The Tender Years (2 page)

‘It would look odd if there were one dark head among the other blondes. . . .’ She tailed off, aware that all this was having no effect on her companion. His face was hard, his eyes glittering with anger. Christine hated him in this kind of mood. She craved his more familiar gentleness; she had always blossomed in the warmth of his smile.

‘I wish,’ she said, again without due thought, ‘that you had been my guardian—my adoptive father.’

‘You do?’ The inflection was as unfathomable as his changed expression. He seemed to give a small sigh but what his inner thoughts were Christine could not imagine as all he said was, ‘Consider me as your adoptive uncle, then.’

‘I do—always have, but. . .’ Her voice trailed pensively. ‘If you were my guardian . . .’ A sigh and a smile, a hand coming up from her side to remove his from her chin and then to seek the warmth of his clasp as she wound her fingers into his palm. ‘Shall you be here for the wedding?’ He was away quite often, usually on business, but a few weeks ago Greta had informed Christine that he had a glamorous girlfriend in Miami and that was why he went there so often.

‘Does my answer mean a lot to you, dear?’ He knew it did, at this time of disappointment over the matter of the bridesmaids.

‘You said you weren’t sure of being here,’ Christine reminded him as she bypassed his forthright enquiry.

‘I intend to be here,’ he said and his reward was a swift spontaneous smile that brought a glow to her eyes.

‘Lovely! Will you dance with me?’

‘Of course, several times.’

‘You always treat me as an equal.’ She stopped as she recalled again his proprietorial manner with her recently. He was beginning to make her feel inferior and she wanted very much to find a way to stop it.

‘Why shouldn’t I treat you as an equal?’

‘I’m so much younger—nine years.’

‘Yes,’ he murmured inscrutably, ‘nine years. It’s a lot. . . .’

Before Christine could say anything a cheery male voice was heard and they both turned at once.

‘Steve.’ Christine looked down at her feet, almost snatching her hand from Luke’s. ‘I didn’t expect you today.’

‘No? Greta did, though. She wants me to take her out to lunch.’

Of medium height and with a fresh complexion, Steve Walworth, Greta’s fiancé, was more rugged than Greta would have wished and Christine knew it. But to her Steve was perfection . . . everything a girl could wish for. He was manly yet kind, considerate and, in spite of his great wealth, of a homely disposition—he liked puppies and kittens, babies and old people. To Christine he seemed totally unsuited to her sister, for where she was hard and materialistic, he was soft and seemed to have a sort of contempt for money. He had always been charming towards the girl who would soon be his sister-in-law and sometimes Greta seemed jealous of the relationship.

But she had no need to worry; Steve adored her, treated her like a queen. He had never seen the unattractive side of her because she was an excellent actress. Even Luke, with his keen perception, had no idea just how malicious Greta could be.

‘It’ll not be long now,’ from Luke, who had not missed the effect Steve’s appearance had had on his young friend. Calf love, he mused. She would suffer but get over it.

‘No, not long,’ agreed Steve wryly. ‘I shall be glad when it’s all over. Can’t stand ceremony and people watching me.’

Christine lifted her eyes to look at him, a flush slowly spreading over her face at her own intimate thoughts. Steve sailed a lot; he loved boats. So his skin was bronzed and weather-beaten; Luke’s was equally bronzed but not as toughened. There was a certain superiority about Luke not seen in Steve, even though Steve did possess a certain air of dignity and self-confidence—not always in evidence but there all the same. Steve’s eyes were deep set and shrewd, while those of Luke were more penetrating in their shrewdness. Christine felt sure that if it were he who was engaged to Greta, he’d have seen through her long before now. She gave a deep sigh, feeling sorry for Steve but more sorry for herself. He was her shining example of what a man should be but it hadn’t been until recently, when the wedding was almost upon them all, that she had realised just how much he meant to her.

‘I’d better go and find Greta,’ Steve was saying, a smile in his vivid blue eyes—eyes so like Greta’s but yet lacking the hard glitter which Christine so often saw when she and her sister were alone.

