Second Tomorrow Page 5

  ‘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 voic
e.

  ‘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.

  She made to withdraw her hand but Luke’s grip tightened, painfully. It was as if, because he was regarding her so intently, he had guessed at her changed emotions. She saw his mouth compress, his eyes glint like dangerous points of steel. For a moment it seemed that he struggled with his temper, as they both stood there in the moonlight and the quiet, with only night sounds to break the silence. But despite his efforts his temper broke the rein and, seizing Clare by the shoulders, he shook her unmercifully, shook her until he himself was breathless.

  ‘Now,’ he thundered, ‘does that teach you a lesson!’

  She swayed, her legs like jelly, her heart throbbing painfully against her ribs, and she would have fallen had he not held her, for she was overcome with fatigue, weakened by his violence. Tears ran unchecked down her cheeks and within seconds great despairing sobs were racking her body.

  ‘Why—why d-did you do th-that?’ she whispered, instinctively clinging to him for support. ‘How could you? I—I hadn’t done anything.’

  ‘Only recalled those damned memories,’ he rasped. ‘Can’t you understand that the constant re-creation of a memory must in the end become an obsession—a damned unhealthy one! How the hell is it going to end! Have you thought of that?’

  She swallowed the lump that was blocking her throat. Not since the death of her fiancé had she felt so desperately unhappy. For she had just realised that she loved Luke, and it seemed very much as if he loved her.

  But there was her promise . . .

  ‘I c-can’t help it if—if my memories keep on returning,’ she said indignantly when she had made some attempt to stop crying. ‘I’ve told you so many times—you don’t understand.’

  ‘You’re right there! I do not understand!’

  ‘You would if you’d loved someone, desperately, and then lost them. And if you’d made a promise to be true for ever—’

  ‘For ever! Do you know what you’re saying?’

  ‘A promise is a promise.’

  ‘There are circumstances when promises made in good faith can be broken. Aren’t you ever going to live?’

  The tears started to her eyes again, and to her astonishment he took out a handkerchief and began to dry them, infinite tenderness in the action. She still clung to his jacket, her mouth twisting in slow, convulsive movements.

  ‘Can we go back?’ she pleaded, like a child asking a favour. ‘I must go back.’

  The handkerchief was being put away in his pocket as she spoke. Luke shook his head at her request and said she could hardly enter the hotel looking like that.

  ‘It’s your fault!’ she cried spiritedly. ‘Why did you do it? You haven’t answered me!’

  ‘I lost my temper.’ There was neither contrition nor regret in his voice and yet his hands were gentle on her arms. ‘You goad me, Clare, by your stupidity and the rigid way you stick to that promise.’

  She said nothing, nor did she make any protest when he led her through the gap and on to the beach. The sand was powder soft beneath her feet, the breeze cool and healing as it caressed her face. To her surprise she was quickly recovering from the violent scene but her heart still hammered uncomfortably against her ribs. She ventured after a while, ‘Do you still want me to help you?’

  ‘I shall be angry if you don’t. You’ve given me your promise.’ The emphasis on the last word was a deliberate jibe which brought twin spots of crimson to her cheeks.

  ‘You’re very unkind,’ she complained on a quivering little sob. ‘Have you no feelings at all?’

  For answer he drew an exasperated breath and merely increased his pace. They fell silent for a few minutes, walking close and yet, thought Clare, a million miles apart.

  But she was wrong. Once well away from any lights Luke took her hand and drew her into the shadow of the trees. She stood passive as, with a gentle hand beneath her chin, he made her look up at him. He shook his head, another gesture of exasperation.

  ‘What must I do with you?’ he sighed: ‘I really don’t believe a spanking would do any good, so I shall kiss you instead—’

  ‘No I—’


  ‘Take your pick,’ he challenged darkly. ‘I mean to do one or the other, Clare.’

  The threat went home and with a little sigh of resignation she quivered, ‘You had better kiss me, then—and I hope you enjoy it!’

  ‘I shall, and so will you, my child,’ He slid an arm about her waist, drawing her unresistingly to him, while with his free hand he lifted her face and covered her mouth with his. She sensed his affection for her; it still came through even when his demanding lips became almost brutal, his tongue forcing her lips apart to explore her mouth. A fierce pang shot through her, effectively stripping her of any resistance even when his hand slid low and its pressure arched her back to bring her body even closer, melding her to his hard and sinewed frame, compelling her to feel the virile strength that would awaken in her the dream and the desire whose meaning was total surrender. No words passed between them, but a low moan of sheer ecstasy left her lips to fire his ardour to even stronger depths. Their bodies swayed to a rhythm that matched their breathing and all the world was forgotten in the miracle of their intimacy. She felt small and meek and she had never realised it could be so rapturously pleasant. His lips moved, to find tender, vulnerable places behind her ear and along her throat. She was limp and submissive in his arms and when his hand left the middle of her back to loosen the buttons of her evening blouse her only emotion was the thrill of expectancy, the need for his touch on her bare flesh. With the ease and confidence of the expert his hand found the fastening of her bra and it was undone. He brought her breast to his mouth and she thrilled to the hardness of the nipple between his teeth. As rapture swelled within her she felt the wild surge of blood to her heart, an ecstatic flame searing her whole body, sapping her strength, affecting her sanity. His iron-hard thighs were the pleasure-pain torture that finally brought forth from her lips the plea for him to love her.

  ‘Is that really what you want?’ His voice was low, throaty with passion. ‘Are you quite sure?’