Second Tomorrow (6 page)

‘Ah, there you are. I was beginning to wonder if you’d decided to take dinner in your room. It’s just the kind of thing you would do.’

‘I admit I had thought of it,’ she returned with a sort of acid sweetness, ‘but my brother decided it might be regarded by you as a snub.’

‘Just as you would have meant it to be.’ His full-lipped mouth quirked mockery at her. ‘Sit down and have a drink.’ He had risen when she reached the table and now, as she sat down, he moved to the chair facing her, beckoning to a passing waiter at the same time. Clare told him her choice and he ordered. A waiter brought a menu and another the wine list. ‘Where’s Phil?’ he inquired. ‘I thought the place was slack just now.’

‘He’ll be here presently.’ She looked at him, recalling his behaviour of this afternoon and
wondered why she was not feeling embarrassed.

‘I’ve something to propose to you,’ he said when her drink had arrived. ‘This island—Windward Cay—’ He paused a moment, considering. ‘How would you like to help me with it?’

‘Help?’ Clare glanced swiftly at him, her eyes puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m developing it as a haven for those older people who, these days, want to get away from other people’s children and can’t. Do you realise that there isn’t one travel company who caters for them?’

‘I hadn’t given it a thought,’ admitted Clare. ‘But now that you’ve mentioned it, it brings something to mind. I knew of three old-aged pensioners—three couples, I mean—who always used to go away together. They’ve been doing it for many years. Well, for the last four years they’ve been trying, without success, to discover somewhere really peaceful—a hotel where they can find the sort of quiet that older people want.’ She paused, noticing that Luke was nodding, absorbing with keen interest every word she spoke. ‘They were telling me that although they liked children and all have grandchildren, they want to get away from children—and the noise they invariably make—for their annual holidays. The result of the four years’ search is that they’ve all decided never to go away again during the school holidays.’

‘But these days people don’t mind keeping
their children out of school. One finds children in the hotels at all times of the year.’

‘That’s right, and so it doesn’t give older people a chance.’

‘I actually know of couples who have decided not to go away at all. The trouble is that the cheap package deals offer reduced rates for children—or even accept them at no cost at all. This is fine and I agree with it wholeheartedly because people with children must be catered to, but so must the elderly, the Senior Citizens. They’ve often brought up families, and perhaps as often cared for grandchildren; it’s not unreasonable that they should want peace and quiet away from children entirely, when they take a holiday.’

‘Most pensioners have a limited amount to spend, and as a result they’ve no alternative than to take those cheap package tours that offer special fares for children.’

‘That’s right. Well, I’m considering a non-profit scheme, so that it will be possible for people to come from Europe, not just the United States.’

Clare looked at him with deep admiration. This man was very different from the one she had known up till now, the astute businessman who, already a millionaire, was still looking for the means to make more money. She noticed the faraway look in his eyes, the softness where hard contours had been, the relaxed line of his jaw. Her pulses quivered as a tremor of yearning
rippled through her. The power he had over her was incredible! It was difficult to take her eyes off him, and even more difficult to hide her feelings from that shrewd, perceptive gaze.

‘You really want me to help you?’ she queried, breaking the silence.

‘I do, Clare. I’m building three hotels altogether, but two initially, all on the southern side of the island. That’s not by any means overcrowding. There’ll be acres of gardens surrounding each hotel. I plan to have every facility for amusement within the complex itself but the guests will be able to go from one hotel to another for entertainment and even food.’

‘You mean, they can dine at any of the three hotels?’

‘That’s right, but of course they’ll have to book in advance.’

‘It sounds too good to be true,’ she breathed, leaning forward and looking up into his face. ‘Will there be tennis and golf and such things?’

‘Everything they could want for passing a pleasant time within the precincts of the hotel. Of course, they can come and go as they like, but there isn’t much room on the island for long tramps,’ he added on a note of amusement. ‘You can walk from one end to the other in less than half an hour.’

‘Shall you be able to have floor shows?’

‘I do plan to have a floor show once a week at each hotel, and that’s why I’m making it possible for people to interchange for dinner—and all
the other meals if they so wish. But with dinner—well, there are bound to be many Darbys and Joans who will want to dine cosily and romantically by candlelight and so they can get away from the floor show if they want.’ He stopped slowly and she saw that he was lost in dreams. What a surprising man! An idealist when she had branded him hard and calculating, believing him to be a man who would not stop at spoiling an island if by so doing he could put wealth into his pocket. How very wrong she had been!

