Older Man

by Bright, Laurey;

  "It doesn't matter,” he said softly. She shivered as he dipped his head and deliberately put his lips to the scar, with the utmost tenderness. “I don't give a damn what you look like."

  "And I don't give a damn what you think!” Rennie flashed. She twisted away from him and retreated up the path, making their eyes almost on a level. “What are you doing here, anyway? Ethan and Celeste never mentioned you were coming."

  He put his hands into his pockets. “I have a standing invitation,” he said. “Like you, I decided to take them up on it."

  "I'm using the spare bedroom."

  "Celeste says she has a couch in her studio that I can use."

  "Did she invite you?” Rennie demanded, feeling betrayed.

  He seemed to hesitate. “No. Not exactly."

  "Then why did you come?"

  "To see you.” He watched her, looking for her reaction.

  "Okay, you've seen me,” she said stonily. “Now leave me alone!"

  He said, after a moment of bewildered silence, “This isn't quite the welcome I expected."

  What had he expected? That she would fall into his arms? Fat chance, she thought scornfully. Her days of mooning like a schoolgirl, making a fool of herself over a man—particularly this man—were over. She said, “Tough. We don't always get what we expect in this life."

  "No,” he said thoughtfully. “Well, that's what makes it interesting. Where does this path lead to?"

  "A house. It's empty just now. The owner's away."

  "So you weren't running to him for protection."

  "I wasn't running to anything."

  "No. You were running away, weren't you? From me."

  She debated saying she hadn't recognised him. But he wouldn't believe her. He had called her by name and must know she had heard.

  He said, “An interesting reaction, if a bit disconcerting."

  "You startled me,” she said. “It was just an instinct."

  "Blind panic? Not like you, Rennie. Surely you've always been the type to rush headlong at problems, not away from them."

  "Yes,” she said, “and look what it got me!” She touched her scarred cheek. “I've learned my lesson, thank you."

  He frowned. “I'm sorry,” he said slowly. “I didn't understand."

  "You still don't. Will you get out of my way, please? I'm cold and my shirt and towel are on the beach."

  He stepped aside, and followed her as she walked back down to the sand. Trying to ignore his presence, she pulled the cotton shirt on over her swim-suit, and picked up the towel.

  He said, “This may not be the time, but I need to talk to you."

  "It certainly isn't,” she said shortly. “And whatever your needs are, I don't know that I want to hear about them."

  She made to leave and he caught her arm. “Rennie, your parents are wondering why you don't want to come home—"

  She jerked away from him. “When they ask me why, I'll tell them!"

  "I'm asking why."

  "It's none of your damned business!"

  He nodded curtly. “I accept that. But I've come a long way to talk to you—"

  "Did they ask you to?"

  "No."

  "And neither did I,” she told him cuttingly. “I admit that there was a time when I'd have been over the moon at the idea of your travelling a thousand miles just to talk to me, but I grew out of that. I'm not the naÏve teenager who thought you were God's gift. I'm a different person now. And if you've had a change of heart, it's a bit late."

  She left him standing on the sand, and climbed the path to the house on her own.

  "I hope we haven't embarrassed you, Rennie,” Celeste said, coming into her room later.

  "It's your home.” Rennie answered. “You're entitled to invite whatever guests you like. Grant said he has a standing invitation."

  "He does.” Celeste looked a little uncomfortable. “But I should confess that I ... hinted you might like to see him."

  Rennie said, “I know you meant well."

  Celeste sighed. “Ethan told me not to interfere. Oh, Rennie, I am sorry! I can tell him to go—"

  "No, of course not!” He was their guest, just as she was, and she knew they would hate to be inhospitable. Especially since Grant had come such a long way. “It's not that important,” she said. “How long is he planning to stay?"

  "I don't know."

  "Well, he can't stay that long, surely? He has two children back home."

  Over supper, she asked him about the children. “They'll be missing you,” she added.

