The Tender Years (3 page)

‘Does money matter?’ His gaze was curious and it was examining. He missed nothing about her—never did. The smile that gave a glow to her big violet eyes, the way her nose turned up a little at the end, the slant of her lashes so that her eyes seemed almond-shaped, the wide dear forehead with its halo of honey-tinted hair and that unruly little half fringe which, having caught the sun, was shades lighter than the rest of her hair. Her skin too was affected by the sun so that it was the colour of honey-gold and gleaming with health.

‘No, money doesn’t matter,’ she answered after a pause. But then she added thoughtfully, thinking of her adoptive father and his assiduous attention to his business, which she was sure came first in his life, ‘It seems, though, to be a mark of success or failure, depending on how much you have made in your life.’

‘You’re referring to Arthur?’

‘Yes, I was actually.’

‘He gives almost all of his time to his business—to the pastime of making money. That’s what you were thinking?’

She nodded, picking up her glass to sip the martini and regarding Luke from above the rim. ‘He’s giving all his life to it so I don’t suppose you could call it a pastime.’

‘All his life . . .’ Luke paused in thought and a slight frown knit his brows. ‘But then, he has little else in life, has he?’

It was Christine’s turn to frown. ‘He has a lovely home and a family.’

The straight brows lifted a fraction. ‘You of all people should know he isn’t happy.’

Christine looked down into her glass. She had suspected it but had never been quite sure. . . . ‘You mean Mother—Aunt Loreen?’ Why had she never been able to decide what to call her adoptive parents?

‘It isn’t a unique case by any means.’ Luke returned his attention to the menu but she knew his mind was elsewhere.

She said guardedly, ‘Have you any proof, Luke? I mean, it’s an awful suspicion to have, isn’t it?’

‘I have no actual proof. As for the suspicion—you must have had it for some time?’ The menu was lowered again but now a waiter was hovering, pad in hand, and Luke handed her the menu.

‘Have you chosen?’ she asked.

‘I’ll have a steak Diane. It’s always good here.’

‘Yes, they make it hot. I’ll have it too.’ She handed the menu to the waiter, watched him write the order down after asking about starters.

When he had gone Luke said, ‘Surely it affects your life in some way?’

‘I’ve always been conscious of what they did for me, Luke, and so I’m grateful all the time. I have a lovely luxurious home and Father loves me, I’m sure, so I haven’t really troubled myself with anything else.’

‘By that you actually mean:
anyone
else, don’t you?’ She nodded after a slight hesitation. ‘Yes, I suppose that is it,’ she agreed.

‘Loreen’s always out, and what of these holidays she takes and the cruises? What does Greta think about it?’

‘She never says anything. Greta has so many diversions, as you know, so many friends, which means she has a very full social life.’

After a moment Luke said, with a returning frown, ‘How did we get onto this kind of subject? Let’s change it. Are you coming over to Nassau with me next week?’

Her eyes lit up instantly. ‘You’ll take me?’

‘I have just asked you, silly.’

She laughed, saw a nerve pulsate in his cheek and sent him a puzzled glance. But all she said was, ‘If Father says I can, then I’d love to come with you. I love Nassau. I’ll look forward to seeing your hotel there.’

‘You’ll like it,’ he assured her.

‘Are we sailing there?’ she wanted to know.

‘I think we’ll fly. I haven’t a great deal of time to spare. I have to be in New York on Friday week and then I’ll fly down to Miami where I have to stay for a few days.’

‘Miami . . .’ Where, Greta maintained, Luke’s glamourous girl friend lived.

Something like a pain touched her heart. For the first time she did not like the idea of his having a girl friend. . . .

Over two hundred guests attended the wedding, which was to be talked about for weeks to come. Arthur Mead did not do anything without attempting to achieve perfection. He had a marquee on the lawn in case it rained but the sun shone through the entire day. It was a typical Bahamian wedding, held out of doors with the actual ceremony being on the extensive patio beside the ornately shaped swimming pool, where on the blue water hibiscus flowers floated, and magenta bougainvillaea, the petals looking like miniature yachts because of their shape. Hummingbirds hovered over flower bushes and other birds sang or twitted. A clear blue sky above the tropical scene, gay colours of the clothes and as many blacks as whites in the congregation as the wedding ceremony proceeded. Tears stung Christine’s eyes as she looked at the bridesmaids and Luke slipped an arm about her shoulders, uncaring of who was behind them or what anyone would think. He drew her so close her head was on his shoulder.

