Hours to Cherish (24 page)

The champagne seemed incredibly effervescent that night, the food amazingly delectable. It was a very wonderful time, Cat thought, even as she occasionally mulled over Ariel’s strange words and behavior. What was it that puzzled her so? Cat wondered. Ariel and Peter were very, very happy; just very good friends to Clay. It was natural that Ariel should worry about a man she knew like a brother. It’s a pity that I don’t really think that, she thought to herself, then forced herself to take her mind off her pinpricks of unease. It wasn’t so terribly hard. She sat beside her husband, enjoying his casual touch, that of a long-attuned lover.

We’re friends tonight, she thought, and that awareness made her very happy. Usually, tension was static between them, but tonight she could appreciate being with him, the masculine clean scent that was his, the crisp feel of his shirt, the comfortable hardness of his thigh beside hers, the clean look of his freshly shaved jawline. And when she was tempted to reach out and touch his bronzed skin, she felt freely able to do so.

It was interesting to listen to the conversation that flowed around the table. For the first time Cat felt that she was receiving an insight into her husband’s life—the years that were lost to her. Peter talked about the trials of turning to salvaging from smuggling—legitimate piracy, as he called his new vocation, and told of Clay’s patience and exasperation as he attempted to set them all straight. His crew loved Clay, Cat thought, they were a free breed, driven by nothing but the wind, yet they gave him their love and loyalty.

She also learned that the actual crew was much larger. When the barges and cranes were brought out to begin bringing up the
Santa Anita
’s treasures, she would meet another group of ten.

Cat was surprised to learn that Ariel was a Bahamian national by birth. “I’m surprised that you of all people are surprised!” Ariel laughed. “I was born on Eleuthera. A community of German descent has been thriving there for several centuries. You know as well as I do, Cat, that many Europeans made the islands their homes years ago!”

Thinking of her own tiny cay with its mixed nationalities, Cat had to agree.

When the meal was completed, they moved languorously above deck. Cat noticed that a Bahamian patrol boat was anchored near them, and she glanced at Clay. He gave her a grim nod, but said nothing. She understood that they were now under the government’s protection.

But she didn’t have long to think or ponder. The mood had been set for the evening, and that mood was celebration. Cat was to learn where Clay had learned his prowess with the guitar when Peter retrieved his own instrument from his cabin and insisted on doing harmonies with Clay. Ariel, who informed Cat that both men had taken lessons from Luke, had taken a few lessons herself on flute from Billy. Before long the sea air rang with a freewheeling calypso beat, and Sam and Cat were left to be the hysterical audience as the threesome sang old tunes with their own brand of new, delightfully bawdy lyrics.

The moon was high in the Bahamian sky before Cat realized she had laughed so hard that she hurt. The music died down, and the conversation turned to instructions from Clay to Sam about the following day. Cat yawned as she listened to Clay talk, hardly able to keep her eyes open as she rested lazily against his shoulder, her feelings those of complete well-being.

She was almost asleep, her eyes closing dreamily, when she felt him shake her shoulder. “Go on in to bed,” Clay told her gently.

Cat started to see that they were alone on deck. Clay smiled with tender patience. “Peter and Ariel have already gone in. Are you awake enough to walk?”

Cat nodded drowsily and managed to stand, looking at him with confused hesitancy. “Aren’t you coming?”

Clay shook his head. “I’m first watch. I’ll be with you in a few hours.”

“First watch?” Cat murmured. “But we’re protected—”

His eyes were very dark and fathomless as he interrupted her. “In circumstances like these, we always hold watch on our boats. Now go in to bed. I’ll join you shortly.”

Cat nodded mutely and turned to go, feeling a certain misery, as she was sure their possible difficulties were her fault. Clay caught her hand and spun her around, easing the terseness of his curt explanation with a gentle kiss upon her brow. “It’s just a safety precaution, Cat,” he said softly. “Now go and get some sleep.”

Cat gave him a rueful smile, then moved to obey him. In the cabin, she stripped off her clothing to scrounge through her things for a negligee, but then her eyes lit upon the navy velour robe of Clay’s she had worn previously. If she couldn’t sleep beside him on their still-rumpled bed, she would feel a bit more secure wearing his soft and comfortable robe.

