“Yeah.” The door was closing. “Good night.”
Leigh rose bright and early, strangely cheerful. She threw back her drapes and tilted her chin to drink in the morning sun, then quickly dressed. She ambled into the kitchen to start coffee, but found that her housekeeper, a Cuban woman named Maria Lopez, had already done so. She heard jaunty Spanish singing coming from the living room and hurried out to say hello.
“Ah, senora! It is nice to have you home!” Maria exclaimed joyfully. She gave Leigh an unabashed, motherly hug. Her voice took on a tone of reproach. “You did not say you’d be gone so long.” She shook a stubby finger and sniffed. “And who is that man sleeping in the guest room?”
Leigh stifled the urge to chuckle. She was twenty-seven years old, but Maria often treated her like a young girl in need of a duenna.
“That’s Derek, Maria, didn’t you recognize him?”
“Senor Mallory?” Leigh resented the obvious pleasure in her housekeeper’s redundant question. “Oh! How very nice!”
Leigh had tossed her length into a comfortable Victorian love seat but she rose again restlessly. “Yes, how very nice, Senor Mallory.” She fingered various knickknacks as she glanced around the room. She had furnished it, like the rest of the house, with Victorian and other turn-of-the-century pieces to match its gingerbread facade. The home, although new, had been copied after those in the old town, down to the widow’s walk that stretched around the second-story circumference. The only difference with her “conch”-patterned house was that all the living area was on the first floor; the second floor was filled with musical instruments and recording devices. She didn’t use the floor much anymore, but she had always been loathe to change it.
She set down the sand dollar she had idly picked up. “I’ll go start breakfast.”
“No, no, senora!” Maria dropped her dust cloth and started to bustle for the kitchen. “I will start your breakfast! You have just come home!”
Leigh’s protests that she needed something to do went unheeded. Maria, promising exquisite Spanish omelets, shushed her out of the kitchen. Leigh sighed, accepted a cup of scalding black coffee, and wandered out the back door.
Leigh’s “backyard” had always been a source of joy to her. Her home was as secluded as possible for the small but bustling island of Key West, set on the gulf side on a spit of beach called Blue Lagoon. And it was indeed blue. Shockingly so, against the bleached white sand, shells, and coral pebbles of the shore.
She walked aimlessly down to the water, beckoned by its still tranquility. Reaching the edge, she kicked off her shoes and sat, and allowed the quiet tide to ripple over her toes. What am I doing? she asked herself with a hint of desperation. Why am I allowing Derek to walk all over me?
A large gull swooped down beside her, warily out of reach, and eyed her speculatively. Leigh laughed as she watched him comically twist his head and beak. “You think I’m a fool, too, huh?” He cocked his neck again at her voice. “Sorry, buddy,” she told the bird. “I haven’t a thing on me to offer you.”
A piece of fish went flying over her head and the gull greedily and expertly caught it with his extended mouth.
“I take it this guy is a pet,” Derek said, sliding next to her in the sand. He waved a plastic bag of fish heads and tails in front of him. “Maria greeted me with a spat of Spanish, stuffed this in my hand, and pushed me out the door.”
Leigh chuckled. It was amusing to think of tiny Maria pushing a giant like Derek anywhere.
“No, he’s not a special pet. None of them are. They come and go, but they all seem to know this is a good place for a handout.”
She glanced at him quickly, then turned her concentration to the gull. The musky odor of his aftershave that she was coming to know so well could rattle the pace of her blood by itself. Looking at him, dressed like a tourist in shorts and a knit shirt, was something she wasn’t up to yet. His eyes were becoming too intuitive, his masculine face and form too dear. If she weren’t careful, she would forget that his motives were to make her pay …
“So.” She briskly stood and dusted the sand from her cutoffs. “What are we doing? When do you want to start back for Miami?”
Derek tossed another fish head to the nosy gull. “In a few days. I want to spend some time here.”
“Doing what?” Leigh demanded crossly.
“The usual things one. does in Key West,” Derek replied complacently, “Fishing, boating, sunning …”
“You live in Miami,” Leigh reminded him. “You can do all that there.”
