Bride in Barbados (13 page)

As he spoke, a coldness crept over Susan. Now she could
hardly speak, because the muscles of her throat felt as if they were
frozen. Finally she got out, "I'll tell him. Thank you, Mr. Valdez."

She lowered herself into a chair after the telephone call.
She felt shaken, but what Valdez had told her did not, at first, come
totally clear in her mind. In those first moments she only knew that
she felt undone and that there was a trembling in her. Travis. She
could see him as clearly as if he stood in the room with her. A tall,
rugged man, strong and solid, yet capable of tenderness —what
was known as a man strong enough to be gentle. "Travis," she whispered
in the ominous silence of the study.

She was to realize later that, in those first few moments,
she had been suffering from shock, the body's instinctive defense
against a pain that is too terrible to be borne. But then the pain
came, huge, and causing a shrinking sensation in her chest. She knew
what had to be known, and the coldness in her grew vast. When she stood
her legs were so weak that she almost fell. She stumbled to the
concealed bar, poured whiskey into a glass with a shaking hand and
gulped it. It set off a spasm of coughing and choking, but eventually
she got her breath.

Travis had married her because he had to have an heir or
lose the only thing in the world that he held dear. She hadn't waited
to hear all the details of the will, but she had heard enough to know
that, without an heir, Curt and Violet would come into part or all of
Travis's inheritance. She had thought she was too experienced and
worldly wise to be totally disillusioned by any man. Now she knew what
terrible disillusionment was, numbing, crushing, making her shudder,
turning her body to stone.

Then the whiskey hit her like a molten rock in the pit of
her stomach, and she heard the sound of her own ponderous breathing.
Everywhere she looked, things shimmered and wavered before her, as if
the rain were inside the house with her, not merely sloshing mournfully
against the window panes.

Now she understood what was behind all of Violet's
innuendos, why everyone had asked how long she and Travis had known
each other, why Travis had been so upset at seeing Curt and Violet, so
angry because Kay had told her his reason for going to Miami. Now she
understood why he had asked her to marry him after knowing her only a
few days. He would have married almost anyone! Kay Harte had probably
been his first choice, but she knew about the will and her pride
probably wouldn't permit her to marry him under those circumstances,
even though she was in love with him.

Everything was so dreadfully clear—now. She felt
anguish spreading through her and closed her eyes for a moment. Then
the tears started, hot, and racking her body. The sound was shattering
in the heavy silence of the study with the melancholy murmur of rain in
the background. Finally she became quieter, drawing great gulps of air.

The study door burst open and Travis stood framed in the
opening, his clothing wet and pasted to him, his hair dripping. "I
heard something—" He halted to stare at her white, still
face. "You've been crying. Susan, what's happened?"

"What—are you doing here?" He could hardly hear
her.

"I got caught in the rain. I came back to change and I
heard you crying." He walked toward her slowly, but he didn't touch
her. Somehow he sensed that that would be the worst thing he could do.
"What's wrong?"

"You—" Her mouth was working and she had trouble
getting the words out. "I'll never forgive you for this, Travis. Never!"

A rigid stillness settled on him. He knew. "What has
Violet said to you?"

"I haven't seen Violet. I've just spoken to Anthony Valdez
in Miami." She paused, hugging herself and rocking slightly. "How could
I have been such a fool? I was so careful to be honest with you,
telling you that I'd lost my job. I didn't want to keep anything from
you and all the time—"

"Susan, listen to me. I know I should have told you. I
would have—"

"
When
?" Her voice rose shrilly.
"After our first child was born? On our tenth anniversary? On my
deathbed? When, Travis—when—?"

His face twisted painfully. "Soon. I swear it. You must
believe me."

"
Believe
you!" She began to laugh,
and she couldn't stop.

Travis was shaking her. "Stop it, Susan!" The hideous
sounds died in her throat and she stared up at him, her eyes great
wounds in her white face.

He swallowed visibly. "We'll talk about this later when
you're calmer—when you've come to your senses."

