“Very lovely…, so young…,” Agatha’s calculating eyes seemed to soften. “I remember a party…,” her voice trailed off with a memory. “Funny, the things one remembers…, oh well…, it’s going to be a wonderful evening. Arthur will come for you presently.” Part way across the deck she turned back to Christina and said absently, “Oh, Christina, I know its been a very exciting week with all this diving business, but if Clay comes tonight, it would be better, though mind you I think it a terribly important issue, not to bring up the subject of endangered coral reefs and fish and all that sort of sea business.” She turned quickly and moving away from Christina pronounced to the air, “And that little lace top you’ve chosen is just the thing to wear on a chilly night like this.” Agatha’s luminance disappeared into the soft glow of the garden and as it did Christina felt a pressure of irritation rising throughout her body.
Closing the door Christina turned and in one methodical gesture she unbuttoned her over blouse, removed it and let it fall to the floor. Moving both of the shoulder straps of the gown to the precarious outer edges of her shoulders, she smoothed the bodice along the soft curves of her breasts. Her upper chest, bronzed by the tropical sun, now became a showcase for the intricately painted, ivory locket and Christina felt suddenly freed from her need to please or meet the expectations of any parental figure. She would not attend the party as a candidate for a position in the Vaughn family. She would attend it as a woman who belonged to herself.
…
The party of about seventy-five people Christina estimated, was wonderfully catered and the house was beautifully arranged. Christina found that she was not a curiosity to the wealthy and beautiful women who attended but rather the object of attention for several of the men who collectively harbored an air of casual elegance. Everyone was deeply tanned, wore simplistically elegant clothing and many of the women wore jewelry that had obviously been part of family collections. One young woman in particular caught Christina’s interest. She was about her same age and beautiful in a natural sort of fashion. Her green dress was unpretentious and she wore a simple, square cut, emerald clasp surrounded by gold filigree at the top of a singular shoulder strap. She seemed to be avoiding the small talk that abounded in the room.
“Congratulations!” she said to Christina as she approached the hors d’oeuvre table.
“Pardon me, what did you say?” Christina questioned.
“Congratulations!” the girl repeated, a friendly smile crossing her face as she looked out across the room.
“For what?” Christina queried, a half smile edging her expression.
“On spending a week with Agatha and still having the will power left to wear a dress like that. I expected you to be covered from the chin down in cotton chintz. Agatha doesn’t like being upstaged.” She turned her attention to a passing couple, “It’s good to see you…, no, not until late summer…thank you.” She turned back to Christina. “I’m Emily Sinclair and I should be angry at you, but I’m not.”
Christina was both intrigued and puzzled by the attractive woman who was now looking across the room and waving at someone gesturing a greeting to her.
“The only thing more dreadful than this group of people is perhaps having caps put on your teeth.” Emily made this observation with an obviously contrived smile as she nodded to another nodding woman who was passing the table. From the corner of her smile, she half whispered to Christina, “Lies down with anything wearing a captain’s hat.” She redirected her sultry gaze to Christina and her smile softened in sincerity as she lightly adjusted her shoulder strap. “More correctly, I’m envious, rather than angry.”
Christina’s expression betrayed her bewilderment at Emily’s comments and her manner of communicating long distance with a room full of people who kept greeting her with a tone of pseudo-intimacy. The whole group seemed to Christina as though they were either just arriving or leaving for some exotic place and the goal for the evening was to exchange schedules and items of gossip about where they’d been, who was where and who was with whom.
“I’m sorry, but I guess that I really don’t know what you’re referring to,” Christina said with an amused air of apology.
“It’s all well and good to steal Clayton Corbett right out from under my wet suit, as it were, but it’s unpardonable to act naïve about it Christina.” With a sigh of feigned depression, Emily added, “Oh well, now that I’ve seen you, I can understand why he cancelled my scuba lessons to swim about on some treasure hunt with you. Look at Agatha…in her glory.” Emily’s voice rebounded.
