A Wild Surrender

by Anne Mather

‘Yes, ma’am.’

  The waiter looked to Rachel, as if seeking her approval, and she nodded. What else could she do? This was her mother, after all. However outrageous she looked, still in the tight-fitting catsuit she’d worn the night before. Had she been to bed? Rachel didn’t think so. And she suddenly wished she’d never had such a rich breakfast.

  Sara pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her daughter. ‘You’re still here, then,’ she said flatly. ‘I thought I asked you to go back to London.’

  Rachel sighed. ‘You knew I was still here, Mum. You saw me at Matt’s house last night.’

  ‘I saw you at his father’s house last night,’ her mother corrected her. ‘Matt doesn’t live with his father. He has his own house. Where do you think I’ve been staying?’

  ‘I see.’

  It was a low blow, and Rachel did her best to hide her reaction.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Sara knew her too well to be deceived by Rachel’s attempt at indifference. ‘It’s a beautiful house. It overlooks the ocean. I’m very happy there.’

  Rachel was sure she was. She just wished Matt had told her where her mother was staying. But then until last night they hadn’t spoken about her mother at all.

  ‘What do you want, Mum,’ she asked now. ‘Why have you come here?’

  Sara gave her an incredulous look. ‘What do I want?’ she echoed. ‘You know what I want, Rachel. I want you to go back to England and tell your father I’ll be in touch with him when I’m ready, and not a moment before.’

  Rachel gasped. ‘Why don’t you tell him yourself? There are such things as phones, you know. Even in paradise.’

  Her mother’s face contorted. ‘Don’t try to be clever with me, Rachel. I know what you’re doing. You and your father. You’re trying to turn Matt and his family against me.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ Rachel was appalled.

  ‘It is true.’ Sara spoke forcefully. ‘And it’s not going to work. They want me here. Matt wants me here. And I want to stay.’

  Rachel couldn’t believe her mother could be so obtuse. ‘That wasn’t the impression I got,’ she murmured in a low voice. ‘Please, Mum—’

  ‘Don’t call me that.’

  ‘All right—Sara, then.’ Rachel felt as if she was talking to a stranger. ‘You know Dad loves you. I love you. Why don’t you go home?’

  Sara scowled. ‘You see!’ she exclaimed triumphantly. ‘You do want to come between us.’

  ‘Mum—Sara—Mr Brody didn’t seem very pleased to see you last night. Surely—?’

  ‘Jacob’s just jealous, that’s all.’

  ‘Jealous!’ Rachel wondered how much worse it could get. ‘Mr Brody’s not interested in you.’

  ‘Did I say he was?’

  Rachel was confused. ‘You said he was jealous.’

  ‘Yes. And he is. Jealous of my relationship with our son.’

  Rachel felt sick now. ‘Your—your son?’ she whispered faintly.

  ‘That’s right.’ Sara regarded her with suddenly critical eyes. ‘Are you feeling all right? You’ve gone very pale suddenly.’

  ‘I’m—I’m all right.’

  Rachel didn’t know how she got the words past the bile rising in her throat. But somehow she must not break down in front of this woman who had suddenly devastated her world.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure…’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  Rachel nodded, and her mother made an impatient little gesture as the waiter arrived with the coffee she’d ordered.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said shortly. And then, squaring her shoulders, she went on, ‘You don’t understand any of this, do you? I don’t know what your father told you, but it obviously wasn’t the truth.’

  Rachel stared at her with disbelieving eyes. ‘Does—does Dad know the truth?’

  ‘About Matt? Of course he does.’ Sara was dismissive. ‘He’s known for the last thirty-two years.’

  Rachel couldn’t speak. Nausea was rising in her throat now, and she was very much afraid she was going to throw up all over the breakfast table.

  ‘I—excuse me,’ she said abruptly, and, pushing up from the table, fled across the patio to the lobby and the public restrooms she’d seen there. She made it to the nearest cubicle with only seconds to spare. Her stomach heaved and she was violently sick.

  She was still hanging over the bowl when she heard someone else come into the restroom. Praying it wasn’t her mother, she remained silent, but Sara was no fool.

  ‘Rachel?’ she called. ‘Is that you? What’s wrong? What did your father tell you, for heaven’s sake? Wait until I see him. I’ll tell him exactly what I think of him, sending you out here to do his dirty work for him.’

  Rachel sagged. She wanted to say her father hadn’t sent her here for any underhand purpose, but that was no longer true. He’d known who Matt was when he’d sent her to find her mother. In God’s name, why hadn’t he told her the truth?

  That Matt wasn’t her mother’s lover. He was Rachel’s brother!

  Rachel groaned and pulled a strip of toilet paper from the roll. Then she blew her nose. She was very near to tears, but she knew she had to behave as if it was her father who had upset her and no one else.

  Flushing the toilet again, she unlocked the door and opened it. She was sure she must look like death warmed over, and she could only hope that her mother would put her nausea down to physical rather than emotional causes.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ As Rachel went to wash her hands at the basin her mother regarded her suspiciously. ‘What did you have for dinner last night? Something’s upset you and I can’t believe it’s anything I’ve said.’