“Star Island is actually Miami Beach.”
“Pardon my mistake.”
“I want to go sit in Sloppy Joe’s bar like Hemingway and sip cold beer. I want to take the Conch Train and listen to the tales about the pirates. I want to hit all the super seafood restaurants and visit Audubon’s house. None of that, my love, can be done in Miami or Miami Beach.”
“But, Derek”—Leigh was both confused and exasperated—“you’ve done all that before!”
“I want to do it again,” he said firmly.
“Well, go on,” Leigh said, “have a good time.”
One arched brown brow raised high. “You, dear sweet, are going to do it all with me.”
“Oh, no I’m not!” Leigh retorted. “I’m not in a touristy mood.”
“Then get into one.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll call another radio station?” she taunted.
Derek pretended to consider her question. “No, I’m not afraid.” He flashed her a pearly smile. “Because, Mrs. Tremayne, should such a thing happen again, it will be more than a bikini top you find yourself bereft of, and whatever I might have you will not get back.”
He was dead serious in spite of the deceitful smile and Leigh knew it. “I told you I wouldn’t pull any more pranks anyway,” she muttered, summoning a shade of dignity to saunter toward the house. “I’m sure Maria must have breakfast ready by now,” she flung over her shoulder.
Typical of Derek, he forced Maria to join them in the omelets. He then plied her with teasing questions about her life, asking about her fisherman husband, her three daughters and two sons. Maria in return blushed like a young girl and giggled giddily as she gave her replies, responding with pride when it came to her children.
“Jose is in medical school now at the University of Miami,” the middle-aged matron told him proudly. Her loving gaze slipped to Leigh. “Thanks to la senora here.” Her big brown eyes grew wide. “It is so high, so very, very dear to pay! But Leigh … she tells me it is nothing.”
Leigh, sipping her coffee, wished that she could fit a muzzle over her housekeeper’s mouth. But what could she say? Maria had no notion that Leigh wanted Derek to know nothing about her finances.
“More coffee anyone?” she hopped to her feet to interrupt the flow of conversation. “More toast?”
“No, thanks,” Derek barely glanced at her. “I’m enjoying my chat with Maria.”
Leigh didn’t want to hear anymore. “I’ll clear the table, then. When you’re ready to go, I’ll be out back.”
Leigh cleared the few dishes, which looked as if they’d already been washed since Maria really did make an exquisite Spanish omelet, and picked up a horror novel to take to the sand. She settled by the shore, lit a cigarette, and tried to absorb herself in the chilling pages.
The effort was no good. Black ink blurred upon the white pages. She should be adamant about not going, she told herself, still staring at the book but not seeing a word. The truth was, she wanted to go!
“Hey, Leigh!” he was calling her from the screen door. “Ready?”
She scrambled to her feet. Derek was telling Maria not to worry about dinner as she re-entered the house. Maria demurely thanked him and waved them both out to the Audi.
Derek had been to the four-mile island many times and knew exactly where he was going. “Conch Train, first, okay?” Leigh nodded.
They spent an hour on the “train,” listening
to the bold and adventurous story of Key West’s history. Their guide was excellent; she made the pirates and scavengers come alive in color, sometimes dashing, sometimes downright despicable. She talked about Henry Flager’s railroad and the hurricane that had destroyed it. They passed Old Town and the western tip of the island and Leigh’s father’s house.
“Do you still own the place?” Derek asked her.
“Yes,” Leigh replied simply. She would never sell her father’s house although she would probably never live in it again. It held too many special memories for her.
“Let’s stop by when we get off the train,” Derek suggested. Leigh glanced at him suspiciously, but he was wearing his dark glasses and she couldn’t read a thing from his tone.
“Why?” she asked bluntly.
Derek shrugged and lifted a hand in a casual gesture. “I’m feeling nostalgic, I guess. I remember the good times I had here talking with your father.”