  The way he looked at her indicated that the faint note of censure in her tone had not gone unnoticed. “They're fine,” he assured her. “But they miss you, too,” he added, turning the accusation back to her. “It was good of you to write to them. They were a bit worried. Mrs Beddoe is living in temporarily, and Jean's unmarried sister is in Auckland for a few weeks. She had plans for outings with them, which they seemed to be looking forward to."

  "It's none of my business,” she said. “I'm just a little surprised that you feel able to leave them while you have a holiday."

  She knew she was being unfair. Grant was a conscientious father and he wouldn't have left them if he hadn't felt confident that they could handle the separation.

  "The children have come through this last year very well. You had a lot to do with that."

  "I just did what I was paid for,” Rennie said, and saw his mouth tighten.

  Ethan cast her a glance of sharp amusement. “Don't be too modest, young Rennie,” he advised. “Genuine compliments are rare currency, and not to be undervalued."

  Rennie smiled at him. She must try to behave, and not make things awkward for him and Celeste. “How's your latest computer programme going?” she asked. “I heard you talking to yourself this afternoon in your workroom. Celeste says that's a bad sign."

  He glanced at his wife's bland face. “Giving away secrets? Shame on you. I had a problem,” he answered Rennie, “but I think I've solved it. I'll have to test it out tomorrow."

  "What is it supposed to do, anyway?"

  Grant looked at her thoughtfully as she listened to Ethan's explanations with every indication of breathless fascination. Then he turned his attention quietly to Celeste.

  She managed to avoid being alone with Grant for two days, but of course on the whole island there was not enough room to hide forever if one person was determined to track another down.

  She had been fossicking among the rock pools near the beach below the house, watching the sea anemones waving their innocent-looking tendrils to attract unwary little fish, and the hermit crabs moving slowly across the rocky floor. There was a very large pool quite a long way around the headland that was great for swimming. The water freshened with each tide and warmed to almost body heat in the sun before the next tide came in.

  She slipped in and stroked lazily about for a while, then dried herself off and applied a coat of sunscreen before lying down on the flat, smooth shelf above the pool. No one would disturb her now. It was only possible to reach this particular place at low tide.

  When she felt a shadow fall across her face, she thought it was a cloud passing over the sun. Then she heard a sound that was different from the waves swirling about the base of the rock shelf, and her eyes flew open.

  "Yes,” Grant said, as he sat beside her and hooked an arm about an upraised knee. “It's me."

  "How did you get here?” she demanded, sitting up.

  A wave rushed in to hiss and rumble around the rocks, spray slapping onto the flat shelf.

  Grant shrugged. “The same way you did, I suppose. Got a bit wet in the process.” He glanced ruefully down. The drill trousers he wore were darkened with water.

  "You could have got swept off your feet,” she said crossly. “Don't you know it's dangerous after low tide?"

  "I'm a stranger in these parts,” he drawled. “The water wasn't all that high."

  "It will be now. You can't go back for at least an hour.
"

  "Neither,” he pointed out, “can you."

  She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. Was that why he had followed her here?

  As if in answer to the unspoken thought, he said, “Perhaps now you'll have the time to listen to what I have to say."

  "I really don't care,” she said. “I don't think that anything you have to say could possibly interest me.” She got to her feet, snatching up her towel. “I'm going."

  "Where to?” he demanded, barring her way as she made to pass him. “You said yourself there's no way off these rocks until low tide."

  "I can wait somewhere else,” she said.

  "And I can follow you."

  "Stop harassing me!"

  "Is that what I'm doing?"

  "Yes! What else would you call it?"

  She saw the effort he made to swallow his anger. “I just don't understand..."

  She said, “No, you don't, do you? Please get out of my way."

  She stalked off while he gazed after her. She went as far along the rocks as she could, and sat watching the wild water race into a narrow gap in the rocks, wave piling on wave, all foam and fury. Strangely, the endless pulling and sucking and pounding had a calming effect on her.

