The Older Man (27 page)

“I’m a stranger in these parts,” he drawled. “The water wasn’t all that high.”

“It will be now. You can’t go back for at least an hour.”

“Neither,” he pointed out, “can you.”

She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. Was that why he had followed her here?

As if in answer to the unspoken thought, he said, “Perhaps now you’ll have the time to listen to what I have to say.”

“I really don’t care,” she said. “I don’t think that anything you have to say could possibly interest me.” She got to her feet, snatching up her towel. “I’m going.”

“Where to?” he demanded, barring her way as she made to pass him. “You said yourself there’s no way off these rocks until low tide.”

“I can wait somewhere else,” she said.

“And I can follow you.”

“Stop harassing me!”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“Yes! What else would you call it?”

She saw the effort he made to swallow his anger. “I just don’t understand…”

She said, “No, you don’t, do you? Please get out of my way.”

She stalked off while he gazed after her. She went as far along the rocks as she could, and sat watching the wild water race into a narrow gap in the rocks, wave piling on wave, all foam and fury. Strangely, the endless pulling and sucking and pounding had a calming effect on her.

Gradually the water began receding, becoming shallower. She became aware of Grant sitting several yards from her. She didn’t look up, ignoring him completely. For a long time they sat in silence, isolated from each other.

When most of the waves were coming in at only ankle height, she stirred, ready to get up. And Grant said quietly, “I can’t make you listen to me, now. You can get up and walk away if you want. But I wish you wouldn’t.”

She was looking away from him towards the white sand, the glossy trees shading the edges, red and yellow hibiscus and some white starry flowers like paint-splashes against the green. She didn’t turn her head, but she stayed where she was, sitting on her towel with her knees hunched.

He waited until another wave had hurried in from the sea, foamed and splashed and receded. Then he said, “Rennie, will you marry me?”

For an instant, shock stopped her breath. Then shock was replaced by a hot, flooding anger. She turned her head, her body tense. “What?”

“I’m asking you to marry me, Rennie. Will you?”

“No!” She sprang to her feet. “No, I won’t marry you!” Once she would have given her right arm to hear him say those words. But now it was too late. Far, far too late.

He stood up too. He looked slightly flushed, his eyes steady but with a disturbing glint in their blue depths. “You’re very vehement,” he said. “Whatever happened to ‘sensible though I am of the honour that you do me…’?”

“Honour!” she said witheringly. “Do you really think it’s an honour to be asked — now?”

“I certainly don’t think it’s an insult!” he said, obviously stung, although his voice was extremely level. “Not so long since, you didn’t seem to think I was so ineligible.”

“I never asked you to marry me!” she reminded him, pride lifting her head and lending a bitter curve to her mouth.

“I see.” The anger he’d been holding in check put a bite in his voice, now. “Was it just a quick fling you were after — some suitable candidate to relieve you of your virginity? I’m sorry I didn’t take the bait you so temptingly dangled for me. Is that the reason for this sudden about-face? Wounded vanity?”

Rennie hit him. She didn’t plan it, or even realise what she was doing until her hand connected with his face, and he flinched, and she felt the sting on her palm.

For a moment they stood staring at each other, Rennie feeling sick, Grant’s face pale except for the red imprint of her hand. He swallowed, and said rather grittily, “I can’t imagine any reason for this display of outrage, Rennie.!”

“But then, you don’t have much imagination, do you?”

He laughed, not very nicely. His cheek must have still been smarting, after all. “Where you’re concerned,” he said, his eyes running over her scarcely covered body, “my imagination has always run in overdrive!”

“You never had too much trouble controlling it, as I recall.”

“It wasn’t as easy as you seem to think, Rennie. Do you want me to prove it?”

“Don’t touch me!” She stepped back from him.

“I haven’t moved a muscle,” he pointed out. He hadn’t, but the frustration and fury emanating from him was palpable. “I just offered you what’s usually considered the highest compliment any man can give to a woman.”

Her lip curled. “What did Ethan say about a genuine compliment being rare currency? Only in your case the currency’s debased, Grant.”

“Would you care to explain what the hell you’re on about?”

