Second Tomorrow (2 page)

‘Here, you mean? In my job?’

‘That’s right. I’ve the impression that you don’t want to stay.’

Again she gave a start, his perception amazing her.

‘It’s true that I’m unsettled,’ she told him frankly after a pause. ‘I often feel I should never have come.’

‘Phil said you’d given up a good post to come here.’ There was a coldness in his voice now that was almost callous. He had no heart, she thought, no sensitivity to the loss she had sustained. He was unemotionally looking in from the outside, perceiving a situation which he regarded as stupid—that of a girl who was caught up in a sorrow which she could quite easily have thrown off. She glanced at him as he idly began to peruse the menu that had just been handed to him, noting the fine, aristocratic lines of his sun-bronzed features. He leant back in his chair, and to Clare there was a certain arrogance even in the posture he assumed; he was lounging comfortably, and yet his head was held upright, set on broad, immaculately-clad shoulders. His face was half-turned towards her, its finely-chiselled lines and contours sharply silhouetted even though the light all around was muted. The very dark brown hair, the faint arch of the brows, the flexed set of the mouth and jaw, the steely glints in eyes that could be grey but often seemed almost black . . . all these combined to give an impression of pride and power and great strength of character. An unusually arresting and handsome man, Clare was admitting, but a formidable one for all that. Phil had said his attitude towards women was cynical; he treated them as inferiors, regarded their fight for equality with something akin to contempt.

She said, still watching his face intently as he read the menu, ‘Yes, I did give up my job,’ but
she immediately added that she would have little difficulty in obtaining another.

‘You’d better stay.’ Authority in his voice and a challenge in his stare as he regarded her over the top of the menu. Clare lifted her chin at his tone, her eyes glinting.

‘I shall do what suits me,’ she returned with a trace of defiance which, she thought, ought not to have been necessary.

‘I expect you shall,’ was his terse rejoinder as he glanced at the tilted chin, ‘regardless of whether or not it suits others.’

She frowned in puzzlement. ‘Others? My brother—and who else?’

‘Your parents. They’re exceedingly troubled about you.’

‘Phil told you far too much,’ she said tautly.

‘As I’ve said, I was curious as to why you should be taking the post here. Phil told me a few things. It wasn’t much.’

‘But enough to make you decide on giving me advice.’

He shook his head impatiently. Ignoring her words he said, looking directly at her, ‘Has it never occurred to you that your attitude is selfish?’

‘No,’ she flashed, colouring with indignation, ‘it hasn’t!’

‘Then you should think a little more deeply about it,’ he recommended. ‘From what Phil told me your father and mother are very unhappy people.’

She frowned and bit her lip. What he said was
true, of course, but never had she stopped to think that there might be selfishness in her wanting to keep Frank’s memory green. Luke’s accusation troubled her, going deeper than was comfortable. Anger against him rose swiftly, anger that he should concern himself with what was not his business.

However, she had no time to say anything, for her brother came back and soon they were in the restaurant, sitting at the table by the window, Luke’s whole attention on the boats moored in the marina. Phil looked at his sister and smiles were exchanged. She was proud of him, always had been. Tall and slim and good-looking in a gentle, refined sort of way, he seemed all wrong as a bachelor because undoubtedly he would make a wonderful husband. But he had concentrated on his career, his ambition being to become manager of an hotel. He was making a great success of it and already there had been hints from his superiors that he would be given the management of a luxury hotel that was to be built on one of the larger islands of the Bahama group.

Luke turned presently and remarked on some of the yachts, mentioning their owners. Everyone here seemed to own a yacht, mused Clare, thinking of the beautiful vessel belonging to Luke which was moored at his private jetty down-beach from his house.

The starters came and when they were eaten Phil and Clare got up to dance, the calypso
music being played by a native combo occupying a flower-bedecked platform at one end of the room. She was suddenly acutely conscious of Luke’s eyes following her. She saw them slide from her face to her figure—to her tiny waist where the turquoise-blue dress she wore fitted snugly before flowing out in an abundance of subtle folds that swayed as she danced. Something stirred within her . . . something she had known before and which angered her. That Luke’s presence and his interest should disturb the serenity of her mind was bad enough; but in addition he had the ability to superimpose his own image upon that of her dead fiancé, almost blotting out the picture she was ever striving to keep before her. She had considered herself immune to the attractions of any man, but she was having to admit that those of Luke Mortimer affected her in a way which created a deep and totally illogical resentment towards him.