  Rachel had to suppress a gulp of anguish. How blind could her mother be? After everything that had been said, she still had no conception of how her daughter was feeling.

  ‘I—perhaps it was the French toast I had for breakfast,’ she mumbled. And then, realising her mother was quite capable of reporting this, she added, ‘Or maybe it’s just a cold in my stomach. They say sunburn can do that. Chill you, you know.’

  ‘Y-e-s.’ Sara dragged the word out. ‘Maybe.’ She frowned. ‘Do you want to go back to the table?’

  ‘Heavens, no!’

  Rachel shook her head violently, and then wished she hadn’t when the room swam around her. But her response had been clear enough and her mother nodded.

  ‘I suggest we go up to your room,’ she said.

  ‘I—my bag—’

  ‘I’ll get it.’ For the first time Sara showed her a little consideration. ‘What’s the number of your room? I’ll meet you there.’

  The last thing Rachel wanted was for her mother to invade the only private space she had. But, short of admitting this, she had no choice. She gave her mother the number, and then left the restroom to hurry up the stairs to her room.

  Now she prayed she wouldn’t see Matt. Dear God, she hoped she never had to see him again…

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  RACHEL managed to get a seat on that evening’s flight out of Jamaica.

  The small inter-island plane that flew between St Antoine and Montego Bay connected with the large jet that would transport her to London, and Rachel had been relieved to find she had to leave for the airport before noon.

  Sara Claiborne had been quite happy to use her local knowledge to get her daughter on board the propeller-driven aircraft, obviously as eager as Rachel was to get her off the island.

  Rachel knew her mother thought she was leaving because she’d found out that her father’s reason for sending her here had been a lie. The idea that her daughter’s relationship with Matt might have something to do with her desire to leave didn’t seem to occur to her. She didn’t even question the fa
ct that Rachel seemed in no hurry to get know her new brother.

  Rachel shuddered at the thought. Thank God Matt had evidently had other matters to attend to that morning. By the time he realised she was gone she’d be off the island.

  Yet, for all that, the day had dragged. Rachel didn’t honestly know how she got through it. Allowing Sara into her bedroom, the room where she and Matt had first acknowledged their attraction to one another, had been harrowing, and pretending that the reason her stomach was upset was due to a chill, had torn her apart.

  What she’d really wanted to do was lock herself away somewhere and cry like a baby. She was desolate, devastated, and no one—particularly not her mother—could comfort her.

  Fortunately, Sara had been too wrapped up in her own affairs to notice her daughter’s condition. And it had soon become obvious from her conversation that she was jealous of anyone who spent any time with her son.

  She hadn’t explained how Matt had come to be living with his father. All she’d said was that she’d made a terrible mistake in giving him up. She’d glossed over the details of her son’s birth, giving the impression that the Brodys were to blame for what had happened.

  In all honesty Rachel had hardly listened to her. She didn’t want to hear that Jacob Brody had seduced her mother and then gone ahead and married someone else. Diana, she assumed. The whole situation was anathema to her, and she just wanted to put the whole damning episode behind her.

  She didn’t really relax until the big jet lifted off from the airport at Montego Bay. There’d been a two-hour delay between planes, and she’d been terrified Matt might discover what she’d done and come after her.

  But no one came after her; no one spoke to her. She’d sat in the comfortable Club lounge and her attitude had evidently deterred any would-be acquaintance from approaching her.

  The plane was due to land at Heathrow soon after eight o’clock the next morning, and although she would have preferred to make her own way home Rachel felt obliged to give her father the chance to meet her, if he wanted to.

  She phoned him a couple of hours before they were due to land. And, even taking into account that she’d got him out of bed, Ralph Claiborne was shocked to hear from her.

  ‘Why didn’t you phone me before you left?’ he demanded. ‘Have you seen your mother? I must say I’ve been expecting you to ring for days.’

  Rachel didn’t want to get into that on the phone, particularly not on the plane, with half a dozen waking passengers more than interested to hear what she was saying.

  ‘I’ll tell you all about it when I see you,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry about it. I can get a taxi home.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of letting you wait for a taxi,’ he exclaimed. She could imagine him checking the clock as he spoke. ‘You’re due to land in a couple of hours, you say? That should give me time to get there.’

  ‘Dad, it’s the rush hour.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I know a few short-cuts. I’ll be there.’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Love you,’ he said in farewell, but Rachel couldn’t answer him.

  Ignoring her fellow passengers, she folded the phone, drew her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. It was still dark outside the plane, dark and lonely, and for the first time since leaving St Antoine she allowed herself to think about Matt.

  What was he thinking? she wondered. He must have discovered she’d left the island by now. Not that it would be any surprise to him, she thought painfully. If her mother had told him what she’d told her daughter, he would know how devastated Rachel must feel.

  She didn’t want to think about Matt’s part in this, but it was difficult to avoid it. Hadn’t it bothered him at all that their relationship was taboo? Or, like her, had he felt that irresistible compulsion? A compulsion that she now knew was forbidden.

  A choking sob rose in her throat.

  Oh, God, how could she bear it? Just twenty-four hours ago they’d been together. Twenty-four hours ago she’d been happier than she’d ever been in her life before.