The mention of Clay’s name piqued Christina’s interest in Emily all the more. “Are you a friend of Clay’s” Christina asked with controlled curiosity as she reached for one of the shelled prawns in a gesture of indifference. Her breath seemed to hold as she waited on Emily’s reply and her eyes scanned the room in sudden and hopeful anticipation of Clay’s arrival.
“I wouldn’t exactly call us intimate friends but I would call me interested enough to sign up for scuba lessons when I’m frightened standing in six inches of water much less getting my face in it.” Emily greeted another person arriving for a dish of hors d’oeuvres. She took Christina’s arm and said “Let’s move away from here before Agatha spreads the rumor that I appear to have taken up eating as a hobby now that Arthur isn’t seeing me anymore. Anyway, about swimming, I thought that once I got out on the boat with Clay I could twist my ankle or something and not have to get into the water. I even bought a new suit for the occasion. Carried it out of the store in a post card sack.”
Christina laughed with the realization that her own sense of anxiety about the evening had not prepared her to meet someone like Emily. She was obviously at ease with the rather snobbish people in the room as well as a psychological outsider like herself. Emily’s sense of humor and big sister manner with Christina was serving to relax her.
“I’m glad that Clay said yes to the dive before he had an opportunity to see what he could do to fix your ankle,” Christina chided while grabbing for one more succulent prawn before Emily was able to lead her too far from the table.
“I’m told, and I have my sources, that he didn’t say yes to the dive so much as he said yes to spending more time with you.” Emily reached towards the tray of a passing waiter carrying multiple glasses of champagne.
Christina’s mind suddenly burned with curiosity at Emily’s comment but before she could organize her thoughts to ask her about how she knew the motivations behind Clay’s acceptance, Emily was faking another smile and talking in a whisper at the same time.
“Oh my God….we’re in for it now. I need another drink.” Emily’s voice rose, “Agatha, dear, I was just coming to say hello. You look wonderful,” Emily praised Agatha with a sincerity that surprised Christina and pulled her thoughts momentarily away from Clay.
Agatha extended her bejeweled hand to Emily and took one of Christina’s hands with the other, “I’m so very pleased the two of you are getting on so. You do have so very much in common as I’m sure you’re discovering. Christina, what a charming little dress you’ve chosen.”
Agatha’s eyes were smiling as widely as Christina could imagine one could hold their eyes and she squeezed Christina’s hand seemingly a little tightly as she moved and positioned herself between them.
Having inserted herself between the two young women, Agatha reached for the arm of a passing guest. “Christina darling, I want you to meet Cornell Remington a dear friend of Arthur’s father. Mr. Remington wants to hear all about your charming locket and this little adventure that you’re going on.”
Behind Agatha’s shoulder, Christina saw Emily raise her champagne glass in a salute and she felt a feeling of sudden loss and abandonment as Emily drifted away into the music and the crowd.
Christina marshaled herself with an appearance of self-confidence and control and began telling the rather stately older gentleman the story behind the young Spanish woman whose portrait was painted on her locket
“…she had been promised in marriage to a man she admired but didn’t love. Instead….” Christina added with a deep breath that renewed her own sense of expertise, “she had fallen in love with a young adventurer who came here to the West Indies to open and manage some newly discovered copper mines.”
Christina was suddenly aware of the intensity with which Mr. Remington was listening to her story and for the very first time in her life she felt not like her father’s assistant at a lecture but a person with knowledge of her own to offer. The power of the feeling made Christina flush momentarily and her left hand lifted to touch the locket while her right hand brushed assuredly through her hair.
She continued, “The young woman wrote in her diary that she had sent her ring, a brilliant emerald stone surrounded by diamonds and sapphires “that have captured the light of the very stars over Spain” with a courier to her young love as a symbol of her devotion. The ring had been a special gift from her father upon her 16th birthday. It was her hope that her lover would send for her upon receiving the message of her devotion and that she could run from her commitments in Spain to join him and he would lovingly place the ring on her finger.
