Island Interlude

by Anne McAllister

  Sam looked puzzled. 'What's he writin' us for? He can just come down and talk to us, can't he?'

  'He could,' Libby said. But she knew he wouldn't. It would be more subtle this way. And harder to refuse.

  'What's he want?' Sam asked.

  'He… invited us to dinner.'

  'Great! I can see Juliet's garden.'

  'It's my decision, Sam,' Libby said sharply.

  Sam's eyes widened at her tone. Libby sighed guiltily. She didn't usually speak to him that way, not about dinner invitations at least. But invitations like this one were not as innocent as they looked.

  She was afraid of what it implied, what Alec might do if they didn't accept, but even more of what might happen if they did. She wasn't immune to Alec, even now. He still had the power to make her heart beat faster, to make her pulses race.

  And she was sure he knew it.

  Alec used everything—and everyone—to his advantage. Libby didn't want it to be her.

  'She has a tree-house,' Sam said. 'lt'd be nice to climb in a tree-house.' Then, as if he knew when he'd pushed far enough, he added, 'I'm gonna play two square with Arthur,' and disappeared through the gate.

  'What you going to do?' Maddy asked her when it shut after him.

  Libby closed her eyes, shaking her head.

  'You don't go, you show him you're scared.'

  'I am scared.'

  'He know that?'

  'No!' She hoped not, at least.

  Maddy shrugged ample shoulders. 'Why tell him, then?'

  Libby sighed. 'I suppose you're right.'

  'What's he doin'?'

  'By inviting me, you mean?'

  'Yup.'

  'He says he wants me.' Libby said the words tonelessly.

  Maddy considered them. 'You want him?'

  'No!'

  The older woman looked at her for a long moment, as if unable to decide whether to challenge that statement or not. Finally she decided to let it go. 'Best not want him,' Maddy said at last.

  'I know.' It would be so easy—too easy—to fall back into the mindless love for Alec Blanchard that once she'd revelled in. But it would be a disaster if she did. She needed to be strong, resilient, and keep remembering Michael.

  Maddy spread her hands. 'Then you got to show him. You got to be tough. For yourself and for the boy.'

  'I know.' Libby sighed. 'And that means going, doesn't it?'

  'Yup, it do.'

  'So I will.'

  CHAPTER FOUR

  'I THOUGHT we wouldn't go,' Sam confided as they walked up the road towards Alec's family's house. He had been surprised when Libby had told him her decision. He'd also looked pleased.

  Libby wondered how to let him enjoy it and still not encourage a friendship between him and Alec. So far she hadn't had any good ideas.

  'It's polite,' she said, striving for a non-commital tone.

  'You don't like him, do you? Alec, I mean.'

  Libby stopped in the centre of the tarmac and stared at her son. 'I like Alec fine.'

  'Doesn't seem like it. You don't smile at him like you do at Michael. You don't even look at him.'

  'He isn't Michael, Sam.'

  Sam kicked the stone in his path and watched it skip along the road. 'You known him a long time?'

  'Yes.'

  'He likes you.'

  Libby stumbled. 'Of course he likes me,' she said irritably.

  'Same as Michael likes you, I mean.'

  She stopped and stared. 'How do you know that?'

  Sam looked guileless. 'I know. He asked lots of questions.'

  'What sort of questions?' Libby demanded.

  Sam shrugged. 'Where we live, what you do, are we happy, do you like what you're doing? Like he cares. 'Specially about "are you happy". What if he wants to marry you, too?'

  'There is no way I'm marrying Alec Blanchard, Sam. I'm marrying Michael.'

  Sam's eyes seemed to widen briefly at the vehemence of her answer. But then he shrugged again, apparently willing to accept her answer on faith. 'I like Michael, too,' he approved and kicked another stone, heading on along the road.

  Libby watched him, worried more than ever now. Her nerves were stretched taut as piano wire the closer they got to Alec's sprawling glass and cypress house that sat high on the hill overlooking the trees and the turquoise ocean.

  She could find a million reasons now that they shouldn't have come. Proving that she wasn't running scared seemed paltry in comparison.

  But just then the road turned, and at the end she spotted the Blanchards' house peeking over the orna­mental cement-block wall. Sitting on the wall there was a small blonde girl.

