Land's End (7 page)

Not quite the welcome she'd been looking for, but what could she expect? Life had moved on without her. Only she and Trent remained trapped in the lingering memories of their shared past.

A door behind the counter opened, and Esther Johnson
swept through, moving with that quick grace that had always reminded Sarah of a bird on the wing. If Sarah hadn't known she was sixty, she'd have put Esther's age at anywhere between thirty and forty. That smooth brown skin didn't age, and her eyes were bright with intelligence and interest in everyone.

Except, it seemed, Sarah Wainwright. Esther stopped at the counter, looking at Sarah without expression. “You're back.”

What was she to say to that? “It's good to see you again, Esther. You're looking well.”

We were friends once, Esther. Did I lose that completely when I ran away?

The woman inclined her head, accepting the words as a queen might accept the praise of her subjects. Well, Esther was the queen here, she supposed. If anyone was responsible for the growth of the clinic, it would be Esther.

The silence was becoming unnerving. “The clinic looks wonderful. You're obviously doing well.”

“Yes.”

She forced a smile. “I knew you'd do a wonderful job. Do you have a minute to show me the new addition?”

Esther didn't bother consulting her watch. “I'm afraid not. I have new volunteers coming in for an orientation.”

The rebuff was like a slap in the face. She had to take a breath before she could speak calmly.

“I know how scarce good volunteers are. I could work a few shifts while I'm on the island, if you're shorthanded.” And perhaps find her place again, if she got back in the comfortable professional role she knew how to fill.

“Thank you, but we don't need any additional help at the moment.” If Esther had held up a sign saying, You're Not Wanted Here, she couldn't have been any clearer.

She had let them down, leaving the way she had. Obviously
Esther, at least, didn't intend to forgive her easily for that. Guilt reared its head. She'd cut and run without a thought for the trouble she'd left behind on St. James. How did she begin to apologize for that?

“Esther—”

The outside door burst open, and a teenaged boy shouldered his way in, supporting another boy whose arm hung limply at his side. His face was terrified and tear-stained.

“You gotta help Joey. He run his bike right into a car.”

Sarah started for the injured boy, but before she could take a step, Esther had rounded the counter and moved in front of her, issuing crisp orders to the other woman.

“I'll help—” Sarah began, but already someone pushed a gurney into the hallway, a doctor loping along behind it.

She recognized Sam Drake's lean, bony frame and shock of snow-white hair. Sam had been one of her first recruits, admitting under pressure that spending every moment of his retirement on the golf course had begun to pall.

“Hey, Sarah. Nice to see you, stranger.” He gave her a quick wave before turning to the patient. The rest of the team rolled into action, just as she'd trained them. With a minimum of fuss the patient was whisked off to an exam room, his friend taken care of and she was left standing uselessly in place.

Nice to see you, stranger. Sam hadn't meant anything offensive. Not like Esther, with her coldness. But his attitude had shown her the truth nonetheless.

She wasn't needed here. Maybe she'd once been an important cog in the machinery, but now she just observed, ghostlike, with no part to play. She didn't belong.

 

Dinner at Land's End was, apparently, a command performance. Sarah sat across from Melissa at the linen-covered
table, uneasily aware that the simple skirt and top she'd found in one of the island shops that afternoon didn't measure up.

Across from her, Joanna Larson, Trent's secretary, wore the neutral beige suit that seemed to be her uniform for day or evening. She had barely nodded when Sarah spoke to her, turning instead to Trent with a question about some correspondence. If her suit was no more suited to the atmosphere than Sarah's attire, it apparently didn't bother her.

Candlelight shone on white linen, reflected in crystal, made tiny flame points on the heavy silver. The mahogany furniture of the formal dining room was hand-carved in a rice pattern—a reminder of the rice culture that had once ruled the vast plantations of the sea islands.

Rice, indigo, sea island cotton had taken their turns as the favored cash crop for the plantation owners, and they'd all had one great need—the slave laborers who'd come from West Africa to produce the crops and build their own culture and their own language.

