Second Tomorrow (10 page)

‘So we’re happy again?’ His voice changed dramatically and he was serious. She knew that by ‘we’ he had meant her alone. She said softly, almost tenderly, ‘Yes, Luke, I’m happy again.’

‘Stay that way, my sweet. See you this evening in the nautical atmosphere of the Tavern Restaurant of the Rusty Pelican. So long for now.’

‘So long. . . .’ He had hung up already. She smiled into the receiver as she replaced it on its rest. Her doubts had all dissolved and she knew what she wanted to do. A warm glow of well-being infused her as the decision was made. Tonight she would find a way of telling Luke what was in her heart.

She stared at the envelope for a long while before slitting it open. The letter from Mrs Weedall had arrived a few minutes ago, having come by the mail boat from Nassau. Clare’s fingers trembled as she slit the envelope and withdrew the single sheet of paper.

‘My dear Clare,’ she read, ‘I am so desolate these days without seeing you and talking as we used to do about my darling Frank. And so I am accepting the invitation you so kindly sent me and I’m coming over to visit you. Will Phil let you have a holiday? We could chat and be together and reminisce about those happy days before the tragedy that spoiled both our lives. I made up my mind suddenly, because I was so miserable, here on my own in this house, and I
shall be with you on Wednesday the tenth, having been lucky enough to get a seat on a plane going to Miami. From there I fly to Flamingo Cay, and it takes only about twenty minutes. I believe it is the off-season period in the Bahamas, and, therefore, I expect Phil will find me a room without any trouble, but please apologise to him for my coming over without giving more notice.’ There followed the numbers and times of the flights and then Mrs Weedall ended with all her love.

The paper fluttered in Clare’s trembling fingers. Everything had come bursting back upon her, Frank’s image totally obliterating that of Luke. Guilt poured over her in a deluge of shame as she thought of the promise she had so solemnly made to the woman who was coming out here with the expectation of being comforted. How could she, Clare, have faced Mrs Weedall if she had pledged herself to Luke? And yet, cried her anguished heart, how could she give Luke up now? She was back to that state of indecision, plunged into it by the contents of the letter she held.

Tears welled up and rolled unchecked down her cheeks. Turmoil raged within her, mingling with guilt and remorse, and pity for the woman who was coming.

The tenth . . . and it was the seventh today. . . .

When Luke arrived he saw that something was seriously wrong. Clare was on the sun
terrace, her eyes dark pools of anguished indecision. She could not visualise life without Luke and yet, on the other hand, she could not see herself callously informing Mrs Weedall that she was breaking her promise and marrying someone else.

‘What’s happened?’ Luke’s voice was gentle, his dark eyes troubled. ‘You look shattered. Have you had bad news from home?’

Dumbly she shook her head and turned away, tears filling her eyes. There was no one on the terrace; most of the guests were already in the restaurant, while the others were probably in the lounge, drinking cocktails before dinner. Luke took Clare’s face in his hand, forcing her round to look at him. ‘Tell me what’s wrong, my dear. I’ve a right to know.’

A right . . . Yes, he had a right, because he loved her and she loved him, and yet she shook her head, lifting a trembling hand to wipe away a tear that had fallen onto her cheek.

‘No, Luke—’

‘I do have a right,’ he broke in gently, ‘and you know it.’ Soft the voice, but firm and authoritative. His arm slipped about her waist, bringing her slim, seductive body close up against him. ‘Do you want to sit down and talk?’ he asked.

‘No—’ She twisted in his hold, staring right into his eyes. ‘Luke—I’ve had a letter, from Frank’s mother—’ She stopped as he drew a sharp breath that sounded almost like a hiss. ‘She’s coming for a visit—’

‘Coming here!’ he cut in wrathfully. ‘For what reason, might I ask?’

Clare swallowed, moving out of his hold. Her face was tight and strained, devoid of colour. She was being torn to shreds by the thought of what this night might have been if she had never received that letter. ‘She’s a very lonely woman, Luke, and she wants to come to see me—you can’t begin to know just how unhappy she is,’ added Clare hastily as she saw his mouth compress. ‘I wrote to her soon after I arrived here and invited her to come over whenever she felt like it. She’s taken me up on the invitation and—and she’ll be arriving in three days’ time.’

Luke regarded her fixedly. ‘Do you want her to come, Clare?’ he asked.

