Promise of Paradise

by Rosemary Hammond

He turned to go, but then, as though struck by a sudden thought, glanced back at her. “May I ask you a personal question?”

  Slowly she raised her eyes to his. “You can always ask,” she replied.

  “Why didn’t you come to your husband’s funeral?”

  She could feel the hot flush stealing over her face, and found she could no longer meet that steady green gaze. “I was ill,” she said shortly.

  He only nodded briefly, then grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, hooked his thumb under the collar and slung it over his shoulder.

  “Well, I’ll be seeing you, Mrs. Trent,” he said. “Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”

  He turned swiftly on his heel and sauntered off away from her down the path, then into the main building of the motel. She didn’t take her eyes off his tall retreating form once, but he never looked back.

  For a long time after he’d disappeared from view, Jessica sat motionless in her chair, hardly stirring a muscle, gazing out at the slowly setting sun on the far distant horizon of the blue-green sea.

  She had learned exactly nothing from Luke Fury. Nor, if she was any judge of character, was there any hope that she ever would. A hard man. Probably a ruthless one, and he clearly disliked her, or the woman he imagined her to be. There had been contempt in just about every syllable he’d uttered during their short conversation, the way he’d looked at her, the expression on his face.

  And asking her why she hadn’t gone to Paul’s funeral. Perhaps she should have told him about the miscarriage, but she still found that painful subject hard to discuss. She’d been so hopeful that a child might make a difference in her marriage, so thrilled at the new life she was carrying within her. But when she’d told Paul his reaction had merely been one of annoyance. Then when the news came of his death, she’d lost it.

  Finally, with a sigh, she got up and went back inside the cottage. In the bedroom she stood before the full-length mirror for a few moments studying her reflection.

  This was the woman Luke Fury saw, slim, medium height, simply—and expensively—dressed in her yellow cotton. Every strand of dark hair was carefully in place, her subdued makeup flawless, her poised carriage and confident lift of her head the product of years of training.

  But that was only the facade, the superficial image that had been imposed on her by her patrician mother, the society she’d been born into. Underneath was a mass of seething emotion seeking an outlet. She’d hoped marriage to Paul Trent would provide it, but that had fizzled out almost from the honeymoon, and in the end she’d simply buried the emotion and assumed the role she had been so carefully-groomed to play since early childhood.

  What was she supposed to do now? Go back to the Trent mansion in San Francisco, or perhaps to her mother’s house in Boston, take her place in society once again, play her part, probably end up marrying again, someone as shallow, superficial and distant as her dead husband?

  Everything in her rebelled against that fate. Why not just stay on here a while longer? The Trents thought she was in Boston staying with her mother. All except Helen, Paul’s sister, her only real friend in that artificial hothouse world she’d escaped.

  On an impulse, she picked up the telephone on the table beside it and dialed the Trents’ number. It was early evening. Helen would be home from her volunteer job at the hospital by now.

  It was the housekeeper who answered. “Trent residence.”

  “Hello, Martha. This is Mrs. Paul speaking. Has Miss Helen come in yet?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Paul. Would you like to speak to her?”

  “Please.”

  In a moment, Helen’s gruff, familiar voice came on the line. “Jessica? Is it really you? How are you making out? Enjoying the Florida sunshine? It’s raining here.”

  Jessica had to laugh. Leave it to her sister-in-law to inundate her with questions before even saying hello. Ten years older than her brother Paul, she’d been more like a maiden aunt to Jessica since her marriage, and was the one person she trusted implicitly.

  ‘Yes, Helen,’ she said. “It really is me. The Florida sunshine is great. I’m sorry about the rain. And so far I’ve come up against a blank wall. No one will tell me anything.”

  There was a short silence. “Now why is that, do you suppose?” Helen asked at last.

  “I wish I knew. You tell me.”

  “Well, it does suggest that there really is something to hide, just as we suspected.”

