She said huskily, “Let me go, Ethan. Leave me alone."
“I'm not going to leave you alone, and I'm not letting you go,” he said. “So get that into your head. I'm going to haul you out of that comfortable dreamworld of yours—kicking and screaming if necessary. Understand?"
Hopelessly, she shook her head. “It's you who don't understand.” She stood between his hands and waited for him to release her. “You'll do whatever you want, I suppose. I can't fight you."
He gave a furious, disgusted exclamation. “At one time you'd have had a damn good try!"
She looked away, her head drooping again.
Ethan said, in a strange tone, “Well, this worked before...” And he hauled her into his arms, her head tipped back against the curve of his shoulder, while he regarded her upturned face with glittering fury. Her lips parted in silent protest, her eyes widening, and his mouth curved grimly before he lowered it to hers, taking no notice of her reflexive attempt at escape. “Too late,” he murmured, tightening his hold on her. And then his lips were determinedly exploring hers, with a concentration and intensity that overwhelmed her. A tide of panic rose inside her as she felt the heat of his body through her swimsuit. One of his hands moved down her spine, forcing her closer; she went as taut as a bowstring, and made another effort to free herself. Ethan's hand clamped behind her head, and his mouth continued wreaking its devastation of hers.
He didn't stop until she shuddered against him and went quiet. Then he lifted his head to look frowningly into her dazed eyes, and slowly released her.
Celeste stepped back one pace, steadied herself, then swung her hand back and up. She saw the gleam of triumph in his eyes, the beginning of a smile on his mouth before her slap wiped it away. He had seen it coming and had not even tried to defend himself.
She didn't stay around to see any more, but dived cleanly into the water and headed for the shore. When she reached the sand and snatched up her towel and began to climb to the house, he was still standing on the rock, watching her.
She spent the rest of the day in her room, lying on the bed. Later she heard Ethan come up the stairs, pausing outside her door, but then the soft footsteps went on to his workroom.
Celeste cooked dinner and served it, and they ate in near silence, treating each other with exquisite politeness. She refused to meet Ethan's eyes, her gaze sliding obliquely away as she passed him the potatoes or took away his plate for washing.
Afterwards he said, “I'll make the coffee. Go into the other room."
When he brought it, she took hers and waited for him to sit down. Then she said, “May I read Alec's letters?"
“Why? Do you want to relive the hell you put him through? Did you enjoy making him feel a fool?"
She winced. “Whatever you think of me, you have no right to say a thing like that."
The look that crossed his face was so fleeting she couldn't read it.
She said, “You've condemned me on the basis of evidence I've never seen. Do you think that's fair?"
“I don't have the letters anymore. They weren't the kind of thing you'd want to keep around."
“Even that last one he wrote?” she asked. Surely he wouldn't have discarded the letter that had arrived after Alec's death.
Ethan said slowly, “I'm not sure what effect it might have on you. It could send you into another emotional tailspin. I daren't risk that."
“You admit I have some feelings, then."
“Some, yes. Guilt, at least. No matter what I think of you, Celeste, I don't want to be responsible for making you ill."
“No, you might feel obliged to pay my hospital bills, or worse still, be saddled with me yourself."
“I don't have a premium on unfairness, do I?"
She flushed. He had never shown any signs of grudging anything she needed when she was ill.
“You've been very patient,” she conceded stiffly, “considering what you think of me. But I'll make arrangements to leave as soon as possible."
“Running away?” he jeered softly. “Once you'd have had more guts than that."
“I'm not running away. I'm removing myself from an unpleasant situation, and one that you can't be enjoying any more than I am."
“It has its moments. Do you really hate it so much?"
“Not everything.” She gazed down at the steaming liquid in her cup, then took a small, warming sip. “I love the island ... your house. And I like Janice and Henry ... and Jeff. But I can't stay."
“So it's only me that you can't stand."
“I've never said that. Never.” She raised her eyes and gazed at him over her coffee cup.
