Second Tomorrow Read Free Page B

Gulf Stream blue and green and silver mingled to produce unbelievable colours, while the Gulf Stream itself was a dark indigo blue edged with platinum where the crested waves lashed into foam.
    She turned her head to glance up at the sphinx-like profile of the man at her side. So superior! Her first impression had been that he was totally unapproachable. With other women he seemed to be oblivious even of their presence; this she had noticed on several occasions when he had come to the hotel in the evening, perhaps to dine but sometimes merely to have a drink and a chat to Phil in the Yellow Bird Bar, a part of the hotel that had undergone a tasteful conversion from what had once been a slave kitchen, the place where all food was served to the numerous slaves working on the estate of the owner of the plantation house which was now the main building of the Rusty Pelican Hotel.
    Luke glanced down at her and a smile suddenly lifted one corner of his mouth, robbing it of some of its severity.
    ‘A penny,’ he said, still looking at her. ‘Or perhaps your thoughts are too critical for revealing.’
    She drew a long breath.
    ‘Are you always like this with women?’ she could not help saying, ‘or is it only with me?’
    ‘Only with you,’ came his prompt reply, disconcerting her.
    ‘There must be a reason,’ she murmured curiously after a pause.
    ‘You intrigue me. A beautiful girl of twenty-five eating her heart out over someone who’s been dead for five years.’
    ‘That,’ said Clare shortly, ‘is my own affair!’
    ‘You consider it indelicate of me to mention it?’
    ‘I consider it interfering of you to mention it!’ She stopped, wanting to turn back, but to her amazement Luke put his hand beneath her elbow and she was urged forward, along the soft pink coral sand. She felt that strange stirring within her again, because of the touch of his hand and the nearness of his body to hers. She trembled, her thoughts so confused as to be almost chaotic. She actually
liked
the nearness of his body, the rhythm he adopted in order to match his steps to hers, but on the other hand she was filled with resentment that he should make her forget the pledge she had made herself, and also the promise she had given Frank’s mother. Yes, on more than one occasion she had assured Mrs Weedall that she would never let another man come into her life.
    The air was still, suddenly, and all was silent around them. The high, rolling moon drifted through delicate threads of lacy cirrus cloud, shedding its argent glow over the sands and thesea and the fringing reef. There was magic all around . . . an intangible, spellbinding witchery that enveloped Clare in spite of her determination to hold herself aloof from anything remotely akin to the romantic. But she fought a losing battle, the island alone casting a spell on her with its Utopian enchantment, and if that weren’t enough she had as her companion this tall handsome man whose personality was breaking down her defences.
    He spoke, softly, his head bent so that his mouth was close to her ear, ‘How easily your anger’s aroused, my child. Why don’t you relax, come out from that barrier you’ve built around yourself and learn to laugh again?’ He had stopped, and they stood together, motionless and silent for a few moments after he had spoken. Clare lifted her head, her big hazel eyes wide and bewildered and rather brighter than they should be.
    ‘I don’t want to forget. . . .’ Her voice faltered to a slow stop, because of the sudden tightness affecting her throat. ‘You don’t understand, Luke. No one does. Frank adored me and I him. You can’t just forget—it isn’t right to forget.’
    She heard him draw a breath and guessed that he was impatient with her.
    ‘Five years, Clare,’ he said. ‘How much longer are you going to pine for what you can’t possibly have?’
    ‘You’re wrong. I said you don’t understand. I’m not pining for something I can’t