by Ann Cristy
The days sped by and to Cle's relief there were long periods when Dev's face was not in front of her.
The friendly Australians made her first weeks not only pleasant but interesting. As Christmas approached, she had many invitations to dinner and to beach parties. Alistair Nivens had a beach house and it was decided that Max and Cle would spend the two day holiday with him and his wife and a few friends.
One evening in her apartment she was poring over some sketches when the phone rang. She jumped, staring at it from her place on the pouch. She lifted the receiver on the fourth ring and heard the operator inquire if she were Cle Orwell. "Jaime? Jaime, is that you? Lord, why did you call person to person? It must be costing a mint."
"Yes, it is costing, darling, but I wanted to make sure that I reached you!" Jaime launched into a monologue, full of anecdotes about happenings at the
salon. It was as though he were calling from the corner drugstore.
Cle could feel the tension of the last weeks break away in chunks as Jaime described how Amy had stuck out her tongue at a customer who had made the incautious remark about Amy being rather good looking for a black girl.
"I damn near lost a million dollar account but I couldn't be angry at Amy. I would have done it myself if I had heard it."
"Oh, Jaime, it's so good to hear your voice. Please give my love to Amy and Suzy and the staff."
"I will, dear." There was a long pause. "Cle, Carstairs has been here maxi times and he has murder in his eyes."
Cle's limbs felt as though they were melting wax. Lucky Jaime! He had seen Dev. Poor Jaime! Dev could be the very devil when fury rode him. "I... I hope he isn't making you too uncomfortable, Jaime."
"Darling, he wants to kill me, and I think he would except that he considers me his only link to you." There was irritated awe in Jaime's voice. "I never thought I would see that arctic facade of his lordship crack... but, damn it, I sure have. He wants you back, Cle. That I know."
"I'm sure of it." Cle could feel her smile tipping to one side. "Dev would never allow himself to be dumped. He can dump, but no one can do it to him. He must be livid."
"Sulfurous, darling. Smoke curls out of his ears and nose. I never believed in the Nether World until I watched 'is Lordship inquire about you. If I didn't know the breed better, I would say he was desperate." Jaime coughed once. "But don't worry, darling, he has gotten nothing from me nor will he. Now for some good news. I have decided to take a little time off from the slush and cold and fly to Australia to visit you and Max. Oh, not to fear I will let the cat out of the bag to Carstairs. I had my travel agent book me through from InternationalAirport in Toronto. If anyone checks, I've gone north into ski country. Good, huh?"
"Very good." Cle's voice was hoarse.
"I should be there sometime between Christmas and New Year's day. I'm not just sure which day but I'll call you from one of our layovers. Ta, Cle. I think I'll deduct the charge for this call from your first salary check when you return."
"That's what you think, you—" Cle broke off and laughed as she realized she was talking to the burr of a line gone dead. Jaime had ended their conversation with the dramatic flourish he affected in his work. Cle's hand shook as she replaced the phone.
Oh, Dev, won't you ever leave me alone? she cried silently. I will live without you! / will! She grated her teeth, cursing the weakness in her that kept the picture of him so clear in her mind.
Christmas came to Sydney with sunshine and picnics and promises that she would learn how to handle a surfboard in no time. Cle was skeptical as she listened to Max describe the learning of the skill that seemed so natural to Australians, Hawaiians, and Califonians. She couldn't forget she was a New Yorker. The drive to Alistair's beach house was not a long one but it gave Cle a chance to see the sun drenched beaches that seemed to stretch to infinity.
Max glanced over his shoulder to see if he could pass a car and grimaced. "Cle, did you have to bring so many gifts? Lord, did you bring two for everyone? I want you to know that I wasn't fond of all that wrapping either." He frowned at her.
"You know you loved it." Cle smiled at the man who had become a friend to her in such a short time. "You shook your own gift for ten minutes trying to
figure out what it was."
"I just hope you paid a fortune for it. I'm worth every penny." Max gave her a pleased look when she laughed.
