Christina visibly shuddered and her eyes glanced back towards the direction of the jail. ‘Old Patrick’, now released, had locked arms with the two other men and the trio staggered off in the opposite direction singing and coughing and sharing drinks from a bottle.
“They’re disgusting…like animals!” Her eyes followed the men’s rowdy departure and her lips grimaced in repulsion.
Looking at the departing trio, Mr. Corbett speculated, “Oh, I don’t think they meant any harm.” His eyes returned to examine her. “Dressed like that you’d have to expect, I guess, to be appreciated even by unwelcome admirers.”
A rush of anger colored Christina’s face with heat. She drew in a deep breath to steady herself against this man’s manner, which as recently as yesterday had so infuriated her. Turning from the sight of the staggering men to the comment about the way she was dressed, Christina focused her glare into the eyes of the man whom she felt was her current assailant. Standing inches from Christina the man had casually crossed his arms and was regarding Christina with, what she perceived, as an air of accusation.
“I think it unfortunate, Mr. Corbett, that simply because a woman doesn’t want to wear a full-length robe, that some men, no matter who they are,” - she flashed a glance towards the jail - “assume that we wish to be grabbed and handled and be made the objects of dirty-little-remarks and fantasies.” She bristled and quickly flicked her hair back.
He broke into a wide easy smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his gaze rolled upward before returning to meet Christina’s disgust. Adjusting the bill of his baseball cap down slightly, he looked out from its shadow and chided, “Is it men in general that you don’t like, Miss Weldon or just drunks and guys who make the mistake of getting in your way or trying to help you?”
Embarrassment struck through her like a sword, as she realized that she had yesterday and again today let this stranger see aspects of her emotions and feelings that she herself did not understand. To do this, she felt, was to give him both power and advantage, but of what, she did not know. Turning uneasily away from his gaze, she jutted her chin slightly upward “You seem to know who I am, Mr. Corbett. May I ask, who are you and how you know?”
The man bent his large athletic frame slightly to the side and with brows raised in a hopefully friendly manner answered. “Just an acquaintance of Arthur’s, really”…, he paused. “Honestly…” he raised his hand in a promising gesture, “Arthur and Agatha and I live on a very small island. We’ve actually eaten together. Arthur has told me about you and you were easy to recognize back there.”
Christina fought back a smile. In their so far negative encounters he had missed the twinkle of amusement and wonder that generally found its home in her expressions. Her tiredness yesterday and uneasiness today had hidden her generally good sense of humor.
Had the disturbing man not commented further, Christina considered that she might have warmed to his efforts but he rejoined, “Why is Arthur letting you walk around alone?” With his thumb, he rubbed the front of his tee shirt.
She looked up to the bronze muscles at the base of his neck as they alternately tightened and relaxed. The glance at him caused her to fall silent in the moment before speaking and turning in the direction of town, Christina said, “I’m going back to the town square now, Mr. Corbett. Arthur didn’t let me do anything. I’m really quite grown-up and perfectly capable of walking down a street by myself and making…oh….all kinds of decisions….just like a grown-up like you possibly sometimes does.” Her sarcasm edged out her intent to show the man standing beside her the pleasant and engaging person she felt she really was, but something inside her, something about him, was playing pranks with her emotions.
Gathering her frazzled feelings Christina brushed her hair with her hand, lending clarification to her oval face. Stepping into the street, she crossed in the direction of the town, a feeling of defeat suddenly weighing down her shoulders.
Catching up and walking beside her Mr. Corbett offered, with an equivalent kind of irritation in his voice, “You don’t like me very much do you Miss Weldon?”
Christina, mid-way in the street, stopped and looked straight into his challenging eyes. “And you don’t like not being in charge of situations and probably all of the people around you, do you Mr. Corbett?” She shifted her hair defiantly.
He looked briefly as though a feeling of hurt had struck him deeply and his usual glibness faltered. He parroted in disbelief. “Being in charge of people? Being in charge of you? You are unbelievable and I’m sorry Miss Weldon if my concern about your safety back there offended you. Of course, you are quite right. You’re obviously a very capable grown-up.”
Without hesitating, the man, a look of angered puzzlement clouding his face, turned on his words and walked away in the direction of town.
Christina felt a sudden sense of regret and shame at her shortness and she felt seized with the impulse to apologize. “Mr. Corbett,” she called to the broad determined back of the man. He turned. His cap was shadowing his expression from her. “Thank you…, really, for your concern.”
The sun lighting a half smile beneath the hat’s shadow, he shrugged and indifferently said, “No problem.” He turned and was gone.
Walking back into town square by herself, Christina found herself keeping away from the doorways and spaces between the small buildings. Her uneasy sense of loneliness and regret for her treatment of Mr. Corbett confused her. Hurrying in the direction of the restaurant, she thoughtfully rubbed her left arm and cast a quick glance back in the direction of the church. The street was empty except for a small boy who was proudly carrying a large, recaptured chicken across the street.