  The moment the girl saw them, she waved at Sam, then turned to yell over her shoulder. 'Here they come! Daddy! Daddy, here they come!'

  Unconsciously Libby slowed down. Sam, with no such hesitation, ran to meet her. Just before he reached the wall, the little girl hopped down, the gate opened and Alec appeared.

  He was wearing a pair of blue and white canvas shorts and an open-necked short-sleeved white cotton shirt. His dark hair was still damp from the shower and his cheeks were smooth and ruddier than usual, as if he'd just shaved. He was tall and tanned and drop dead handsome. Worst of all, he was smiling right at her. The mere sight of him set Libby's heart to hammering.

  She tried to steel herself, determined to remember the indifference she was determined to show.

  Alec tousled Sam's hair and greeted him when the boy came in the gate, but his eyes never left Libby's. He held out his hand to her as she approached.

  'You came.' His voice was soft, slightly rough. It sounded surprised almost.

  She had been expecting him to gloat, was prepared for that. She wasn't prepared for hesitation on Alec's part, however brief. It took her a moment to recollect herself. She let him take her hand and deliberately pasted on a polite smile.

  'It was nice of you to invite us,' she said in her best well-brought-up tone.

  'Nice had nothing to do with it,' Alec drawled, and she knew that his momentary uncertainty had vanished. The gate shut behind her with an ominous click.

  She glanced around wildly, ready to bolt. But Alec was still holding her hand, and she couldn't pull away. 'Relax, Lib,' he said mockingly, his thumb caressing her palm. 'I won't jump you right here.'

  Then, as her face flamed, he drew her forward, saying, 'There's someone I'd like you to meet. This is Juliet. Juliet…' he turned to the little girl '… this is Sam's mother Libby.'

  There was an oddly hopeful note in Alec's voice as he introduced them. 'Like each other,' he seemed to be saying.

  Libby stared at him, amazed. Then, slowly, her gaze went to his daughter.

  She'd felt pain at the thought of Alec's other child for eight years. She'd deliberately tried to put the child out of her mind. When she couldn't, she'd imagined a siren like Margo—an eight-year-old blonde temptress. The reality was far different.

  Oh, she looked like her mother with her long blonde hair and her beautiful cheekbones and delicate chin. But she had none of the presence that Margo exuded. She was small, pale and, clearly, very shy.

  If Juliet had seemed forthcoming enough with Sam, the moment Alec introduced her to Libby, she ducked behind her father and clung to his arm, looking at Libby warily. Libby felt a certain sympathy with her: it was the way she might have acted at that age. It was certainly the way she'd been tempted to act when she'd first met the stunning Margo.

  Libby smiled at her and took a closer look, trying to find some of Alec in the child. She didn't see any.

  Now she said quietly, 'Hello, Juliet.' Then, getting no response, she went on. 'Sam says you have a tree-house.'

  The little girl nodded shyly.

  'Did you build it?'

  'I helped.' Her voice was as small and hesitant as she was.

  'Can I see it, please? Now?' Sam broke in, bouncing from one foot to the other, a peasant to Juliet's princess.

  Juliet looked at her father.

/>   Alec nodded. 'Go ahead. But listen for Lois to ring the dinner-bell.'

  Libby watched them go, her feelings mixed. She was glad that Sam had made a friend, was glad that the shy little girl seemed to like him as she seemed in need of a friend, too.

  But the fact that she was Alec's daughter, Sam's half-sister… It didn't bear thinking about.

  'Thank you,' Libby said when they were alone, 'for not telling him.'

  Alec beckoned her in through the sliding glass doors that led from the deck into the living-room. 'I gather you haven't either.'

  Libby followed slowly. 'No.'

  'But you will.' He poured her a daiquiri and handed it to her. Libby didn't know if she was glad he remem­bered that she liked them or not. She took refuge behind the glass.

  'Eventually.'

  'We could do it together.'

  'No.'

  'I thought that's why you came tonight.'

  She shook her head.

  'Then why did you come?'

  She shrugged awkwardly. 'Because I didn't want to explain to Sam,' she said finally. 'He'd want to know why I said no.'

