The Tender Years (19 page)

‘Miss,’ said Anna with a bewildered shake of her head. ‘What are you—I mean, are you leaving?’

‘Yes, Anna. Carry that other suitcase out here for me, please.’

‘But—’

‘Hurry!’

The maid did as she was told and soon Christine was in the taxi and making for the airport. She knew there was a plane at a quarter past nine each morning to Miami from where she would eventually get a connection to London. The flight from Freeport might be fully booked of course, but should that be the case she would call another taxi and go to an hotel. Luke would not know where she was but in any case, she told herself unhappily, he’d not even bother to try to find her. On the contrary, judging by something he had said last evening he would be inordinately relieved to find her gone.

It so happened that the flight to Miami was not fully booked and Christine managed to get a seat on it. Twenty-five minutes later she was on the ground, aware that she had a four-hour wait for her connection to London. There was an hotel and she went there hoping she could leave her luggage until it was time to check in.

‘Leave it over there,’ said a porter indifferently after the receptionist had said she could leave it for an hour or two.

‘Will it be all right?’ She looked at him anxiously, feeling terribly alone and helpless. She had always had someone with her in a situation like this . . . usually Luke—dear, kind, dependable Luke whom she had not fully appreciated until now, when she had lost him forever. Lost him to Clarice who wasn’t even a nice girl!

‘You’ll not be away long, will you?’ The porter looked her over with a bored expression. ‘Yes, it should be all right there.’

Still troubled, but with no alternative, she carried the two suitcases over to a desk by the door. The porter watched her struggling for a moment and then turned away.

She went from the hotel and walked along, looking at the shops, staring into the bright lights and seeing nothing as her thoughts backswitched to what might be going on at the house in Freeport. Luke would of course have been up for some time now. Anna would have told him of the letter and the speedy departure she, Christine, had made after receiving it. Would Luke have guessed it had come from Arthur, and if so would he have felt obliged to phone him and tell him that Christine had left the house—and the island, because it was only feasible that Luke would have assumed that the taxi was taking her to the airport and that her ultimate destination was England? Yes, mused Christine as she walked slowly past one plush shop after another, Luke would most certainly have phoned Arthur. Was Luke troubled about her? Dejectedly she told herself that, on the contrary, he’d be inordinately relieved that she had gone from his home. Clarice was there with him and Christine could imagine their having had a cosy breakfast on the sunlit patio and perhaps they were now chatting intimately, enjoying each other’s company . . . perhaps planning their future. . . .

Giving herself a mental shake and gritting her teeth, Christine resolved to forget them; she had problems and enough without dwelling on what she had lost to another, more fortunate girl.

It was getting time to check in and she went back to the hotel to collect her luggage. The receptionist beckoned to her as she was about to ask the porter to get her a trolley.

‘Yes?’ she said as she reached the desk.

‘There’s a message for you,’ he said. ‘Miss Mead, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right.’ Her heart gave an uncomfortable little jerk. ‘What is the message?’

It was written down; she took the envelope and stood aside to open it and withdraw the paper with the heading of the hotel written across the top in bold black lettering.

‘Stay where you are. Put me to the trouble of following you to England and you’ll regret it. I’ll be over in Miami at half past two this afternoon.’ It was signed, ‘Luke.’

A flood of crimson stained her cheeks as she glanced up and met the amused eyes of the receptionist. Had he taken the message? It would seem so. She swallowed and managed to ask, ‘When did you receive this?’ ‘Just after you’d left your luggage.’

‘There’s obviously a plane due in from Freeport at half past two?’

‘Yes, miss. The gentleman said on the phone that he would be catching the two-five from Freeport.’

‘I can’t think how he knew I’d be here,’ she said, puzzled.

‘He did say he had decided to try here because he knew you had a long wait and I had the impression that he assumed you’d come here for a meal.’

She thought about this and decided it was logical that Luke would phone the hotel.

‘Perhaps you’d like to have lunch while you’re waiting?’ the man was suggesting and Christine nodded automatically. ‘The restaurant’s just through there.’ He gestured and she moved away, casting an eye in the direction of her luggage and then hearing the man say, ‘Don’t worry about your suitcases. They’re quite safe.’