That culture still existed in uneasy partnership with the encroachment of the outside world, and the man seated next to Melissa exemplified that. Robert Butler was an MIT-educated, gifted engineer. Butler could be a success anywhere, but Trent had brought him back to his roots.

That could be a problem for some people, but Robert seemed unaffected. He switched easily from joking with Geneva in Gullah to a technical discussion with Trent that was equally incomprehensible to Sarah.

Trent sat at the end of the table, more at ease than she'd seen him since her return. His gray eyes lit with amusement as he responded to something Robert Butler said. Perhaps Trent enjoyed playing the role of patriarch. Everyone at the dinner table depended on him. Except her.

Perhaps it wasn't fair to think of Robert Butler as a dependent. He could probably name his own price to work for one of Trent's competitors, if he wanted to do so. Derek, on the other hand, didn't have that luxury. As Trent's half brother, he filled a nominal role as vice president. What his actual duties were, no one seemed to know.

With his brown, curly hair and round blue eyes, Derek didn't look anything like Trent, but they'd had different fathers. Local gossip had it that Trent, once he'd achieved success, had rescued his young half brother from a squalid life, sending him to university and making a place for him in the company. How much was true she didn't know, but Derek was loyal to Trent.

Would that loyalty keep him from being honest with her? She wasn't sure. It should be simple to have a private conversation with Derek now that she was living in the house, but so far he'd evaded her.

As if he knew she was thinking of him, Derek met her gaze. He gave her an understanding look, and his eyelid drooped in a slight wink. Hope rose. She'd find some way of talking with him away from Trent's dampening presence.

Melissa was more animated than Sarah had yet seen her. She leaned over to touch Robert's sleeve.

“Please, Robert. Tell us a Gullah ghost story.” She shivered in anticipation. “Everyone wants to hear one.”

Robert glanced at Trent, as if to ask permission. Trent nodded with an indulgent glance at his daughter.

“Well, now, there is one story about two haints that frequent an old burying ground on the island. Mind now, Melissa—” he bent a serious glance on the girl “—I'm a good Christian, and I don't believe in ghosts, but I know folks like the old stories. Just so you understand it's not real.”

She nodded, eyes sparkling. “It's fun to hear a scary story when you know you're safe.”

“Well, then,” Robert said, “there once were two young people who lived on the island.” His voice took on a singsong quality, deepening to a rich baritone rumble. “They loved each other, but their folks had been feuding for more years than anyone could remember.”

It was a classic Romeo and Juliet tale, Sarah realized, transported to a Gullah setting by a skilled storyteller. Maybe it was the setting that made the tale so effective, with the candle flames flickering and the dark salt marsh pressing against the windows. Or maybe it was the quality of Robert's voice. He held his audience spellbound.

Was she the only one who felt uneasy as the tale proceeded toward its inevitable tragic end? Surely Robert could have found a story that didn't so closely parallel that of Miles and Lynette. Melissa didn't seem to notice, wrapped up as she was in the tale.

A slight movement from across the table drew her gaze. Joanna's fingers clutched her silver dessert spoon with such strength, it seemed she'd bend it. So Joanna wasn't as impervious to the situation as Sarah would have thought.

Sarah glanced at Trent to find his face impassive. The urge to shout at him, to blast his emotions free, startled her with its strength. She couldn't do anything for Trent. If he'd decided to deal with the tragedy by suppressing it, that was his choice.

In any event, Robert's tale took a slightly different turn, with the errant lovers killed by some unknown person, perhaps a jealous boyfriend or angry father, and destined to haunt the burying ground until their murderer was discovered.

Robert's voice dropped to a low, musical end, and everyone clapped. Trent rose.

“No one can top your storytelling, Robert. Let's take our coffee into the other room, shall we?”

