Island Interlude

by Anne McAllister

  But Sam Portman would never have to worry, Libby told herself, because the issue of marriage to Alec Blanchard was never going to come up.

  The thought of her sturdy, dependable, no-nonsense father brought tears to Libby's eyes. Oh, how she wished he'd been nearby just then. She had always been able to run to him, to find comfort and wisdom in the shelter of his love.

  But her father was more than a thousand miles away. And even his love couldn't shelter her from the pain of her own fanciful dreams and subsequent folly.

  But that afternoon, when the sounds of the reception became too much to bear, she took a page out of Sam Portman's book of advice.

  'Whenever I'm down,' he'd told her more than once, 'I walk it off. I walk and walk and walk. I see the world wide around me. I see the sun, the sky, the trees. And my problems don't seem so overwhelming then. Try it,' he'd counselled. 'You'll see.'

  And so Libby left the house, made her way down to the beach and set off determinedly. She walked and she walked. It was nearly dusk by the time she returned, plodding up the beach slowly, wearily, her hair wind­blown, her eyes burning from hours of squinting into the sun. She watched her feet now as she walked, noting the patterns in the sand left by the outgoing waves, forcing herself to recognise the grandeur of the world and the insignificance of Libby Portman's woes. And then she glanced up to see how close she was to the path.

  And there he was.

  He was perhaps fifty yards from her, down the beach in front of the hotel grounds, and all her concentration, all her resolution fled. He stood in the shallows, his black tuxedo trousers rolled to mid-calf, a pair of black shoes in his hand. He was alone. He was staring out to sea and, just when Libby saw him, he turned his head and looked at her.

  Now it will happen, she thought. Now I'll wake up. The nightmare will end. He'll hold me. Kiss me. And the pain will go away.

  Alec moved towards her. One step. Another.

  Then he stopped. His hands fell to his sides. In the waning light she caught sight of a ring glittering on his finger.

  She knew it was no nightmare.

  He turned, as Libby did, and walked away.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  'LIBBY?' Juliet's voice startled her back to the present.

  Hastily Libby set the photo back down. 'Coming.' Clutching the scissors, not even glimpsing into the room she knew now must be Alec's, she flew back down the stairs.

  Juliet was sitting on a stool in the kitchen patiently waiting. She had a hairbrush in her hand and she presented it to Libby quite solemnly.

  Libby took it and began to brush the hair away from Juliet's face. She could see a great deal of Margo in the child now, in her high cheekbones, her delicate jaw. She could see Margo in Juliet's eyes, wide and blue, not a bit like Alec's earthy brown. But most of all she could see Margo in the child's hair. It hung long and straight now, reaching almost to her waist.

  'Has anyone ever cut your hair?' Libby asked.

  Juliet hesitated, then shook her head. 'No.'

  Just as she had feared. Libby's fingers clenched on the scissors. 'Then I really don't think—'

  'You've got to,' Juliet said with more determination than Libby had ever heard from her.

  'But, Juliet, if no one's ever cut it before—'

  'I want it cut. Now.' That was Margo, too. Imperious. Determined.

  'Maybe just trimmed?' Libby suggested. 'To even the ends.'

  'Short,' Juliet insisted. 'Like yours. Or shorter. So I can play like Daddy and Sam without it always flying in my face.' The imperiousness was gone as quickly as it had come. She turned and looked up at Libby beseechingly.

  There was such a need in her. Libby couldn't under­stand it, just felt it. She didn't know why; she only knew how much it mattered.

  She sucked in her breath, took the scissors and began to cut. Long strands of golden hair fell around her feet. And before long the short cap of hair that was left hugged the back of Juliet's neck and brushed against her ears.

  It looked nice, and the fact that it did gave Libby more confidence that she was doing the right thing. She had just finished when the phone rang.

  She debated for a moment, but when Juliet looked at her expectantly she picked it up. A woman's voice asked for Alec. Her voice was warm and sexy. Exactly the sort of woman she imagined often called Alec. She felt a stirring of jealousy and promptly squelched it.

  'He isn't here right now,' she said. 'May I take a message?'