Alistair's beach house was a rough wood affair that overlooked craggy rocks that seemed as though they'd been thrown there by a giant hand. Beyond the rocks was whitish sand with darker, volcanic sand rimming the water. Monstrous waves crashed onto the shore.
Cle inhaled the tangy salt air and felt a tinge of excitement. Alistair's wife, Diana, was an artist and, as she stood next to Cle, she smiled at her.
"Magnificent, isn't it? I see it every morning and every day it's new and different."
"Aren't you afraid of sharks when you surf?" Cle asked raising her voice to be heard over the roar of the waves.
"We have some of the largest sharks in the world off the coast of Australia and anyone who isn't wary of them is a fool, but I can't say that we have ever had much trouble with them here and we've lived here for eight years."
Over lunch Cle discovered how delightful the company was. Everyone was friendly and eager to show her all the rudiments of surfing. Later, when she appeared in a one piece lycra bathing suit, she felt Max's eyes on her.
"No wonder, Jaime is so protective of you, Cle. You are quite lovely." He looked at the slight frown on her face and shrugged, lifting her board to his shoulder and carrying it to the water's edge.
Cle felt awkward and nervous when she tried to grasp the board as the others were doing. All at once she had the feeling that she should announce it was too soon after lunch to swim or that the waves looked too dangerous, or...
"Feeling edgy, Cle? Everyone does the first time but you'll like it once you try it. It takes years and dedication to be expert at this sport but even a novice can have fun if she's careful. Come along now, push your board out and lie on it full length. I'll be right next to you."
Cle could feel her heart pounding as she paddled out over those deep troughs. Neither she nor Max paddled out as far as the others, Cle turning her board as Max directed then looking over her shoulder at the rollers that seemed to come endlessly.
"Here comes a nice one for us, Cle. It's small."
Cle gulped, thinking Max must be out of his mind if he called that crusher galloping up behind them small. She did as he said, though, and began paddling toward the beach and when she felt the upward thrust of the wave she pulled her legs up under her until she was kneeling. She couldn't bring herself to stand as Max was doing, but still she got an enormous thrill from the ride. She tumbled from the board as it slid into shore. Laughing and shaking out her hair, she called to Max. "That was fabulous. Let's do it again."
Cle felt all her muscles come into play as she tried the board again and again, sometimes simply losing balance and falling down, several times being plowed down by the force of the water. It was exhilarating, it was dangerous, and she welcomed the deep fatigue that affected her when they called a halt.
"Dear Lord, Cle," the woman named Pam exclaimed, "you're in better shape than all of us. If I had done this much on my first time out I would have been stiff for a month."
Cle gave her a rueful smile. "I'll be stiff, I'm sure, but it's worth it. I loved it. No wonder you Australians are always smiling. You work off all your tensions in that lovely surf."
The others laughed and made teasing remarks to one another about her observation. She felt very much at home. Then, too, the knowledge that she was so tired that she would undoubtedly sleep through this Christmas Eve night made her glad. She was afraid of more torture from memories of how Dev had awakened her every hour last year to cuddle and love her and each time had given her a small, beautifully wrapped gift. She could still see Dev's elfin grin when she chided him for his extravagance in buying her so many
things and how he'd kissed her. Then he'd told her not to lecture him, that he had sent a check in an amount equal to all the gifts he'd bought to Mother Theresa of Calcutta—and in her name. Cle had cried and hugged him hard. She'd mumbled over and over, "I love you, I love you," but perhaps not loud enough for Dev to hear.
She was glad when dinner that evening was loud and raucous. She was grateful for Alistair's two children, who were so excited they could hardly eat. It felt good to watch the children tear into the two gifts they were allowed to open on Christmas Eve and sing the Christmas carols. She hoped the others would take the mistiness in her eyes for sentimentality.
"It's hard to be away from your own country and people on Christmas, but soon, Cle, you will think of us as your people."
Cle gave Max a grateful smile and allowed him to kiss her under the mistletoe.
