Tell Me I'm Dreamin' (7 page)

“Well, our guest is here, Ulysses.” Madame Deane motioned for Nadine to come closer as Ulysses turned his eyes toward her. Rodney also watched her advance.

As she approached them, Nadine was grateful for the feel of soft material flowing about her. She felt elegant, and judging from the expressions on everyone's faces, she looked it as well.

Nadine then decided to take advantage of the situation life had offered. No one knew her here, or had ever heard of Nadine Clayton of Ashland, Mississippi. Here, she could be the woman she had secretly yearned to be. A woman with worldly experience, cultured, knowledgeable. There would be no one here to say she was putting on airs. Here, Gloria's lessons would be of good use.

Nadine knew she would need all the self-confidence she could muster as Ulysses watched her advance. His penetrating gaze seemed to take in everything. When she reached the table both of the men stood. Ulysses towered considerably above his breakfast companion.

“Ulysses, Rodney, this is Le—excuse me, Nadine. Your last name escapes me, dear.” An almost imperceptible nervous twitch tugged at Madame Deane's wrinkled lips.

“Clayton. Nadine Clayton,” she replied in her most impeccable style.

With one well-formed eyebrow slightly raised, Ulysses studied the young woman who sat across the table from him now. This poised creature was nothing like the woman he had observed talking to herself the night before, nor the near-hysterical female he had met in the cave. She had been unpretentious, almost transparent. He could never see this woman displaying the raw expressions that crossed her face the night before.

“Miss Clayton and I had the . . . pleasure of meeting yesterday,” Ulysses announced.

Nadine glanced down for only a moment. Ulysses' pause behind the word “pleasure” went unnoticed by Madame Deane and Rodney, but his meaning was not lost to her. Controlling the heat that was rising to her face, she pursued his line of conversation.

“Yes, we did. It was Mr. Deane who invited me here in the first place. I am thankful to the two of you for your hospitality,” she added graciously, displaying her most accommodating smile.

“Well, I for one am glad that he did,” Rodney interjected with an appreciative boyish grin. “It is rare that we have outsiders travel so far inland. And I must say I cannot remember ever seeing one so lovely.”

Nadine flashed a sincere smile. “Why, thank you. But I have to admit the earthquake forced me to take refuge here. My visit with Madame Deane and Mr. Deane was not planned. And I hope to be able to return to my work as soon as possible.”

“What kind of work is that?” Madame Deane queried as her fingers busied themselves with her olive-branch headband.

Nadine noticed a slight change in the pitch of her hostess' voice. Her shoulders had begun to slump forward in her chair, and the nervous quiver about her mouth was more apparent than before.

“I work with the World Treasures Institute gathering information for a centralized computer located in Paris. This particular system is similar to a giant library where you will be able to find out about literary and art treasures from all over the globe. I . . . lead a project which is responsible for historical research of the people, literature, and artifacts native to this area.” Nadine's brownish-jade eyes opened wider as she heard the little white lie come out of her mouth.

Now why did I have to say that? It wouldn't make any difference to them if I were an art consultant or a historian, she thought. Actually, I am a little of both, though on this project, I am the lowest person on the totem pole. Still, I must admit, “historian” sounds so much more elite.

“I am sure you will find we are quite an interesting people,” Ulysses remarked with veiled eyes.

“And fate could not have placed you in a better spot than this, Miss Clayton. The Sovereign estate is known as ‘the Protector of Eros' Treasures.' There's no other place richer in the history of Eros than right here,” Rodney added. “And I see you are most definitely dressed for the part. I do not believe even Ulysses would have artifacts to top that.”

A bizarre giggle surfaced from the end of the table. “That shows how much you know, Sharpe,” Madame Deane replied with a hawkish glare. “But you don't need to know any more than you do,” she goaded him. “Now that Lenora's come back, all the evil that has been going on around here is going to stop.”

Nadine felt unnerved by the tiny woman's outburst, while Ulysses and Rodney passed perturbed understanding looks between them, though the latter was obviously embarrassed by the vehemence of Madame Deane's verbal assault.

“I believe it is time for your morning medication, Aunt Helen,” Ulysses declared in a comforting but firm voice.

