‘Come on, dear, we ought to be socialising.’ Luke slid an arm about her shoulders again. She became vitally conscious of the warmth of his hand, the gentle —and probably unconscious—caress of his fingers on her nape.
It was much later that they again found themselves straying away from the other guests, from the lights and chatter and the dying charcoal fires.
‘I feel heady,’ she admitted. ‘Champagne’s
beautiful!
’
‘You didn’t overdo it, though.’
‘Only because you wouldn’t let me.’
‘I’m gratified to know you obey me,’ was his dry response to that.
‘Not always willingly,’ she returned with an arch smile and lift of her shoulders. ‘You domineer over me, Luke!’
‘You don’t resent it, though.’ They were well away now, strolling into the darkness beneath the tamarind trees backing the shoreline. The light of the moon was a spread of silver over the sea whose surface was a gentle ripple of silk. Luke sought her hand as the ground became a little stony. She curled her fingers around it and happiness flowed through her.
‘I expected you to deny my assertion,’ she murmured, sending him a swift oblique glance and noticing with a little sense of shock that the tiny wrinkles etching the comers of his eyes were becoming more pronounced. But it was the sun, she decided, not a sign of age. Twenty-seven . . . Nine years older than she. It had once seemed a lot but now . . .
Steve was seventeen years older than she—almost twice her age.
‘Assertion?’ belatedly from Luke, whose voice had a faraway tone to it. ‘What assertion?’
‘You weren’t listening. It doesn’t matter.’
‘If I domineer over you,’ he said, ‘it’s for your own good.’
‘Oh, so you
were
listening!’ She laughed. ‘For my own good . . she murmured. ‘Will you always domineer over me?’ she asked and her brows drew together because she had to admit that, once she was married to Steve, Luke would be forced to drop his mastery over her.
‘I don’t really domineer,’ he denied in gentle tones. ‘Someone, dear, has to take an interest in you, now haven’t they?’ He stopped and placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘You don’t receive much attention at home these days,’ he added and it was now his turn to frown.
Christine was nodding her head reflectively. ‘That’s why I need you so much.’ She sighed. ‘You’ve become my only prop, Luke.’ She lifted her eyes to his, eyes limpid in the moonlight escaping through the feathery foliage of the tamarind trees. Luke’s frown smoothed out and his slow smile came. He was fascinated by the seductiveness of her lips, parted softly as if to accept a kiss. He sighed and thought of Steve. Then the man’s image was dismissed and Luke was bending his dark head. Quivers of expectation sped along her spine as she felt the caress of his cool clean breath on her cheek. His lips found hers, gentle at first, but as before his ardour was spurred by the behaviour of Christine herself as, in her bewildered and floundering way, she was reciprocating, physically and emotionally aroused, and as he slid his hands with gentle, possessive slowness right down her back she felt faintly shocked at the knowledge that she hoped the nearness of her body excited him.
‘Come on,’ he suddenly said in a brusque voice. ‘This is no way to contribute to the success of a party.’
He drew away; she knew a sense of loss ... of a moment in time which had escaped her grasp, a moment that could have meant so much. . . .
He was later troubled about leaving her at the door of Cassia Lodge. ‘Will Greta be in bed?’ he murmured almost to himself, his eyes sliding to the window of the room which used to be hers.
‘I’ll be all right.’ Christine spoke lightly to hide the unease which his softly spoken words had engendered. There was a pensive silence before he spoke again.
‘I’ll come in with you, Chris. And if Arthur’s not home yet I’ll wait until he is.’
Always concerned for her . . . Christine swallowed hard and slipped a hand into his as they stood close together by the door.
‘I’ll be all right,’ she said again even while hoping he would ignore her self-assured words and come in with her. For some indefinable reason she wanted to keep him with her, a reason which, she felt sure, had nothing at all to do with any fear she might have regarding her sister.
‘You might not be all right,’ he began. ‘Have you a key?’
Christine produced it and he unlocked the door. There was no sign of life until the appearance of a maid.
‘Is Mr. Mead in?’ enquired Luke and the girl shook her head.
‘He’s late, Mr. Curtis. I had expected him to be in for dinner.’ She sounded a trifle worried and this passed itself on to Christine.