She sat down at a table near the window and ordered a steak even though she was not hungry. Why was he coming over? Had he felt guilty at not keeping his promise to Arthur? This seemed the only feasible explanation of his action in preventing her from leaving Miami. Not that he
could
prevent her, but as always she was doing as she was told. Always he seemed able to make her obey him, and without much trouble at all. Was she weak in character? Or was it that Luke possessed rather more strength than she could cope with? He certainly had more strength and self-assurance than that of any man she had ever met.

Her thoughts came back to his imperiousness as regards the message he had left. ‘Stay where you are. Put me to the trouble of following you to England and you’ll regret it.’ Pompous, dictatorial creature! Suddenly she was furious, both with Luke and herself. Why should he think he could dictate to her? More important, why should she be so meek as to let him? For one fleeting moment she knew an urge to get up and check in and let him find her gone when he arrived here from Freeport.

But the idea was short-lived. She wanted to see Luke, wanted him to make her go back.

And yet, what then? He had as good as said he didn’t want her because if he married, his wife wouldn’t be happy with another woman there. It suddenly occurred to Christine that there was a great deal about this whole business that she did not understand.

She managed to eat some of the meat and a few vegetables. She was having her second cup of coffee when, glancing towards the entrance, she saw Luke standing there, his tawny eyes sweeping around the tables. She felt her heart give a great lurch and her hand was suddenly so unsteady that her coffee spilled into the saucer as she picked up the cup. She put it down with a little bang and half rose from her chair, then sank down again. Luke’s face was like thunder and only when he realised he was attracting unwanted attention did his face relax. He came towards her and stood by the table. Christine glanced up into his taut face and wondered if she were as white as she felt.

He sat down on the vacant chair opposite to her. ‘Well,’ he began in low, gritting tones, ‘what have you to say?’

‘I received a cheque from—’

‘You can skip that,’ he broke in imperiously. ‘I know.’

She licked her lips. ‘I was going to England—I did say that this was my intention.’

‘Going—without as much as a good-bye?’ The grey in his eyes was like tempered steel. That he was in a furious temper was very plain indeed, and Christine found herself thanking her stars that she was not alone with him at the bungalow. She had never seen him affected by anger to this extent and there was no knowing what he might be tempted to do to her.

‘Drink that coffee if you want it,’ he ordered peremptorily. ‘I’ve arranged for a car to come to take us to an hotel.’

‘Oh . . . why?’

‘Because you and I have a lot to talk about,’ he snapped. ‘Drink it if you must, though it looks revolting to me!’ He eyed with disgust the sloppy saucer and the spots of coffee on the white tablecloth. She went red and wanted to cry. She supposed her nerves must be frayed after all that had happened to her—and that was happening at this moment.

‘I d-don’t want it,’ she said on a pettish note that once would have brought a quirk of amusement to his expression.

Now, however, he regarded her with a scowling countenance and said curtly, ‘Very well. We’ll be on our way.’

The car was there and the luggage was put into the boot.

Ten minutes later they were in the hotel being shown up to a magnificent suite which Luke had booked before leaving Freeport. He ushered Christine in, banged the door after the departing porter who had brought up the suitcases and said without preamble, ‘And now, Christine, what the devil did you mean by running off like that without a word?’ He stood towering above her, bronzed and masculine and with that familiar air of arrogant maturity which it took so many men half a lifetime to acquire. She felt small and meek and wished she could escape from his intended domination. Then suddenly she was fired with anger and indignation as her mind began to reject his imperious manner.

‘I’m perfectly free to go to England if I want!’ she flashed with a tilt of her head. ‘As for not leaving any message—well, you’d given me to understand that you would be greatly relieved if I left you—’

‘No such thing!’

‘Oh, yes, you did, Luke. You said you’d tell me to go if I had had anywhere to go. Don’t you deny it!’ she added when he opened his mouth to speak. ‘Don’t deny anything! You were horrid to me and said you were g-going to marry Clarice and—’

‘Clarice? I never mentioned marriage to Clarice!’