  Wrapping her arms around herself, she felt the hot tears welling in her eyes, spilling over. Tears streamed down her cheeks, dripping onto her arms, salty rivulets trickling into her mouth. She would never get over this, never. In just a few short days he’d turned her world around. He meant so much to her now. She cared about him. She loved him.

  And it was so wrong.

  Oh, God!

  ‘Are you all right, Ms Claiborne?’ One of the cabin staff had noticed her distress and was now hovering over her, blocking her from public view.

  Rachel sniffed, trying to pull herself together. She had a tissue in the pocket of her jeans and she struggled to get it out. It tore as she did so, and she smeared a hand across her burning face.

  ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, realising she was hardly an advertisement for the airline. ‘I’m just feeling a bit emotional, that’s all.’ She sniffed again. ‘Family problems, you know?’

  The girl frowned and handed her a handful of tissues taken from the drinks trolley. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Rachel thanked her for the tissues and used them to dry her eyes. ‘Have we much further to go?’

  ‘Just over an hour.’ The girl hesitated. ‘Can I get you something to drink? A vodka and tonic, perhaps?’

  Rachel managed a faint smile. ‘At six o’clock in the morning?’ she said humorously. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Well, if you change your mind…’

  ‘Thanks.’ Rachel sniffed again. ‘I appreciate your concern.’

  And she did. In a few words the attendant had shown her more sympathy than her mother. It hadn’t even occurred to Sara Claiborne to question whether Rachel was fit to travel over four thousand miles when she’d been so sick.

  But that was okay. Rachel reminded herself firmly. Her mother’s sympathy was something she could do without.

  It was a quarter to nine by the time she cleared passport control and collected her luggage from the carousel. But Ralph Claiborne was waiting patiently just outside Customs, and, despite the feeling of betrayal she still felt, Rachel didn’t hesitate before going into his arms. The real reason he’d sent her to St Antoine, the lies he’d told her about her mother, mattered less at that moment than the exquisite sense of security she felt when his familiar arms closed about her.

  She couldn’t help herself then. She started crying again, and her father drew back in some alarm, gazing at her with anxious eyes. ‘Rachel?’ he said questioningly, but she just shook her head.

  ‘Not now, Dad,’ she said, and although she knew he would have liked an explanation he seemed to realise she was on the edge of a complete breakdown.

  A couple of hours later, at her parents’ apartment, with the cup of filtered coffee her father had made in her hand, Rachel knew she couldn’t prevaricate any longer.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you knew who Matt Brody really was?’ she asked, controlling the urge to rail at him. ‘You let me think Mum was having an affair with him.’

  ‘I know.’ Ralph Claiborne didn’t try to deny it. He seated himself opposite her at the kitchen table. ‘But if I’d told you it was Jacob Brody I was worried about, I’d have had to explain who Matthew Brody was.’

  Rachel blinked. ‘And that would have been a problem? How?’

  ‘Oh, Rachel, haven’t you realised yet? That wasn’t my secret to tell.’

  ‘So you admit it was a secret?’

  ‘Your mother’s secret, yes.’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘And what do you mean, you were worried about Mum and Jacob Brody? Matt’s father’s happily married.’

  ‘Is he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ve met him?’ />
  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But I understand he had a stroke a couple of months ago?’

  ‘He did, yes.’ Rachel was confused. ‘What does that have to do with anything?’

  Her father sighed. ‘You’ll have realised that he and your mother knew one another many years ago?’

  ‘Well, she didn’t tell me, but yes,’ said Rachel heavily. ‘So?’

  ‘Oh, Rachel, I shouldn’t be telling you this. She should.’

  ‘But she’s not here, is she?’ said Rachel, struggling to keep her own feelings at bay. ‘Please, Dad, I need to know. Why was I never told there was someone else before you? That she had another child?’

  Ralph rested an elbow on the table and cupped his chin in his hand. ‘Because—well, because from what I’ve gathered over the years it wasn’t like that.’

  ‘What wasn’t like that?’ Rachel was confused.

  ‘Let me start at the beginning.’ Her father took a steadying breath. ‘First of all, when I got to know your mother, she told me that she’d had a baby. She knew we were getting serious about one another, and she wanted there to be no secrets between us.’

  Rachel stared at him. ‘So how young was she when she had—the baby?’

  ‘Sixteen.’

  ‘Sixteen!’ Rachel was incredulous.

  ‘Yes, sixteen. She and her parents had taken a holiday on St Antoine, and during the course of their stay she got to know Jacob Brody.’

  He paused again, and then continued, ‘I believe he was a few years older than she was—twenty, or thereabouts. But your mother was quite open about the way she’d pursued him. And over the two weeks she’d allowed him to—well—’

  ‘I get the picture,’ said Rachel tersely. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Of course when she got back home and found she was pregnant she was terrified. Things were very different in those days, and there was no question of her becoming a single mother. As I understand it, her father wrote to Jacob’s father and told him of the situation. And in a matter of weeks it was decided that when the baby was born Jacob Brody would become its legal guardian.’

  So that was what Matt had meant when he’d told her he’d been born in England, but had lived all his life on the island.