Second Tomorrow (7 page)

She made to withdraw her hand but Luke’s grip tightened, painfully. It was as if, because he was regarding her so intently, he had guessed at her changed emotions. She saw his mouth compress, his eyes glint like dangerous points of steel. For a moment it seemed that he struggled with his temper, as they both stood there in the moonlight and the quiet, with only night sounds to break the silence. But despite his efforts his temper broke the rein and, seizing Clare by the shoulders, he shook her unmercifully, shook her until he himself was breathless.

‘Now,’ he thundered, ‘does that teach you a lesson!’

She swayed, her legs like jelly, her heart throbbing painfully against her ribs, and she would have fallen had he not held her, for she was overcome with fatigue, weakened by his violence. Tears ran unchecked down her cheeks
and within seconds great despairing sobs were racking her body.

‘Why—why d-did you do th-that?’ she whispered, instinctively clinging to him for support. ‘How could you? I—I hadn’t done anything.’

‘Only recalled those damned memories,’ he rasped. ‘Can’t you understand that the constant re-creation of a memory must in the end become an obsession—a damned unhealthy one! How the hell is it going to end! Have you thought of that?’

She swallowed the lump that was blocking her throat. Not since the death of her fiancé had she felt so desperately unhappy. For she had just realised that she loved Luke, and it seemed very much as if he loved her.

But there was her promise . . .

‘I c-can’t help it if—if my memories keep on returning,’ she said indignantly when she had made some attempt to stop crying. ‘I’ve told you so many times—you don’t understand.’

‘You’re right there! I do not understand!’

‘You would if you’d loved someone, desperately, and then lost them. And if you’d made a promise to be true for ever—’

‘For ever! Do you know what you’re saying?’

‘A promise is a promise.’

‘There are circumstances when promises made in good faith can be broken. Aren’t you ever going to live?’

The tears started to her eyes again, and to her astonishment he took out a handkerchief and began to dry them, infinite tenderness in the
action. She still clung to his jacket, her mouth twisting in slow, convulsive movements.

‘Can we go back?’ she pleaded, like a child asking a favour. ‘I must go back.’

The handkerchief was being put away in his pocket as she spoke. Luke shook his head at her request and said she could hardly enter the hotel looking like that.

‘It’s your fault!’ she cried spiritedly. ‘Why did you do it? You haven’t answered me!’

‘I lost my temper.’ There was neither contrition nor regret in his voice and yet his hands were gentle on her arms. ‘You goad me, Clare, by your stupidity and the rigid way you stick to that promise.’

She said nothing, nor did she make any protest when he led her through the gap and on to the beach. The sand was powder soft beneath her feet, the breeze cool and healing as it caressed her face. To her surprise she was quickly recovering from the violent scene but her heart still hammered uncomfortably against her ribs. She ventured after a while, ‘Do you still want me to help you?’

‘I shall be angry if you don’t. You’ve given me your promise.’ The emphasis on the last word was a deliberate jibe which brought twin spots of crimson to her cheeks.

‘You’re very unkind,’ she complained on a quivering little sob. ‘Have you no feelings at all?’

For answer he drew an exasperated breath and merely increased his pace. They fell silent
for a few minutes, walking close and yet, thought Clare, a million miles apart.

But she was wrong. Once well away from any lights Luke took her hand and drew her into the shadow of the trees. She stood passive as, with a gentle hand beneath her chin, he made her look up at him. He shook his head, another gesture of exasperation.

‘What must I do with you?’ he sighed: ‘I really don’t believe a spanking would do any good, so I shall kiss you instead—’

‘No I—’

‘Take your pick,’ he challenged darkly. ‘I mean to do one or the other, Clare.’

The threat went home and with a little sigh of resignation she quivered, ‘You had better kiss me, then—and I hope you enjoy it!’