“It’s pretty obvious. You wanted me before. You were even a little in love with me. But there was all that baggage you were hauling from your previous marriage, and you very sensibly and cold-blooded decided you didn’t want to get into that again. So you smothered whatever feelings you might have had for me, and closed the door on our relationship. I was young and quite pretty, I’d find someone else, someone more my own age and therefore much more suitable, and I’d forget about you, because after all, at my age, what did I know about real love? What I felt for you was nothing more than a juvenile fancy.” She added viciously, “Isn’t that what you thought?”

“Something like that,” Grant admitted tautly.

“And there was nice, suitable, attractive Lorna, who’d make a perfect wife and stepmother. You weren’t in love with her, but you’d weighed it all up and decided that marrying her would be the best thing all round.”

“As a matter of fact — “

But Rennie was racing on. “Did she turn you down, leaving you at a loose end again? No perfect wife and stepmother, after all? And then you got a letter from your old flame — “

“My what?”

“Celeste. Don’t tell me you weren’t carrying a torch for her at one time.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“I’m not dumb! At her wedding I noticed the soulful looks you cast in her direction.”

“Whatever you noticed, you misinterpreted. If I was looking less than madly joyful, it was because I remembered my own wedding, and how my marriage ended. Celeste and I,” he said, “were never more than very good friends. And for the record, I never asked Lorna to marry me!”

“You thought about it. You told me!”

“Pride, Rennie,” he said shortly. “You brought the subject up — in the same breath telling me that you’d got over your teenage passion for me. Throwing me a crumb because you didn’t want me any more. Matchmaking’s a specialty of yours, I believe. You seemed to think it was such a good idea, you almost had me convinced.” A quick flash of bitter humour lit his eyes, and was gone. “Actually, it had never crossed my mind.”

Scarcely listening, she rushed on. “Anyway, Celeste wrote to you that I seemed unhappy. You knew I’d been disfigured. Poor Rennie, you thought. She isn’t nearly so likely to find herself a handsome young hero now. You remembered you were quite fond of me, in your superior way — ” Ignoring the protesting sound he made, she went ruthlessly on, ” — and you remembered I’d been head over heels in love with you, even if it was just an adolescent phase. Maybe you allowed yourself to admit that you found me quite desirable, too. Besides, I was so good with the children, wasn’t I? Marrying me would be quite in keeping now, with your image of yourself — “

“What image?” Grant asked, his voice grating.

“The Sir Galahad image,” she said caustically. “The white knight. You’re good at rescuing the damsel in distress. You just can’t admit that you might lust after her as well. Not when you think she’s somehow unsuitable for your — attentions. There has to be another reason. Like compassion. What did Celeste say to you,” she asked. “In her letter?”

“She felt you had been very much hurt, not only physically. She thought you’d taken an emotional battering — “

“And you figured you were responsible?”

“Wasn’t I?” He looked at her very directly.

Rennie met his eyes. “Yes. Partly. A lot of it was my own fault. And some of it had nothing to do with you.” She said, “You don’t have to feel responsible for me. Or sorry for me. I’ll survive. Even this.” She touched her cheek. “I’m sorry if it ruins your grand gesture, but you’ve no need to pity me. The doctors say that after the plastic surgery I’ll be as good as new. Maybe a tiny white line, easily covered with a little makeup. They promised. They’re that confident.”

“I already know that,” Grant said. “I talked to your parents, I told you. Do you think I didn’t ask? And not,” he added forcefully, “because I cared one way or the other whether your face was going to be permanently scarred. Only I thought you might.”

“Everyone thinks I do. Of course I was worried, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Lots of people live with worse than that. There’s my hand. It’ll always be a bit stiff. But even that’s not such a tragedy. I’m not a concert pianist, or an artist.” She paused. “You knew?”

“Yes. So your theory just went up in flames.” He sounded grim.

Bewildered, but with a strong conviction that she couldn’t cope with any more tension, she shook her head, and turned her back on him to make her way down the rocks to the sand.

“Rennie!” He leapt down after her, catching her up before she had a chance to reach the other side of the narrow gap. Water lapped about their feet as he clamped his fingers on her wrist.

She pulled back instinctively, but he retained his hold.

“Let me go, Grant.”

“Rennie, I love you!”