Mr. Remington’s eyes looked intently at Christina and as he did she sensed a feeling of resentment from Agatha for the rapt attention she was receiving.
“Once my father, H. Trent had discovered an entry referring to the ring in the log of an English ship he deduced that the courier had died before he could deliver it to the young man. That ring, we believe to be in a box hidden in the bore of a cannon underwater just off the coast of one of these islands.”
As Christina continued to talk with the elderly gentleman, Agatha appeared to accept her loss of Mr. Remington’s attention. In resignation and for lack of anything to contribute that would draw attention back upon her she patted his hand and left their discussion.
…
As the evening passed and the last guests were bidding their goodbyes, Christina felt a vague sense of loneliness once more gathering like clouds over her soul. Clay had not come to the party and except for the brief moments with Emily and the interesting conversation with Mr. Remington, Christina was ending the evening with a feeling of disappointment. She realized however, that these had not been the kind of people that Clay would have had Penny spend the evening with. She would not have fit in and Clay, though obviously capable of handling himself in such a situation, was too much of a protector to have subjected a young woman from town to such a pretentious situation.
Christina retired to the cottage in near exhaustion and sleep washed her sense of unhappiness with dreams about a surprise party that her parents had once given her when she was certain that they had forgotten her birthday.
At the main house Agatha was making certain that all traces of the party were being removed by the caterers and that the Vaughn house was being restored to its former state of order. The evening had come to an end and in the garden just outside of Christina’s cottage the music was dimmed, the foliage rustled and the candles flickered. Christina turned softly in her sleep and as the song of a night bird from a nearby tree sought shelter in the branching images of Christina’s thoughts, the shadow of a golden ring descending through water drifted slowly into the darkness just out of the reach of Christina’s dreams.
Chapter 10
In sharp contrast to the harried atmosphere of the previous morning, Sunday found the Vaughn household cloaked in a quietness that halted Christina’s impulse to call Arthur and ask him to have breakfast with her at the cottage. She needed contact with someone or something this morning. She needed a diversion from unfamiliar feelings that stirred restlessly within her body. Standing at a window open to the sea Christina’s eyes captured the movements of a large blue butterfly. The living kaleidoscope of color came to rest upon the creamy petals of a flower just within her reach.
“Good morning Sir Butterfly,” she exclaimed in tones of wonderment. “Have you come late for the party or are you resting from a night of questionable behavior in the garden?” Her hand extended slowly to the delicate, azure, creature, its wings rising and spreading against the flower’s willing surface. Her fingers close enough to grasp the lacy visitor, she withdrew her hand.
Sighing warmly, Christina put the coffee cup she was holding down and bent to hold her face between her hands. The butterfly continued to explore the flowers inner fragrance.
“If I were small enough you might carry me away far across the sea holding me high upon your velvet body and at night sheltering me against the winds beneath your silken wings.” She continued with a poem:
“Oh but sir,
tis my fear
another’s heart
you hold dear.”
Christina suddenly laughed at her momentary lapse into the childlike conversation with the disinterested creature. Remembering that other such conversations with birds and pets had helped her stave off the loneliness created by her parent’s frequent moves and her mother’s death, Christina turned from the window. Tilting her head backward she pushed aside a sudden flash of emotion and pursing her lips she expelled her breath towards the ceiling. She momentarily closed her eyes and absorbed the stillness of the room. She advised herself: “I think, Christina, that a day alone on the beach with a good book and some chocolates is in order.” Her eyes opened and a smile reordered her thoughts.
