Betina Krahn (35 page)

Then a large fishing boat appeared in the middle of the bay, and Celeste thought of her curious dolphins and decided
to lead them back into the cove, away from that boat. Halfway in, Bentley asked for the tiller, saying it had been some time since he’d handled a boat and that he was afraid his sailing skills were getting rusty. Knowing him to be an accomplished sailor, she handed it over and sat back with her eyes closed, enjoying the feel of the sun on her face and the sounds of the wind and waves and seagulls.

Twice he pointed out that the dolphins were following the boat and she opened her eyes briefly to see them. Then she heard the waves breaking on the barrier rocks that formed the mouth of the cove and realized they were nearly home. She sat up and looked around, seeing that they were indeed in the cove and headed for the dock … but at an alarming speed. Bentley was distracted, looking off toward the center of the cove where the dolphins were leaping and playing.

“You’re going too fast!” she called, pointing at the dock and scrambling for one of the oars stowed in the bottom of the boat, intending to use it to push away from the dock. “Hard to port! Steer hard to port!”

Bentley reacted out of shock and, inexplicably, shoved the tiller hard to starboard instead, setting the bow of the boat on a collision course with the dock’s wooden piers. She dropped the oar. “No! Port not starboard!” She lunged at the tiller and began to pull frantically back the other way, trying to turn the boat enough to soften the coming impact.

The aged tiller groaned and two of the rusted bolts securing it ripped free of the degraded wood around the pivot. The bow of the boat rammed straight into a piling, splintering ancient boards and crushing one whole side of the bow. Everything happened in a flash: water rushing in through the broken boards … the boat filling and swamping … Bentley pulling her through the water to the ladder and urging her to climb. Her gaze fastened helplessly on the sight of the sail trapping air as the boat rolled and slowly settled toward the bottom.

“My boat … my poor boat …” she said over and
over, as she stood on the dock, dripping water and staring at the ghostly gray outline beneath the water. She felt as if her heart had gone down with it. When Bentley pulled her into his arms, she accepted his offer of comfort and cried into his lapel. With her head pressed against his shoulder she couldn’t see the way he looked down at her sunken boat and smiled.

By the time they reached the house, the magnitude of the loss had settled fully on Celeste. Maria rushed to tell Nana and get the dripping pair some blankets, while Stephan quickly fetched a bottle of sherry from the cellar. Sitting in the warm kitchen wrapped in a blanket, Celeste tearfully recounted what had happened. Nana hugged her and began to cry as well.

“It was Martin’s boat … his pride and joy.” Nana dabbed Celeste’s eyes with a handkerchief and then her own. “Are you sure it cannot be repaired? Perhaps if we had Bertrand and Hiram Bass look at it—”

“Half of the bow is gone, Nana,” Celeste said, facing the awful fact anew. “The wood was so old it just splintered everywhere.”

Bentley apologized yet again for his inattention to how fast they were going. “I was so busy watching the dolphins …” He seemed quite distressed. “And I suppose I must be more out of practice at a tiller than I imagined.”

Celeste could scarcely look at him, so she focused instead on her grandmother. “Why don’t you have a lie-down, Nana. I must change into dry clothes—come, I’ll help you upstairs.”

By the time she returned to the drawing room, Celeste’s shock had subsided enough for the scope of the calamity to become clear. She went to the seaward windows and stood looking out over the cove. Bentley entered, wearing dry clothes himself, now, and came to stand behind her.

“It’s not just the boat, it’s my work,” she said, trying to contain the bitterness she felt. “How can I continue to work with my dolphins if I have no boat?”

“I’m embarrassed to admit,” Bentley said, running his
gaze speculatively over her back and waist, “that I currently have no excess funds to help remedy your situation. But surely the proceeds from your book …”

“I’ve received very little from the book yet, just enough to pay off a few debts and—” She halted, appalled that she was speaking of such personal things, and escaped to the settee. He followed.

“You mustn’t despair,” he said, seating himself beside her and taking her hands in his. “I’m your friend and, if you’ll let me, I’ll be your partner, as well. I can help you get another boat, Celeste, a bigger, even better boat. With your help, I can find the funds to support your research and to realize your dream—
our dream
—of bringing the glory of the sea to the masses.”

