Bride in Barbados (12 page)

Travis smiled. "Maybe we should send out a few
announcements to pave the way for you before you meet any more of my
friends. We don't want anyone having a stroke."

"Announcements sound like a good idea."

"So, did you like Kay?"

"Very much. She's extremely fond of you."

"As I am of her."

But not in the same way, Susan thought, seeing again the
wounded look that had been in Kay's eyes for a moment when Susan had
said that she was Travis's wife. She also remembered Kay mentioning
that Travis went to Miami to have his grandfather's will declared
invalid. She wondered now if perhaps Kay had misunderstood Travis's
reason for going. He'd gotten the plantation that he loved, and the
bank-more than half of the estate. Why should he want to change that?

"Darling, Kay said something that puzzled me."

"Oh?" There was that sudden alertness again.

"She said that you went to Miami to see your lawyer about
having your grandfather's will set aside."

He did not answer immediately, and for some reason Susan
began to wish that she had kept Kay's remark to herself. Finally she
realized that he was angry when she saw his hand clenching his fork. "I
wish," he said in a stiff voice, "that people would not discuss my
personal affairs on the main street of Bridgetown."

Dismayed, she said, "But it wasn't like that at all. Kay
wasn't gossiping. She only mentioned it in passing. I didn't say that
you had told me nothing about it, although I confess it made me feel a
little shut out. Why didn't you mention it to me, Travis?"

He looked at her for a moment. "The fewer people who know
about something so delicate and iffy, the better," he said finally.
"For one thing, I don't want Curt and Violet to get wind of it."

"Then it's true?"

After another moment, he said, "Yes."

"But why do you want to change the will? It seems to me
you should be happy the way things are." Surely he hadn't expected to
get
everything
?

He drew a long breath and glanced at his hand clasping his
fork. The fingers relaxed. "I am— basically. Only the will
puts some… restrictions on what can be done with the land
that could make things… difficult. I don't want to sell an
acre, but if, for example, we had a total crop failure, it might be
necessary. I just don't like having my hands tied, even loosely."

He spoke slowly, as if he were picking each word with
great care. Why did she have the feeling he wasn't being completely
candid with her? "What did the lawyer say? Can the will be broken?"

"No. I'll have to live with things as they are."

She said on a lighter note, "
I'm
grateful to your grandfather for putting those restrictions in the
will."

"Why?"

"Because they made you come to Miami and find me."

He smiled ruefully. "I didn't mean to snap at you just
now."

"Did I ever tell you," she went on, "that you made me very
uncomfortable those first two nights in the Top Hat, sitting there and
staring at me all the way through my act?"

"I was imagining how you would look in my bed."

Susan uttered a soft laugh. "I didn't do that with you
until the first time you kissed me. Now I do it all the time."

His eyes narrowed provocatively. "You don't really want
dessert, do you?"

"Mala will kill us if we don't sample everything. You
really must learn to be patient."

"Mala," he called and when she appeared in the kitchen
doorway he told her that they were ready for dessert.

Susan relaxed and let her mind veer from the confusing
conversation about the will. A small nagging voice in her brain
suggested that she felt totally secure and at ease with Travis only
when they were making love—or talking about it. But she
reminded herself that she would come to understand all the varied
aspects of his character in time. And they had plenty of that.

Thinking of what was to come when they were once more in
the privacy of their bedroom, Susan managed to eat only a few bites of
the spiced apple cake topped with whipped cream. She gave no more
thought to Travis's seeming overreaction to what Kay Harte had said.
When Mala came out to see if they wanted anything else, Susan said, "I
was too full before the cake came, Mala. Maybe you could put mine in
the refrigerator until tomorrow."

She and Travis walked up the stairs hand in hand. In their
bedroom, his arms tightened around her and the yielding weakness swept
over her again. His kiss was hard and demanding at first, and then his
mouth softened to coax and seduce. His hands slid down her body and
sent excitement tingling to her brain. He fumbled with the halter's
closing at the back of her neck, finally freeing it and pushing the
fabric down and away from her. His hands slid silkily over her warm,
smooth skin, cupping and lifting her breasts.