…
The road zigzagged across the barren island terrain and the brim of Christina’s sun hat rode the cooling breeze rising up the island from the beach below. The half-hour drive in the opposite direction from town was unfamiliar to her and the newness gave the trip an edge of dangerous adventure. She purposely drove until she found a stretch of sand that looked deserted. Christina paused as she reached for the door handle. The frightful images of the men at the prison flashed through her with a sense of disquieting remembrance. With a movement of cautious discovery her long legs reached for the ground as her eyes quickly but carefully inspected the road and beach in both directions. No one was in sight. Reassured, Christina grabbed for her bag and adjusting her glasses against the glare of the sand, turned and walked towards the turquoise waters.
Once spread across the sand, her cotton blanket surrounded as it was by the contents of her bag, took on the appearance of a multicolored island on the isolated and barren beach. The sand around her was disturbed only by the rhythmic waves and the discarded tapestry of shells that decorated its brilliant white contours. Christina slowly lowered her firm, lithe, body against the sun warmed material. The sensation of warmth began to draw the remnants of tension from last night’s party from her body. Having removed her white, linen shirt, Christina’s evenly tanned skin began to glisten as she carefully applied cream to her upper limbs, abdomen and long silken arms. Reaching to smooth the cooling moisture against the softness of her throat her fingers traveled down and across the top of her breasts in a gesture that expressed a sense of curiosity. She could feel her heart against her palm and in the sensation of it her lungs filled with the sea-cleansed air.
Relaxation flowed through Christina’s legs and she felt herself being warmed and carried to some other realm by the sand beneath the blanket and by the heat from the late morning sun from above. A sea bird called. The rush of a wave sounded beyond her feet. Her breathing joined in the eurhythmic patterns of the sea as it caressed the sand. She felt her thoughts move lazily into the blurred images of water colored dreams. She began to drift.
…
In some distant part of her mind, Christina’s senses were suddenly brought to alarm by what seemed to be the sound of a car door being shut. Her mind struggled to make the sound real; to make her body do something in reaction to it. Surfacing, Christina’s consciousness took control and she sat up to listen for the sound again or to hear the noise of voices or the scuffle of footsteps. Nothing. She felt a pull within her to return to the sanctuary of her dreams. There had been no sound. The noise had been a trick of her senses, the misleading illusion of
the sea. The air moved sensuously against her face and returning to the blanket she drifted back towards sleep.
Suddenly there was the undeniable sense of presence and movement and a shadow crossed her body as grains of airborne sand brushed against her feet and ankles. Bolting upward and onto her elbows in a movement as keen as that of a startled animal, Christina’s eyes met Clay’s unmistakable silhouette. He was standing at the edge of the blanket, the sun creating a haze of gold through his hair curling playfully around the edges of his cap.
“I know that you’re all grown up now Christina, but even grown up girls shouldn’t come to remote beaches on strange islands all by themselves.” The strength of his voice was both gentle and irritatingly paternal.
For a moment Christina had lost her ability to speak and she stared helplessly at him as he lowered his hard athletic body onto his haunches. He was now crouching near her left leg which remained, for a moment, outstretched before she drew her foot up close to her thigh. Her movement was as if in a defense against the virile physical presence of this man.
Clay’s easy smile beamed out assuredly below the bill of his cap as he extended his work-hardened arm in the direction of the road. “I saw you driving down the mountain alone and was afraid you might be coming out here. This really isn’t a very safe place for a woman to come to by herself, Christina.”
Clay’s words were concerned and the surprise of his appearance left Christina without retort.
“I decided that I’d wanted to…,” Clay paused, “…I mean I thought that you might need some company.” Embarrassment flashed across the ruggedly handsome depth of his face and squinting against the sun’s glare he sought disguise by looking down the beach.
Christina’s pulse, which had quickened minutes earlier, now seemed concentrated in her face and temples. Her eyes traced the depths of Clay’s softened gaze and the silence that had descended between them emphasized the sound of the breaking surf somewhere in the distance. Clay suddenly knelt beside Christina, the texture of his skin against her leg heightened her sense of anxiety. She found that words would require inordinate effort.
Courier of Love Page 9