"I haven't been in command of my senses since the day I
met you," she said with agonized bitterness. "Until now." How had he
deceived her so utterly? She could hear the rain splattering with
greater force against the windows, the sound of Travis's rasping
breath, and the dull thudding of her own heart in her ears. Outside the
sky darkened.

"I'm leaving you, Travis. You'll hear from my lawyer about
the divorce."

That was when she saw something in him that she had never
seen before. Inexorability. And yet, hadn't she sensed from the
beginning his potential for ruthlessness?

"I won't let you go," he said. "I know everyone on this
island. I'll distribute photographs. I'll leave word at the airport and
harbors— everywhere—that I am to be called should
you try to leave. We're married, Susan, and we're going to stay
married."

She looked into his face and saw that he meant every word.
A deadly calm settled over her. "All right, Travis. You give me no
choice. You can make me stay, but you can't make me have your
detestable heir. If you ever touch me again I—I'll try to
kill you." She fought down another rising of hysteria. "I mean it. I
hate you! I can't stand the thought of you touching me now."

For a moment he stared at her, his jaw clamped. Then he
turned and slammed out of the room. She lowered herself into a chair
and began to weep again, involuntarily, silently. But there was no
comfort in weeping.

Later, when she knew that Travis was gone, she went
upstairs and found her hooded raincoat.

She walked away from the house. The lawn and countryside
beyond looked different through the rain—dark and torpid. Wet
gravel crunched beneath her leather soles as she gained the drive and
walked along it to the road. Her face was set. She was finished with
crying. Nothing had changed in her situation; she had merely learned
its true dimensions. It had never been a real marriage, with love and
commitment, except in her deluded imagination.

I'll have to live with things as they are
.
Travis's words came back to her and she saw the meaning in them
finally. Now he was going to force her to exist in the same
wretchedness, although she doubted if he had yet perceived the depth of
her loathing for him and what he had done. In time, he would. Maybe,
after a few days when the pain was not so new, she would be able to
look upon this as a holiday, a chance to come to know another culture,
a chance to think about her life and where she wanted it to go from
here.

When Travis saw that she really meant what she had said to
him in the study, he would let her go and she could begin to put
everything into perspective, see this as a time in her life when she
had been a little demented and out of touch with reality. Surely, after
enough time passed, she could forget. She was strong, and she would
become stronger.

She walked for two hours, forcing down her pain and
humiliation and replacing them with an iron resolve. By the time she
returned to the house, she was wet through the thin plastic coat and
weary beyond imagining. She brushed aside Mala's concern over her
bedraggled state and went upstairs to bathe and lie down.

She slept until midafternoon and awoke with a scratchy
throat and stuffy nose. She found aspirin in the bathroom and swallowed
two tablets, then went downstairs. Mala served her a hot, hearty stew
with cheese and crackers, and Susan found that, despite the unhappiness
and a fuzzyheaded feeling, she could still eat. In fact, she finished
off two filling bowls and complimented Mala on the lunch.

The older woman had been hovering near the dining room
doorway ever since Susan had come downstairs. Now she ventured into the
room. "You taking a cold, Miz Susan. You shouldn't stay out in the rain
for so long."

"I needed to walk. Don't worry. No one ever died of a head
cold."

"You seem different," Mala observed, her black eyes canny
and inquisitive. "Is somethin' wrong?"

Evidently the maids had not heard that confrontation in
the study and were unaware of her humiliation. She was grateful. She
returned the other woman's look without blinking. "What could be wrong,
Mala?"

Mala shrugged her thin shoulders. "Don't know. Somethin'
different, though."

"Well, you know what they say." Susan's voice was brittle.
"We wake up in a new world every morning." She didn't like herself much
when she was being sarcastic, especially when the recipient was
innocent of the cause. She forced her lips to curve in the semblance of
a smile. "I think I'll take a big mug of hot tea upstairs with me. I
probably won't want any dinner after such a late lunch. You'll convey
my regrets to Travis, won't you?"