  'Somebody ought to explain to Sam.' Alec's voice had a hard edge to it now. He'd poured himself a whisky and his knuckles whitened around the glass he held. 'How much longer do you think he's going to be content to have a dad who's "away".'

  'He's perfectly content.'

  'His dad's not.' Alec walked back through the glass doors and stood staring out towards the sea.

  'I don't care about his dad,' Libby said tightly.

  Alec turned to stare at her, his dark eyes hard and bitter. 'You should.'

  'Why?'

  'Because life will be a lot more pleasant for all of us if you do.'

  Libby's fingers tightened on the glass. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

  He paused for a moment, then said evenly, 'I want to know my son.'

  Libby took a sip of her drink. 'Maybe Sam won't want to know you.'

  'Sam will.'

  The confidence in his voice made Libby hate him. She glared, her heart slamming into her ribs, her mind whirling, her anger back. 'You're so sure, so confident. Damn you, Alec. I shouldn't have come!'

  'On the contrary,' Alec said, 'it's a damned good thing you did. I'd have come looking for you, otherwise.'

  Libby lifted her chin. 'To do what?' It was a dare. A challenge. A gauntlet thrown down. And the moment she'd said it, she knew it was a mistake.

  He set his glass down on the railing and moved towards her purposefully.

  Libby stepped back, her calves coming up sharp against the back of a deck-chair. 'No.'

  'No? I don't believe that, Libby. I don't believe it for a moment. And neither do you.' And Alec's lips came down on hers, warm and gentle, and in her heart Libby heard the echo of a memory so sweet, so pure, so perfect that she wanted to cry.

  She trembled, her eyes shut, her fingers clenched into tight, resisting fists. No! she thought. No! And still the kiss went on, deepening, persuading. No! Please, no! she begged.

  And then, at last, Alec lifted his head and looked as shaken as she. Then the look was gone so quickly that she was sure she'd imagined it. A corner of his mouth lifted and he drawled softly, 'No, Libby?' He shook his head. 'It felt very much like yes to me.'

  Her fingers clenched, she wrapped her arms tightly against her chest, refusing to look at him. She knew she was shivering. She didn't care.

  He took a step back so that he was no longer touching her except with his eyes. He smiled. 'Shall we eat with the kids or would you prefer to wait and eat alone?'

  It was so far from what she had expected him to say that Libby was struck dumb.

  Had it meant nothing to him, then? Apparently it had. Otherwise he couldn't have just stood there unmoved, unshaken. She fought for her sanity, for the calm determination she so desperately needed.

  'With them,' Libby said tonelessly when at last she could trust her voice.

  He didn't object, nor did he refer in any way to the kiss. But there was a sense of satisfaction about him while he refilled Libby's glass, a sort of unspoken 'I told you so'.

  'I'll just tell Lois,' he said and disappeared into the kitchen.

  While he was gone she tried to compose herself, but she felt shattered. How could a man wreak havoc with just one kiss? Deliberately she took deep, even breaths.

  When he returned she was standing on the veranda looking out across the tops of the trees towards the turquoise and purple waters of the Atlantic. He came to join her at the railing. She stepped back warily, but he showed no indication of wanting to pursue the kiss.

  'I saw you with Maxwell yesterday,' he said, his voice hard.

  'Who?'

  'The reporter.' He looked at her closely. 'Didn't he tell you?'

  'He told me.'

  'You batting your lashes at him now?'

  Libby stared. 'Am I what?'

  Alec's mouth twisted. 'Flirting with him?'

  'I most certainly am not.'

  He gave her a hard look, then shrugged. 'You went off with him.'

  'He wanted to talk to you. I didn't think the circum­stances were propitious.'

  'They weren't. They never are.' He stared out across the railing towards the ocean. 'Stay away from him.'

  Libby stared at him, open-mouthed. 'I'll see whoever I like, damn you.'

  'Not a reporter,' Alec said harshly.

  'He seemed a nice man. Why don't you just talk to him?'

  'I don't like reporters.'

  'Because of… Margo?'

  His head whipped around and he glared at her. 'What about Margo?'