  'Tell him Amalia called.' There was urgency in her tone. 'Tell him I need to talk to him right away.'

  'Do you know an Amalia?' Libby asked Juliet.

  The little girl's eyes brightened. 'Was that Malie?'

  Libby nodded.

  'She's a friend of my mommy's,' Juliet said, then her expression clouded momentarily. 'She used to come around to see us a lot before Mommy died. She came to see Daddy, too. After. Am I finished now?' Juliet shook her head experimentally.

  Libby, dissatisfied with the answers but knowing she'd find out nothing further, nodded.

  Juliet bounced off the stool and ran to the bedroom to look in the mirror. Her eyes grew round as dinner-plates as she looked at her new image. She stood absolutely still, as if she couldn't believe the change. Libby, standing in the doorway, held her breath, letting it out only when Juliet broke into a huge grin.

  'Wow! Oh, wow!' Juliet shook her head. The glossy cap of burnished gold swung only slightly. 'I've gotta show Daddy!' And without a backward glance she darted out of the door. Libby could hear her clattering down the steps.

  Libby didn't see Alec's first reaction to his daughter's new hairstyle. By the time she got back down to the beach, Juliet was already dancing in and out of the waves, holding the kite-string while Sam offered advice. Alec stood further up the beach, his hands on his hips, watching the two of them.

  'What do you think?' she asked hesitantly.

  A corner of his mouth lifted. 'It's exactly what she's needed.'

  'She said no one had ever cut it before.'

  'Margo wouldn't let her.'

  Exactly what Libby had been afraid of. 'I didn't mean to—'

  'It's the best thing that could have happened to her. She's letting go, becoming her own person,' Alec said firmly. He reached for her hand and drew her to his side, then bent his head and kissed her. 'Thank you.'

  Libby, relieved, revelling in the touch of his lips on hers, smiled back. 'You're welcome.'

  But she found herself wondering, is Alec letting go of Margo, too? Would he ever? And if he did, would he ever love her?

  He kissed her again, more deeply, and she felt desire begin to stir within her. She knew from the tautening of his muscles and the flush along his cheekbones that Alec was feeling it, too. Hope flared within her.

  'Yeah! Awright!'

  Libby jerked back at the sound of Sam cheering. Her face flamed as she glanced towards the water and saw him staring at her, a grin both rapturous and enthusi­astic on his face.

  Alec laughed and kissed her again. But Libby pulled away. 'Don't.'

  'Why not? He ought to get used to seeing me kiss you. He doesn't seem to be objecting.'

  'Just the same.'

  Because she couldn't let Sam hope when she wasn't sure herself. As much as she knew she loved Alec still, she didn't know if she could marry him. Not if he only thought of her as a convenience, a handy woman with whom to slake his physical desires.

  Alec was looking at her, a sad, resigned look on his face. 'Time,' he muttered to himself.

  But Libby wondered if the time would ever come.

  'Malie called, Daddy,' Juliet said just then.

  Alec frowned and tucked his hands into the pockets of his shorts. 'What did she want?'

  'She said to tell you she called, that she needed to talk to you,' Libby told him, hoping for an explanation. She didn't get one.

  'Juliet said she was a friend of…of Margo's.'

  'Yeah.' Alec didn't answer. His lips pressed together in a tight lin
e.

  Was that all she was? Libby wanted to ask.

  But Alec's eyes were on the children. Sam had the kite now and was running down the beach with Juliet chasing him, whooping and dashing in and out of the waves. Alec smiled at the sight of his daughter, so like her mother even with short hair. 'I do like her haircut,' he said.

  Was it the haircut he liked? Libby wondered. Or the fact that the pixie-cut made the little girl's cheekbones and nose all that much more reminiscent of her mother?

  That night Alec asked Libby out to dinner.

  'To your house, you mean?'

  'No. Out. Just the two of us.'

  Libby smiled. 'All right.'

  Lois watched both children while he and Libby went to Valentine's Yacht Club. They sat at the outdoor bar and watched the sun set over Eleuthera, its last rays painting the line of visiting yachts a vivid blend of orange and pink as they bobbed at their moorings.