‘Where are you lunching?’ Luke enquired and Christine shot him a glance of surprise. ‘I’m asking,’ explained Luke on seeing her expression, ‘so that you and I will not arrive at the same restaurant as Steven and Greta. The lovers don’t want company.’ Sarcasm? Christine suspected so but couldn’t be sure. Luke often baffled her these days.

‘You’re taking me out to lunch?’

‘I think it will do you good—cheer you up a bit.’

Steve cast her a glance. ‘Do you need cheering up, then?’

She shook her head, hoping Luke would not say anything about Greta’s attitude in not choosing Christine as one of her bridesmaids. ‘I’ll go and change,’ she said and sent Luke the kind of glance he could not possibly misinterpret.

‘Steve ought to have been told,’ he was saying half an hour later as they were approaching the Country Club Restaurant, a delightful place looking out to the smooth aquamarine sea and several other islands floating in it—or appearing to. ‘He’d have had a talk to Greta—’

‘It wouldn’t have made any difference,’ broke in Christine, wanting to forget both Greta and Steve just now so that she could enjoy Luke’s company and the lunch he was going to buy her. She had changed into a cotton skirt, short and full with a sun top to match— white with navy-blue bindings on the hem of the skirt and the neckline of the top. She wore her hair brushed to one side and held in place with a small white bow.

Luke had seemed to heave a great sigh when on seeing her he had said, ‘You look eleven again. When, dear, are you going to grow up?’

She had looked at him in a puzzled way, for it did seem that he spoke impatiently and really there was no reason for it that she could see. He might have been
eager
for her to grow up, she thought . . .
waiting
for it. Christine had dismissed the idea simply because not only was it silly but there was no logical reason for it.

‘I certainly would have made sure that you were a bridesmaid,’ Luke was saying in response to her comment. ‘And I rather think Steve would, too, if he knew of your disappointment.’

Christine shrugged and said, placing a hand on his arm after he had stopped the car close to the entrance to the Country Club, ‘I want to forget the wedding, and just enjoy myself—with you, dearest Luke.’

His smile was slow to come, and faintly bitter, she thought, and wondered why.

‘Dearest Luke? Am I your dearest Luke? Are you sure?’

She moved her hand away and frowned as she did so. ‘You’re different these days,’ she told him. ‘We used to be like—well, like brother and sister.’

‘You said I was regarded as your uncle,’ Luke was quick to remind her.

‘Well... yes, in a way I did, but when we’re together like this I feel like your sister.’ She paused and waited but Luke merely switched off the engine and leant back in his seat. ‘Do you feel like my brother?’ she asked.

He turned to her with a wry sort of expression on his face. ‘No,’ he said quite firmly, ‘I do not.’

‘Oh, well, never mind.’ Another pause and then, ‘What do you feel like, then?’

‘Kissing you—’

‘Kissing me? You’ve kissed me often, but only when I’ve been upset.’

‘Aren’t you upset now?’

‘I’ve recovered, temporarily,’ she assured him, remembering that he sometimes described her behaviour as volatile. ‘I just want to be happy while I’m with you. After all, we don’t often go out for a meal—not on our own, that is.’

‘I must put the omission right,’ stated Luke as he slid from the car. He was at her side before she could even open the door and he helped her out, his hand warm and strong beneath her elbow.

She looked up and her eyes were glowing. ‘What would I do without you, Luke?’ She tucked her arm into his. ‘I need you so.’

He made no reply, but as he turned his head to look at her she had the impression that he was saying to himself, ‘We need each other.

What was the matter with her lately? She seemed always to be imagining things.

They entered the restaurant to nods of recognition from the waiters who all knew both Luke and Christine. Arthur Mead sometimes brought his wife and daughters here; it was his favourite eating place. Recently, though, Greta hadn’t been with them, as she and Steve went off on their own, as was to be expected with a newly engaged couple.

‘A table in the comer,’ from Luke who hadn’t booked because he’d made up his mind on the spur of the moment. ‘And we’ll have a drink first, in the restaurant.’

‘The lounge is crowded,’ observed Christine. ‘So I’m glad we’re having our aperitifs at the table.’ She was fighting to put her disappointment from her mind, and fighting also to put Steve from her mind. She hadn’t yet thought of what she was going to feel like at the wedding; she dared not.