  “Of course it does,” Jessica replied. She told her about her interview with Commander Perkins, the talk with Luke Fury. “He’s supposed to be the expert who investigated Paul’s plane crash, but not only does he refuse to tell me anything, he’s obviously taken a personal dislike to me.”

  “Well, it’s apparently going to be more difficult than you imagined. What will you do now? Come home?”

  “Not on your life,” was the instant reply. “I’m going to stay here, at least for a while.”

  “Good for you. Enjoy the sunshine. Get a tan. Who knows? Your stubborn Mr. Fury might change his mind. Don’t worry about the home front. I’ll keep Father off your back for as long as you want to stay.”

  “Thanks, Helen. I knew I could count on you.” She paused for a moment, then went on more slowly. “Helen, let’s say I’m right and there is something they’re covering up about Paul’s death. Am I making a mistake to pursue it? Maybe we’d all be better off not knowing.”

  “My dear girl, only you can answer that question. However, knowing you, I doubt you’ll ever rest until you learn the truth about anything, no matter how much it might hurt. But you have to make up your own mind. Afraid I can’t help you there.”

  The weather continued balmy and mild. Jessica picked up a few paperbacks in one of the hotel shops and for the most part lazed around each day, sunning herself, reading, swimming in. the clear blue-green surf. She was enjoying the resort atmosphere, the privacy, so removed from her everyday life.

  She did manage to get in one long walk along the shoreline late each afternoon, the fine white sand squeaking under the soles of her sandals, and since it was a private beach, she usually had the place pretty much to herself. She would return, pleasantly tired, and with the first real appetite she’d had in months.

  It was late on Sunday afternoon, three days after her abortive interview with Luke Fury, that she saw him again. He’d said he was staying in the hotel, and although she’d kept an eye out for him, so far hadn’t even had a glimpse of him. Each day her determination to tackle him again grew stronger, but it would have to be a casual encounter. He’d only sidestep a direct request for another interview, probably flatly refuse.

  That afternoon she was heading down to the beach for a swim, dressed in her modest black suit, and just as she came around a thick clump of oleander, blazing with bright red blossoms, she saw him. He was standing at the water’s edge, his back toward her, wearing only a low-slung pair of dark trunks, his hands on his lean hips, his legs spread apart. For a moment, all she could do was stare.

  The man had a spectacular physique, which had been well-hidden beneath the rather rumpled suit he’d worn the last time they’d met. His dark hair gleamed with golden highlights in the bright sunshine, and drops of water glistened on his broad, tanned and solidly-muscled back and shoulders.

  He turned just then, and before she could look away, he spotted her. Gradually his eyes narrowed and a slow smile spread across his face as he started sauntering slowly toward her.

  Although her first instinct was to run, she stood her ground, waiting for him until he stood before her. He stood there, legs apart, knuckles on his hips, his eyes sweeping insolently over her from head to toe. Although her whole body seemed to be going up in flame, Jessica didn’t move a muscle.

  “Well, hello, Mrs. Trent,” he drawled, his voice elaborately polite. “Still here, I see. I thought you’d have gone home by now.”

  “Oh, no, Mr. Fury,” she replied coolly. “I don’t give up that easily.”

  His
eyes widened momentarily, the condescending smile replaced by a frown of annoyance. “You don’t mean to say you intend to persist in this wild-goose chase of yours.”

  “Yes,” she replied simply. “I do mean to say just that.”

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ve done all I can to discourage you.” Once again his eyes swept over her. “That’s rather a fetching outfit for a recent widow to be sporting, wouldn’t you say? But perhaps a black bathing suit is your set’s idea of a mourning outfit.”

  Jessica longed to slap the smug look off his face, but instead managed to give him a tight smile. “And what set is that, Mr. Fury?”

  He grinned and swept an arm in the air. “Oh, you know. The beautiful people. The rich and the famous. All the upper echelons of society.”

