Reluctant Date (13 page)

She waited, sensing that he was struggling with himself, and
with his habit of keeping everything close to his chest.
 
Her silence was his undoing.

“There’s been a fire in one of our holiday developments in
Mexico. Fortunately nobody was hurt although a couple of guests were sent to
hospital as a precaution, but now I’ve got to go there. I’m booked onto the
first flight out tomorrow.”

“That’s awful!” Claire’s eyes grew wide with horror.

Having started to unburden himself, Daniel didn’t seem able
to stop. “It gets worse!
 
I already had
finance meetings booked back-to-back in London and New York to discuss some
investment problems, so I’m going to be spread pretty thin over the next week
or two.
 
No more early morning visits to
the islands I’m afraid.
 
Nor to any of
the other places I wanted to show you.
 
You’re going to have to rely on Scott and Beth to ease you into the
job.”

“That’s the least of your problems,” Claire’s voice was soft
with concern.
 
“Is there anything I can
do to help?
 
Anything at all?”

He shook his head.
 
“Thanks, but no.
 
Scott and Beth
will keep things ticking over here.
 
They’re used to me being away. Besides they know that they can always
contact me if necessary.”

She nodded as she gathered up her belongings. She was sure
that Daniel would want to be alone in the office to write instructions for Beth
and Scott, and to update himself on the work program, so she was surprised when
he stood up as well.

“Actually…maybe there is something,” he said slowly.
 
“It’s a bit unorthodox…but would you come and
meet my parents…my mother actually…”

Clare stared at him as his voice trailed off.
 

“I will if you really want me to but I don’t understand
why.”

He gave a grim smile.
 
“Of course you don’t and I shouldn’t ask, not really. It’s just that I
think…hope…that meeting someone new will cheer her up.”

Seeing the same bleak expression on his face she had seen in
her mother’s kitchen all those weeks ago, Claire took a deep breath.
 
“I know she isn’t well…that is…Beth told me
she’s…depressed.”

“I’d say it was despair rather than depression,” he
said.
 
“Over the past five years she’s
become so worn down emotionally and physically that she has no energy left for
anything except caring for my father.
 
She doesn’t go out, doesn’t read. She doesn’t even tend her garden
anymore. Her friends have more or less given up on her too, because my father
is so afraid they will involve her in things that will take her away from him
that he makes himself as unpleasant as possible when they visit.”

“So why me?”

Suddenly he smiled, and it was like the sun coming out from
behind the clouds.
 
“Because she doesn’t
know you and nothing, not even her deep unhappiness, will stop her from being
the perfect hostess.
 
If you visit her
then she will have to rally, even if it’s just for an hour or so.
 
Her good manners won’t allow anything else!”

“Well if you’re sure it’ll help, then of course I’ll come
with you,” Claire couldn’t help smiling in return. “After all I owe you one for
the way you charmed
my
parents.”

He had the grace to look a tiny bit embarrassed.
 
“I was a bit pushy wasn’t I?”

“Just a bit,” she confirmed, and then laughed. “It made
their weekend though.”

“Mine too,” he told her, his face suddenly serious. “I
really enjoyed that weekend Claire, even though I didn’t think I would ever
crack your resolve to turn me down. Your parents, the life they lead, their
happiness with one another, the way they don’t interfere with your life, it
was…I was…envious I suppose. ”

Their eyes met, and for one long moment Claire forgot to
breathe as memories of that fateful weekend assailed her and she felt the full
force of his attraction all over again.
 
This was what she had been afraid of. Yet she didn’t have the heart to
refuse his request to visit his parents, even though she knew she was opening
herself up to all kinds of pain, because his worried expression tugged at her
heartstrings in a way that his usual cheerful and practical manner never would.

* * *

It took longer to reach the Marchant’s family home than
Claire had expected because it was out beyond the curve of Dolphin Key, and
several kilometers past the local airfield. From a distance the airfield looked
like a perfectly ordinary patch of rough grass.
 
It was only when they drew close that Claire saw there was an airstrip
marching alongside the road.

Instead of bypassing it, Daniel drove across the grass,
stopped under a stand of tall pine and pointed.
 
At the top, perched precariously, was an untidy nest of sticks. Sitting
on it was an osprey, its expression imperious as it scanned the surrounding
countryside.

“She comes back every year,” Daniel told her.
 
“Why she likes the airstrip rather than the
Reserve we have no idea.
 
It seems to
work though.
 
She raises a brood of
chicks every time.
 
So far she hasn’t
lost one.”

Taking the binoculars he handed her, Claire watched in
fascination as the bird stood up, turned around, and then settled back onto her
nest.
 

In turn, Daniel watched Claire, absorbing the warmth of her
skin so close to his, enjoying the moment as he pushed his troubles into the
background.
 
She was so unconscious of
her unusual beauty, so unaware of the effect she had on people.
 
He had noticed Scott’s expression of
appreciation when they had gone for a beer the previous evening, noticed, too,
the way her striking looks had drawn glances from most people in the bar. So
why was she still single, so uninterested in dating? He wished he knew.

He was still watching her when she lowered the binoculars
and turned to him. As their eyes met he forced himself to switch back to tour
guide mode. He pointed to the osprey.

“They are sometimes called the fish eagle,” he told her.
“They love the shallow waters around Dolphin Key because it’s easy fishing, so
we get a lot of them.”

Claire hurriedly put the binoculars back to her eyes.
 
This was getting more difficult by the
minute. Although she was sorry he had so many problems to deal with, maybe it
was good he was going to be away for a while.
 
It would give her a chance to get to know Dolphin Key without the added
complication of a pounding heart, a dry mouth, and an inexplicable catch in her
breath every time she was near him.