  He plied her with daiquiris and told her funny stories about the films he'd worked on, exerting himself to be charming. And, though Libby was afraid he was merely doing it because he had to, she couldn't help being charmed.

  When it was dark he took her arm and they walked up the hill to a tiny secluded restaurant where the music was soft, the setting tropically elegant, and the food superb. It was the sort of date Libby had once upon a time dreamed about—the man she loved focusing entirely on her.

  Afterwards, when she expected him to walk her back home, he led her instead back down towards the yacht club.

  'I want to dance with you,' Alec said. 'I've never danced with you.'

  As if he had planned it, the moment they walked in, the music shifted from calypso to a softer, more seductive, very danceable bossa nova.

  'Perfect,' Alec said and took her into his arms.

  No one else was dancing, and for a moment Libby felt foolish. But there was a gentle hunger in Alec's eyes that wouldn't be denied. And Libby dared to hope.

  She went willingly into his arms and lifted her own up to hold him close. But not too close. It was very hard.

  Still, it was the sort of night she'd dreamed of for years—a night when she and Alec would go out dancing, when he would hold her close and whisper love words in her ear, when he would look as if he couldn't wait to get her alone, and, when at last he did, would love her with all his heart and soul.

  Torture,' Alec murmured against her ear as their bodies touched.

  'Yes,' Libby whispered. But the most exquisite torture in the world.

  'I want you,' Alec said softly, and she believed, right now, that he really did.

  She wanted him, too. But more than simply wanting him, she loved him. She wanted to believe that he loved her. She wanted to trust him, to feel that her own feelings were being returned.

  But still, hovering there in the back of her mind, was always the question—would he ever love her for herself? Would he at some future point be able to move beyond Margo? Would he ever come to want Libby for herself and not just because she was Sam's mother?

  'I've got to fly to Nassau in the morning,' Alec said suddenly. 'Movie talk. Come with me.'

  'I—'

  'lt'd be perfect.' He paused and looked down into her eyes. 'We could get married.'

  The neat way he slipped it in stunned her. Libby swal­lowed hard. 'I-I don't—'

  Alec's smile vanished. 'Still don't want to marry me, huh?' He sounded grim.

  That wasn't what she had meant. 'No, I—' How could she explain?

  'All right, Libby.' His voice cut through her fumblings like a knife. He rubbed a hand across his face. 'All right, we won't get married. But come with me anyway.'

  She looked at him. He looked aloof again, as if a shield had gone down between them. She sighed. 'I suppose Juliet and Sam would like it,' she ventured.

  'No kids. Just you and me.' He met her gaze levelly. 'We need to.'

  What did he mean? Was this another of his attempts to convince her? Or himself?

  Would she ever know if she refused him? Did she really want to refuse him? Well, no. But what if her hopes were raised again, what if she started to believe in him— in them—and it all came to naught as it had before?

  'What's life without a risk or two?' Gibb Sawyer had said. He had meant the risks he'd taken on shipboard, but the point was the same. If she didn't go, wouldn't she always wonder if she could have made it work?

  'All right,' Libby said. 'Yes.'

  Nassau was as fast-paced and frenetic as Harbour Island was laid-back and calm. Libby had never really spent time there before, only passed through it both this summer and the summer she'd come to stay with the Bradens.

  To Libby the Bahamas had always seemed sleepy and restful. Nassau was anything but. As they whipped past the posh hotels that lined famous Cable Beach, Libby craned her neck to get a better view. But when the taxi continued, she was glad. Alec himself was glitzy enough. She didn't need a fast-lane hotel as well.

  When the taxi finally did come to a stop in front of a two-storey turquoise stucco building with a broad front porch, Libby discovered that they were on a tiny backstreet, quieter than most of the clogged thoroughfares, but still close enough to the major downtown attractions for them to walk.

  Misgivings assailed her as she stood clutching her bag, waiting for Alec to pay the driver. It seemed like a fairy­tale, and yet she was no longer innocent enough to believe in happy endings. If he'd said he loved her, she would have tried to believe him. But he never had. And even now, when he'd asked her away for the weekend, he seemed slightly distant.