  Gradually the water began receding, becoming shallower. She became aware of Grant sitting several yards from her. She didn't look up, ignoring him completely. For a long time they sat in silence, isolated from each other.

  When most of the waves were coming in at only ankle height, she stirred, ready to get up. And Grant said quietly, “I can't make you listen to me, now. You can get up and walk away if you want. But I wish you wouldn't."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  She was looking away from him towards the white sand, the glossy trees shading the edges, red and yellow hibiscus and some white starry flowers like paint-splashes against the green. She didn't turn her head, but she stayed where she was, sitting on her towel with her knees hunched.

  He waited until another wave had hurried in from the sea, foamed and splashed and receded. Then he said, “Rennie, will you marry me?"

  For an instant, shock stopped her breath. Then shock was replaced by a hot, flooding anger. She turned her head, her body tense. “What?"

  "I'm asking you to marry me, Rennie. Will you?"

  "No!” She sprang to her feet. “No, I won't marry you!” Once she would have given her right arm to hear him say those words. But now it was too late. Far, far too late.

  He stood up too. He looked slightly flushed, his eyes steady but with a disturbing glint in their blue depths. “You're very vehement,” he said. “Whatever happened to ‘sensible though I am of the honour that you do me...'?"

  "Honour!” she said witheringly. “Do you really think it's an honour to be asked—now?"

  "I certainly don't think it's an insult!” he said, obviously stung, although his voice was extremely level. “Not so long since, you didn't seem to think I was so ineligible."

  "I never asked you to marry me!” she reminded him, pride lifting her head and lending a bitter curve to her mouth.

  "I see.” The anger he'd been holding in check put a bite in his voice, now. “Was it just a quick fling you were after—some suitable candidate to relieve you of your virginity? I'm sorry I didn't take the bait you so temptingly dangled for me. Is that the reason for this sudden about-face? Wounded vanity?"

  Rennie hit him. She didn't plan it, or even realise what she was doing until her hand connected with his face, and he flinched, and she felt the sting on her palm.

  For a moment they stood staring at each other, Rennie feeling sick, Grant's face pale except for the red imprint of her hand. He swallowed, and said rather grittily, “I can't imagine any reason for this display of outrage, Rennie.!"

  "But then, you don't have much imagination, do you?"

  He laughed, not very nicely. His cheek must have still been smarting, after all. “Where you're concerned,” he said, his eyes running over her scarcely covered body, “my imagination has always run in overdrive!"

  "You never had too much trouble controlling it, as I recall."

  "It wasn't as easy as you seem to think, Rennie. Do you want me to prove it?"

  "Don't touch me!” She stepped back from him.

  "I haven't moved a muscle,” he pointed out. He hadn't, but the frustration and fury emanating from him was palpable. “I just offered you what's usually considered the highest compliment any man can give to a woman."

  Her lip curled. “What did Ethan say about a genuine compliment being rare currency? Only in your case the currency's debased, Grant."

  "Would you care to explain what the hell you're on about?"

  "It's pretty obvious. You wanted me before. You were even a little in love with me. But there was all that baggage you were hauling from your previous marriage, and you very sensibly and cold-blooded decided you didn't want to get into that again. So you smothered whatever feelings you might have had for me, and closed the door on our relationship. I was young and quite pretty, I'd find someone else, someone more my own age and therefore much more suitable, and I'd forget about you, because after all, at my age, what did I know about real love? What I felt for you was nothing more than a juvenile fancy.” She added viciously, “Isn't that what you thought?"

  "Something like that,” Grant admitted tautly.

  "And there was nice, suitable, attractive Lorna, who'd make a perfect wife and stepmother. You weren't in love with her, but you'd weighed it all up and decided that marrying her would be the best thing all round."

  "As a matter of fact—"

  But Rennie was racing on. “Did she turn you down, leaving you at a loose end again? No perfect wife and stepmother, after all? And then you got a letter from your old flame—"

  "My what?"