Like a dog caught stealing scraps from the dinner table, Madame Deane nodded her head sulkily, lowering it even further than Nadine thought physically possible.

Rodney took advantage of the moment and announced his departure. “I must be going now. It was nice to meet you, Miss Clayton.” He extended his hand to Nadine. “And Ulysses, Basil says he has some important business to discuss with you if you can find time today. He is too busy to come to Sovereign. So drop by when you get a chance.”

Nadine could see the muscle in Ulysses' jaw contract and expand.

“That is, if you have the time, Ulysses,” Rodney added sheepishly.

“I will see,” was Ulysses' only reply.

Rodney left as Catherine entered with a steaming pan of hot conkies and a pitcher of cold coconut water. The spicy smell of pumpkin, sweet potato, raisins, and coconut floated beneath Nadine's nose, making her stomach reply quietly to the aroma.

“Like Master Ulysses said, it is time for your medication, madame,” Catherine stated as she placed the food on the table.

At first Madame Deane snatched away from the housekeeper, and pushed her lower lip out like a pouting child. Then her tiny head turned in Ulysses' direction, and she looked up at him with cowering eyes. He gazed back with a compassionate but firm look. She sat back in her wheelchair, and with a resigned sigh allowed Catherine to roll her away.

Nadine had no idea what to say, so to busy herself, and appease her hunger, she placed fresh slices of mango and tangerine on her plate along with a cup of yogurt. Ulysses preferred the conkies and coconut water that had been provided especially for him, and for a few moments they prepared their plates in silence.

Now that they were alone Nadine's confidence in her charade began to ebb. Feeling nervous, she tried to give the impression of finding the slices of fruit and the yogurt more interesting to look at than the man that sat before her. Ulysses on the other hand seemed content to sit back, relaxed, with an open banana leaf in hand, never once removing his eyes from Nadine's face.

“I have never met an African-American historian from the United States before,” Ulysses stated as he continued to watch her.

“Oh, well. Here I am in living color.” Nadine let go a nervous laugh. “Some of my ancestors were from Africa and even this part of the world,” she lamely explained.

“I see.” He placed more food in his mouth. “It is different for me. My mother was African. She was an Egyptian. So my blood is half-African and half-British. I believe I know which one runs the hottest inside me.” He stared into her eyes. “I claim both of them. But I was born of my mother's body, and therefore I hold my Egyptian heritage close to my heart.”

“I can understand that,” Nadine replied, somehow relieved. It made her feel Ulysses Deane was not as taboo as she first thought.

“So, Miss Clayton, does your research into our history include interviewing the people of Eros?”

She released a breath she did not realize she was holding. Nadine felt safe with the subject at hand. “Why, yes, it does, Mr. Deane. Along with reading your literature and uncovering your legends, if any. Could you tell me where to begin?”

Ulysses' dark eyes narrowed before he answered, “Yes, I could. With me.”

Nadine let go a laugh that sounded to her ears similar to Woody Woodpecker's. “I believe you may be right. What did Mr. Sharpe call your estate, ‘the Protector of Eros' Treasures'?”

“That is correct. And I must add we have treasures of all kinds. Tangible and intangible,” Ulysses added in a husky voice.

“Well . . . I'm . . . sure you do,” Nadine replied, almost choking on a piece of mango at his innuendo. “Your house is a virtual museum from the little I've seen of it. It must have been in your family for a long time.”

“According to our family records, some, if they are authentic, and we have no cause to believe other than that, date back hundreds of years. Sovereign has been in existence since the early seventeen hundreds. Many of our books and art date back even further than that.”

Nadine was fascinated to discover she was actually staying in a place that was rich in island history. Her facade forgotten, spellbound hazel eyes soaked up the source of information. “You've got to be kidding.”

“No, I am not. If you do not believe me, you can always ask the statue of Poseidon to verify his origins.”

At first Nadine was taken in by Ulysses' serious tone. His quip had gone right past her. His eyes were the only thing that reflected his jest. They sparkled mischievously.

