SEA ORPHAN

by J. KRAMER

  “Thank you. Perhaps when we’re home you can answer some of my questions because this Rebecca doesn’t know a thing about falling in love with you, or even marrying you. I need answers, Gavin. I want to know about my past, things that might trigger my memory. You seem to be the only one who can tell me anything.”

  “All in good time, my dear. Tonight I finally present you to all my friends. Up till now, I’ve kept you hidden. It will be quite a surprise when I make the announcement that I’ve brought home a wife.”

  And even more of a surprise when within a very short time that wife announces a divorce, Becky thought. “Gavin, I’d like to consult a doctor. I don’t feel well and the headaches are getting worse.”

  “Nonsense. Once we’re home, you’ll be fine.” He spoke the words but inwardly he wasn’t so sure. What he hadn’t counted on was her stubborn determination.

  “Gavin, I insist you take me to a doctor as soon as possible. Maybe he can help me with my memory loss.”

  “After we get settled in. You’re fine for now.”

  Becky felt angry but thought it wiser not to say any more. She stared out the window at the passing scenery. It seemed familiar, yet not familiar. Where had she lived before she married Gavin? In San Francisco? Where had she gone to school? In Australia, she assumed, but surely she’d had friends in America? There had to be a way to find out.

  The drive to Gavin’s estate seemed very long. Becky huddled in the corner of the seat, her face resting against the window. She ignored Gavin. Occasionally he tried to fondle her, one time his hand crept up her shorts but she pushed him away. Gavin didn’t protest. Apparently he didn’t want the chauffeur to witness her rejection of him.

  “We’re home, Becky.”

  Becky opened her eyes and saw the brick wall that surrounded the property and the huge wrought iron gates. “Your house is well protected,” she murmured noticing the shards of glass on top of the brick wall.

  “Yes. No one gets in or out without my permission.”

  “I see. Do I own a car?”

  “Not yet. It’s on my ‘to do’ list to buy you a car.”

  That caused her to think again. If she was such a successful model, surely she would have owned a vehicle? “Was I born in Australia, Gavin?”

  “I guess so. We never discussed your place of birth,” he answered wondering how to get out of that one. He’d have to get her false papers as soon as possible to stop her questions.

  Becky gave up asking questions, at least with Gavin. She’d do her own investigating into her past soon as she could get to a phone. Gavin had never told her the name of the place where his estate was located but at least she knew now that it was in wine country. She’d seen the vineyards while driving and had kept a close eye on the signs. She knew she was in Sonoma County. It seemed familiar, as if she’d been there before.

  The house loomed up. One couldn’t really call it a house. It was a huge mansion. White pillars supported a long verandah. The front entrance was wide with marble steps leading up to massive oak doors. “It’s very impressive, Gavin.”

  “Yes. I’m quite proud of my little nest. Becky, I’ve been thinking. It might be best I don’t introduce you to the staff as my wife for the time being.” It was a decision made on the spur of the moment because suddenly he realized Becky was rebelling and the unanswered questions were troubling her. The little scenario on the boat with Juanita hadn’t helped the situation any. Afterward, he could have hit himself for being so stupid. The girl was not a virgin but it was obvious she’d not been around society and its party life. He still wondered about the painter. Had Becky told the truth about Lucien Moore before she fell? Was the man really her husband? He would never find her. There was no way Lucien Moore could track Becky all the way to the US. Gavin frowned. How could he win this girl? How could he bend her to his will, to bow to his every whim? Time enough to introduce her as his wife later—if he still wanted her as his wife then. The whole idea seemed stupid now. Never would he want to be saddled with just one woman.

  “Okay,” agreed Becky, wondering what his motive was for hiding the fact that she was his wife. Would he agree to a divorce? Had Gavin realized that she wanted no part of this marriage?

  Another car pulled up behind them. As the chauffeur held the door open for Becky and waited for her to get out of the limo, she glanced at Juanita. The girl avoided eye contact and rushed into the house leaving the door wide open.

  Harry carefully removed the paintings out of the back seat and carried them into the house. “Park the car for me, will you, Randy?” he called out to the chauffeur.