‘You’ve not told me yet how I can help,’ she reminded him. ‘We digressed, I think.’

Luke brought his attention back to her, his dark eyes unfathomable as he watched her sip her drink. Clare met his gaze, half-inclined to tell him that she knew why he was wanting her to assist, that it was in order to help her forget the past. But she decided against it, since it was of no importance anyway. She had no intention of forgetting the past.

‘I would like you to take over, completely, the decor and furnishings of all three hotels,’ he told her, smiling in some amusement at her gasp of disbelief.

‘Really, Luke! You really want to give me all that responsibility?’

‘I know you can do it,’ was all he said by way of answering her. ‘I’ve already got everything else moving.’

She looked at him from over the rim of her
glass, and his eyes flickered with humour again at her eagerness. But she was thinking of her job and wondering how she would fit in all the extra work. She had a good deal of time off, though, and every week-end she was relieved by Mary.

‘It sounds fabulous, Luke! Oh, I shall love having a free hand to decorate and furnish to my own taste!’ She had forgotten what he had done to her earlier, forgotten everything as already her brain was working, making pictures of lovely rooms tastefully equipped by her alone. Oh, but it really was something to look forward to!

‘I take it,’ remarked her companion suavely, ‘that you’ve accepted the commission?’

She laughed . . . and noticed that nerve in his neck pulsating.

‘I couldn’t possibly refuse! I know it’s going to be hard work, doing two jobs, but as I have plenty of spare time I’m sure I can manage.’

‘That’s my girl—’ He broke off abruptly as if he realised he ought not to have said it. She sent him a startled glance, wishing she could read his thoughts. My girl. . . . He was coolly beckoning a waiter and Clare decided that it was merely a figure of speech which meant nothing. Yet why had he stopped so abruptly? In fact, his whole manner was strange, she now realised. Some sixth sense seemed to be telling her that there could be an altogether different reason for his interest in her. . . .

Chapter Four

‘So Windward Cay will be advertised as suitable for Senior Citizens
only?’
Clare and Phil and Luke had been discussing the new project all through dinner, and as Phil put the question he was already preparing to leave them, as he had work to do in his office, he said.

‘That’s the idea.’

‘Well, you have my good wishes,’ returned Phil. ‘And in addition any help I can give.’

‘I’ll remember that,’ smiled Luke. ‘I might need it.’

‘See you later perhaps?’ Phil glanced at his sister, plainly relieved that she and Luke were no longer at loggerheads. He had initially been taken aback on being told of Luke’s offer to Clare, but almost immediately a perceptive glance at his sister revealed that he was assuming what she herself had first assumed: Luke was doing this in order to help Clare forget the past. ‘Will you be in the lounge?’

Luke glanced at Clare. ‘Would you like a drink
afterwards?’ He and Clare had just ordered more coffee and were waiting for it to arrive.

‘Yes—all right.’ She was happy and it showed. Luke’s expression was one of satisfaction and, later, when they were seated in the candle-lit lounge, in a secluded corner by a window overlooking the sea, he remarked on her enthusiasm.

‘You know, Clare,’ he added after a pause, ‘you do have a zest for life, in spite of the way you’ve been for so many years.’

‘I wanted to die once,’ she reflected, not meaning to say anything like that but it just came out.

‘Forget it!’ he said peremptorily. ‘You’re young and life is for living.’

She nodded her head, affected as always by his magnetic personality. He really was something out of the ordinary, and she had early in their acquaintanceship realised that she was not the only one affected by his superlative qualities, for he invariably attracted feminine attention, with the very natural result that she was conscious of an inner glow of pride when, as now, she happened to be with him. She had discovered that in spite of her pledge she was still all woman, able to enjoy the envy of her sex.

‘Life is different now,’ she admitted, shy all at once and a little unsure of herself. ‘I’m glad I came here.’

‘So am I, Clare,’ he returned slowly. ‘Phil told me about your going to that churchyard every week. Well, that’s no longer possible. It was a
morbid thing to do anyway.’ His voice was stern, admonishing and, strangely, she was unable to resent it.