He sucked in his breath. “When you look at me like that, I could almost forget—"
“—how much you hate me? You don't have to hate me, Ethan. I wish you wouldn't."
“Then why don't you stay,” he said slowly, his eyes very intent,"and see if you can change that?"
It was a tempting thought, a slender ray of hope. She tried to read what was in his face, but he had shifted a little and his face was shadowed. As usual he had only turned on the wall lights.
“Do you mean it?” she asked. Would he be prepared to listen to her version of events, to keep an open mind?
“I mean,” he said, “that I don't want you to go yet. Not for a while. And if you're as innocent as you claim, you should jump at the chance to prove it."
“Prove it? How?"
He said, his eyes totally unfathomable, “I'll think of something."
A small shiver of apprehension ran down her spine. “What do you—"
He interrupted her. “But first, I want you fully fit and well, emotionally as well as physically. As for the rest ... try not to think about it."
“Will you promise to do the same?” she asked him. “Try not to think about it?"
He looked thoughtfully at her, leaning back in his chair. “Okay,” he agreed finally. “It's a deal."
Celeste forced herself to eat more, and to swim every day. Swimming was relaxing and it was gentle exercise. She refused to accept excuses from herself that she was too tired, or the tide was wrong, or she had other things to do.
Ethan sometimes strolled on the beach with her or swam with her. Once or twice they went out in the boat with Jeff and she looked the other way each time the men hooked a fish and hauled it into the boat. And in the evenings she sat with Ethan on the terrace after dinner watching the stars come out and listening to music through the open door to the house.
He was going out of his way to be considerate, although occasionally she caught a hint of impatience in his eyes. But gradually she began to feel more alive. Janice remarked with relief how much better she seemed. Mrs. Jackson said with approval, “Getting over it then, aren't you, dear?” Even Jeff noticed. She seldom saw him alone these days, although sometimes he joined her and Ethan on the beach.
One day when the three of them had been swimming, Jeff put a friendly arm about her shoulders as they left the water. “Has Ethan taken you to the Trocadero yet?” he asked.
“No. What is it?"
“A nightclub. It's not half-bad. How about it?” he said. “We could all go out tomorrow night."
“I have work to do,” Ethan said.
Jeff grinned at him. “Don't we all? I'll take her on my own if you like."
Ethan had picked up his towel and was rubbing his hair. He paused and shot a glance at his friend, which Jeff met with quizzically raised brows. Ethan said, “Would you like to go, Celeste?"
Aware of Ethan's eyes on her, Celeste hesitated. Her first thought was to refuse. Then she remembered her resolution to start living a normal life again. “Yes,” she said. “Thank you, Jeff. I'd like that very much."
“Tomorrow, then. Sure you won't change your mind?” Jeff asked Ethan.
“Three's a crowd,” Ethan said shortly. “I'd better get some work done. See you later."
Jeff looked after him, then flopped down on the sand. “What's eating him?"
“I've no idea.” Celeste spread her towel beside him and rolled over on her back.
“Could he be jealous?” Jeff asked, as though the idea had just occurred.
“On his brother's behalf, perhaps. Maybe he thinks it's too soon for me to be going to nightclubs."
“It's almost three months, isn't it?"
With a slight shock, Celeste realised that he was right. She nodded, and he said, “He must know you can't mourn forever. The Trocadero is just a small place. Classy. I think you'll like it."
She wore the hand-painted silk dress she had bought in Conneston, with a narrow silver belt and the green sandals. When she came down from her room, her hair flowing about her shoulders, Ethan was prowling about the living room with a glass in his hand. He stopped dead and surveyed her as she descended the stairs.
She reached the floor, and hesitated. Ethan took a gulp of whisky from his glass and said, “Jeff will be impressed."
“Why don't you come with us?” she asked him. “You were invited."
“Isn't one man at a time enough for you?"
Not realising that it was a measure of her recovery, she flared into real anger. “That's a filthy thing to say! I thought we agreed—"
“On some sort of truce, yes. I apologise. How are you feel ing these days?"