‘It’s almost midnight, Luke. Do you think something might have happened to him?’
‘He’s probably had dinner with friends and stayed on chatting.’ He added after a slight pause, ‘Mr. and Mrs. Walworth—they’re in?’
The girl’s face took on a wooden expression. ‘Mr. Walworth came and packed some of his things.’
‘Yes?’ prompted Luke.
‘He took a suitcase—er—I got the impression that he was going to stay at his parents’ house.’ She was embarrassed but for all that, Luke surmised that she had not kept the circumstance to herself. All Arthur’s staff would know that Steve had left his wife.
‘And Mrs. Walworth?’
Again the girl paused. ‘She went out and later phoned to say she was staying the night with a friend.’ ‘What a business!’ Luke was saying a few minutes later when he and Christine were alone in the sitting room. His face was set, his eyes dark and unreadable. He had been standing by the window but he came towards where she was sitting on the couch. He stood above her, a towering giant looking suddenly angry.
‘I ought to take you out of this!’ he said harshly. ‘Chris, will you come and live at my house?’
‘Live . . . !’ Staggered by the suggestion she could only stare, dumbfounded, for fully twenty seconds. ‘Leave my parents? Luke, what are you saying?’
‘This family’s getting itself into the kind of coil I don’t want you to be a part of.’ Imperious his voice and compelling. Not for the first time Christine was impressed by his manner of authority, his almost arrogant domination. It was just as if he were in sole charge of her, body and soul! Her chin went up.
‘Whatever troubles they are in, Luke, they
are
my family—the only family I have. I ought to be sharing their troubles, not running out on them. Why, you said yourself that Arthur needs me.’ Funny, she mused with a frown, but recently she had come to regard her adoptive father as a man somewhat remote, so that she found herself more easily thinking of him as ‘Arthur’ rather then her father or her uncle.
‘I admit saying he needs you, but things are happening that worry me. He’s never in, and Loreen’s scarcely ever at home. And now you have this trouble between Greta and Steve.’ He strode away towards the drinks cabinet. ‘I shall speak to Arthur,’ he decided as he sought for a glass. ‘Something has to be done about you.’
‘I
am
almost nineteen,’ she reminded him.
‘And more like sixteen!’ Anger edged his tone and she had the impression that he wished she were older than her age rather than younger. She resented his words, though, because she was sure she did not act like a sixteen-year-old. However, she had no chance of voicing a protest because at that moment the front door was heard to bang and Arthur came into the room.
‘Hello.’ He seemed only vaguely surprised to see Luke there, pouring himself a drink. ‘Where is everybody?’
‘If you mean Greta and Steve,’ answered Luke crisply, ‘neither is coming home tonight.’
Arthur looked blank. ‘I don’t understand.’
Was he troubled? wondered Christine as she looked at him closely. He had certainly been troubled about Greta and Steve at first. He seemed to be acquiring a hard shell of indifference, she thought, and sighed for the days that had gone.
‘Steve’s left Greta from what I can gather. And Greta’s staying the night with a friend.’
‘And my wife’s away, too,’ added Arthur brooding-ly. He held out his hand for the brandy which Luke had just poured and swallowed it all in one swift draught.
Christine stared, then turned her eyes to Luke. He said quietly, ‘Do you want a drink, Christine?’
She shook her head miserably. ‘No, thank you, Luke.’ In all this, she thought, only Luke offered any form of stability. He was solid and firm, like a rock that no forces of nature can make any sort of impression upon. He was her pillar of strength in a world that was beginning to disintegrate around her.
Luke poured another brandy and sipped it slowly. Arthur had taken possession of a deep armchair; he looked almost desolate as he stared in front of him, appearing to be oblivious of any other presence in the room. Luke walked to the fireplace and stood with his back to the grate. His quiet, finely modulated voice cut into the oppressive silence as he commented, ‘I don’t particularly care for the changes that are occurring here.’
‘No more do I.’ Arthur had glanced up in surprise. ‘Just what are you getting at, Luke?’
‘I’ll not beat about the bush, Arthur.’ Luke’s voice was clipped. ‘I want to take Christine out of this.’
She flashed him a glance, her nerves feeling shredded. ‘I don’t want to go with you,’ she began but Arthur was speaking too and she broke off.