  She gave a harsh laugh. “Your misconceptions about my life-style are rather naive, wouldn’t you say?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And any criticism of what I do or what I wear is pretty ironic coming from a man who can’t even give a straight answer to a simple question.”

  He glowered at her then, his face like thunder. “Are you calling me a liar, Mrs. Trent?” he bit out through clenched teeth.

  She shrugged. “You said it, Mr. Fury. How else would you define a person who hides the truth? Perhaps in your ‘set’ that’s considered gentlemanly behavior, but it certainly isn’t in mine.”

  His lips curled in a sardonic smile. “And who ever said I was a gentleman?”

  “Not me, Mr. Fury,” she replied, returning his smile. “It most certainly wasn’t me.” She started to push past him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me...”

  He put a hand on her arm, holding her back. “Just a minute. I’m not through.”

  “Oh? Does that mean you’re going to tell me what I want to know?”

  “No!” was the abrupt reply. “It doesn’t.”

  She nodded briefly. “Then we have nothing more to say to each other.” His fingers seemed to be burning into her bare skin and she tried to shake free of his iron grip. “And would you please let go of my arm?”

  He stared for a moment, as though unaware he was still holding her. Then he quickly dropped his hand from her arm as though he’d been burned.

  Jessica turned and strode away from him and continued down to the surf without once looking back. Although she was confident she’d carried off the encounter with the poise that had been bred in her, her heart was thudding erratically and her hands still shaking.

  There was something very disturbing about the man, even beyond the fact that he was withholding information from her she was determined to get, something that shook her profoundly, at a level of her being she’d never experienced before. He reminded her of some kind of predatory animal, a panther perhaps, but one whose ferocity was well-concealed beneath a highly-polished veneer, except when his hide was pierced and the anger lurking underneath broke through to the surface, as it had just now.

  The one thought burning within her, amounting to a mania now, even a personal issue, was that she’d get the truth out of him somehow, sometime, if it killed her.

  When she reached the shoreline, she spread her towel on the sand, and had just started heading toward the water when suddenly, from behind her, came the sound of a woman’s low laughter.

  Slowly, she turned her head. Luke was still standing there where she’d left him, and running toward him was a tall redheaded woman, wearing a minuscule pink bikini that barely concealed her more than adequate physical endowments. When she reached him, she flung herself into his open arms, and he lifted her up in the air.

  Just as his dark head bent down to hers, Jessica came to her senses. She turned around and ran headlong into the surf.

  CHAPTER TWO

  LATER that night, alone in her cottage, Jessica’s mind wandered back to that scene on the beach. Her cheeks still burned at the insolent way Luke Fury’s eyes had swept over her in her bathing suit, his nasty comment about her mourning apparel. But when she caught herself wondering idly what it would be like to have him look at her the way he had the redhead, she stopped herself short.

  What she couldn’t understand was why he seemed so hostile to her. He didn’t even know her, yet every time they met he seemed to be accusing her of something. Somehow that last conversation with him only intensified her determination to get the truth out of him. It had become almost a personal issue between them now.

  To do that, she’d have to stay on in Florida, which was what she wanted to do anyway. The thought of going back to the Trent mansion in Hillsborough or to her own parents’ house in Boston chilled her to the bone. Somehow the loss of her child, Paul’s death, the cover-up, had all brought about a gradual but dramatic change in her whole attitude toward her past life.

  The idleness of it! The useless running around from one brilliant social affair to another, the dull people, the mindless gossip and backbiting. She wanted a taste of real life, where people worked for their living, made a difference in the world.

  The only real problem in staying was money. The cottage at the Paradise was ruinously expensive. Although she’d been raised in luxury and lived her married life in similar circumstances, she actually had no money of her own, except for Paul’s insurance. She’d always been given everything she wanted.

  She sat down one evening to calculate exactly where she stood financially. When she’d finished, the prospect looked pretty bleak. The insurance money would carry her for several months, but then what? She really should spend as little of it as possible and bank the rest.