‘I suppose so, but it’s hard to make a man understand. . . .’

Where was she going—drifting away from her memories like this, admitting that to go to the grave every week-end was morbid? She frowned at her thoughts and, glancing at her companion, suddenly found a response in the quick knitting of his brow.

‘Drink up,’ he ordered curtly, ‘and we’ll take a stroll outside.’

She shook her head, on her guard instantly, remembering her resolve. ‘I don’t want—’

‘I’ll not rape you,’ he broke in, laughing at her expression. ‘At least, not unless you want me to.’

‘Stop it!’ she cried, aware that she had coloured from her neck upwards. ‘Do you have to spoil everything by saying things like that?’

He studied her curiously. ‘It spoils . . . what, Clare?’ he wanted to know, an odd inflection in his voice.

‘Well. . . .’ She had no immediate answer to a question that took her by surprise. ‘We were getting along,’ she added, because she herself was evading an answer.

‘So we were.’ His dark eyes still focused her face as he went on, a hint of mockery in his finely-timbered voice, ‘I must learn to guard my tongue, so that we can continue to get along.’ He rose as he spoke; she had finished her drink and with an inperious gesture he brought her up
with him, his strong brown fingers transmitting the magic touch of ecstasy as they curled firmly around hers. Was she playing with fire? It was far too romantic out there, in the tropical gardens of the hotel. Lonely and quiet and mysterious. You felt you had the whole wide world to yourself; she knew because she had walked there alone many times since coming to work for her brother.

‘I . . . it’s late,’ she faltered, trying to hold back. ‘I feel rather tired—’

‘Not tired,’ he broke in with a hint of sardonic amusement, ‘only scared.’ He tugged at her hand, compelling her to follow him in obedience to the command of the gesture. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman as scared as you,’ he added over his shoulder. ‘It’s time you took a good look at yourself—and effected an improvement.’

‘I’m not scared!’ she denied. ‘Why should I be?’

‘Because you’re sensitive to fear.’ They were approaching an open French window and he fell silent until they were through it and some distance from it, then he stopped, looking down at her in the muted lights from the coloured lanterns in the trees. ‘It’s an attitude of mind which you’ve cultivated over the past five years. You were determined never to be tempted and that determination bred fear. It’s a protective shield which, my child, I intend to pierce.’

She stared up into eyes that were both mocking and hard. Why was she not retaliating—telling him to keep out of her affairs? It could be that she was afraid she might lose the work he
had offered . . . but she rather thought there was some other explanation for her reluctance to begin an argument with him.

‘Shall we walk,’ she suggested, trying to sound coolly civil and half-hoping he would regard it as a snub. But he merely laughed and, before she could even guess what he was about she was swung into his arms and soundly kissed on the lips.

‘Oh . . . you promised—’

‘Yes, my child,’ he said, ‘we’ll walk.’

‘I wish I could understand you,’ she complained as she trotted beside him, keeping pace with his long and easy strides.

‘Perhaps you would, if you made the effort.’

‘Your interest in me seems out of proportion.’ They were walking quickly towards the shore, the lonely shore where palms and casuarinas and other vegetation made a background of dark, mysterious solitude. Clare had loved walking alone along the narrow shady paths—walking into nowhere because they all circled back to the shore. But now . . . Lifting her face to glance at her companion in profile she owned that what he had said about fear was true.

‘Out of all proportion to what?’ came Luke’s query at length.

‘Well . . . your promise to Phil. You’re going to great lengths to honour that promise.’ They had reached the gap in the hibiscus hedge that separated the private grounds of the hotel from the beach, and he stopped, his hand still enclosing hers.

‘I have my reasons,’ he said, looking down at her with an enigmatic smile. ‘I never do anything without a very good reason, Clare.’

Her heart seemed to turn a somersault; she could have eased her body close to his, lifted her lips, inviting his kiss. Warmth flowed over her and through her for surely there was no mistaking his meaning. She looked up at him, at the hovering smile, and the sensation of joy was heightened. And then without the slightest warning her mind was a whirlpool of conflicting emotions, a ferment of uncertainty and doubt as, creeping into her consciousness, memories ruthlessly obliterated her happiness.