She and her brother returned to the table for the second course. Phil had ordered turtle steak, and Clare grouper cutlets and a salad, while Luke was having a lobster ragout in the shell ‘Newburgh.’ When the meal was over Luke asked Clare to dance and she rose hesitantly, doubting if she could come up to standards which she guessed would be high. She felt his arm come about her, knew the cool touch of his other hand as he took hers. A quiver that was pleasant ran along her spine, while anger filtered into her mind. She wanted to hate him!—
wished she could be told she was never to see him again, ever!

‘You’re very quiet.’ His voice was strong, as usual, but low, against her ear. She had the impression that his chin was touching her hair—deliberately. Perhaps he was a flirt, and he fancied his chance with her in spite of what he had been told by Phil.

‘I was thinking,’ she replied briefly and non-committally.

‘About what? Going home?’

‘Perhaps,’ she answered with a hint of defiance.

‘Phil’s relying on you.’

‘He could easily get someone else.’

‘Let’s drop the subject,’ he said curtly and they danced in silence until the music stopped. Clare, having managed to follow his steps perfectly, actually enjoyed the dance. He too enjoyed it, if he were to be believed when he said, ‘Thank you, Clare. It was a pleasure to dance with you.’

She averted her face, telling herself that the embarrassment she felt was due rather to the unexpected compliment than the strangely soft inflection in his voice as he spoke her name. . . .

Phil suggested they take their coffee in the lounge but no sooner had they sat down than he was called away by one of his staff, and once again Clare found herself alone with Luke. He spoke first, breaking a silence which for Clare was fast becoming awkward.

‘You’re not really serious in your intention of going home, are you?’

‘I haven’t definitely made up my mind,’ she replied. ‘I did say I was only thinking about it.’ ‘

It’s morbid to dwell on the past.’ Luke spoke almost harshly, as if he were delivering a stern rebuke. ‘I said each new day is what you intend to make it.
You
wake every morning with the firm intention of being unhappy.’

‘You know so much, don’t you?’ she retorted sarcastically.

‘I know you’re a fool!’

She glanced up; their eyes met fleetingly, hers wide, indignant and questioning, his narrowed and inscrutably dark.

‘You baffle me,’ she complained and looked away.

‘Then that makes two of us. I’ve never met a woman like you.’ He paused as if giving her the chance to speak. ‘Do you really intend to remain sunk in misery for the rest of your life?’

She frowned in puzzlement. ‘I’ve said you baffle me. I can’t understand your concern.’

A strange silence ensued before Luke spoke, and when he did speak there was the most odd inflection in his voice.

‘It could be that I don’t understand it myself. Let’s change the subject, shall we?’ He glanced at her empty coffee cup. ‘Better still, let us take a stroll. It’s becoming far too hot in here.’

Clare hesitated; the last thing she wanted was to walk outside with him, in the lovely tropical gardens, with the bright stars above and the moon turning the wavelets to silver along the pink-sanded beach. But on the other hand, she
had to remember that Luke was her brother’s friend and, therefore, she must make some attempt to appear friendly.

‘Why the hesitation?’ challenged Luke with a touch of irony in his voice. ‘Would you prefer to be alone, so that you can brood?’

Her mouth went tight. The insufferable man would rile her to the point of no return if he went on like this. It was with considerable difficulty that she managed to keep the anger from her tone as she said, ‘Of course not. I shall enjoy a stroll in the fresh air.’

Faintly he smiled, as if fully aware that she was lying.

The cooling breeze of the trade winds fanned her face as, after walking along the pergola-shaded terrace in front of the lounge, they came into the gardens proper. Sounds drifted to her over the soft balmy air—the murmur of the waves breaking against the coral reef, the tender Bahamian music from the restaurant, the whisper of night creatures in the stately royal palms and the ‘pity-pit-pit’ call of a nighthawk as it swirled down from some unseen place high in the air. The beach was deserted, serene and unspoiled as it was hundreds of years ago, before man ever set foot on its virgin sand.