‘I—she’s so lonely, and her other son’s not very sympathetic, whereas I can—’

‘Let her weep on your shoulder, I suppose,’ he broke in with a sort of vicious sarcasm. His eyes smouldered as he added, ‘You haven’t answered my question: do you want her to come?’

‘It’ll do her good to have the change,’ she began when once more Luke interrupted to remind her that she had not answered his question. ‘It’s difficult,’ she admitted, pressing a hand unconsciously to the ache in her heart. ‘I feel it’s my duty to try to help her—oh, Luke, don’t be angry!’ she begged. ‘I can’t bear any more!’

‘Nor can I,’ he returned explosively. ‘My patience is just about at an end!’

‘Shall—shall we go in to—to dinner?’ she
quavered, and then to her utter dismay she started to cry, weeping into her hands, her shoulders heaving with the sobs which rose from the very heart of her.

For a long moment Luke seemed immune to her suffering, lost as he was in anger, but suddenly his arms were about her, bringing her close in a tender, gentle embrace. ‘Little girl,’ he murmured, his cool lips caressing her temple, ‘don’t cry. We’ll sort something out.’

She leant away, eyeing him suspiciously through her tears. ‘What do you mean by that?’ she queried, frowning. ‘There isn’t anything to sort out that I can see.’

‘I’m not having that woman transmitting her misery to you at this time, Clare, so, as I said, we’ll sort something out.’

‘I still don’t understand you—’ She stopped because, having brought forth his handkerchief, he had begun to dry her cheeks. His eyes were fixed on hers, looking deeply into them, half in tenderness but half in anger. ‘I don’t want you to be unkind to her, Luke.’

He drew an impatient breath and after a moment asked what Phil thought about the coming visit of Mrs Weedall.

‘I haven’t told him yet,’ she admitted. ‘I know he won’t be pleased, though.’

‘That’s an understatement. He’ll be damned furious about it.’

‘Yes—but he’ll make her welcome just the same. Phil’s like that—kind and considerate of other people’s feelings.’

‘If by that you mean I am not considerate, then you’re quite right—where that particular woman is concerned! Phil told me your father had said she was the bane of your life when you were in England and I agree! But mark this,’— he wagged a warning, imperious finger close to her face—‘she’ll not be the bane of your life here. Do you understand?’

‘I shall not have her upset, Luke!’ she stated emphatically and heard him grit his teeth.

‘Let’s go in to dinner,’ he snapped. ‘We’ll both feel better when we’ve eaten.’ Plainly he was furious at the news she had given him, and Clare was troubled by his thoughtful expression, and also by his statement just now that they would sort something out. What had he in mind? His face, hard-masked, was half turned from her and there was a determination about it that made her doubly suspicious.

‘You’re not to talk to her about us,’ she blurted out impulsively as the thought occurred to her that he might just take it upon himself to inform Mrs Weedall that he and Clare were keeping company and that they would probably marry. Yes, he would be quite capable of an action like that even though marriage had never yet been mentioned.

‘Us?’ He turned again and looked down into her tear-stained face. ‘What would I say about us?’ The ironic light in his eyes carried the message: he was telling her that, at present, there was nothing he could say about them. Her heart felt even heavier than before as she ac
cepted the fact that she had taken much for granted, founding her assumptions entirely on the way Luke acted with her, optimistically believing that as soon as she was willing to put the past behind her, he would declare his love and ask her to marry him. Perhaps, she thought dismally, she had been too sure of herself, and of the attraction she had for him. As if to bring her spirits even lower, Luke was saying with slow deliberation, ‘There isn’t anything I can say about us, is there?’

Dumbly she shook her head, tears starting to her eyes again. He took her arm and they went towards the restaurant, but, aware of her appearance, she left him just outside the door, saying she wanted to go to the rest room to dab water on her eyes, and to tidy her hair. ‘I look awful,’ she quivered, ‘with—with crying like that.’

He merely nodded and said he would wait just inside the door. She went off, dismayed by the redness of her eyes which, she realised, could not be remedied merely by dabbing them with water. However, the lighting in the restaurant was very low—just candles on the tables and a few ship’s lamps on the walls—so perhaps she would not feel any embarrassment after all, she thought, as she dried her eyes with a tissue. A comb through her hair, an application of the blusher to take away the pallor of her cheeks, and she was reasonably satisfied with her appearance.