* * *

The Marchant family home was set back off a quiet road
shaded by tall cypress trees, each one trailing a gray beard of Spanish moss.
As the golf cart trundled up the driveway Claire realized that the back of the
house overlooked the gulf.

“What a wonderful place to live,” she gasped. “It must have
been fantastic to grow up here.”

“Sometimes it was,” Daniel agreed as he turned off the
ignition and stared at the building in front of him.
 
He seemed about to say something else, but
then he shrugged.
 

“Come inside.
 
I
expect my mother will be in the kitchen.”

He was right. A tall, thin woman, whose hair was fading from
blonde to silver, she was staring out of the window of a large kitchen that had
beautifully crafted granite counters and a red oakwood floor.

“Mum, I’ve brought someone to see you,” Daniel’s voice was
gentle.

She turned around with a start of surprise and Claire was
shocked by the misery in her eyes.
 
Then
it was gone as she visibly pulled herself together and smiled.

“You must be Claire. Daniel told me you were going to join
his team,” her voice was cultured, her movements graceful as she walked across
the kitchen with her hand outstretched.

Claire took it and was overwhelmed by the other woman’s
fragility.
 
Clasping her hand was like
holding a dry leaf. It felt brittle, insubstantial, as if it might break.

“I was showing Claire around and we happened this way,”
Daniel lied, avoiding Claire’s eyes.

“And I don’t suppose either of you have eaten yet.” Fragile
she might be but Mrs Marchant’s comment was entirely maternal, a mother who
knew her son’s habits, and whose instinct was to nurture.
 

Not waiting for an answer she turned to the stove where
saucepans were simmering.
 
“I’m cooking
chicken and rice for your father and me but there’s more than enough for both
of you because I’m cooking a double portion. I was going to freeze it for
another day.”

“In that case we’d love to stay,” Daniel gave Claire a
questioning look.

She nodded.
 
“If
you’re sure it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all. It will be nice to have some company. Now pour
a drink for our guest Daniel and then take her out onto the deck until dinner
is ready.”

Claire started to protest, to suggest that she help the
tired woman who was Daniel’s mother. Then she stopped herself.
 
Mrs Marchant didn’t look as if she would
welcome the sort of casual domesticity that was the norm in Claire’s mother’s
kitchen. This was going to be a formal meal, with formal conversation. Nothing
alfresco about it at all!

* * *

The dinner was exactly as Claire had anticipated and yet she
enjoyed it because, true to Daniel’s prediction, his mother rallied.
 
A perfect hostess, she asked questions that
were not too intrusive, and then listened intently to the answers.
 
She entertained with stories of Dolphin Key; she
talked about her one visit to Europe; and she smiled and offered more food,
more wine, and dessert.

Her husband was an entirely different proposition
however.
 
Although he was courteous
enough when he was introduced to Claire, he maintained a brooding silence
throughout the meal, only speaking when he wanted more rice or when his glass
needed refilling. After several unsuccessful attempts to include him in the
conversation, Daniel gave up and concentrated on Claire, joining in with his
mother’s stories, making her laugh. Only Mrs Marchant persisted, ignoring every
snub and acting as if every dismissive grunt was just a normal part of the
conversation. Watching her attempt to include him, Claire felt desperately
sorry for her.

“Do you have a Talking Books Service in Dolphin Key?” her
question, asked in a lull in the conversation, was a blunt attempt to engage
the man sitting at the head of the table.
 
If she could talk to him about books, find some sort of common ground
that would move them away from the topics that were obviously boring him, then
the desperation might fade from Mrs Marchant’s eyes.

Her question was followed by a long silence.
 
For a moment she thought he hadn’t heard her
and she was about to repeat it when she caught sight of his wife’s face. Mrs
Marchant looked horrified.
 
Daniel,
sitting opposite Claire, put down his dessert spoon as he waited for his father
to reply. When no answer was forthcoming he pushed back his chair in disgust.

“Florida has an excellent Talking Books Service,” he told
her.
 
“Unfortunately my father doesn’t
like it.
 
Instead he prefers that my
mother read to him.”

Suddenly she understood.
 
Her innocent question was a direct acknowledgement that Mr Marchant
could no longer see, and his blindness was something nobody ever spoke
about.
 
This proud man, whose sightless
eyes looked like milky brown buttons under a lowering brow, had never admitted
publically that he was blind. Instead he had made his wife complicit, forcing
her to pretend everything was okay. She took a deep breath.

“Well I think that’s a real shame,” she said, steadfastly
continuing to direct her conversation to the silent man at the head of the
table.
 
“There must be so many hours when
she is too busy to read to you. What do you do then?”

“I sit and think young lady,” when he finally answered her,
his voice was husky, as if he didn’t use it very often. He was a handsome man
whose iron gray hair had once been dark, and whose loose limbed body was as
tall as Daniel’s. His features were different though. His face was sharp;
almost hawk like, with discontented grooves on either side of his mouth, and a
fierce furrow between his brows.

“What do you think about?” she asked him.

He gave a snort of derision as he carefully returned his
wine glass to the table before he gestured around the room. “Not that it’s any
business of yours, but I think about work. Real work.
 
The sort of work that brings in the money to
support all of this, not the airy-fairy stuff Daniel does in his spare time.”

Ignoring his implied criticism of her involvement with
Daniel’s organization, Claire soldiered on.

“I guess that means you like reading biographies, with
perhaps crime thrillers for light relief.”

He turned towards her with such a surprised expression on
his face that Claire had to remind herself he couldn’t see her.

“And what makes you think that?”

“Experience.
 
I
am
a librarian after all. I know what
people like to read, even though I have decided to take a break from the public
library service to concentrate on some of the airy fairy stuff for a while!”