‘I shall, and so will you, my child,’ He slid an arm about her waist, drawing her unresistingly to him, while with his free hand he lifted her face and covered her mouth with his. She sensed his affection for her; it still came through even when his demanding lips became almost brutal, his tongue forcing her lips apart to explore her mouth. A fierce pang shot through her, effectively stripping her of any resistance even when his hand slid low and its pressure arched her back to bring her body even closer, melding her to his hard and sinewed frame, compelling her to feel the virile strength that would awaken in her the dream and the desire whose meaning was total surrender. No words passed between them, but a low moan of sheer ecstasy left her
lips to fire his ardour to even stronger depths. Their bodies swayed to a rhythm that matched their breathing and all the world was forgotten in the miracle of their intimacy. She felt small and meek and she had never realised it could be so rapturously pleasant. His lips moved, to find tender, vulnerable places behind her ear and along her throat. She was limp and submissive in his arms and when his hand left the middle of her back to loosen the buttons of her evening blouse her only emotion was the thrill of expectancy, the need for his touch on her bare flesh. With the ease and confidence of the expert his hand found the fastening of her bra and it was undone. He brought her breast to his mouth and she thrilled to the hardness of the nipple between his teeth. As rapture swelled within her she felt the wild surge of blood to her heart, an ecstatic flame searing her whole body, sapping her strength, affecting her sanity. His iron-hard thighs were the pleasure-pain torture that finally brought forth from her lips the plea for him to love her.

‘Is that really what you want?’ His voice was low, throaty with passion. ‘Are you quite sure?’

The spell was broken by his words, by the implication of doubt; and she drew away, her breasts rising and falling with the intensity of her emotions.

‘No,’ she murmured, sanity returning. ‘No, it isn’t what I want.’ At the apology in her tone Luke’s mouth quirked. It was with relief that she saw he was not angered by her change of
mind. Somehow, he was making her feel at ease, unembarrassed and even unashamed. Tenderness and gratitude mingled and on sudden impulse she went up on tiptoe and kissed him on the lips. A little laugh escaped him before he swung her right off her feet, holding her aloft then lowering her gently to the ground. He looked at her and said, ‘Turn around,’ which she did, and another wild thrill of rapture was a deluge of warmth at the contact of his fingers as they dealt with the fastening of her bra. Instead of turning her around he left his hands inside her blouse, sliding them down until they were stopped by the tight waistband of her skirt. A small laugh, good-humoured and rueful, accompanied the action of bringing her round to face him.

‘Shall we go back?’ he suggested after a pause. ‘Phil’s expecting to have a drink with us.’

She nodded, marvelling at his calm, when she herself was having the greatest difficulty in gaining control of her emotions.

‘Yes, of course. We’ve been out ages.’

‘Not more than half an hour.’

‘It seems longer than that.’

‘What prosaic talk is this?’ he teased, tugging a lock of hair that had fallen across her face. ‘The time seems longer, my child, because we did so much. Not a second was wasted.’

To her own surprise she laughed and said, ‘I don’t suppose you ever do waste time.’

There was a hint of archness in her manner
which, because it lacked coquetry, was very appealing to the man at her side, and he reached down to take her hand. They walked in companionable silence back along the moonlit beach to the hotel where, after meeting Phil in the lounge and having a drink with him, Luke took his leave of them, promising to come over the following evening and have a long discussion with Clare about the new project.

Clare was at the reception desk when the woman sauntered in, the waft of heady perfume preceding her. Clare glanced up, her breath catching at the sheer beauty of the woman’s features and the perfection of her figure.

‘I made a reservation.’ Big, widely-spaced eyes of cornflower blue travelled almost insolently over that part of Clare’s body seen above the desk and she found herself bristling instantly. ‘I booked a suite.’

‘A suite?’ echoed Clare shaking her head. ‘We don’t have suites here, I’m afraid.’

‘Mrs Wesley—Stella Wesley! You must have a suite for me! It was booked through an agent in New York.’ The fine nostrils quivered, accentuating the arrogance on the woman’s face. ‘Look, girl look! You haven’t even opened the book!’

Clare paled with anger. ‘I’ve no need to look in the book for a suite,’ she replied. ‘We have luxury rooms with private baths, and if you’ve booked in here it will be one of those which has been allocated to you.’ She slid the book towards
her and opened it. She had no recollection of making a reservation for a Mrs Stella Wesley so she assumed it must have been made before she came to work at the hotel. Yes, the name was there, and it was a deluxe room facing the sea that had been reserved for her. She looked up at the woman and said, ‘We do have a room booked—’

‘I demand a suite!’ she interrupted rudely. ‘You’ll have to arrange one for me—put two or three rooms at my disposal! There are communicating doors, I presume?’