Without Clay, Cat suddenly discovered that she wasn’t quite so drowsy. She was, in fact, a little high-strung. Pacing the small cabin, she stuck her hands into the pockets and walked to the porthole window to look out upon the darkness of the night, the silver play of the pale moon upon the water.

She was reaching happiness, she thought, if not thorough contentment. But then, contentment and the security they both needed would take time to come.

She frowned suddenly as her fingers curled around something they had been idly touching in the pocket of the robe. It was a paper of some sort, yet did not have the actual feel of paper. Cat clutched her fingers and brought it out. Her heart seemed to take an immediate leap to her throat. It didn’t feel exactly like paper because it was a picture, the type taken by an Instamatic camera. It was folded and frayed, as if it had perhaps been in the pocket of the robe through several washings. But the subjects of the picture were still clear—painfully clear.

As Cat stared at it, she felt the rise of hot moisture in her eyes. She had guessed all along, so she shouldn’t be shocked. But she had never really wanted to know.

The picture showed Clay, standing on the deck of a boat. His hair was long and wind-tossed; he wore his full beard. He was dressed in his customary cutoffs, and as usual his strong lean body looked damp and salty from the sea. He faced the camera, and he was laughing ruefully, as if he had objected to the picture being taken and then resigned himself to its inevitability.

He wasn’t alone. His arm was protectively and tenderly around a woman, a tiny, very pretty woman who looked up at him with adoration in her eyes. The woman was Ariel.

I’ve known that they were together at some time, Cat thought sickly, so what difference does proof make? It must be over, long over. But why had it ended, Cat wondered. With pain clawing viciously at her stomach, she thought of the gentle tenderness with which Clay always treated Ariel. And then her question changed to one that hurt even worse. Had it really ended? Did a special kind of love remain despite Peter, despite herself?

It was a long time before Cat could force herself to lie in bed. She couldn’t confront Clay with the picture, not when she remembered his words when she asked about Ariel. Ariel is Peter’s wife, had been his firm reply.

Haunted by doubt, Cat lay awake for hours, until she heard the knob of the door twist with Clay’s return to the cabin. Then she closed her eyes and curled far to her side of the bed, feigning a deep sleep as her heart pounded.

She heard Clay disrobe in the darkness, felt him as his weight lowered next to hers. And she couldn’t control a flinch as he reached out to touch her. A silence followed. Then he muttered, “What’s the matter with you?”

Cat attempted to ignore his question, but it was repeated with his muttering rumbling to a hushed roar.

“Nothing!” she hissed.

“Then why are you pulling away from me? There’s something wrong, damn it,” he said, rolling her by the midriff to face him in the dim moonlight.

“No, there isn’t,” Cat lied stubbornly.

He stared at her intently, his taut expression unreadable in the darkness. “Talk to me, Cat, or straighten out. I won’t sleep with a distance of two feet between us.”

She said nothing, but saw his anger as he tightened his jaw. His head bent low and his lips claimed hers, his tongue probing a firm entrance to the fullness of her mouth; she knew there would be no turning away from her husband this time. His hands raked a rough exploratory course over the curves of her body, and she knew it made no difference that he refused to allow her to turn away. She couldn’t force herself to turn away anyway.

I
T WAS DARK IN
the bowels of the
Santa Anita
, dark in an eerie green way that even now, after four days of continual exploration, still sent goose bumps rising over Cat’s arms. She could control the instinctive fear the ghost ship called from her spirit, but she never lost the haunted feeling. And sometimes, although they had already brought numerous priceless artifacts to the surface with the very delicate and tedious use of air hoses and gentle fingers—fine porcelain, silver- and goldware, crystal that had miraculously survived the ages—Cat felt as if her victory were also a lesson in humility and sadness. Tears would ridiculously singe her eyes as she wondered if she should have left her ghost ship alone, buried with poignant memories of lost lives beneath the erosion of the sand and sea.