Her fingers stroked his thick hair and followed the strong
line of his shoulders. She murmured, "Love me, Travis," the words
muffled by the drugging intoxication of his mouth against her own.

Then he lifted her and laid her on the bed where he
disposed of the remainder of her clothing and his own. He stretched
beside her and she met his descending mouth urgently, her hands tracing
paths over his back and shoulders as the restlessness of her sensual
need grew.

"My beautiful, beautiful Susan," he whispered hoarsely.
His hands and lips caressed her body, eliciting soft little moans of
pleasure. Finally their lovemaking grew fierce and she felt passion
rising in her like a tidal wave, drowning all else as she climbed with
him toward the ultimate fulfillment.

She slept deeply, and when she awoke next morning Travis
had already left the house. She lay in bed, gazing out a window over
cane fields and beyond to the green-black ridges of sprawling hills,
their outlines blurred by mist. The lowering sky was grayish-white and,
as she lay there, her thoughts drifting aimlessly over ways in which
she might occupy her day, rain began to patter softly on the roof. She
dressed, resigning herself to being confined to the house all day by
the weather.

At breakfast, she asked Mala, "Do you have weekends off?"

Mala shrugged indifferently. "Sometimes, if Mistah Travis
not need us here. I try to cook enough food on Friday to last him till
Monday-things that he can eat cold or warm up in the oven without any
bother."

"From now on you won't have to worry about that," Susan
told her. "I'll cook for us on the weekends."

The woman looked doubtful. "If you sure it's not too much
trouble."

"Mala, I'll enjoy it. I'm used to working, and I can't
spend my days doing nothing."

"If you say so, Miz Susan. Amii and me, we like having our
weekends at home."

"Good. Then that's settled."

After breakfast, Susan wandered restlessly through the
house, ending up in Travis's study; its masculine aura made him seem
close to her. The room smelled of old leather, wax and Travis's
cheroots. She scanned the bookshelves until she happened upon a novel
she had been meaning to read. She settled into a comfortable leather
armchair, book in hand.

The author was one of her favorites, but she couldn't lose
herself in his crisp, honed language as she usually did. Her thoughts
kept wandering to the baffling tenseness—almost a
wariness—she had sensed in Travis since they'd returned to
the island. She was certain it had something to do with his
grandfather's will and Travis's, as well as his cousins',
dissatisfaction with it. Why had Travis been so elusive when she'd
asked him about the will last night at dinner? Now that she thought
back over what he had said, she realized that he had actually given her
no specific information at all. Yet Kay Harte seemed to be in his
confidence, and Susan couldn't help feeling hurt by that. He and Kay
had been friends for years, but now
she
was his
wife. How were they to build this marriage into a strong, secure
relationship if he wouldn't be totally open and honest with her?

She recalled her last conversation with Violet. "You'll
discover soon enough what you've gotten yourself into," the woman had
said. What on earth had she meant by that? Susan suspected that it was
like Violet to hint broadly at something outrageous and then refuse to
elaborate, just as she had done when Susan asked her to explain her
remark. Violet had fallen back on that old excuse, "I don't want to be
the one to tell you," although it was clear that she had been dying to.
Why hadn't she? Had Travis warned her not to, that first evening when
Susan had gone up to bed alone and left him downstairs with his cousins?

The thought made her uncomfortable, but it was one
possible explanation for Violet's uncharacteristic reticence. She had
suggested that Susan speak to Travis's lawyer. It was as if Violet
really wanted her to know some family secret, but was afraid to tell
Susan herself. Afraid of what Travis would do?

Susan's glance fell on the telephone on Travis's desk. Did
she dare call the lawyer, Anthony Valdez, in Miami? What reason could
she give him for wanting to know about Harris Sennett's will? And how
would Travis react if Valdez told him that she had called? A chill of
apprehension went through her. It was a crazy idea, and yet she
couldn't get it out of her mind. Again and again, her glance drifted to
the silent telephone, until it began to seem sentient, almost daring
her to make the call.