‘You mean—you want to marry her?’
‘Marry!’ she ejaculated, eyes widely staring. ‘Father —what a thing to say!’ She felt the blood surge into her cheeks.
‘That,’ Luke was saying slowly, ‘might be a very good idea.’
‘A—!’ Her eyes flew open. So he would even go to the lengths of marrying her just to protect her! He would sacrifice his own happiness, his chance of a real marriage, just to save her from this situation which he knew was oppressing her. Her feelings were mixed; for while with one part of her she warmed to him for this willing sacrifice, with the other she was aware of a sense of pique at his authoritative way of assuming he could just come along and calmly take control of her life. ‘It certainly is not a good ideal’ Her eyes met his in a challenging look. He knew very well that she was in love with Steve, and that she was eager eventually to marry him. Luke flexed his mouth but made no comment.
‘I must admit I’m becoming worried about her.’ Arthur spoke to Luke just as if Christine hadn’t been sitting there at all. ‘As you say, changes are occurring here that are definitely not good, and I’ve been thinking lately that Christine ought not to be involved—’
‘Why not?’ she broke in vehemently, ‘I’m part of the family and so your troubles are my troubles.’
‘Family?’ Arthur lifted his brows. ‘We’re no longer a family, Christine.’
She fell silent, her eyes filling up. For what he said was right. They were no longer a family—at least, not a united one.
‘What’s wrong, Arthur?’ Luke asked, his tawny eyes concerned.
‘Everything, Luke.’ The older man’s whole manner was bleak, ‘I’ve just said we’re not a family any more. There’s nothing to keep us together—not a thread of love or respect to hold us. Loreen’s obviously . . .’ He tailed off, looking at Christine.
‘I know, Father.’ She spoke quietly, glancing away.
‘Yes.’ He sighed. ‘You must have guessed. You’re not obtuse.’
‘Are you saying that Loreen wants a separation?’ Luke’s voice carried a harsh inflection.
‘I was about to say that she’s obviously intending to continue with this affair, so as I don’t intend to be made a complete fool of, I’m considering suing for a divorce.’
Christine and Luke exchanged glances. She had never seen his eyes quite so hard, nor his mouth so ruthlessly tight. She shuddered, having no difficulty in picturing Loreen’s fate had it been someone like Luke to whom she was married.
‘So everything’s gone,’ stated Luke. ‘As you say, the family no longer exists.’
‘Greta and Steve are having a divorce. She’s met someone else—’
‘Met someone else!’ gasped Christine disbelievingly. ‘Already?’
Arthur ignored that, appearing to be impatient with the question. ‘As for me—well, I’m thinking of retiring. I haven’t been too well lately and if I want to live a bit longer I’ve to take things easy.’
‘You’ve seen a doctor?’ Christine spoke accusingly. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘What difference could it have made?’ He was still impatient. ‘You couldn’t have mended anything.’
‘I’d rather know if you’re ill,’ she said. She glanced at Luke and knew she needed him more at this moment than ever before. Yet her thoughts were scattered, conflicting with one another. Luke was her prop, and yet for some reason she half regarded him as her enemy. In this throbbing despair caused by what Arthur had been saying she was filled with a sense of finality as far as her life with him and his wife was concerned. So that left Luke on whom she could lean . . . but Luke had no sympathy with her attitude towards Steve, no understanding of the fact that she was in love with him. She felt a hollowness in the pit of her stomach, knew she was pale of face and desolate of expression.
She could not help wondering what she would do if Luke were suddenly to disappear from her life. She knew of course that there was no such possibility. He had just suggested she marry him and, therefore, he could not have much feeling for the girl in Miami.
‘I think,’ he was saying, ‘that under the circumstances Christine should stay with me, at least for a while.’
She thought of Steve and knew that if she went to stay with Luke she would have difficulty in seeing him.
‘There’s no reason why I should leave Cassia Lodge,’ she said, but her heart was heavy. What was there for her at Cassia Lodge any more? That sense of finality enveloped her again. ‘Father, what are you intending to do? I mean, when you retire?’
‘I shall retire very soon,’ he told her significantly, and live in England with my widowed sister.’
A silence fell upon the room. It was Luke who broke it. ‘In that case, Arthur, you will agree that Christine must come to me.’