He smiled at her confusion and smoothed away her frown with his fingers. “You must trust me, dear Celeste. I have a way to provide for you and your dolphins. I have some very wealthy friends … men who want to invest wisely and see good done with their money. If I go to them, tell them of the exhibit we plan, ask for their support … I know they’ll be more than eager to help us.”

“The exhibit we plan?” Celeste roused from her misery to register what he had just said. She looked up. His face was flushed and his eyes were glowing with the same sort of hunger she had seen in them last night. He was pressing her about his exhibit idea
now?

“Our plan to bring the beauty and mystery of dolphins into the dreary world of the city,” he said. “Last night I told you of it. My idea to take your dolphins to London, to build a facility for them … a special facility for training and exhibiting them … a place where people can come to see them and you can explain all about them.”

“You want to take Prospero and the others to London? But they’re creatures of the open sea …” Who ranged over hundreds, perhaps thousands of miles. How could he possibly think of putting them in a pool or tank of some sort, in a big, noisy, smelly city?

“I know it will be an undertaking, but with your help, I will soon have the financial backing I need.”

“A facility? It would have to be something at least the size of our cove, to care for dolphins properly,” The thought staggered her. Did he honestly believe he could build such a place? “It would have to be filled with seawater and kept fresh at all times. And dolphins always migrate elsewhere in winter—they would have to be able to get back to the open sea. Then, there is the problem of handling a group of dolphins … they live in groups … you couldn’t separate them and expect them to live for long, much less thrive.”

Each statement contained an insurmountable obstacle, to her thinking, a reason such a project would end in disaster, but she could see from his face that he didn’t understand that. He was taking her comments as participation in his plan. If he didn’t understand the seriousness of her objections, then he certainly didn’t know much about the sea.

“Oh, I’m certain we can find a way to cope.” He gave her an adoring smile meant to pacify her, then kissed her fingertips for good measure. “We can capture as many dolphins as you want and keep them together. They will be so happy, they’ll forget all about going anywhere else for the winter.”

“It would take a fortune to—”

“Oh, I’ll have the money, lots of money, dear Celeste. Besides, people will pay good money to see exhibits like this. We’ll have lines from Covent Garden all the way to Putney Bridge.” He released her hands to pull some papers from his inner coat pocket and unfold them before her. “The possibilities are virtually limitless. There would have to be souvenirs—children will all want a toy dolphin of their own—and they and their parents would all want a treat or a meal. We could build a tearoom or a restaurant and have another source of …”

Her disbelief turned slowly to anger as she stared at the papers he held. His carelessness was responsible for wrecking her boat, she realized, and now he magnanimously offered to
replace
it … if
she was willing to join him in some half-baked scheme to capture and exhibit dolphins. His smile bore a trace of smugness, as if he believed her participation was assured, as if she didn’t have a choice, now that her boat was—

A chill coursed through her. There was nothing careless or slipshod about P. T. Bentley. His every movement, every expression, every comment seemed to be made for effect. She suddenly could see the calculation behind his handsome face and sly charm and it took her breath.

He had done it on purpose. He had sunk her boat so that she would have to agree to a partnership with him. There was the proof, in black and white—he’d had those wretched papers in his pocket all along.

Making money was the entire motive behind his grandiose ideas of a “collaboration” and his fawning attentions to her. However little he knew about the sea, he knew even less about
her!

“I took the liberty of putting a few things down on paper. And to save time, I drafted a letter saying that you intend to participate in the venture. I will need that when I speak to my financial friends about funding the facility.” He looked around the drawing room. “Is there a pen in here?”

“No,” she said with fierce control.

“Well, perhaps there is one in the library.” He rose and she shot to her feet to face him.

“I mean:
no
, I don’t want to be involved in such a loathsome venture.”

He stared at her, caught off guard by her resistance.

“I don’t think you understand, Celeste.” His purposeful, lubricating smile bloomed again. “The plan I am proposing will replace your boat … yes … but it will do much more. This is a magnificent venture that will enlighten the rest of the world as to the life of dolphins and the importance of the sea.” He set the papers down on the settee to reach for her hands, but she kept them folded tightly against her.

