The Bannerman Solution (The Bannerman Series) (13 page)

Landing at Rock Sound Airport, they were met by a smiling Bahamian who led them to a fleet of Ford and
Chevrolet station wagons from the early seventies, all in
near-vintage condition. After a drive of another forty
minutes, they crossed the single narrow bridge that
connects Windermere Island to Eleuthera. It seemed to
Susan that they'd reached the end of the earth.

“My gosh,” she thought aloud. “Is this place ever
hard to reach.”

“It's deliberate,” he told her. “You'll see why.”

Crossing the bridge was like going back in time, to the way the islands used to be before the tourists came.
The beaches, Paul told her, except for an occasional combing of storm debris, were kept just as they were
when Columbus first saw them. A stout wooden barrier
swung down behind their car.

The club's manager, an Englishman about Paul's age
with an interesting scar beside one eye, was waiting to
greet
them.
His
eyes
met
hers.
Appraisingly,
she
thought.
Then
they
met
Paul's.
She
saw
approval
in
them.
Susan
wasn't
s
ure
whether
she
was
pleased
or
annoyed.
How
many
other
women
had
been
h
ere
with
Paul?
             
             
.

The manager, chatting amiably, led them through a
small forest of hibiscus to the place where they'd be
staying. She'd somehow expected a room in the club
house proper. But the place was a small villa, lustily
furnished, with a well-stocked bar and a terrace that
could have accommodated a dinner party. In the living
room, a freshly iced bucket of champagne sat on a mar
ble coffee table flanked by a basket of fruit on one side
and tray of
canapés
on the other. The manager, whose
name was Colin, said he would be pleased if they would
join him for cocktails before dinner. Once again, there
was an odd unspoken communication between the two
men. Colin excused himself.

“He seems to know you pretty well,” she said, then
wished she hadn't.

“I knew Colin in Europe,” he said. “We go back a long way.” His lips moved again but he said nothing
more. She had a sense that he knew what she was. asking
but did not know how to answer. She turned from him
and stepped out onto the terrace overlooking the sea
and horizon and miles of pink-hued beach. Not a soul in
sight. Not even footprints in the sand.

“You do know how to show a girl a good time, don't
you,” she said.

He didn't answer. He stepped close behind her, put
his arms lightly around her waist and smelled her hair.
She shuddered.

“Paul . . ,” She bit her lip. “I feel a little sticky from
the trip. How about if I take a shower
...
or we can
take a swim?” It was true enough. The clothes she'd
traveled in were too warm for this climate. But mostly
, . . she could live with not being the first woman he
’d
ever brought here
,
but she was damned if she was
going to follow the same script.

“Susan. . . .“He brought his lips to her ear. “You are
as fresh and as clean as anyone I've met in my whole
life.”

He trembled as he said that. She felt it against her
back. She'd expected him to say something romantic.
While opening the champagne. Something that would
lead as quickly as possible to a nice, long, welcome-to-
Windermere screw. But she now had a sense, standing
there, that that wasn't what Paul had in mind at all. Not
just then. And his words. The way he said them. With
such longing.

He was making no move to turn her, to run his hands
over her body, to loosen her clothing, or even to kiss
her. She turned within his arms and held him tightly.
He trembled again. She said nothing more.

“Paul?” It was the morning of their second day.
They were barefoot, walking slowly along the beach, holding hands. “Do you send a lot of your customers
here?” It wasn't precisely what she wanted to know but it was as close as she cared to come to asking about his
other women.

“I don't send any,” he told her. “There are places I keep for myself. This is one of them.”
    

“It's so lovely here. That seems almost selfish.”

“You'll feel the same way by the time you leave. You
won't want even your best friends coming here because
you won't want anything to change.”

“Weren't you afraid that I'd change it for you?”

“You completed it.”

They walked along in silence for a while, Susan sa
voring the compliment. Beyond them, two ladies were
approaching from the opposite direction. They were
dressed in simple smocks with batik prints and wide-
brimmed straw hats. One carried a walking stick. They might have been two elderly members of a British gar
den club. The ladies smiled a greeting as they passed.
Once again, she thought, their eyes lingered apprais
ingly on her. And once again, they moved on to Paul
with that same look of approval. One of them, Susan
would swear, even poked him in the ribs as she walked
by. Paul spoke before she could ask about them.

“Want to know who you just met?”

“Queen Elizabeth, right?”

“You're close.”

“Come on.”

“The one on the left is the Duchess of Abercorn. The other lady, carrying the stick, is the
Countess Mountbat
ten of Burma. I told you. Quite a few of the British aristocracy keep homes here.”

“But they were . . .” Susan's eyes went wide, ”. . .
so sweet.” She could not resist a glance back over her
shoulder. She straightened quickly. The two ladies were also looking back.

“They're watching us,” she whispered.

Paul kept walking. “They've never seen me here
with a woman. They're probably saying ‘Perhaps that American chap isn't bugger-all queer, after all.
”

Susan's grin stretched to its limit. He'd answered the
question she wouldn't have asked.

Her thoughts drifted back to the afternoon before. When he'd held her. For a man who prefers his own company much of the time, a man who
doesn't even
seem to have any close friends as far as she'd been able
to tell, he'd seemed almost desperately glad that she
was with him. She was, he had said, as fresh and clean as
anyone he'd ever known. Fresh and clean compared to
what? She wasn't exactly Linda Lovelace but she wasn't
the Flying Nun either. What was he used to? Hell's
Angels mommas with tattooed boobs?

But that curious moment had passed. And of course
they made love. And Paul was back to his old self again
by the time they joined Colin for drinks. Maybe, before
they left, she'd take Colin aside and pump him about
Paul. What he was like, back whenever
way back
was.
Maybe she'd ask.
...

“Paul?”

”Uh-huh?”

“How do you happen to know a duchess and a count
ess?”

“I
don't
.
I'm
a
guest
here.
So
are
they.
That's
all
there is to it.”
             

Rats. She wished she hadn't asked. It's more fun to
wonder. Now Colin will probably say they met selling
vacuum cleaners door-to-door. Better to stay in fantasy-
land. Like this morning, when she sat by the pool in the
same lounge chair used by the Prince of Wales. It
wasn't
the most sophisticated thing she'd ever done but so
what? Enjoy. What's so great about reality?

The next two days were the most people-watching
fun of Susan's life. Added to her collection of titles were
a baron, two baronets, a viscount and two men who had
The Honorable
in front of their names. There were at least four other people who were entitled to be called
Sir
this or
Lady
that but she never heard them ad
dressed formally except by staff. The women were some
of the most elegant she'd ever seen, and all of them had
names like Pamela, Cornelia and Fiona. Not a Debbie in
the bunch. Not even a Susan. She'd expected to meet a
Muffy or two and said so to Paul. He pointed out one of
the Cornelias, who'd been a Muffy until that name
plummeted out of fashion in response to popular ridi
cule. Also a Chip who became a Charles upon his recent
promotion to the presidency of his brokerage firm.