‘I love you for being so kind,’ she murmured, trying to keep her voice steady in spite of the choking sensation in her throat.

‘And I love you, dear, for being you.’ His lips seemed close but now her eyes were shut as she endeavoured to hold back the tears.

‘She looks so beautiful.’

‘The loveliest bride ever on this island.’

‘Steve’s nice. She’s lucky.’

Comments heard around her and no one seeming to notice that Christine wasn’t one of the bridesmaids. She looked at Steve and closed her eyes again, for the pain was excruciating, as she had known it would be. Conscious of Luke’s hand tightening on hers she turned and pressed to him again. What would her life be without the comfort Luke could always give her? Now more than ever she needed him, but somehow the words she wanted to voice just would not come. She managed a smile, though, as the congregation rose to sing the hymn. She and Luke seemed all at once to be two people apart from the throng whose whole interest was the bride and groom—the bride mainly; she stole all the limelight, but then she always did, with her flawless beauty, her stately poise, her inordinate self-confidence. Steve seemed to be holding himself aloof and Christine remembered his saying that he wished it were all over.

The pronouncement . . . And Luke’s hand tightened on Christine’s.

‘Well,’ he said prosaically, ‘that is that. Are you ready for the eats?’

She shook her head, watching as Steve kissed the bridesmaids in a courtly kind of gesture, and all the while he seemed to be looking around and at last he was making his way towards Christine, leaving the cameraman standing there behind him.

‘Why weren’t you a bridesmaid?’ he said bewilderedly. ‘What happened to make you refuse to attend your sister?’

Christine stifled the gasp that leapt to her lips. She looked appealingly at Luke because she had no words with which to answer Steve.

‘I think,’ said Luke in tones so brusque that Steve stared at him in surprise, ‘that you had better leave any questions about that until another time.’ He gestured abruptly. ‘You should be over there, having your photograph taken. They’re all waiting for you.’

A moment’s pause before Steve turned his head; he had been watching Christine and could not miss the quivering lips, the brightness of her eyes. His mouth went tight, then relaxed at once. He reached for Christine’s hands and drew her to him.

‘A kiss for the bridesmaid that wasn’t. . . .’ His lips were warm on hers; she knew her own were cold, like her heart. Steve spoke close to her cheek. ‘You look lovely, child. If I hadn’t been marrying Greta, I believe I’d have waited for you.’

The colour ebbed from her face; she stared into his blue eyes and it was only by Luke’s swift and perceptive action that she was saved from the impulse which would have resulted in untold humiliation afterwards, when she thought about it. Luke pulled her away a split second before she was about to fling her arms around Steve’s neck and return his kiss with passionate intensity.

Luke and Christine dined at the Country Club, on their own.

‘We oughtn’t to have left,’ she said as she took a drink of her wine. ‘It must have looked very bad.’

‘They’ll probably not even have missed us in that crowd,’ was Luke’s unconcerned rejoinder. ‘Watch yourself with that wine. You’ve never drunk it at that rate before.’

‘We can have another bottle, can’t we?’ she suggested, eyes going to the bottle in the cooler. ‘We’ve almost finished that one.’

His glance was as stern as his voice as he said, ‘That, miss, is your last. I don’t want to have to carry you out of here.’

‘I need to get drunk,’ she stated petulantly. ‘I have a lot on my mind!’

‘You’re almost drunk already,’ he observed. ‘Eat your meat.’

‘I have things on my mind,’ she repeated. ‘Didn’t you hear me?’

‘What things? The wedding’s over and so you can begin to forget your disappointment over the bridesmaid business. I daresay you’ll be a bridesmaid many times in the future.’

‘I have other things to forget.’ She picked up her glass again and emptied it. The room was beginning to spin. It was nice to be light-headed, she decided, since it made you forget all your troubles.

‘Such as?’ He was watching her curiously now.

She spoke, and said something she would never have said had she been sober. ‘Steve. I love him.’

A silence followed and she saw Luke’s mouth compress, his face lose a little of its colour—and that nerve again, pulsing like that. What was causing it?

‘Calf love,’ stated Luke almost harshly.