“But Celeste”—his voice filled with entreaty—“I need
you to be involved, to share my vision and work alongside me. You’ve been my inspiration, all along. Our
collaboration
, my dearest, will insure its success.”

His use of that particular word infuriated her.

“You ran my boat into the dock … and I’m supposed to trust you with my future? I will tell you, Mr. Bentley, in terms you have to understand—I would never permit my dolphins to be used in a tawdry scheme such as you propose.”

“Tawdry?” His face abruptly hardened. “Before you reject my proposals out of hand, I suggest you think about your future … here at Ashton House.” He swept the room with an ill-disguised sneer. “And think about your boat on the bottom of the cove—the boat you have no means to replace. I can replace it. If you sign with me, I can make you wealthy. I can make you the toast of London.”

“I’d rather do without a boat than buy one at the expense of my dolphins … and my self-respect,” she declared furiously. “How much plainer must I say it? I want nothing whatsoever to do with your miserable venture. Or with you.”

He looked as if he had just been slapped. His face reddened and he shoved to his feet. Gone were the smooth, boyish looks and the engaging blue-eyed charm. In their place was a crackling hostility that said she had no right to refuse him. The change was so quick and so complete, that she realized this attitude must have been there all along, just beneath the surface.

“That is your final word on the subject?” he asked in cold tones.

“It is.”

The smile that came over him had nothing to do with pleasure.

“Very well. I shan’t trouble you further, Miss Ashton.” He stuffed the papers back into his pocket and strode out.

Celeste heard him storm up the stairs. Shortly he reappeared with his valise and strode out the door without another
word to her, headed for their dilapidated stable. She went to the front door and waited until she saw him ride down the lane, giving his horse a vicious spur. A shudder went through her at the thought of his determination and of the disturbing greed she glimpsed in him.

What if he had managed to get his hands on her dolphins and exhibit them? She thought of Prospero imprisoned in a small pool or tank … unable to swim or jump, trapped without friends or proper food or his precious freedom … and shuddered to think what it would be like for him.

Nana hurried downstairs, to find Celeste. “Where was Mr. Bentley going in such a hurry?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care.” Celeste was adamant. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing him again any time soon.” She told Nana what had sent Bentley from the house in such a huff, and her usually soft-spoken grandmother was outraged.

“Capturing and exhibiting our sacred dolphins—why, the wretch ought to be horsewhipped!” She took Celeste by the shoulders. “We’ll find a way, Cele. We’ll find a way for you to get on with your work, mark my word.” She put an arm around Celeste and drew her along into the drawing room.

Things had been strained between them since Titus’s departure nearly two weeks ago. Neither had wanted to broach the subject of the Atlanteans’ part in driving him away from Ashton House. Now, strangely, the outrage of Bentley’s behavior seemed to have broken the tension between them. Nana led her to the settee and drew her down on it.

“I’ve been thinking,” the old lady said tentatively, as if unsure of how Celeste would receive her words. “I’ve been holding on to your grandfather’s artifacts for a long time. Perhaps it’s time to go through them … make some space in the library and morning room. Some of the artifacts are really quite rare. They could bring a tidy sum.” She gave Celeste a hopeful look. “Perhaps even enough to replace your boat.”

Celeste’s heart melted.

“Oh, Nana.” She slid her arms around her grandmother
and held on for all she was worth. “I could never let you do that.” After a long, painfully sweet moment, she gave Nana a tighter squeeze, then sat back with wet eyes and a beaming smile. “But it means the world to me that you offered.”

T
HAT VERY EVENING
, P. T. Bentley sat in a dingy dockside tavern in Brighton, refusing the blowzy waitress’s attempts to interest him in a mug of ale or, failing that, a bit of fleshier fare. Facing the proprietor’s edict of “drink or get out,” he ordered a tankard of rum. But it was cut with filthy water and virtually undrinkable. By the time he spotted the man he was waiting for, coming across the tavern toward him, he was more than ready to leave.