She got up and paced about the room, a new wave of doubts
assailing her. There was some-thing in the will that Travis didn't want
her to know, or he would have been more candid last
night—something that Curt and Violet knew, something that Kay
Harte knew. Why wouldn't Travis tell his wife? She didn't like the
stirring of possibilities that began to surface in her mind. Travis
didn't trust her with information concerning his private affairs as
much as he trusted his old friend, Kay. Violet had hinted that it had
something to do with Susan's reason for marrying Travis. Was Travis's
marriage somehow tied in with the "restrictions" he had mentioned?

Her thoughts were becoming bewildering —and
frightening. She suspected that she wouldn't feel reassured until she
knew the will's provisions. If Travis's marriage was somehow
endangering his inheritance, she had a right to know. She was an adult;
she didn't need to be protected from unpleasantness by her husband.

Slowly she approached the desk. She touched the black
telephone receiver, running her fingers along the smooth surface.
Finally she lifted it, only then realizing that she had no idea how to
get the information operator. She let out a long breath and dialed "O".
An operator came on the line, and she asked for Florida information.
After a series of clicks and pauses, another operator came on, and she
requested Anthony Valdez's office number. It was all very simple, she
thought, as she jotted down the number on a pad beside the telephone.

Before her wavering resolve could desert her completely,
she dialed. Valdez's secretary in-formed her that he was "busy". She
almost gave up then, but she disliked the woman's impatient tone.

"Tell him it's Mrs. Travis Sennett," Susan said with
authority. "I'm sure he'll talk to me."

After a few moments a male voice said, "Mrs. Sennett? This
is Tony Valdez."

Suddenly Susan felt foolish and even a little panicky.
What did she say now? "Er—how are you, Mr. Valdez?"

"Fine. I had a wire from Travis informing me of your
marriage. Allow me to congratulate you."

"Thank you." She sensed a guardedness in the voice and
knew that she would learn nothing from Anthony Valdez that he thought
Travis didn't want her to know.

"What can I do for you, Mrs. Sennett?"

The moment of truth had come and Susan decided that, since
she had dared this much, she might as well fling all caution to the
wind. Travis was certain to learn of this call eventually, anyway. "I'm
calling about Harris Sennett's will, Mr. Valdez. I—I know you
are in Travis's confidence and—" She wasn't sure where she
was going, what would loosen Valdez's tongue, but she plunged on.
"Well, you know the… problems connected with our
marriage—at this time." Dear heaven, she wasn't making the
slightest sense. Valdez probably thought she was
hysterical—or insane.

But amazingly, she seemed to have said the right words.
When Valdez responded, he sounded less guarded. "I'm glad Travis
confided in you. Obviously, you're a special sort of woman. Old Mr.
Sennett's will might have hurried things along, but I'm sure Travis
would have married you soon enough, regardless. I've never thought him
a true bachelor at heart."

It was clear that the attorney assumed that she and Travis
had known each other for some time, perhaps had been discussing
marriage prior to Harris Sennett's death. Susan responded carefully, "I
couldn't agree with you more. And it's not as if either of us is a
child. We were both ready for marriage. The only fly in our ointment at
the moment is Travis's cousins. They were here at the plantation before
we arrived from Miami. They—they're making unreasonable
requests, I'm afraid, and Travis is terribly concerned."

"I would advise both of you to ignore them."

"They've moved to a hotel, at Travis's request,
but—"

"Mrs. Sennett, as I told Travis, his grandfather's will
cannot be broken, if that's what his cousins have in mind. All Travis
has to do is have a legitimate heir by the time he's thirty-five, and
his cousins can't touch the plantation or the bank. Tell him to stop
worrying. You might tell him, also, that I've been doing a little
research and there are several precedents to indicate that a pregnancy
within a legal marriage is all that is required. What I mean is that
the child doesn't have to be born by Travis's thirty-fifth birthday, as
long as it's on the way. Several legal decisions have recognized unborn
children as persons with rights and privileges under the law. That
should make him feel less… er, pressured."