Luke’s gaze was perceptive and faintly troubled. ‘I think it will be a good thing for all of us when this wedding is over and the couple have gone from Pirates’ Cay for good.’

Silence. The wine waiter arrived and Luke ordered a martini for Christine. Her feelings were mixed regarding Steve’s decision to live in Nassau.

‘With lemonade,’ he added and ordered a double whisky for himself.

‘A double!’ blinked Christine. ‘You never have a double. In fact, you don’t often have whisky at all.’ ‘Today, my child, I feel the need of that particular kind of sustenance.’

‘Why?’ she asked briefly. Had his love affair of which Greta had spoken gone wrong?

‘If you don’t ask questions, Chris, you won’t be told any lies.’ With a hand lifted to suppress a yawn, Luke picked up a menu and began perusing it. Christine frowned darkly at him, wondering greatly at his mood. Morose? Mentally she shook her head; Luke was never morose. He had a logical and set approach to life, taking whatever came along and putting it down to fate. She could never imagine him straining at the reins, becoming discontented with his lot. And yet.... Of late he had given the impression of some underlying yearning, some almost desperate reaching out for something just beyond his range. She looked at his face again, as he read the menu, noticing the firm and noble thrust of the chin and matching strength of the jaw; the mouth was full and, she realised with a little shock of surprise, had an element of sensuality about it she had never seen before, or ever expected to see. It was tight suddenly as she watched. What thought had come to him in this instant? she wondered, and unwanted colour filtered into her cheeks as he glanced up from under dark lashes any girl would give a great deal to possess. He had caught her unawares, caught her doing . . . what? His lashes flickered with the movement of his tawny eyes and she lowered hers swiftly, for there was some emotion within her rising for him to read if he had the smallest chance to do so. What was this quivering so close to her heart?

‘What were you thinking just now?’ he asked, lowering the menu but holding it open in both hands. She noticed his fingers, long and lean yet sensitive, like those of a pianist. She knew their strength because he used to lift her and toss her into the air, then catch her, saying she was little more than a doll. Eleven, then twelve . . . and then her teens and the beginning of real pleasure and pain, the ability to suffer, to be happy beyond words, to laugh or cry . . . no wonder Luke said she was volatile. Sixteen and Luke coming and going in her life as he had done for five years but now he had begun to treat her as an adult and she liked it. He had taken her out in his yacht, taken her to Nassau with him on three occasions, with the casual permission of her uncle and the more reluctant agreement of her aunt. Sometimes Christine wondered if her adoptive mother disliked Luke. As for Greta’s opinion of him . . . she said little but looks spoke volumes. Nevertheless, she managed with her innate charm to attract and although Christine felt sure Luke had never had a crush on Greta, he had never once, by word or glance, shown anything but amicability. Christine rather thought his attitude towards her would have been one of indifference had it not been for his friendship with her father.

It had begun when Luke’s father had begun buying materials from Arthur, and this practice had been carried on by his son, for without doubt the designs produced by Arthur’s company far surpassed any others on the market hereabouts. The friendship had grown despite the difference in ages; Arthur trusted Luke implicitly, hence the reason why he allowed him to take Christine off on these trips to Nassau. She’d had wonderful times, being taken out to dine with the kind of escort who attracted attention from every female around, old and young alike. Over six feet tall, with the sort of lithe and powerful physique that spelled sex appeal, he also possessed a full measure of maturity in spite of the fact that he was only twenty-seven years of age even now. At twenty-four he had been endowed with perception and common sense envied by many of his older business associates; at twenty-five he had made an astute and most profitable deal when he bought the hotel on Grand Bahama, and a year and a half later a similar deal was successfully carried through and one of the largest and most luxurious hotels in Nassau became his property. Christine had thoroughly enjoyed his company and his attention; she was flattered by it and she blossomed because of it. From the chrysalis of childhood emerged the beautiful imago—at least, Luke considered her beautiful, she knew. His opinion differed from that of her sister, who disliked brunettes anyway.

He was speaking into her recollections, asking again what she was thinking about.

‘Us,’ she replied and a lovely smile broke as her eyes met his across the table. ‘The things we’ve done, and the things that you have done. You’re clever, Luke, and you’ll be a millionaire before you’re thirty.’