  What she needed was a job. But what? She’d never worked a day in her life. Her expensive education at the exclusive women’s college had taught her history, literature, philosophy, music and art appreciation, but not one practical skill. Was she even capable of doing anything that someone would pay for? Well, she’d just have to find out.

  The very next day, she dressed carefully in her most businesslike outfit, a cream-colored linen suit, and drove back to the Naval Air Station at Pensacola. At the entrance to the Administration Building, she paused for a moment, took a deep breath, then marched inside, straight to Commander Perkins’ office and asked his secretary if she could see him.

  “Yes, of course, Mrs. Trent,” the woman replied. “I’ll just let him know you’re here.”

  As Jessica thanked her and sat down in the visitor’s chair, she had to smile to herself. For all her objections to her father-in-law’s influence-peddling, his name did open doors for her.

  Commander Perkins appeared at the door to his office in just a few minutes, a familiar suspicious look on his face. He obviously believed she was here to pester him again about Paul’s crash.

  “Mrs. Trent?” he said, ushering her inside his office and gesturing her into the chair opposite his desk. He seated himself then gave her another wary look. “What can I do for you today?”

  “Well, first I wanted to thank you for arranging the meeting with Mr. Fury. He was most courteous.”

  A look of genuine amazement appeared on his broad bland features. “He was?”

  She had to laugh. “You seem surprised.”

  “Well,” he replied with a dry smile, “let’s just say that with all his undoubted talents, tact is not one of them. He’s tops in his field, the best there is, his services sought from all over the world, but he is inclined to be somewhat—ah—difficult when it comes to dealing with people.”

  But not all of them, she thought, recalling the sexy redhead. “Of course,” she said aloud, “he didn’t tell me anything new.”

  “Well, as I’ve tried to explain, there really isn’t...”

  She smiled at his obvious discomfiture. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going to harass you about it again.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that.” He half-rose out of his chair. “And thank you for coming to tell me. I assume you’ll be going home, then. Is there anything else I can do for you before you leave?”

  Might as well get straight to the point, she decided, tak
ing a deep breath. “Actually I’m not leaving, but in order to stay, I’ll have to earn some money.” She leaned forward slightly. “I need a job, Commander Perkins, and I was hoping you might help me find something here on the base I could do.”

  For a moment he only stared blankly at her. “A job?” he asked at last. She nodded. Then he burst out laughing. “You’re putting me on! Why would you need a job?”

  “That doesn’t really matter, does it?” she asked pleasantly. “The point is, can you help me?”

  He leaned back in his swivel chair, steepled his fingers under his double chin and gazed out the window for several long moments. Jessica waited, cool as ice on the surface, in an agony of apprehension inside. What if he refused? Then what could she do?

  “Well,” he said at last. “Perhaps you’d better tell me what you’re looking for. I mean,” he went on with an embarrassed little laugh, “what are you trained to do?”

  “Nothing, I’m afraid,” she replied. “But I’m a quick learner, and I’m not fussy about what I do.” She smiled. “I don’t expect an executive position, or even a skilled job. Anything will do.”

  “Anything?” She nodded. He thought a few seconds, then said, “There is a position open in the base hospital for a cashier. Not very exciting, I’m afraid, but since you’re not really trained and have no experience, I’m afraid it’s the best I can do.”

  “That sounds great,” she replied quickly. “Even I should be able to count money and make change.”

  He reached for a pen and pad of paper and scribbled a hasty message, then tore it off and handed it to her. “Here. Take this to the cafeteria manager. Her name is Millie Farrow. She’ll fill you in on the details.”

  Jessica took the note from him and rose to her feet. “Thank you very much, Commander. I appreciate your help, and I’ll try not to disgrace you.”

  Outside, she soon found the base hospital in the maze of grey-painted buildings, hard to miss actually, with the bright red cross painted on one side. The cafeteria was on the main level, and easily identifiable from the cooking aromas wafting from it into the hall.