At the moment, she felt fully alive and aware, her senses singing, some complicated emotion making her pulses race in a way that was not entirely unpleasant. In the last few weeks she had truly climbed out of the pit of despair and depression in which she had been wallowing. “I feel ... okay,” she said. Her chin lifted. “Is that a signal to start insulting me again?"
His lips curved in a smile that held calculation and perhaps anticipation. “And if I do ... insult you,” he drawled, “will I get as good as I give?"
She snapped, “That's a promise!"
He stood surveying her for several long seconds, then, very softly, he said, “Good. I'll look forward to it."
A frown gathered on her forehead. “Why do you want to fight with me?"
Blandly, he said, “Did I say that?"
“You certainly implied it."
“You're far too lovely to fight with, Celeste. Especially tonight."
Her voice brittle, she said between her teeth, “Thank you."
“Not at all,” he replied with mocking courtesy. “Should I have thought of taking you nightclubbing, myself?"
“I can't think of a single reason why you should."
“Can't you?” He paused. “Just the prospect of it seems to have brought you right out of your shell. I haven't seen you look so ... vital, since you arrived here."
“I'm looking forward to an evening out,” she said.
“I apologise. I haven't been a very good host, have I?"
“You've been ... extremely generous with your home, and your time."
His mouth went dry. “Don't lay it on too thick, Celeste."
“I was quite sincere, actually.” She met his eyes almost defiantly.
“I'm not asking for your gratitude."
“I know that.” Something wordless passed between them. She saw his eyes narrow, and inwardly shivered. But the familiar shrinking hopelessness was no longer there. There had to be a reckoning between them, she knew that, knew this was what his patience and persistence had been all about. In a strange way, she almost welcomed the prospect. Face it and get it over with, she thought.
But not tonight. Hearing a car turn into the driveway, she said, “That must be Jeff. Excuse me."
“Ask him in,” Ethan said, “for a drink before you go."
“Do you think that's a hgood idea, if we're going to be drinking later?"
He said, “Jeff isn't a fool. He won't overdo it."
He followed her to the door and invited Jeff in himself, whistling derisively at the pleated shirt and bow tie the other man wore with a dinner jacket.
“Okay.” Jeff grinned. “I have to live up to this girl.” His comprehensive glance at Celeste was appreciative. “You look beautiful,” he said sincerely.
Ethan handed him a drink, and poured some sparkling white wine for Celeste. Jeff said, “Sure you don't want to come and play chaperone?"
“I told you, I need to work."
Jeff shrugged. “Suit yourself. We'll think of you when we're tripping the light fantastic."
“Do that.” His gaze was on Celeste, his voice apparently absentminded, but something in his eyes made her lower hers abruptly. She shivered and put down her half-empty glass.
“I won't promise to bring Cinderella home by midnight,” Jeff said, taking his cue from her and standing up. “We could be dancing until dawn."
“Celeste is a big girl,” Ethan said, apparently tranquil. “I'm sure she can take care of herself. But she's not been entirely well, lately. Just take it easy, okay?"
“Sure. Don't worry, uncle,” Jeff teased. He put a hand on Celeste's waist. “Let's go."
“Something's bugging him,” Jeff said in the car.
Trying to sound surprised, Celeste said, “He seemed quite happy to me."
“Uh-uh. He's uptight about something."
“Work, maybe."
“Maybe. Well, that's his problem. You and I are going to enjoy ourselves, right?"
“Right,” she echoed, stifling a tiny, ridiculous regret that it was Jeff sitting beside her, and not Ethan.
The club was right on the waterfront in Conneston. Its atmosphere was friendly and sophisticated, the decor a mixture of Pacific artifacts, with carvings much in evidence among glossy potted plants, and upmarket brass and smoked glass furniture. Jeff knew a few people and they soon found themselves members of a party. At first a little tense and scared, Celeste gradually relaxed, helped by a couple of glasses of wine and some delicious coconut, rice and fish combination that Jeff assured her was a specialty of the house and not to be missed.