Chapter 5
From the Town Square, the four block walk to the Moorings Marina took Christina less time than she had anticipated and checking her watch she predicted that she had arrived before Arthur. The restaurant was delightfully located on the edge of a slight slope with a sweeping view of the harbor and the marina. Sunlight danced in ever-changing patterns between the boats and floating wooden walkways. Across the harbor the boats moved in a symphony of motion on the sea-spiced air currents and these same breezes, scented by the tropical flowers near the restaurant’s balcony, rushed up the slope and carried Christina’s hair gently off her shoulders.
Putting her hands to the railing on the deck near the entrance she took a deep breath, closed her eyes momentarily and lifting her chin forward, let the sun warm the tension from her brow. The moment put distance between Christina and the frightening experience near the jail and the disturbing encounter with the all too physical man.
The restaurant was simply conceived and decorated unobtrusively. Its shuttered walls opened to the spacious decks for dining out of doors. The rattan tables had sparkling white cloths and steel blue napkins that matched the color of the seat pads of the wide, comfortable looking chairs. Each table had a centerpiece of multi-colored flowers casually arranged in short, blue tinted canning jars; jars like those which Christina noticed were also interestingly being used for water glasses.
Having chosen an outside table near a railing, Christina chose to stand beside the chair that the waiter pulled aside rather than be seated. “I think I’ll just stand here and look at all these lovely sites until my friend arrives, if that’s all right.” The waiter, after asking if he could bring her a drink, took her order and moved away. Turning towards the sea Christina easily recognized Arthur’s black MGB as it pulled into the parking lot below the balcony.
Watching Arthur was similar to watching the carefully controlled and composed order of a corporation executive who’s every movement and expression was part of a well-planned corporate image. There was nothing he would do impulsively; nothing in his life would be carried out that didn’t fit within the order of his long term goals. She found security in this quality, remembering however, feeling a certain degree of impatience with Arthur’s casual but controlled interchange with her last night. In carefully chos
en clothes he walked smoothly to the restaurant, his stride rather gentle, quite unlike the disconcerting and physical arrogance of the man who had intrusively rescued her just moments before.
In the sunlight Arthur’s skin seemed surprisingly pale for a man who was a long time resident of the island and watching him now, unnoticed as she was, reminded Christina of the previous night when she arrived alone and watched his unaware presence from the bottom of the stairway..
Noticing Christina at last, Arthur smiled broadly and while approaching her position by the railing he carefully scanned the occupants seated at other tables and waved and nodded to several people that he obviously knew. Reaching Christina, Arthur touched the side of her arm. Still recovering from the strength of the grip that had pulled her from the disgusting trio of men, and not wanting Arthur to in some way spoil her memory of the man’s hand against her skin, Christina let out an audible breath and involuntarily flinched from the contact. Raising her hand to lightly touch her arm she looked self-consciously downward for a moment before offering softly, “It’s so good to see you. I feel much better today.” Control regained, she met Arthur’s questioning gaze and staging a smile added, “I was so tired yesterday, I’m afraid I was probably an awful bore last night.”
“You were grand Christina. Mother loved you. Is there something the matter with your arm?” He gestured to her arm as if wanting to examine it.
She turned again from his contact and sought the sanctuary of the chair the waiter had left pulled away from the table. Seating herself, Christina gestured towards the chair opposite hers and explained, “Here. Sit down. My arm is fine. I bumped it in a shop a little while ago. It’s nothing…really. Tell me all about your morning.”
His brow arched in concern, Arthur settled into the chair across from Christina. “You’re certain your arm is all right? Maybe we should have a doctor look at it.”
Embarrassed at her reaction to Arthur’s touch - her skin now only slightly sensitive where the man had held her - Christina held its unblemished surface in his direction, “See, it’s fine, really.”
His eyes examined her arm as he conceded guardedly, “Well….if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure Arthur,” she proclaimed while picking up the menu. “What are we going to have? I’m starving. I’ve ordered an ice tea already. Let’s get you something to drink.”
A look of concern still darkening his eyes, he prompted, “Now young lady, before we get to the matter of food and refreshments, why don’t you tell me what you’re doing taking a tour of town alone when I wanted to show you around?”
Adjusting the napkin on her lap, her gaze flickering from the water container to the young face of the busboy filling it, she explained carefully, “Jonathan was emphatic about staying with me after I asked to come into town early, but I sent him home.” Her eyes met Arthur’s with determination. “He was quite concerned that you’d be upset, but I really insisted that he let me bum around on my own.”
“….and you got hurt,” Arthur observed dryly. “So…tell me about your morning’s adventure in town,” a tone of doubt remaining in his voice.
Christina considered for a moment telling Arthur about the jail incident, but his manner and concern convinced her that he would perhaps unduly hold Jonathan responsible. The whole incident would also imply that she was not in control of even the slightest of uncomfortable situations. She certainly didn’t want to appear helpless and be treated like a child in the upcoming weeks. Very real physical dangers might occur during their search for the ancient cannon and she did not want Arthur or his mother to get a sense of any of her doubts.
“Arthur, the town is just as I remembered it from my visit with my parents. Even the smell from the bakery seemed familiar.” Christina’s voice was reminiscent and her eyes sparkled with an inner excitement.