“I remember … You got along better with my father than Richard did.” Leigh attempted to sound nonchalant, but her heart was racing. Why, she wondered, would a trip back to the old house mean anything to Derek? What was he up to?
Fifteen minutes later they were standing on the trellised porch and Leigh was nervously fitting the key into the lock. Derek’s hands were in his pockets as he surveyed the exterior.
“It hasn’t changed a bit,” he observed.
“Not in two hundred years,” Leigh commented dryly. She pushed open the door and entered the den, feeling the same surge of emotion that never failed to pulse through her when she came “home.” The house was the embodiment of her childhood; a happy time, when she was as free as the gulls that soared the blue skies and as blissfully ignorant. Her world had centered around the sea and her doting father and growing up on the island had been everything a child could ask.
“Not a bit,” Derek repeated idly. He brushed past Leigh and ambled slowly around the room, allowing his long fingers to glide lightly over various of her father’s “treasures”: carved ships in blown glass, porcelain figures of the sea, delicately sculptured meerschaum pipes. He glanced at Leigh suddenly. “It doesn’t make you sad to come here, does it?”
“Sad?” Leigh echoed. A tender smile curved its way gently into her features. “No. My memories are very precious. I think I’m lucky to be able to afford to keep the place.” Leigh turned abruptly from Derek and walked over to the grand piano and ran her fingers nervously over the keys. Why had she been so stupid as to make a reference to money? Derek would surely come back with something about Richard’s legacy. The afternoon, which was going so pleasantly, was sure to be ruined.
But Derek made no sardonic reply. Instead he motioned her past the stairway to the door that led to the beach. “Let’s sit out on the sand for a while. I want to talk more about your dad.”
“Why?” Leigh mouthed, as surprise prompted her immediately to accept his outstretched hand and mechanically allow him to lead the way.
He answered with his usual haphazard shrug. “Because I want to understand more about you. And him.”
Leigh stared at him with doubt, but his golden eyes were sincere and the hand that held hers was warm and supportive. There was no hint of demand about him now, just that openness that bordered on a true reach for friendship.
“I’ll tell you about my life.” She grinned shyly. “If you’ll tell me about yours.”
“Deal,” Derek agreed. He unhooked the back latch and ushered her through to the weathered planks of the back porch and down to the surf. There he teasingly pushed her to a sitting position and lowered his large frame beside her with the easy grace of a great cat. “You first!” He laughed, his eyes calmly set upon the Atlantic and the massive freighters on the horizon as he drew patterns in the sand in a random motion.
Tentatively at first, then with more ease, Leigh began to talk. She told him that she had no memory of her mother, but that her father had given her a beautiful picture of the woman he had loved, that he had spoken of her cheerfully and often. And he had been both parents to his only child, always there when needed, always willing to listen before commenting, always open to her thoughts and desires. “He seemed like a magician to me when I was little!” Leigh laughed. “So wise! He never raised a hand against me, but I was always eager to please him.”
“Now that,” Derek said, “is the secret I want to fathom.”
“What?” Leigh asked, puzzled.
Derek shifted and lay back in the sand, his head resting in the palm of his hand, supported by a crooked elbow. “What it is that earns respect and love from a child.” His eyes traveled from the water to Leigh’s. “I didn’t learn to love my own father until I met yours.”
“You’re joking!” Leigh gasped, shocked by his admission. She couldn’t imagine not loving a parent.
“No, I’m not joking,” Derek returned absently, cupping his free hand around a scoop of sand, “Both Richard and I had very proper parents. We were switched diligently for disobedience. And we became tough little hellions because of it. Oh, my mother was soft, but even she was under my father’s thumb. I resented him for years. Now”—he grinned at Leigh—“I actually like the man.”
His grin was contagious and Leigh laughed. “What did my father have to do with that?”
“I don’t know exactly,” Derek mused. “Showed me that people were different and often part of their heritage, I guess. Somehow, just being around him gave me a better understanding of other people.” The tawny shade of his eyes darkened a shade but Leigh didn’t notice. The conversation between them had lulled her into a sense of security. “Did he come to the States as a young man?” Derek asked, still playing idly with the white grains of sand.