She made her way back to the restaurant and
was about to enter when she heard Luke’s voice and she stopped in her tracks, aware that he was talking to Stella Wesley.

‘You’re here for a few weeks, you say?’

‘I need the rest and change, Luke.’ Her voice was husky and low and, to Clare’s critical ears, sensuously enticing. ‘I arrived yesterday but had to keep to my room until now, as I was feeling off-colour.’

Clare, conscious of the head waiter glancing her way, walked forward to stand by Luke’s side. Stella’s eyes widened, swept her figure arrogantly, then returned to Luke. It was plain that she expected Clare to pass on, and Clare could not help the little tug of satisfaction she felt when Luke introduced her to Stella as a friend. The girl’s eyes examined Clare again, this time with more interest, and also with undisguised dislike.

‘I understood that Miss Winter was the receptionist here?’ said Stella, arching her neck in the most attractive way as she transferred her attention to Luke.

‘That’s right. Clare works for her brother, Phil, who’s the manager here.’ He paused a moment and Clare thought that it was just like a man not to have spotted the tenseness in the atmosphere, the antagonism existing between the two young women. He calmly invited Stella to dine with them, smilingly informing her that Phil would probably be joining them in a few minutes time.

‘I’d love to join you,’ purred Stella, putting a
hand possessively on his arm. ‘How very nice to have company when I’d been expecting to be on my own.’

Clare threw her a suspicious glance. She was convinced that Stella had come to Flamingo Cay for no other purpose than to get in touch with Luke again.

Phil arrived as they sat down at the table by the window, and stood for a moment looking from Stella to Clare, and then his eyes settled questioningly on Luke. Luke made the introductions, and if he now noticed anything strange in the atmosphere he gave no outward sign of it. Phil was politeness itself and during dinner he made it his business to ensure that Stella had all she wanted, and at one time, remembering that she had been in her room all day, he inquired with a smile, ‘Are you fully recovered, Mrs Wesley? We were all very concerned that you should be starting your holiday in that way.’ His eyes flicked to Clare, who had not known that Stella had spent the day in her room. She had been unusually busy at the desk, a cruise ship having come in, bringing several hundred passengers to the island for a few hours’ stay and some of them, deciding they would like to take a vacation here, had come into the hotel to make reservations for the coming season.

‘Yes, thank you, I’m fully recovered.’ She smiled at him and no one would ever have believed that she had insulted him over and over again yesterday, ending up by threatening to
report him, and his sister, to the owner of the hotel. ‘I think perhaps I ate something that didn’t agree with me.’

‘Well, we hope you will not have that trouble here,’ he returned pleasantly. ‘We pride ourselves on the quality of our food, and our chef is able to cater to the most exacting gourmet tastes.’

‘I’m sure he is,’ with silky-toned accents and a fluttering of long, curling lashes. ‘This lobster is delicious.’

Clare exchanged glances with her brother and volumes were spoken. Luke, his attention arrested, flicked his eyes almost imperceptibly from one to another, an odd expression on his face.

On the whole, the meal was not quite so uncomfortable an experience as Clare had expected when first she had heard Luke extend the invitation to Stella. He had known that the table at which they would be was one reserved permanently for Phil and Clare, but had obviously taken it for granted that Phil would not mind, especially as the extra guest was a female, so making a foursome. He was not to know of the unpleasantness that had occurred yesterday because, quite naturally, neither Phil nor Clare had dreamt of mentioning it.

During the meal it became clear that Stella was puzzled about the relationship between Luke and Clare. He was reserved, which was only to be expected when others were present, but there were occasions when his eyes took on
an expression which would certainly not please Stella if, as Clare had supposed, she had come here to find her old flame in the hope that he would be willing to pick up where they had left off some years previously.

When the meal was over Clare was both gratified and relieved when Luke said, a moment or two after Phil had left the table, ‘If you’ll excuse us, Stella—Clare and I have to talk, and it’s private.’ A smile hovered on his lips but his eyes were iron-hard, his voice coolly impersonal. ‘Good night, and I hope you’ll enjoy your holiday.’ He was rising as he spoke, and with a possessive gesture he slid a hand beneath Clare’s elbow and urged her up with him. Stella, her mouth tight, failed to keep the undertone of anger from her voice as she said,