Reaching for her canvas athletic bag she added, “I can remember my mother letting me pick out anything I wanted in that bakery. I was sick all the next day. Wait until you see what I bought.” She produced a large, brightly colored square cloth from the bag.
Arthur touched the corner of the cloth and said with amusement, “It’s lovely. What is it?”
“It’s a pareu…you wrap it around yourself and tie it here in front.” She dropped the cloth across her lap and was playfully demonstrating its tie at the top of her breast when the waiter appeared beside them with Christina’s glass of tea. Embarrassed at her somewhat provocative demonstration and Arthur’s silence, her cheeks flushed and she quickly returned the cloth to her bag. An uneasy feeling of guilt rose within Christina that she did not understand, much like she experienced as a child when she transgressed some rule of table etiquette in the presence of her father.
A tone of self-consciousness in his voice, Arthur adjusted his napkin and addressed the waiter, “Yes…ah….I believe that we’ll have a carafe of the Chardonnay, Roger.”
Arthur flashed an acknowledging glance at Christina and as his eyes traveled past her and scanned the other patrons on the deck before returning to the menu he said, “I’m certain the wrap will be lovely Christina. Do you know what you might like to order? The food here is very good.”
His observation about the food had crispness to it and as he looked up from his menu and back towards Christina a polite smile relaxed his face. “Well I’m glad you enjoyed yourself here in town and I’m certain the wrap will be lovely however it ties together.” Arthur was obviously ending the discussion of her visit to town and any other potential demonstrations of dressing in public.
Turning her attention back to the menu, Christina felt the reflected sunlight from its surface warm the front of her throat and already heated cheeks.
“Everything looks so delicious Arthur. I’m not sure. Maybe I’m not even very hungry.”
“Of course you are. You’re probably nervous about your lesson. Why don’t you let me order something for you,” Arthur offered as he turned his attention to the waiter who was pouring the delicate white wine.
As Arthur ordered seafood salads for both of them, Christina took a sip of her ice tea and then of the wine that the waiter had also, at Arthur’s instruction, poured for her. Breathing deeply she looked from the table and off into the harbor at the multicolored sails billowed against the winds.
Joining her appraisal of the harbor, Arthur offered, “Well be spending a great deal of time out there during the next several weeks. If you look just there by the sailboat with the blue striped spinnaker, you’ll see The Endeavor. That’s the powerboat that I chartered for the dives.”
Leaning forward Christina stretched her arm and finger in the direction she thought Arthur to be indicating and queried, “Over there…?”
“No, I don’t think you’ve quite got it,” he replied while getting up from his chair and kneeling near hers.
She was suddenly aware of Arthur’s physical closeness as he knelt behind her and put his face just over her shoulder in a gesture to join her sight in the identification of the boat. Expectation rushed through her again and she turned her head slightly back towards his face, her hair dancing against his cheek.
In a gesture that reminded her of his response after their kiss the previous night, Arthur’s fingers brushed Christina’s hair off his face indifferently. His gaze never having left the harbor, he stood and started to move away from her.
“There, now you must surely see it don’t you? It’s not very large, but suited well enough to our purpose.” He sat back down across the table.
Though she could see the boat it held little interest for her. In the disappointment of the moment Christina considered that perhaps she should make the boat the most interesting thing in her life. She had reluctantly come to Tortola finding solace in believing Arthur had some romantic interest in her. Instead, she found herself angry and confused in his company, wanting something more from him, something to dispel a growing void she felt.
Arthur had not been a physically or emotionally demonstrative person in Seattl
e and she had found herself comfortable with these qualities, but here in Tortola something was stirring an inner restlessness. She purposefully pulled her thoughts about Arthur away when their lunch arrived. She was all too familiar with the years her mother had spent attempting to pursue the feelings of her father as he dashed them around the world on unending quests. She was not about to adopt a similar pursuit of Arthur’s feelings.
They ate in relative silence, exchanging casual observations about the harbor, the restaurant and the food. After one moment of silence, Arthur pointed to the harbor and said “The boat I’ve chartered is out there just at the end of the…” He stopped himself mid-sentence and laughed self-consciously. “I already told you that didn’t I?”
She smiled warmly at him, realizing that in some way her arrival and expectations were as difficult for Arthur to respond to as was her ability to suddenly accept and understand him in his world. In Seattle because of her father’s work they had been very close. In front of her cottage last night and on this lovely sun drenched deck overlooking the romantic harbor their relationship was different. An implication of intimacy had grown out of circumstance rather than intent. She convinced herself that the strain of their small talk today must be a result of this. It must be undoubtedly as uncomfortable for Arthur she mused. Purposefully, she reached across the table and touched the back of his hand reassuringly. “I’m glad that I came Arthur. It will be nice getting to know each other away from the university and your garden is beautiful and your mother is lovely. I’m looking forward to getting to know her.”
Looking intently into Christina’s soft, violet eyes, Arthur’s fingers lifted and gently met hers. “It will be fun I think,” he paused, “and mother was impressed with you also. She doesn’t care for a great many of my personal friends, but she did say she felt you were quite an interesting person; why she even worried about you last night.”
Courier of Love Page 5