“Why, Mr. Deane,” Nadine put on her best imitation of a mother chastising a naughty child, while at the same time trying to recover her composure, “we all have our fantasies. Mine just happen to be rooted in an overly active imagination.”

“Is the fantasy undressing before a merman or just undressing before a man?”

“Believe me, Mr. Deane—”

“I believe as of last night we are well enough acquainted for you to call me Ulysses.”

“Uh . . . Ulysses,” Nadine uncomfortably complied. “My fantasies are no different from any other woman my age.”

“Is that so?” His voice was low, his eyes piercing. “I intend to make it my business to find out.”

Nadine felt a twinge of fear and excitement from Ulysses' mild but definite threat. With an all too flowery wave of her hand, she patted the French braid at the back of her head. Now what would Gloria say to that?

“I wouldn't be too hasty if I were you. You may take on more than you can handle.” She forced herself to look directly into his eyes, but underneath the table a nervous hand clenched and unclenched the silky chiton. Nadine pushed away from the table and rose to her feet, attempting a graceful getaway. “If it's alright with you, perhaps later on today I could see some of the books and artifacts you have here at Sovereign.”

Ulysses' ebony eyes watched her with mild amusement. “You have my permission to do so. As a matter of fact, I will show you around myself.”

“I'm sure with your having been away for a few days you're far too busy for that. So I'll just—”

“I think I would be the best judge of how busy I am, Nadine.” His silky voice caressed her name. “I shall see you at two this afternoon if that is convenient.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“That sounds fine.” Nadine managed a brittle smile before turning away. Now how are you going to handle this? She entered the hallway. My goodness, I wonder if all the men from this part of the world are so direct. Once Nadine was alone she fanned herself with an open palm. But I can't blame it all on him, she chastised herself. If I wanted to throw out sexual innuendoes I should have done it with someone a little more in my league. She could feel her stomach fluttering from the undercurrent of their conversation. Alright. Alright. Just get a hold of yourself. Nothing has happened yet, and nothing will, if you don't want it to.

Nadine stared blankly at the painting of a Caribbean sunset in the dim hall, her mind racing. What you are thinking about is simply sinful. Sinful I tell you. You had never laid eyes on that man before yesterday and you are thinking about allowing him to be your first. What would people say? Nadine stuck out her chin stubbornly as her inner battle raged on.

For twenty-six years you have waited chastely, and where has it gotten you? Nowhere. People have poked fun at you, and had another reason to add to their fist for calling you strange. And it's not like you still believe in saving yourself for your husband. The way your life has been going you will be as old as Methuselah before a potential husband is anywhere near the picture. Anyway, you know plenty of women who didn't wait, and they are living healthy, happy lives. Married or not. So what if you do allow something to happen between you and Ulysses? This way you can get the preliminaries out of the way, and gain some experience to boot And when you are back in the States no one will be the wiser.

Nadine smiled to herself. You never know. Gloria might be right. Maybe I have been like a bud whose blossoming is well overdue. After my rendezvous here, I can return to the States a full-fledged rose. Who knows? It's possible, if I don't seize some opportunity real soon, the bud may just wither and fall off the bush. She giggled to herself, but underneath it all Nadine knew she had a real fear of growing old and never tasting the virtues of physical love.

With that Band-Aid of self-advice, Nadine decided she would let things flow naturally with Ulysses Deane. She turned away from the painting feeling more at ease, and headed back toward her bedroom.

“Did you enjoy your breakfast, Miss Clayton?”

“I sure did,” Nadine answered, eyes sparkling with harnessed anticipation. “But I wish you'd call me Nadine.”

“Nadine it is then.” Catherine's wise eyes noticed the glow on Nadine's face. She threw a glance in the direction of the house where Ulysses remained. “If you do not have anything else planned, would you care to join me in my walk to the sugarcane fields? There is a small festival today at our rum still, and I usually bring some fresh molasses back to the house.” Catherine placed folded knuckles on her boxy hips. “Sovereign produces enough rum for most of the folks here on Eros. From what I understand we have the only still in these parts outside of the West India Rum Refinery near Bridgetown on Barbados.” Catherine lifted her chin a bit. “But their rum isn't nearly as good as what we make here.”