‘You meant it, anyway. For who else would you be marrying? You said the woman—the girl—you would marry wouldn’t want me in the house. And it was easy to see that you and Clarice wanted to be alone so—so I decided t-to leave. . . .’ Her voice failed her and she was choking back the tears. ‘Why—why h-have you come here?’ she managed at last, her voice ragged and high-pitched as a result of her heightened emotions. ‘I suppose you’re feeling guilty at letting Arthur down.’

‘Arthur?’ His anger was dissolving rapidly, just as it always did. ‘What the devil has he to do with anything?’

‘You said you’d promised him you’d take care of me—b-but if th-this is taking care—this bullying m-me . . .’ Again her voice trailed to silence and a look of pure wonderment widened her eyes. ‘Wasn’t it because of your promise to Arthur?’ she quivered huskily. Her mind was all chaos, for she was remembering her conviction that there was much she did not understand.

‘Arthur has nothing to do with my being here, Chris,’ he said, and at the hint of gentleness in his tone Christine was filled with nostalgia for the old familiar Luke she used to know, her prop and her guide. ‘I came because I have no intention of allowing you to go to England—’

‘Allow?’ She tried to snap at him but failed because of the wild upsurge of love that was affecting her heart. ‘Must you use that word, Luke?’

‘I daresay I shall be using the word on and off for the rest of my life,’ he said calmly. And unexpectedly he held out both hands. Without thinking about anything else she put hers into them. ‘We’ve been beating about the bush far too long, my Chris.’ He drew her to him with a masterful gesture and kissed her hard on the lips. ‘I can feel your heart beating. . . .’ His strong body succumbed to the call of the flesh and he was quivering against her. ‘I’m intending to marry you, Chris, and without too much delay. A fortnight—’

‘Luke—what?’ She struggled to put a small amount of distance between them so that she could look up into the tawny eyes. ‘You said you were intending to marry me?’

‘What of it— Oh, darling, I forgot. I’ll ask you instead. Dear Chris, my Chris, will you marry me, beloved?’

It seemed to Christine that the entire world was spinning around her. ‘You asked me to marry you,’ she breathed. ‘Oh, Luke, how did you know I loved you, that I want only to be your wife?’ She snuggled close just as she used to do and realised that apart from the fact that she wanted him physically, nothing had really changed. Luke was her prop, just as he always had been, just as he always would be, until the very end. ‘Clarice,’ she murmured without much interest, ‘where is she now?’

‘At the bungalow.’ Luke bent his dark head and took her lips in a long and passionate kiss that left her breathless and craving for more—
much more!
‘She knows I love you.’

‘Is she seething?’ Christine touched his chin with her lips.

‘Catty little wretch!’

‘She wasn’t any good for you.’

‘I wanted to make you jealous, so I asked her over to the bungalow.’

‘Poor girl,’ said Christine inconsistently. ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself for leading her on. Poor Clarice.’

‘She’ll survive. I rather think she always knew it was you.’

‘She did?’ Christine let her arms steal about his neck and moved her fingers tantalisingly over his nape. ‘Why?’

‘Because I was always talking about you.’

‘But you were horrid to me.’

‘Revenge, my love. You’d played havoc with my feelings for years. I’d had enough. Chris,’ he added sternly as he held her from him and gave her a severe look, prolonged and unsmiling, ‘I just had to retaliate.’

‘You knew I loved you?’

‘I guessed. And then when I had spoken to Steve and learned that you’d told him you didn’t love him, I knew it was me you really loved and that you’d discovered it last night.’

‘As you were closing—
banging
—the door. I suddenly knew it was you, dearest Luke!’

‘Why didn’t you call me back?’ His eyes held a hint of mocking amusement. ‘Were you afraid?’

‘I wasn’t sure you loved me.’ She was shy suddenly and hid her face in his coat. ‘I thought that if I did confess my love and it wasn’t reciprocated—’ She stopped abruptly as he shook her.

‘If you’d taken the trouble to
think
and to
notice
, you’d have known years ago that I loved you and was only waiting for you to grow up!’