Jaime called from Hawaii two days before New Year's Eve to tell her that he would be there to celebrate with her and Max. They met Jaime's plane and it seemed that they were all talking at once. He was going to stay with Max during his visit and he seemed especially pleased that Cle had decided to give a small party in his honor on New Year's Eve.
"I'm anxious to see this place you have raved so much about, dear Cle." Jaime squeezed her shoulder as she sat between the two men on the front seat of the car.
"I didn't rave. After all I've only talked to you once and written to you twice."
"Well, it sounded like raving." Jaime shrugged, smiling at her.
For the rest of the journey to Max's apartment, Cle was content to listen to the two experts argue the merits of the business that engrossed them.
Cle was delighted by the small catering firm Max had recommended—and relieved to discover Max was correct in saying they were not expensive. Unlike Jaime who had an imperial notion of what was "frugal," Max was realistic. The caterer was well within Cle's budget and so on New Year's Eve day she found herself, with Max's blessing, taking the day off to do the last minute cleaning that she thought was necessary. She was horrified at Jaime's offer to help, knowing that he would sit around, drink gallons of coffee, and distract her with talk about the world of high fashion. She was grateful when Max coaxed him into visiting a weaver that he considered a master.
Hair tied in a kerchief, Cle waxed the wood paneling in the lounge and dining room. She had worked her way into the kitchen feeling very satisfied with the two rooms she had finished, when the doorbell started ringing. Someone was leaning on the bell and, thinking it was an overburdened caterer, Cle flung the door open.
"Happy New Year, Cle!" Dev leaned against the door jamb, his indolent pose belied by the green sulfur of his eyes. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"
CHAPTER FOUR
Open mouthed, Cle stared, not really able to believe that Dev was actually standing in front of her. The stun of surprise wore off within seconds, though, and she tried to shut the door on him.
Dev slowly forced the door wide, shoving a straining Cle behind it. "Not very friendly of you, darling, and after all we've meant to each other." His voice sounded like a fingernail down a blackboard.
She had to grit her teeth to keep from screaming. Inhaling deeply, she faced him in the paneled foyer. "Get out of here. What are you doing here? You can't stay."
"I can see you're overcome with joy at my presence, so much so that your speech is erratic. You're talking like a robot whose batteries have run down, love," Dev drawled, unbuttoning his sport coat as casually as if he'd just come home from work and nothing was wrong between them. He ambled past her toward the lounge area, his eyes moving in narrow assessment over the apartment.
"How like you to make some remark about my speech, m'lud," Cle grated, yanking the kerchief from her head and following him, stopping dead on the top step leading down into the living room when Dev whirled on her, his face a savage mask.
"Don't get nasty, Cle. I can get a great deal nastier and have bloody better reasons." His voice had the sound of a sledgehammer hitting concrete. His eyes were just as Jaime had described them. Green sulfur.. .and murderous!
Cle licked her lips, thrusting out her chin. "What are you doing here?"
"Now what the bloody hell do you think I'm doing here?"
"I realize you're angry with me, but... but I did what I thought was..." Cle's voice trailed off as she watched his features contort.
"Yes. You had better stop talking, Cle. I don't know how far my control will stretch, but I would guess not far." Dev's head swiveled until his eyes lighted on the decanter and glasses sitting on a small table next to the fireplace. He strode across the room in four thrusting moves. His hand tilted a large measure of sherry into a glass. He tossed off the first then upended another into his mouth. He stood there staring at the decanter in his hand for long moments before he looked at her again. "Do we talk now or at some later date?"
Cle's instinct was to run and hide in a closet and stay there for a year. She had to force the words from her throat. "I...I'm having guests this evening. It's New Year's Eve..."
"I'm aware of the day and time." His voice was silkily sarcastic and made Cle shiver. "I'm sure you'll want to be polite and issue me an invitation as well."
"Oh, I will, will I? Think again, Dev." She stared at him. "How long are you going to be in Sydney?" she croaked.
"As long as it takes."
He was all steel heavily wrapped in velvet—terribly threatening and Cle felt shaky. "You're talking in riddles."