  "Celeste. Don't tell me you weren't carrying a torch for her at one time."

  "Whatever gave you that idea?"

  "I'm not dumb! At her wedding I noticed the soulful looks you cast in her direction."

  "Whatever you noticed, you misinterpreted. If I was looking less than madly joyful, it was because I remembered my own wedding, and how my marriage ended. Celeste and I,” he said, “were never more than very good friends. And for the record, I never asked Lorna to marry me!"

  "You thought about it. You told me!"

  "Pride, Rennie,” he said shortly. “You brought the subject up—in the same breath telling me that you'd got over your teenage passion for me. Throwing me a crumb because you didn't want me any more. Matchmaking's a specialty of yours, I believe. You seemed to think it was such a good idea, you almost had me convinced.” A quick flash of bitter humour lit his eyes, and was gone. “Actually, it had never crossed my mind."

  Scarcely listening, she rushed on. “Anyway, Celeste wrote to you that I seemed unhappy. You knew I'd been disfigured. Poor Rennie, you thought. She isn't nearly so likely to find herself a handsome young hero now. You remembered you were quite fond of me, in your superior way—” Ignoring the protesting sound he made, she went ruthlessly on, “—and you remembered I'd been head over heels in love with you, even if it was just an adolescent phase. Maybe you allowed yourself to admit that you found me quite desirable, too. Besides, I was so good with the children, wasn't I? Marrying me would be quite in keeping now, with your image of yourself—"

  "What image?” Grant asked, his voice grating.

  "The Sir Galahad image,” she said caustically. “The white knight. You're good at rescuing the damsel in distress. You just can't admit that you might lust after her as well. Not when you think she's somehow unsuitable for your—attentions. There has to be another reason. Like compassion. What did Celeste say to you,” she asked. “In her letter?"

  "She felt you had been very much hurt, not only physically. She thought you'd taken an emotional battering—"

  "And you figured you were responsible?"

  "Wasn't I?” He looked at her very directly.

  Rennie met his eyes. “Yes. Partly. A
lot of it was my own fault. And some of it had nothing to do with you.” She said, “You don't have to feel responsible for me. Or sorry for me. I'll survive. Even this.” She touched her cheek. “I'm sorry if it ruins your grand gesture, but you've no need to pity me. The doctors say that after the plastic surgery I'll be as good as new. Maybe a tiny white line, easily covered with a little makeup. They promised. They're that confident."

  "I already know that,” Grant said. “I talked to your parents, I told you. Do you think I didn't ask? And not,” he added forcefully, “because I cared one way or the other whether your face was going to be permanently scarred. Only I thought you might."

  "Everyone thinks I do. Of course I was worried, but it wouldn't be the end of the world. Lots of people live with worse than that. There's my hand. It'll always be a bit stiff. But even that's not such a tragedy. I'm not a concert pianist, or an artist.” She paused. “You knew?"

  "Yes. So your theory just went up in flames.” He sounded grim.

  Bewildered, but with a strong conviction that she couldn't cope with any more tension, she shook her head, and turned her back on him to make her way down the rocks to the sand.

  "Rennie!” He leapt down after her, catching her up before she had a chance to reach the other side of the narrow gap. Water lapped about their feet as he clamped his fingers on her wrist.

  She pulled back instinctively, but he retained his hold.

  "Let me go, Grant."

  "Rennie, I love you!"

  Whatever reaction he had expected, it wasn't her wild burst of laughter. He dropped her wrist like a hot coal and stared at her, a flush mounting to his cheeks.

  She stopped laughing, taking a step backwards. She said, “You are unbelievable! You know that?"

  "I'm sorry!” he said angrily. “I've handled this all wrong."

  "Yes, you have!” Her tone was cutting. “Has that fact just dawned on you?"

  He made an exasperated gesture. “I've been clumsy, but surely if we love each other—"

  "That's the crux of it,” she said.

  For a long moment he said nothing. “You're trying to tell me it's over for you ?"