  Was he wishing it was Margo? she wondered. And again she wondered if she'd made a huge mistake.

  He would expect her to share his bed, she was certain. After all, she had already done so. But she wanted more—so much more.

  Still, when Alec turned and, smiling, took her arm, she let herself be led up the steps and into the coolness of the air-conditioned lobby. It looked more like a living-room than a reception area. Nevertheless, the woman there was expecting them.

  'Ah, yes, Mr Blanchard. Welcome. Come right this way. I'll show you to your rooms.'

  And, to Libby's amazement, it was rooms she meant. They were next door to each other, granted. But, once inside, she discovered no connecting door. She had a room and a key all of her own. Perversely she felt deflated. So much for hoping that he loved her, that he'd wanted to bring her so they could iron things out and make things work.

  Dropping her bag and staring around the room, however, she found it hard to wish she were somewhere else. It had a moss-green carpet, pale, delicate latticed wallpaper, and white wicker furniture. Sunlight spilled through the doors across the wide double bed covered with a spread in the same pattern as the wallpaper and banked at the headboard with a row of yellow and moss-green pillows. Though the room was, thankfully, air-conditioned, a ceiling fan spun lazily overhead.

  Libby walked to the french doors and looked out on to the balcony, then opened them and went out. Alec was already there.

  'Suit you?'

  She gave a hesitant nod, then a more vigorous one. 'It's lovely.'

  'I prefer it to the big splashy places.'

  'Me, too.'

  He gave her an assessing look, then smiled. 'I thought you might. I have a meeting at two with Carras and McKinley at the Sheraton. We can have lunch first if you like.'

  He took her to Graycliff, a tasteful, elegant colonial mansion across from the Government House. Libby had heard its reputation as one of the finest restaurants in the entire Caribbean. She'd never expected to try it herself.

  'I thought you needed reservations,' she said as they were led into the airy dining-room.

  'I got them last week.'

  She looked at him curiously. He'd planned this that long ago? 'Before you knew I was coming?'

  He smiled crookedly. 'A guy can hope.'

  Did he mean it? Libby looked at him closely. For a moment he met her gaze. Then abruptly he turned to the wine list. But Libby smiled, too,
finding that a girl could hope as well. And, better judgement aside, she did.

  Opening the menu, she focused on it. In the end, though, it didn't matter what she ordered; it was all delicious. But the most delicious part was having Alec all to herself to share it with.

  Whatever tension had existed between them since they'd made love and he'd left seemed gradually to dissipate. She didn't know if it was the atmosphere, the food, the wine or the way they smiled at each other. But, for the first time in weeks, Libby started to relax.

  Alec seemed to relax, too. The tight lines that had bracketed his mouth ever since he'd made love to her now smoothed slightly. The customary tension in his brow seemed to fade as he smiled at her.

  He asked her if she'd ever been to the restaurant before, and when she shook her head he told her about its long colourful history, and its more recent past.

  'The Beatles stayed here,' he said. 'And Winston Churchill. Lots of the world's best and brightest.'

  Libby was suitably impressed. 'You, for instance?' she teased, for once feeling comfortable enough to do so.

  Alec shook his head. 'I've never stayed here. But we used to come here to eat.' He told her he'd come with his parents on his eighteenth birthday, and again on his twenty-first.

  'It was a family tradition, coming here for birthdays. My parents even celebrated their wedding anniversaries here,' he grinned. Then the grin faded and suddenly the tension was back. 'They wanted us to. I refused.' His jaw was set, hard and tight.

  Libby frowned. Why hadn't he?

  But, as always, whenever things had to do with Margo, she sensed a wall there, one which he didn't want her intruding past, one past which she certainly didn't want to intrude.

  But, as quickly as it had come, Alec's tension passed. He reached out a hand and touched hers. Libby glanced up, surprised. The look on his face was one of entreaty. She let her fingers curl around his. He smiled.

  Around them were the subdued clinks of others' silverware and the muted murmurs of others' conver­sations. But the world seemed no larger than their table. And, for the first time in years, the harmony between them seemed complete.