Soon the barges and cranes would move in. Encrusted cannons would be raised, the huge and heavy anchor with its iron fittings. The ocean would become a vortex as she was forced to release her suction upon the treasures she had claimed. And still they hadn’t found the Aztec crown jewels. Cat was sure they were here, deep within the lower decks. The true treasure was always carried deep.

The tobacco the ship had carried had long since disintegrated, as had the llama wool prized in Portugal and Spain. But the ship’s manifest had also listed a cargo of gold and silver, all yet to be found.

They were in a counting room, Cat decided, surveying the bracketing on the walls and the remains of a heavy desk and chair, almost entirely eroded. Her light flared upon darting sea life, tiny fish that clung to the green darkness for safety and secrecy. For an instant her light caught upon her husband’s mask, and she saw Clay’s eyes, deep and pensive as they always seemed to be when he looked at her now. His stare caught hers for a just a second, questioningly. Then the question was gone, the fathomless and businesslike jet returned. He signaled to the right; Cat shrugged.

His glance was icy, but there was also pain in his eyes. Cat was well aware that he didn’t know what truly haunted her; she couldn’t bring herself to try to talk about Ariel. She had simply retreated, and although she couldn’t deny his touch, and made no attempt to prove other than that she was perfectly content to share his bed, it was now she who was holding back.

Clay didn’t know why she had retreated, and strangely, at this absurd point, she had stumbled upon the answer to totally frustrate and dismay him. In his terms, she had finally beaten him at his own game. He could hold, take, and claim her time and time again, and although they were both rewarded with sweet ecstasy, he knew he was reaching for something elusive. It couldn’t be caught with the power of his strong hands.

I have to talk to him, Cat thought now. She knew that the foundations for anything they might have, had to be laid with honesty. But she was so afraid to be honest. She had wanted to discuss Jules, air her feelings first of guilt, then of pain, disillusionment, and disgust. But she couldn’t even put those things into words with Clay. He was possessive and jealous, and her own heartsick worry caused her to want him to continue to feel that way. Because she was jealous, and it wasn’t a simple emotion. She could have accepted that women had drifted through his life. What she was finding so unbearably hard was that he hadn’t had meaningless affairs. He had engaged in an affair that had meant very, very much.

Cat abruptly ceased her mental wandering as she noticed a sheaf of half-rotted planking that appeared out of place. A sixth sense suddenly seemed to tug at her and Cat swam slowly to the softened timbers. She tugged at the ragged end, feeling dizzy and giddy as it gave immediately and revealed a hatchway they had previously overlooked. A hole that appeared black as night beckoned to her, compellingly. Cat tugged at her cord, waiting with impatience for Clay to come to her. She felt his touch, possessive and proprietary even in the water, yet so strangely comforting because she wanted to be possessed and possess in return—and then, together, they flared their lights below.

The decking beneath them was almost entirely destroyed. Offshoots of coral tore through the hull like strange stalagmites, creating a scene that might be the work of a modern; impressionistic artist. Nature and man merged together in a crazy scramble.

Clay moved cautiously downward, then waited for Cat to follow. Carefully they floated through age-old litter and wreckage, exploring dark crevices with caution. Cat fluttered backward in panic as one of their first forays revealed an evil and terrifying moray eel. She was sure she stopped breathing, as did Clay, when the startled creature lunged with lightning assurance for his hand, luckily catching only the thick glove that shielded it. And of course they hadn’t quit breathing. The bubbles that were their lives continued to rise.

Then Clay was waving at her madly, a brilliant smile radiating beneath his mask. Cat saw what exhilarated him so, a three-by-five-foot casket so encrusted and tarnished she would have thought it part of the ocean floor. He beckoned her to keep her light steady, signaling that he wished to raise the object before opening it. But it was heavy, too heavy for even Clay’s considerable strength. Cat was sent to the deck above to retrieve Peter, and then she and Ariel were following the men in a slow ascent to the surface, going half crazy with their anticipation as they forced themselves to take the proper decompression time. But eventually they reached the surface, and Sam was able to use hooks and leverage to bring the casket aboard the
Sea Witch II
.

“It’s been corked somehow,” Clay said excitedly as he carelessly tore away his equipment. “We need to go carefully … very carefully. We may find whatever this holds in perfect condition.”