‘It’s a beautiful evening.’ Clare spoke to break the silence which seemed to be becoming too companionable for her liking. She did not want to feel at ease with Luke; on the contrary, she desired only that they should both keep their distance from one another, being polite and
nothing more. But somehow the situation was becoming out of control, with Luke acting as if he had the right to criticise and admonish, and to advise her to remain on the island. She thought about his comments and decided that she ought to remain, if only to give her parents a little peace of mind, something they certainly had not had for the past five years, knowing that, every Saturday, no matter what the weather, she would meet her dead fiancé’s mother in the grim environment of the cemetery. Was it morbid to want to go there? Her father had said so, and now Luke had said it was morbid to dwell on the past. Neither of them understood, she told herself. Being men, they had no deep emotional feelings about such things as memories that were more precious than anything else in the world.

‘Are you enjoying the stroll?’ inquired Luke after agreeing with her that it was a beautiful evening. They were on the hotel’s private beach, where tall coconut palms extended as far as the eye could see, and intriguing little lanes meandered in their midst before disappearing into the wooded grounds of the hotel.

‘Yes,’ answered Clare, ‘I’m enjoying it very much.’ She spoke the truth but wished she could have told herself she was lying.

‘Shall we carry on? I have a feeling that Phil is not going to be able to leave his duties for a while.’

She nodded and said yes, she would like to go a little farther. As her gaze went out towards the
horizon she was recalling her impression as she flew over from Nassau in the small aeroplane. The numerous islands and cays were strung out over a cerulean blue sea, jewels glistening in the sunlight. In the shallows beyond the Gulf Stream blue and green and silver mingled to produce unbelievable colours, while the Gulf Stream itself was a dark indigo blue edged with platinum where the crested waves lashed into foam.

She turned her head to glance up at the sphinx-like profile of the man at her side. So superior! Her first impression had been that he was totally unapproachable. With other women he seemed to be oblivious even of their presence; this she had noticed on several occasions when he had come to the hotel in the evening, perhaps to dine but sometimes merely to have a drink and a chat to Phil in the Yellow Bird Bar, a part of the hotel that had undergone a tasteful conversion from what had once been a slave kitchen, the place where all food was served to the numerous slaves working on the estate of the owner of the plantation house which was now the main building of the Rusty Pelican Hotel.

Luke glanced down at her and a smile suddenly lifted one corner of his mouth, robbing it of some of its severity.

‘A penny,’ he said, still looking at her. ‘Or perhaps your thoughts are too critical for revealing.’

She drew a long breath.

‘Are you always like this with women?’ she could not help saying, ‘or is it only with me?’

‘Only with you,’ came his prompt reply, disconcerting her.

‘There must be a reason,’ she murmured curiously after a pause.

‘You intrigue me. A beautiful girl of twenty-five eating her heart out over someone who’s been dead for five years.’

‘That,’ said Clare shortly, ‘is my own affair!’

‘You consider it indelicate of me to mention it?’

‘I consider it interfering of you to mention it!’ She stopped, wanting to turn back, but to her amazement Luke put his hand beneath her elbow and she was urged forward, along the soft pink coral sand. She felt that strange stirring within her again, because of the touch of his hand and the nearness of his body to hers. She trembled, her thoughts so confused as to be almost chaotic. She actually
liked
the nearness of his body, the rhythm he adopted in order to match his steps to hers, but on the other hand she was filled with resentment that he should make her forget the pledge she had made herself, and also the promise she had given Frank’s mother. Yes, on more than one occasion she had assured Mrs Weedall that she would never let another man come into her life.

The air was still, suddenly, and all was silent around them. The high, rolling moon drifted through delicate threads of lacy cirrus cloud, shedding its argent glow over the sands and the
sea and the fringing reef. There was magic all around . . . an intangible, spellbinding witchery that enveloped Clare in spite of her determination to hold herself aloof from anything remotely akin to the romantic. But she fought a losing battle, the island alone casting a spell on her with its Utopian enchantment, and if that weren’t enough she had as her companion this tall handsome man whose personality was breaking down her defences.