, lovely feeling, to talk to someone in the dark, with all those stars and the lapping waves, and no pressure.<
br />
Lydia realized she’d been one big pressure cooker for the past three years. Trying so hard to have more fun, more adventures, more drugs, more guys in her bed. She’d been trying to outrun her own life.
“It’s almost two. You okay?” Alistair asked, after one of those lovely silences when he breathed evenly and held her hand, and she could stare at his profile and wonder how she could fashion herself into the type of woman he might want to be with. Or the type of woman some good man like him would want to be with.
“Thank you, Alistair.” She was on her side, staring at him instead of the stars.
He turned his head slightly. “What for?”
“You know what for. I was so angry and frustrated when I bumped into you a couple of hours ago, and you haven’t asked me any annoying, prying questions. You’re just…lovely.”
“That doesn’t sound very promising.”
Lydia levered herself up onto one elbow. “What do you mean it doesn’t sound promising? That’s probably the nicest thing I’ve said to a man in years.”
He smiled and turned his head back to the dark sky. “I mean, lovely? Come on. It sounds like a flower or a frock. Real men don’t want to be called lovely.”
“Ooh, so you do have an ego after all. You’re a real man, eh?” she teased. “And here I thought you were all consideration and selflessness.”
“Hardly.”
She loved his voice, some high-low admixture of plummy Etonian and Bahamian patois, with some American slang thrown in. He’d lived in England for a few years when he went to Eton, like his father. Lydia wasn’t even sure what to make of that, what it must have been like to be one of only a few black students at a school so steeped in white tradition. Still, she didn’t want to ask about it in that way, as if he were some sort of sociological science experiment in her mind. He talked about Eton matter-of-factly, like so many of her friends talked about it: it was the place where his father went, so it was the place where he went. Nothing more.