  Becky stood on the bottom step and watched the paintings disappear into the house. They were carefully wrapped in sheets. By their shape she could see they’d been framed, a task Gavin must have had Harry do while she was in the beauty salon. “Lucien Moore…” she whispered the name softly. It rolled easily off her tongue as if she’d said it many times. “Lucien Moore—I wonder if there’s any way to get touch with him. Maybe he could give me answers…”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Seven weeks he’d been in San Francisco now and Melinda had not come up with anything, no leads, or any boats with the name ‘The Love Queen.’ Lucien was becoming exasperated and depressed. It didn’t look like he’d ever find his sea orphan. Paul and John checked in regularly and they were just as unsuccessful. John had also hired a private detective with no results. Mary had received no ransom notes or phone calls, so the police discarded the theory that Becky had been kidnapped for ransom. The FBI was contacted but they, too, had come up empty handed. There just wasn’t enough evidence to work with. The last time John had called Lucien, he’d suggested they give up the search. John and Paul were more or less resigned to the fact that Becky was either dead or gone forever from their lives. Lucien had protested. Finally he’d told them that if they wanted to go home, that was fine but he would not give up his search for the woman he loved.

  Lucien had spent most of the seven weeks roaming San Francisco and suburbs with his posters of Becky. He’d plastered them on boards in stores, taped them in store windows and even nailed them to telephone posts along the highways.

  Daily, he’d check to make sure all the posters were still in place. If they had been torn off, he’d put up a new one. He’d even driven all the way up to Washington and British Columbia and left posters in every town he passed.

  He lay naked on the bed gazing at the painting he’d started. It was of Becky. Only her face was clear. The rest of the painting was hazy as if with Becky’s disappearance, inspiration had left him, too. Melinda had begged him to paint her when she found out he’d purchased new materials. But he’d refused. His one experience with Melinda had been a pleasant one, but it had been sex, lust without love. Lucien knew if he painted Melinda, they’d surely end up in bed and he already felt guilt ridden at his betrayal of Becky.

  At night he’d argue with himself. After all, they weren’t married or even engaged so why should he feel so guilty? It wasn’t as if he loved Melinda. She was just a vessel affording him relief of his frustrations.

  He sighed. Melinda called him daily trying to coach him into taking her out, or even just allowing her to visit him in his hotel room, but he always managed to come up with excuses.

  A knock on the door disturbed his thoughts. He jumped off the bed and pulled on his shorts. “Who is it?” he called out while walking into the living room.

  “Room service,” a male voice answered.

  Lucien frowned. “I didn’t order anything.”

  “Compliments of the hotel.”

  Lucien opened the door to see a cart laden with food and fruit. A large bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice and a vase filled with roses stood in the center. “That’s very nice,” he said as the waiter wheeled in the cart.

  “You’re very welcome,” said a deep, throaty voice.

  Lucien swiveled. He’d recognize that voice anywhere as he talked to the woman daily. “Melinda? Wh
at are you doing here?”

  “Getting you out of hibernation. It’s time to get on with your life, Lucien. You won’t find Becky. Then again, maybe she doesn’t want to be found!”

  Angry now, he snapped, “Take that cart out of here. I don’t want to see you, Melinda.”

  The waiter hesitated. When Melinda indicated for him to go, he left the room, leaving the cart behind.

  Melinda casually sauntered up to Lucien. “My sweet, unhappy, Aussie hunk. You need some company. Admit it.”

  Lucien scowled. “I need Becky’s company.”

  “It’s been seven weeks, Lucien. We’ve come up with nothing. You’ve got to stop hiding and enjoy life a little. Becky is a big girl. If she was able to get in touch with the police and wanted to, surely she’d have done so by now? Maybe she knew the kidnappers.”

  “Not likely. Becky was ill for many years before she washed up on the island. She didn’t know anyone.”

  “Well, then she’s either dead or she liked the kidnappers. Who knows? A lot of people disappear without a trace never to be found. I’m sure if she’s alive and wanted to be found she’d find a way.”

  “I can’t believe she’s dead. I won’t believe it. My heart tells me she’s alive somewhere and in some kind of trouble.”