She could take advantage of the movement to slip away. Joanna, apparently thinking the same, went quickly out the back door toward the patio. Because she preferred to be alone, or because she hadn't liked Robert's story, with its echoes of recent tragedy?

She'd find an opportunity to talk with Joanna, but if she hung around now, Derek's look had suggested he, at least, felt some friendship for her. She followed the others into the formal living room. Derek drifted to the grand piano and sat down, letting his fingers drift over the keys.

Before she could move in his direction, Robert appeared at her side, his face grave. “My little story upset you. I'm sorry.”

Perhaps she should cultivate that mask Trent wore so well. “I thought perhaps the topic was a bit insensitive.”

“Are you a Christian, Dr. Wainwright?” His dark gaze touched the gold cross she wore at her throat.

“Yes.” She raised a startled gaze to his.

“Then you remember the approach the prophet Nathan had to take when God told him to confront King David with his sin. Sometimes the only way to tell the king an unpleasant truth is with a story.”

Before she could ask any of the questions that jumbled together in her mind, he turned and walked away. She should talk to Derek, but all she wanted to do was be alone so she could sort this out.

T
rent frowned, his head beginning to throb from his brother's endless tinkling on the piano. Or was it because he didn't want to let himself think about Robert's story?

The telling of it had been singularly tactless on Robert's part, and he was ordinarily not a tactless person. So what was behind that?

He watched Sarah and Robert in conversation. Robert moved away, leaving a distressed look on her face.

Poor Sarah—she probably considered herself a tough, no-nonsense professional who had her feelings under control. Unfortunately she couldn't do anything about that sensitive, vulnerable face of hers. As he watched she straightened her shoulders, assumed a smile and headed toward him.

Sarah stopped a few feet away. “If you'll excuse me, I'll say good night.”

“I'll walk you to your room.”

“That's not necessary.” Her face revealed her reluctance to be alone with him. “It's just a step.”

He took her arm. “I could use some air.” He piloted her out through the French doors to the quiet patio.

She went with him willingly enough, but once the door had
closed behind them, she pulled her arm free of his hand. “Thank you, but I'm perfectly capable of walking to the room alone.”

“You mean you don't want to be alone with me.”

“That's ridiculous.”

“Liar.”

Sarah's lips quirked. “Didn't your mother teach you that it's impolite to call a lady a liar?”

His mother had been too drunk to teach him anything except how to avoid her fist. “Actually it was my grandmother who taught me manners.” He took her arm again. “And she said a gentleman always escorts a lady to her door.”

This time she did smile. “All right, I give up. Escort me the all of twenty steps to my door.”

He matched his stride to hers as they crossed the pebbled patio. The lights of the pool glowed turquoise, but he hadn't bothered to turn the other patio lights on. The nearly full moon was bright enough, and the stars clustered more thickly without the competition.

As if she followed his thoughts, Sarah tilted her head back to look up. “I'd forgotten how bright the stars are here.”

“They prefer shining on the island. Hadn't you noticed?”

“You may be right.”

They reached the door to the guest suite. Sarah still looked up, the moonlight silvering her face. Strange, that the face he'd never considered beautiful should be so lovely now. Moonlight suited her, bringing out her delicate bone structure.

“Good night.” She shifted her gaze to his. “And thank you again for your hospitality.”

“You're welcome here.”

They'd stood like this in the moonlight once before. Did she remember that? How they'd looked at each other, recognizing that in another moment they could have been in each
other's arms? His hand still held her arm, and her skin seemed to warm under his touch.

Back away. Looking into Sarah's eyes is a dangerous thing.

He'd be better off to pick a fight with her. Fortunately that was always an easy thing to do.

“Are you ready to leave yet?”

For a moment his words didn't seem to register. Then she lifted her eyebrows. “I thought you said I was welcome here.”

“You are, if you insist on staying. But you must realize by now that your being here, opening the past, can only bring pain to all of us. Especially to my daughter.”