  'J-just that W-Wayne said she'd died when she was driving down to LA with a reporter. Th-that they were meeting you.' Libby regretted saying a word. She could see the pain on his face. It answered her question about how much he'd recovered from his wife's death. He hadn't.

  He didn't say anything, but his lips tightened into a thin line and some nameless emotion seemed to flicker in his eyes.

  'Stay away from reporters, Libby,' he said again. 'They're leeches, out for whatever they can get.'

  'He only wants a story.'

  Alec gave her a doubting look.

  'It seems more sensible to give him one, that's all. Then he'll let you alone.'

  'Can you guarantee that?'

  'No, of course not.'

  'Nor can anyone else. Even your nearest and dearest,' Alec said roughly.

  Libby looked at him, wondering who had betrayed him in the past. She might have asked but Alec changed the subject abruptly.

  'So, what do you think of Juliet?'

  'She's… a lovely child.'

  'She is. Margo has good children.'

  'So do you,' Libby said quietly, unable to help herself.

  The look he gave her was grim. He raked his hand through his hair. 'There's consolation for you,' he said bitterly.

  Libby looked at him sharply. She saw an uncharac­teristic vulnerability in his expression. It was the way he'd looked when she'd met him, the day Clive Gilbert's death had still been too much to bear. Was he thinking about Margo's death again?

  Probably. Now she supposed he would want to confide in her about that. Well, he wasn't going to. She couldn't go through it again.

  She turned away abruptly. 'I don't want to hear about it, Alec. If you want to talk about it, I'm sure Wayne Maxwell would be happy to listen. I'm not. It has nothing to do with me.'

  'For goodness' sake, Libby—'

  'I don't want to talk about it! If you insist, I'll leave.'

  She could have taken it, she supposed, if it had been anyone but Margo whom he wanted to talk about. But there was nothing she wanted to know about his mar­riage to Margo Hesse, nothing that wouldn't just rake up old pain.

  Alec pondered his glass for a moment. 'Did Sam tell you we went fishing with him?'

  'Yes.'

  'He's quite a kid. You've done well with him.'

  'Thank you.'

  'Was it…
tough alone?'

  'I've had lots of help.'

  'Your brothers, you mean? And your parents? I always knew you came from a close family. I-I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions earlier,' he admitted.

  'No, you shouldn't have.'

  'How did they… take it when you… when you found out? Were they…?'

  He stopped, as if verbalising the question was too dif­ficult. There was a tenseness in his face, a line of hectic colour along his cheekbones. Did it bother him, knowing what they must have thought of him?

  She doubted it. And even if it did, too bad. It was nothing compared to what she'd gone through, not just with her family but with the whole town.

  'My family were shocked when they found out,' Libby said frankly, telling it exactly as it was. 'I let them down, and I knew it. But they didn't let me down. They were there for me through everything.'

  'Unlike me.'

  Libby didn't say anything to that.

  He rubbed his hand against the back of his neck. 'How was it? Your…pregnancy, I mean?' He had trouble with that word, too. 'Did you… have a hard time?'

  Libby shrugged. 'I was sick a lot at first. But I was going to school so I didn't have time to pamper myself. And the actual delivery wasn't bad.'

  'You were lucky.'

  The look she gave him was ironic. 'Was I?'

  He had the grace to blush and look away.

  'Dinner's ready,' Lois said from the doorway, and Alec's relief was obvious.

  'Everything looks wonderful, Lois,' Libby said when Maddy's cousin had served them conch fritters with peas and rice, fresh pineapple, green beans and, for dessert, key lime pie.

  The food alone would have guaranteed Sam's good opinion. But Juliet's tree-house had enchanted him.

  'You gotta see it, Mom,' he said, digging into the rice. 'We should build one like it when we get home—in the oak tree. Pop'd let me. I know it.' His eyes shone.

  'Maybe.'

  'He would.' Sam was positive.

  'You live with your grandparents?' Alec asked him.

  "Bout three blocks away. I go there a lot. My grandpa builds things for me. He made an airplane that really flies out of balsa wood. And my grandma bakes the best cookies.'

  Juliet pushed her peas and rice around. 'I wish I had grandparents,' she said to her plate. They were the first words she had spoken during the meal.