  “Well, I’ll keep looking if you want. It’s your money. By the way, how is the painting going?”

  “It’s not. I don’t feel inspired.”

  “What does it take to inspire you?” asked Melinda softly.

  “Becky.”

  “Becky isn’t here. Why don’t you let your imagination run wild and paint something or someone else? Can I see what you’ve done so far?” Without waiting for an answer her eyes scanned the room and when not seeing an easel, she walked into the bedroom. “Wow, Lucien, that’s magnificent. I didn’t know you were that good.”

  His anger now gone, Lucien followed her into the bedroom and sat on the side of the bed. “It’s not good. I can’t get the background right because I don’t know where she is.”

  “But that’s why it’s so good. Her body is enveloped in mist as if she’s lost, searching. I see the searching expression in her eyes. Lucien, I want to take this to the gallery. They’ll love it.”

  “NO!” he shouted and jumped up as if to protect the painting.

  “Don’t carry on so. It could help you find her you know.”

  He stared at her for a minute. “You could be right. Do a lot of people visit the gallery?”

  “Yes. I have some influence. Why don’t you do some more paintings and I’ll ask them to do an exhibit of your work.”

  “Without Becky…”

  “Damn it, Lucien, I’m sure before Becky washed into your life, you painted different things. You don’t have to forget about Becky, but for God’s sake, pull out of that gutter you’ve crawled into.”

  “You’re right,” he said but he knew the pain of losing Becky would remain with him a long time. “I’ve done some very good fantasy paintings.”

  “Then do some more.”

  He sent her a crooked smile causing her heart to flutter. “You know, Lucien, you’re incredibly sexy when you smile at me like that. And your Aussie accent turns me on even more.”

  “Forget about that. Let’s eat before it’s all cold.”

  Melinda felt happy. She’d won the first round. While she watched him heap food onto a plate, she said softly, “You can paint me if you like.” She made it sound like a favor but inwardly she was dying for him to paint her.

  Lucien studied her for a moment. Her domineering ways gave him some inspiration. “Mm, maybe I should. I suddenly visualize you sitting on a horse wearing nothing but a cowboy hat and boots, holding a lasso in your hands.”

  Melinda felt the heat start in her crotch at the very thought. “I could arrange that, too. I know someone who has a ranch. I’m sure he’ll let us take out the horses. We could find a private spot and…”

  “Get on the phone then! Arrange it,” Lucien said, feeling suddenly enthusiastic. Not so much because he’d have the opportunity to paint Melinda in the nude but the thought of an exhibition of his paintings, fired him. He could paint Becky from memory. If he humored Melinda, he’d paint more portraits of Becky in the privacy of his hotel room. Melinda had fired a spark of hope within him and he was grateful to her for that. Maybe some visitor to the art gallery would recognize Becky. Vaguely he heard Melinda’s voice on her cell phone while he conjured up images of Becky in his mind.

  “Okay, it’s all settled. I’ve canceled my appointments for the day and we’re off to the ranch.”

  Lucien wolfed down his food as fast as he could. When he was finished, he declined the champagne. “You’ll need to pick up a cowboy hat and boots,” he told Melinda.

  “We can do that on the way. Let’s go then.”

  Two hours later they drove onto the massive ranch. A ranch hand was waiting for them, two horses ready and saddled. “Afternoon, Melinda,” the man said and lifted his hat in greeting.

  “Afternoon, Jake. Is the boss around?”

  “No. He had to go into town but he told me to be ready for you. The mare is a little frisky so be careful.”

  “I will, Jake. Thanks for your trouble.”

  “No trouble, Melinda,” Jake said glancing curiously at Lucien and the easel and wooden case. “You gonna paint Melinda?”

  “I sure am.”

  “You’ll have a bit of trouble carrying that stuff. I’ll get a pack horse ready for you, too.”

  Lucien waited impatiently while Jake packed his painting equipment on the horse and Melinda’s parcels containing the hat and boots. When Jake was finally finished, Lucien helped Melinda to mount, then mounted himself. He let Melinda lead the way.