She winced at that, making an involuntary movement as if to push his words away. “I don't want to hurt anyone, particularly not Melissa. She's already had enough pain to last a lifetime.”

He had to harden his heart. He could not let himself be touched by her caring for his child. “Then go.”

For a moment she looked at him as if she stared through him, seeing something he couldn't see. She shook her head slightly.

“The first time I saw you since my return, you accused me of coming here to satisfy my Puritan conscience.”

He remembered those bitter words, thrown at her from his own pain. “I didn't mean—” But he had.

“Maybe you were right.” She seemed to drag in a breath, and he thought she wouldn't say more. “Maybe it is that.” She went doggedly on. “I just know that if Miles betrayed me, that means I failed him somehow.”

He didn't want to think that, because the corollary was that he had failed Lynette. “What they did isn't our fault.” He had to keep telling himself. Maybe eventually he'd believe it.

She shook her head. “I have to know. I have to understand,
if I'm ever going to move on.” Anguish laced her words. “Don't you see that?” She grabbed his hand, her fingers digging into his skin. “You of all people should see that.”

He did. Her grief went right through all his barriers and pierced his heart, twisting it until he didn't know where her pain ended and his began. He wanted to help her, wanted to protect her—

He couldn't. He couldn't protect both her and Melissa, no matter how much he wanted to. And his first duty had to be to his child, even if that meant hurting Sarah.

It cost something to push her hand away. He had to drag in a breath of moist marsh air before he could speak.

“You're wrong, Sarah. I've accepted what they did. I think it's time you did, too.”

He turned and walked away before he could drown in the hurt in her eyes.

 

Sarah stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror the next morning. She'd like to say she was doing fine, but her image showed the lie to that. That difficult exchange with Trent had left her sleepless for most of the night.

Was she doing the right thing? If her search for the truth hurt a helpless child, how could she possibly justify that?

And what about that odd story of Robert's? He'd implied that he was trying to tell Trent an unwelcome truth, but the characters in his story had been lovers. Trent already believed that about Lynette and Miles. She was the one who doubted.

Robert's innocent lovers had been killed by someone unknown. If he intended to say that Lynette and Miles had met a similar fate, then her task was far more complicated and dangerous than simply proving to her own satisfaction that they had not been lovers.

She'd wrestled with the questions for hours, turning again and again to prayer until she'd finally realized she didn't have a choice. God had set her on this path, and she couldn't turn back. She could only push toward a resolution, trusting that He had some good in store for all of them.

She patted a little loose powder over the dark circles and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. That would have to do.

She went out, locking the door behind her, and crossed the patio toward the breakfast room. She couldn't prevent her steps from slowing as she approached the door. The last thing she needed was another private talk with Trent. Steeling herself, she went inside.

A quick glance assured her that Trent was nowhere in sight. Unfortunately, neither was Derek, and she'd hoped to manage a private word with him this morning. The only person in the room was Joanna Larson.

Joanna had always been pleasant enough to her in the past, but detached, efficient and wrapped up in her work. Miles, as she recalled, had admired the woman's loyalty and efficiency. If Joanna had outside interests, Sarah had never heard of them. She'd always seemed detached, but she hadn't been detached in her reaction to Robert Butler's story.

Sarah smiled and nodded when the woman looked up for a moment, her mind busy. She poured a cup of coffee, hesitated a moment and then moved to Joanna's table. Surely it would be natural to talk with the woman, wouldn't it?

“Joanna, I'm sorry we didn't have a chance to talk last night. How are you?”

The woman looked up, and all Sarah could think was that Joanna looked almost as bad as she did. Her pale blue eyes also bore dark circles underneath. Her cup clattered as she set it in the saucer, as if her hand trembled.

“I'm fine.” Her face gave the lie to the words. “I couldn't believe you'd come back. Why are you here?”

Apparently she felt free to say this morning the words she'd suppressed the previous night. She shouldn't be surprised. Joanna's loyalty to Trent was notorious—she'd devoted her life to him. If Trent didn't want her here, then Joanna didn't, either.