"If you want straight answers, ask straight questions." His eyes swung away from the Chinese rug and fell full on her. "While I'm here, I'll want to see Sydney. You can show it to me."
"I'm not a tour guide." Cle watched his lips peel back from his teeth at her words and took a step backward. She cleared her throat. "I still have work to finish before my guests arrive... so... if you don't mind."
He glowered at her. "Why haven't you hired a daily to take care of the work? It's nonsense for you to be doing all this manual labor and then expect to entertain this evening."
Cle's chin came up, her hands pulling the kerchief between them like a rope. "I don't have unlimited funds. And don't make some snide remark about that, please! Besides, I enjoy doing some of the housework, even though I can't do it all." She braced herself, remembering Dev's irritation with her when she would insist on doing some of the household tasks herself rather than save them for Mrs. Hubbard.
He stared at her for long moments. "All right. We'll do it together."
Cle felt her mouth drop, her eyes start from her head. "Don't be silly," she whispered, her voice hoarse.
"Don't be pompous, Cle. It's unattractive." Dev pointed to her apron. "Get me one of those wraparound things."
"But you can't.. .Your slacks..." Cle paused, his words sinking in. Anger seemed to rise from her toes. "Pompous!" she shouted at him as she followed him at a trot to the kitchen. "Did you say pompous?" She stood in the doorway leading to the pantry where Dev was rummaging around. "You have gall, I'll give you that. How dare you say that I—"
"Don't nag me," Dev said as he emerged from the pantry with the vacuum cleaner in one hand, pail with cloths and cleaners in the other, apron round his waist. "If you want this place done, get working. I'll argue with you later."
Cle could feel her blood pounding in her head. Every epithet that she could dredge up was clamoring to be snouted at Dev as he walked past her into the living room, ignoring her. Frustration drove her after him but since he continued to pretend she wasn't there and then turned the vacuum on so that her voice disappeared in the roar, she had no choice but to go back to her polishing.
Anger made the cloth a live thing and in no time Cle finished her waxing. She and Dev barely exchanged a word. The place looked wonderful when they called a halt some hours later. Grudgingly she offered Dev a sandwich and something to drink and still there were few words between them.
Cle was still groping for some way to make it clear to Dev that he should not show up that evening w
hen he abruptly rose to his feet, said that he was going, and that he would be back later.
She was left staring at the door he slammed behind him and listening to the hum of the elevator that took him to the ground floor.
Cle soaked in a hot tub with mountains of fragrant bubbles, hoping to calm her nerves. From time to time she eyed the dress she had hung on the clothes tree in the bedroom. Swathed in a bathsheet, she walked around the dress several times trying to decide if, in truth. Jaime's creation would give her courage, as he had told her it would when he first insisted that she have it. She'd shot back that she'd probably be arrested for wearing what he termed his "Venus Creation."
It was a strapless cream lace dress worn with a sheer body stocking underneath. It was form hugging, hidden pleats from the knee providing the freedom to dance... or walk! It delineated every curve, leaving very little to the imagination.
Cle creamed her body with a perfumed lotion given to her by Amy Worden who said, "it was guaranteed to gather the 'yum yum' boys to her side." She had scoffed but now, as she inhaled the elusive scent that emanated from her body, she raised her eyebrows. She was glad the apartment was air conditioned as she dabbed at the beading of perspiration on her lip but decided not to turn the power to high until the press of people would demand it. She used very little makeup, grateful that her skin had already picked up a honey tan from the day of surfing at the Nivens's. A touch of blush, a light eye makeup, lipstick and she was finished.
Remembering Jaime's admonition against too much jewelry, she wore only the teardrop sapphires Dev had given her and a pinkie ring with a tiny sapphire stone. Her hair fell straight to her shoulders like a black velvet curtain.
When she looked in the mirror, she had second thoughts about the dress and was just wondering if there would be time to change, when the bell at the service door rang, announcing the arrival of the caterers. She would change after she had them settled, she promised herself.