"Yes'm." Mala was looking as if she thought Susan might be
suffering from delirium. "If you say so. You got the right idea. I fix
your tea, and you rest."

Susan spent the afternoon in bed with a box of tissues at
her elbow, reading the history of Barbados. Surprisingly, with her life
in a shambles around her, she actually understood and remembered much
of what she read, which only showed what a marvelous instrument the
human brain is.

Travis knocked at the door at eight. "Susan, I want to
talk to you."

She closed her book and lay back against the pillows. "Go
away."

He opened the door and came in. He was dressed in gray
trousers and a white shirt. Evidently he'd used one of the other
bathrooms on that floor to bathe and dress for dinner.

He stood beside the bed, his hands in his trouser pockets.
"Mala says you're not feeling well."

"Surprise!" said Susan scornfully.

His lips thinned. "Do you feel like talking?"

"No." She hesitated, then said, "On second thought, yes.
One of us is going to move out of this bedroom. Who?"

His breath escaped from his mouth in a small explosion.
"We aren't going to settle anything that way."

"Everything is already settled, except for deciding who
will use this room. If you don't want to move to the other end of the
hall, I will. It makes not a bit of difference to me."

He uttered a curse. "Since you're already situated here,
I'll sleep elsewhere—for the time being."

"And bathe and dress and whatever else you do. As long as
I am in this house this is my room and I don't want anyone coming in
here without my permission."

"You're behaving like a child!"

She pulled the sheet over her and turned away from him.
"That's all I have to say to you, Travis. Whenever you decide a divorce
is the only sensible alternative for us, let me know. Good night."

Although he said nothing, she felt him standing there for
several long moments, looking at her and breathing hard. Finally, he
walked out, slamming the door behind him. Susan turned on her back
again and took a weak, shuddering breath. She was trembling. She got up
and looked around the room, finally carrying a chair over to the door
and wedging its back under the doorknob.

Standing back, she looked at what she had done, and a
sudden hysterical laugh threatened to push its way from her throat. She
was
being a bit melodramatic. But she left the
chair where it was.

She didn't sleep, except for brief, fitful dozes, until
dawn.

A week later, she went downstairs for dinner. In the past
seven days, she had only been out of her room during the daylight hours
when she knew Travis was gone. Mala had been bringing her her dinner on
a tray and looking more perplexed and worried as the days passed, for
after the first forty-eight hours Susan's cold symptoms had disappeared.

She had been bolstering her resolve and gathering her
courage, and tonight she had decided she wasn't going to be a prisoner
in the house any longer. She was going to go on with her life as if
nothing had happened, except with Travis. Him, she would continue to
ignore as much as possible. She was determined to wait him out; she
could live in an armed camp as long as he could, she told herself.

She arrived in the dining room just as Mala was placing
Travis's salad in front of him. "Oh, Miz Susan!" Mala seemed glad to
see her. It was impossible to tell what Travis felt, not that she
cared. She took a chair at the opposite end of the table from her
husband and Mala brought in her salad.

"This must mean you're feeling more yourself," Travis
observed.

Susan glanced at him, but did not answer. She added
dressing to her salad and began to eat.

"You may remember that we discussed sending out marriage
announcements," he went on in a dogged voice. "I had them engraved and
mailed them yesterday."

Susan looked up. "That ought to be good for a few laughs
among your friends."

"Don't be ridiculous," he retorted, losing patience. "No
one knows the provisions of my grandfather's will."

"Except for Curt and Violet and your dear friend, Kay."

"I've made sure that Curt and Violet won't spread it
around. As for Kay, I've already spoken to her."

Susan uttered a short, humorless laugh. "Naturally. Did
she commiserate with you over this dreadful farce you're forced to
endure in the hope of keeping the old family plantation?"

"We didn't discuss my marriage. Kay thinks you've known
about the will all along. I merely asked her not to say anything about
it to anyone else. If I hadn't run into her within an hour after I'd
learned about it myself, I'd never have confided in her. I was stunned
and not in control of my judgment."