“I think he was about twenty,” Leigh answered innocently.
“He really had lost most of his brogue. Where did you learn yours?”
Leigh was now watching the freighters in their apparently slow drift across the ocean and she replied without a thought “When he was mad you could cut his accent with a butter knife!” She chuckled. “But I suppose I learned to affect the brogue from his mother. She lived with us for several years. They all emigrated together in a bad year for potatoes!”
Derek bowed his head, and Leigh was blissfully unaware of the secret smile of knowing satisfaction that flitted across his face. When he glanced at her again, his expression was bland and guileless.
“When I am a parent,” he said, “I hope I can be like your dad.” Dusting sand from his body, he reached a hand to Leigh as he rose. “He sure as hell did something right. He left you nothing but good memories, and yet they are more enviable than any of the Mallory fortunes.”
“Wait a minute!” Leigh protested. “I still haven’t heard—”
“Another day,” Derek protested.
“But—”
“I still want to get a beer at Sloppy Joe’s and I have some souvenir shopping to do,” Derek interrupted impatiently. “Besides, you will meet Lord and Lady Mallory one of these days and that will answer all of your questions.”
Leigh’s further protests were to no avail. Derek was dragging her back through the house and out to the car like a man who had accomplished a task and was now eager to move on to something else. Uneasy at his sudden change, Leigh searched her mind for a reason, but could think of nothing. Her trepidation over coming to the house with Derek had been groundless. He had been cordial and friendly the entire time. Glancing at his rugged profile as they drove back into town, she began to relax.
“With a childhood like yours,” Derek said suddenly, his tone light, “I’m surprised you didn’t want children.”
Leigh bristled immediately and felt her spine stiffen like a rod down her back. It was coming. Another reference to how she had failed Richard.
“I did want children!” she snapped, turning on him. “But I’m not going to sit here and try to convince you that it was always Richard who was too busy! It’s really none of your business and you’re going to believ
e what you want anyway.”
“Hold it! Hold it!” Derek laughed. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I was merely curious.”
Leigh stared at him, her mouth still open. Finally, she managed to shut it and lean back into the seat, bewildered. Not only was he instigating pleasantries, he was actually refusing to argue with her when she sprang at him!
He remained completely pleasant as they reached Duval Street and ordered beer at Sloppy Joe’s, the corner bar made famous by Ernest Hemingway.
“One would think this was your first trip here,” Leigh told him as she caught a stray strand of hair blown aside by the huge ceiling fans.
“I know,” Derek replied, sipping his beer and licking the foam from his lips. He was wearing the dark glasses again and Leigh found his thoughts impossible to guess. A smile tickled his lips. “Just wait till we hit the souvenir shops! I’ll look like I’m fresh off a boat!”
Leigh smiled tentatively in return. As the fan-cooled air stirred around them and the blazing sun shone from the street, they chatted on idly, combatants mellowed to a state of truce by the easy, laid-back atmosphere of the “live and let live” Key colony. After a multitude of discussions that ranged from the best eating fish to the world economy, and after her third beer, Leigh suggested that they should get going.
“If I sit here any longer,” she said and chuckled, “I’ll fall asleep on you again.”
“You’re cute when you sleep,” Derek replied, and Leigh could not tell if he mocked her or not.
They spent another hour on Duval Street so Derek could comb through the shops. He bought jewelry to bring back for Angela and Tina, fine pieces made of coral and turquoise, toys for Lara, T-shirts and other trivia for the boys in the band, a watch for James, and perfumes for Emma and Maria.
“When you buy souvenirs,” Leigh commented, “you don’t mess around!”
Derek shrugged casually. “What good is money if you can’t spend it for pleasure?”
“Some people pay bills,” Leigh replied tartly.
“True.” He adjusted his purchases in his arms, pushed the large stuffed dolphin he had bought for Lara toward Leigh, and started down the street to the parking lot where they had left the Audi. He wasn’t going to argue with her at the moment. “Come on! It’s getting late.”
When Next We Love Page 11