  They rode for a while before Melinda finally stopped. “I think this is an excellent spot, Lucien.”

  She’d chosen a spot near a stream well hidden from prying eyes. Lucien nodded. “This will do. Would you like to get ready now?” He was already busy untying his equipment and the parcels. He handed Melinda the boxes containing the hat and shoes.

  “How do you want me to pose, Lucien?”

  “I want you to unsaddle the horse.”

  Melinda giggled. “Mm, I’ve never felt horsehair against my clit.” She stripped right in front of him while watching his face, but Lucien was busy setting up the easel and getting his paints ready. She sighed. What would it take to entice this man into her arms? Wearing nothing but the boots and hat she unsaddled the horse. “Lucien, you’ll have to help me get on. It’s a little hard without the stirrups.”

  His hands circled her waist and without effort he hoisted her onto the horse. “No, don’t straddle it. Sit sideways as if you’re ready to jump off. Lift your right arm and pretend you’re holding a lasso and you’re throwing it. Yes. That’s it. Now let your left leg hang and pull the right up a little. Can you hold that position?”

  “For a while. That’s if the horse stays still.”

  His brush flew over the canvas, professionally, but without heart. The painting took shape, the horse magnificent, the woman fantastic, but he wasn’t satisfied. “It looks corny. Artificial,” he said while stepping back to gaze at it from a distance.

  “Let me see,” said Melinda and jumped off the horse. “Oh, it’s beautiful. I love it.”

  “I don’t. It’s not good enough.”

  “Well, I think it is. Is it finished? The horse is getting impatient.”

  “I can finish it off in my hotel room. I’ll do another one of you sitting on that rock in the stream.”

  Melinda looked at the rock. “Okay. Do you want me to wear my hat and boots?”

  “No. Take them off and let your hair fall loose this time. Actually, that’s what’s wrong with this painting. Your hair needs to be long and flowing. I should have had my mind together.”

  “We’ve been out here for hours. How about a glass of champagne,” Melinda murmured.

  “Champagne?”

&n
bsp; “I stuffed the bottle in my bag,” Melinda said with the sexiest smile she could muster. She was determined to have this man again, and not just once. In a way she regretted her suggestion to hang his paintings in the gallery for exhibition. What if someone did see the one of Becky and recognized the girl? Deep down, she felt sure the girl was alive and okay and just didn’t want anyone to find her. She’d tried to get a lead on the boat but she hadn’t tried very hard. To capture Lucien for herself was what she wanted, for him to want her, need her, until Becky was just a distant memory. Producing the two glasses she’d taken from his hotel room, she handed him the bottle. “Can you open it for me?”

  Lucien untwisted the metal cap that held the cork. The cork popped off and the bubbly liquid flowed over his hand. He handed it to Melinda. “I’ll have a little bit. I must admit I’ve become rather thirsty. We should have come better prepared.”

  But I was prepared, thought Melinda. I hadn’t quite counted on a painting session so soon. “We’ve been out here for hours and I’m getting hungry. We can always come back another time,” she suggested aloud.

  “No. Can you take your position on the rock now? I’d like to get started on this one. I can do the fine detailing later. I’d like you to sit, one leg drawn up, the other dangling, your foot feeling the water. I want you to look down at a point just beyond me, as if you’re waiting for someone.”

  Melinda drank the last of her champagne. The food she’d eaten earlier had been digested long ago. Because her stomach was empty, the champagne went straight to her head. Giggling like a schoolgirl she waded through the shallow stream toward the rock.

  Lucien watched her. He’d already started roughing in the background and stopped momentarily to gaze at the naked woman as she posed for him. It caused a picture of another time, another place, to swim before his eyes. The very first time he’d painted Becky. How innocent she’d looked with the shirt half off her shoulder and biting into the tomato. His penis responded at the thought. At the time he’d chided himself for getting horny over a young girl, now he realized his chemistry must have picked up that the child was a woman. He closed his eyes tight for a moment to shut out the picture. When he opened them again, Melinda was ready and he was too, but the longing within his body did not leave. His penis strained against the soft linen of his shorts, the material erogenous, sensual.