‘I loved him at first sight.’

‘Tomorrow you’ll regret this confidence.’ Luke lifted a hand to fetch the wine waiter. ‘Another bottle of the same, please.’

Christine bit her lips. ‘I’m sorry, Luke. I don’t really want any more. I’ve had too much already.’

‘I intimated it a moment ago.’

‘You’re encouraging me,’ she accused. ‘Have you some ulterior motive?’

‘What kind of motive?’

‘I don’t know.’ She giggled and was lost for a moment. ‘I’m tipsy, Luke, and it’s your fault. You haven’t taken care of me like you always do. What is Uncle going to say?’

‘He’ll probably put you across his knee.’ Luke cut himself a piece of steak and put it in his mouth. ‘You’re still not eating,’ he observed.

She was listening to the Bahamian music played by four men on the dais at the end of the room. ‘I’d like to dance,’ she said suddenly. ‘We’d have been dancing if we’d stayed at the reception. You promised to dance with me, remember?’

‘Were you in the mood for dancing?’ he enquired dryly.

‘I am now. Wasn’t it super dancing at your lovely hotel when we were in Nassau? It seems years ago.’ ‘It’s less than a month. Would you like to go to Grand Bahama?’

‘Now?’ Her eyes lit up, then shadowed again immediately. ‘I’ve to go to work next week. I start on Monday as you know.’

‘What made you get a job?’

‘It’s time. I’m eighteen and can’t be a burden any longer to my uncle.’ Besides, a job would take her mind off Steve, she thought.

‘He doesn’t want you to go out to work.’

‘He told you?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact, he did. I promised to have a word with you about it, try to dissuade you. However, now isn’t the right time by any means. Have a drink of water.’

She frowned at him and pouted. ‘I’m not being ordered about by you, Luke!’

‘You’ll do as you are told. I’ve asked if you’d like to go to Grand Bahama. I shall be over there for about ten days.’

‘Yes, I’d like to come with you.’ Christine fingered her empty wineglass. ‘I might as well have some more,’ she decided. ‘It’s a special day, isn’t it?’

Luke poured her a glass of water and pushed it across the table towards her. ‘Drink it,’ he ordered and after a moment’s glowering defiance she did as she was told.

‘Why have you ordered another bottle of wine?’ she wanted to know.

‘Because I need it myself.’

‘
You
need it? Luke, you haven’t a thing on your mind!’

His smile was faint and slightly bitter. ‘How do you know?’

‘It’s obvious. . . .’ Her voice trailed away as she remembered something. ‘Is it your girl friend?’ she asked, her voice slurring a little.

‘Girl friend?’ he repeated frowning. ‘Which girl friend?’

‘Have you more than one, then?’ She looked up as the waiter came to empty the first bottle of wine. He poured her some and Luke made no demur; she wondered if it had escaped his notice.

‘No,’ he answered brusquely, ‘I do not have more than one!’

‘You do have one, then?’

He nodded his head. ‘How do you know about Clarice?’

‘Is that her name? Greta didn’t tell me. She said she lives in Miami and she’s glamourous.’ Christine picked up her glass and took a drink which almost emptied it.

‘So it was Greta, was it?’ No particular expression, and even if Christine’s mind had not been hazy she still could not have read anything from the fixed mask of his face.

‘Yes, it was Greta. Luke, I want to dance—I’ve already told you!’

‘Finish this course and then we’ll dance.’ His eyes examined her flushed face. ‘No, we won’t dance. I shall take you home.’

‘I don’t want to go home. I want to dance!’

‘Chris,’ he said sternly, ‘you’re going home!’

Tears started to her eyes. ‘Do you have to be unkind to me today of all days?’ she asked in complaining tones. ‘I’m heartbroken and now even you turn on m-me. . . .’

‘For God’s sake, don’t start to cry here!’

‘Then be nice to me.’

‘It looks as if I’ve been too nice to you.’ Reaching over he removed her glass to his side of the table. She had to watch his glass being filled from the new bottle. ‘Can’t I have some—?’

‘No,’ he interrupted with an ominous glance, ‘you can not, so stop being so silly and eat your dinner!’ Her lip quivered and her head was beginning to ache. She wanted to be in bed and yet, conversely, she hated the idea of going home, into the house which Greta had left forever, Greta who was married to Steve. . . .