Whatever reaction he had expected, it wasn’t her wild burst of laughter. He dropped her wrist like a hot coal and stared at her, a flush mounting to his cheeks.

She stopped laughing, taking a step backwards. She said, “You are unbelievable! You know that?”

“I’m sorry!” he said angrily. “I’ve handled this all wrong.”

“Yes, you have!” Her tone was cutting. “Has that fact just dawned on you?”

He made an exasperated gesture. “I’ve been clumsy, but surely if we love each other — “

“That’s the crux of it,” she said.

For a long moment he said nothing. “You’re trying to tell me it’s over for you ?”

“Yes. That is what I’m trying to tell you!”

He was staring at her in a calculating way that she didn’t like. “You feel nothing?”

“You’ve finally got it!” she said.

” — but for a woman who’s quite indifferent, your reactions seem fairly extreme. Running away, slapping my face — “

“Now,” she said, “you finally acknowledge that I’m a woman, not a lovestruck little girl.”

“Why did you run, Rennie?”

“I thought you’d worked that out. I was embarrassed by my scars. Didn’t want you to see them. And I slapped you because you fully deserved it.”

“Maybe I did. We were both angry. You know the corny old line about hurting the one you love.”

“I don’t love you!” She swung on her heel and had a hand on the rock face, ready to climb, when he pulled her round to face him.

“Prove it,” he said, and as her head jerked back, he tangled a hand into her hair and held her while his mouth descended on hers.

The towel fell from her shoulder as she bent back, failing to avoid the kiss. She pushed against him, determined to ignore the insidious pressure of his lips trying to coax hers open. He shifted his legs and then she had a new sensation to fight, as well. For all the protection the swimsuit gave her she might as well have been wearing nothing. She kicked him but her bare feet did no damage, and she swayed off balance, which allowed him to gather her even closer, his mouth still keeping hers prisoner while one arm remained clamped about her waist, and the other hand explored her bare back right down to where the swimsuit ended, and then continued over the smooth nylon-covered curve.

Rennie quivered — with rage, she told herself. No man had a right to do this to her. But then she discovered her mouth was flowering under his, her lips parting, softening, burning with sudden need. Her limbs felt heavy with desire, and there was a hot, spinning sensation starting in her head that spiralled right through her body. She wrapped her arms about his neck, and both his hands swept down to her bare thighs, lifting her against him so that she was on tiptoe when the next shallow wave swept into the gap and swirled about them.

As it receded, something large and soft coiled itself about her ankles, startling her out of her absorption in the kiss. She broke free and looked down to find her forgotten towel, thoroughly wet and sandy.

Grant picked it up and wrung out the water. “Sorry,” he said. Then, his eyes alight as he looked at her, he said, “But it was worth it, wasn’t it?”

Rennie wiped the back of her hand over her lips. “It doesn’t prove anything. Except that you’re good at kissing.”

His hands stilled for an instant on the towel. Then he said, “Thank you. You’re pretty good, yourself.” Quite pleasantly, he continued, “It’s war then, is it? Okay. It’s a long time since I had a good fight.”

Stiffly, she put out her hand for the towel. He shook his head. “I’ll carry it.”

Rennie shrugged. This time he let her climb the rock without interference. He followed, and walked beside her until they reached the narrow cliff path, when he dropped back, allowing her to go ahead. At the house, he relinquished the towel and she went to rinse it in the laundry and hang it outside before going upstairs to shower and change.

At dinner that night he was blandly pleasant, and she, mindful of her manners and unwilling to cause discomfort to Ethan or Celeste, tried to match it, while inwardly seething.

Next day she went to the beach straight after breakfast and plunged into the water. When she came out the sun had warmed the sand, and after using plenty of sun cream she lay face down on her towel and tried to blank her mind and drowse. She didn’t hear any birds, but the trees on the slope behind her rustled in a faint breeze, and when she got too hot she moved into their shade.

Her thoughts wouldn’t stop racing round in her head, and she was restless. She was swimming again when she saw Grant come down to the beach. She stayed in the water longer than she had intended, hoping that he would go away. But instead he sat by her towel, waiting. After a while he stripped off his shirt and trousers, revealing dark blue swim shorts. She went stroking swiftly away from the shore. If he meant to come in, she decided, she would be getting out.