“I came to take care of some things I left unresolved. I hoped you might understand that.”

The words she considered soothing seemed to have the opposite effect. Joanna shot to her feet. “Understand? Why would I understand? It's nothing to do with me.”

“I just meant—”

“You should leave.” Joanna shoved her chair so hard it nearly tipped over. “There's nothing for you here.” She brushed by Sarah and scurried out the door.

Sarah sank into a seat. She hadn't imagined the woman's reaction the previous night. She had strong feelings beneath that neutral exterior, but it didn't look as if she'd easily share those feelings with Sarah.

And if the others react the same way? Where will you turn then? Or will you just give up?

She glanced at the buffet, but her stomach protested at the thought of food. She'd saunter through the main part of the house to see if she could run into Derek. Maybe he didn't share the opinion that her absence was preferable to her presence.

She walked through the formal dining room, empty save for the disturbing memories of last night's dinner. Robert Butler and his story—what had he meant by telling it? And that odd reference to the prophet and King David. She'd looked up the story sometime in the wee hours of the morning. Nathan had told his story to convict David of his guilt. Surely
Robert wasn't implying any guilt on Trent's part, although Trent was definitely the king of his small island.

Music filtered from the formal living room—the piano, and a tune she vaguely recognized as a Mozart piece her hapless piano teacher had once optimistically thought she'd learn to play. She moved toward the door. She'd be able to catch Derek.

But it wasn't Derek at the piano this time. It was Melissa. Sarah stopped at the entrance to the room, unwilling to intrude. Melissa played with a skill that certainly would have astounded Sarah's teacher. Her hands moved over the keys with an enviable sureness, and her eyes were closed.

Sarah's throat tightened. Lynette had been a concert pianist before she'd given up her career to marry Trent. Obviously her daughter had inherited her gift. The music seemed to be a solace to the child, and she was glad. She stepped back softly. She wouldn't interrupt.

A door clattered above them, in the loft that housed a small sitting room and Trent's private study. “Melissa, can't you do that later? I'm trying to work up here.”

Melissa froze, hands still on the keys. Then, without a word, she slid off the piano bench and ran out of the room by the opposite door.

Sarah took a step forward, propelled by anger. Didn't he see what the music meant to his child?

She looked up at Trent, and the words died on her tongue. He stood with his hands planted on the railing of the loft, looking after Melissa with an expression of pain and regret twisting his face.

“Go after her,” she said before she could think too much about it.

He looked at her, face tightening. He would tell her to mind her own business. Tell her to leave.

“I can't. I'd only make things worse.” He turned and slammed his way back into the study.

It was hopeless. She couldn't correct what was wrong between Trent and his daughter. But even so, she couldn't keep from going after Melissa.

The front door stood open, and she stepped outside. Melissa was in a corner of the wide front veranda, curled up in a porch swing padded with bright cushions. She was turned away, face buried in her arms, and she didn't move at Sarah's approach, though she must have heard her. Unsure what to do or say, Sarah sat down in one of the wooden rockers that lined the veranda.

The rocker squeaked slightly, and a breeze off the ocean lifted her hair and bent the golden sea oats on the dunes. Bougainvillea rioted over the latticework that marked the end of the veranda, and sunlight danced on the water. Only the humans were miserable.

“I'm sorry,” she said finally. “Maybe your dad is working on something that needs a lot of concentration.”

Melissa straightened, revealing a tear-stained face. “He hates my playing.”

“You play beautifully. I'm sure your father is proud of that.”

She shook her head, dark hair flying, and her lips trembled. “He hates my playing because I'll never be as good as my mother.”

Her heart hurt so much for the child that she could scarcely speak, but somehow she had to find the words to reassure her. She leaned forward, reaching out to touch the knee of Melissa's jeans.

“I can see how you might feel that way, but I don't think it's true, not really. He loves you.”