A small combo played dance music, the musicians imported from Tahiti and wearing garlands of flowers. When Jeff first asked her to dance, she felt rather stiff and out of practice, but after he had whirled her around the floor a couple of times with uninhibited expertise, she began to enjoy herself properly. She danced with a couple of his friends, too, and was conscious of having a thoroughly good time. Everyone was easily friendly; the men were admiring without being pushy, and the women seemed to like her. There was no pressure and no tension. The music, the food, the movements of the dance, and perhaps the wine, all helped. She looked up at Jeff as he handed her another glass of wine, and smiled at him gratefully. For the first time, she felt there was no danger of relapsing into the grey world she had inhabited for so long.
“Okay?” Jeff raised an eyebrow.
“Very much so. Thank you for bringing me, Jeff."
“My pleasure. Like to dance again?"
“I haven't danced so much in years.” She got up to join him on the floor. The music was slow and dreamy, and he tucked her hand against his chest and drew her close, nuzzling his cheek against her hair.
Gently, Celeste pushed him away a little.
He grinned down at her. “No?"
She shook her head firmly. “Sorry, Jeff. Just friends?"
He studied the shadow of anxiety in her eyes and bent to brush his lips across her forehead. “Fine. But you can't blame a bloke for trying."
“I'm not blaming you for anything. You've been very sweet to me."
He grimaced. “Sounds like the kiss of death. Oh, well. You can't win ’em all."
She smiled at him teasingly. “I shouldn't think you'd have much trouble winning quite a few."
“Thank you, ma'am.” He added thoughtfully, “You've changed a lot since you came to Sheerwind."
“Don't remind me,” she said soberly. “I was in something of a state, wasn't I?"
“Sorry,” he said. “You don't need to be told. Anyway, I'm glad you've snapped out of it. I guess Ethan has had a lot to do with it."
She looked at him rather warily, and he said, “I mean, he's r
eally pulled you through it, hasn't he?"
“Yes,” she said slowly, “he really has. For his own reasons."
“How's that?"
“Nothing. Let's not discuss Ethan tonight."
“Suits me. Talking about another man when I'm dancing with a beautiful woman—I must be slipping!"
He took her home at about one-thirty. Ethan had left the door on the latch, and Jeff opened it for her, saying, “Shall I find the light for you?"
“It's all right,” she said. “I'll turn on the switch in the lounge. Thank you, Jeff. I had a great time."
“My pleasure."
As she paused, he said, with laughter in his voice, “I've been a perfect little gentleman all night. Do I rate a good-night kiss?"
He was a tryer, she thought, amused. She laughed softly and lifted her face. He kissed her nicely, without passion. Just as he knew she would have wished. Then he put his arms about her and gave her a hug. “I had a great time, too. Good night, Celeste."
“Good night.” She closed the door after him and snicked the lock, then walked slowly down the passageway to the living room.
She paused in the doorway, and gasped as a looming shadow rose from one of the chairs.
“Have a good time?” Ethan asked.
“Yes, thank you. Why are you sitting in the dark?"
“It relaxes me."
“I thought you'd be in bed."
“I finished the programme I was working on about an hour ago. So I figured I might as well hang about until you came in."
“There's no need to wait up for me. As you said, I'm a big girl, now."
“Absolutely. Was Jeff a perfect little gentleman?"
“Yes."
“Disappointed?"
So it was starting again, she thought, her heart sinking. It was one thing to feel able to stand up to whatever he planned to hurl at her, but after a pleasant, relaxed evening, she didn't want to start a minor war. “No,” she said coldly, wondering if Ethan had been drinking while he waited. She thought she could faintly smell whisky, and surely that couldn't be left over from hours ago.
“Do you mean to tell me that one good-night kiss is enough for you?” Ethan asked.
“Don't be so beastly,” she said. “I'm going to bed."
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