‘Yes, there are, but I’m afraid we can’t arrange a suite for you. There must have been some misunderstanding on the part of the travel agent—’

‘All right, there was some misunderstanding. We’ve already established that. The remedy is for you to shake yourself and see that a suite is made available!’

Claire’s chin lifted; she had taken just about as much as she could, and her voice was icily frigid as she said, ‘It will be the room, Mrs Wesley, or nothing.’

The other woman’s eyes opened wide. It was plain that she was not used to having her demands ignored.

‘Get me the manager—at once!’ she ordered, waving aside whatever Clare was going to say. ‘At once,’ she repeated when Clare had not moved.

‘Very well.’ She cast her a contemptuous
glance, swiftly taking in the perfectly-tailored suit she wore, the pure silk blouse beneath the jacket. Ears and throat and wrists were adorned with diamonds, and on the third finger of her left hand she wore a gold wedding ring and a magnificent ring of sapphires and diamonds. ‘I’ll fetch my brother.’

‘Your brother?’ with an interrogating lift of her delicately-curved eyebrows. ‘Is he the manager?’

Clare nodded and turned away without answering. Her blood boiled and she could easily have told the woman to clear off as the hotel had no room for people like her, but by some supreme effort she kept a firm rein on her temper, deciding it was Phil’s place to deal with this objectionable client, not hers.

She found him in his office, and immediately he saw her pallor and he asked what was wrong.

Clare explained, saw him grimace as he rose from the chair, swivelling it away from the desk as he did so.

‘She’s alone, yet she wants a suite?’

‘Some people do, and it’s their choice. I’ve nothing to say to that. What riled me was her attitude; anyone else, although disappointed, perhaps, at the mistake, would have been gracious about it and either taken the room or refused it. She hasn’t done either. She just stood there arrogantly demanding the suite she had expected to get.’

Shrugging his shoulders, Phil went off and
Clare followed, not wanting to return to the desk but forced to do so in case she was needed by other guests. The woman glowered at her before giving her haughty attention to Phil. There was an argument, with heated words coming from Mrs Wesley and quiet, apologetic ones from Phil.

‘It isn’t any use your continuing to complain like this,’ he said at last, still in that calm unruffled tone. ‘We can’t supply what we haven’t got.’

The woman’s mouth went tight, indicating the fury within her.

‘You just won’t go to any trouble!’ she rasped. ‘That’s what it amounts to! I shall make it my business to get in touch with the owner of this hotel and make a complaint—about you both!’ she said as her eyes slid to Clare.

‘You can have the room,’ offered Phil, ignoring her threat. ‘It’s reserved for you and I do assure you it’s a charming room, recently redecorated and furnished. There’s a settee and an easy chair, a desk, and all the other furniture necessary for your complete comfort.’

Mrs Wesley drew a loud, exasperated breath.

‘How do you know what is necessary for my comfort?’ she asked insolently. ‘One room would stifle me!’

‘It’s a very large room, Mrs Wesley, and the long window opens onto a verandah which faces the hotel gardens and the sea. I assure you you won’t feel stifled.’

Clare, marvelling at his patience, certainly was not so inclined. In dealing with this insuf
ferable creature she would long ago have ordered her off the premises.

‘I suppose,’ said the woman at last, ‘that I shall have to take it, seeing that there isn’t another hotel on the island!’ With an angry flounce she swung away, waving an imperious hand to the waiting porter. ‘Take my luggage up!’ she commanded and then, turning to Phil, ‘Does he know the number?’

‘It’s two hundred and twenty-four.’ He stood until the porter had taken the luggage to the lift before turning away and going back to his office.

‘I wish she’d refused the room,’ Clare was saying later when she and Phil were having afternoon tea on the patio. ‘She’ll be so unpleasant with the other guests, and we’ve such a charming crowd in this time.’ Her face was troubled, her eyes clouded. ‘I wonder why she came here for a holiday; it’s no place for anyone on their own.’

‘I must admit that has puzzled me, too. However, we have had people on their own before.’

‘Not often since I came, and in any case, they’ve been elderly. This woman’s no more than thirty—or perhaps a year or so older. I wonder why she’s on her own.’