Tidal Wave (21 page)

As she said that, Arabella sat up in her chair. She would make love with Nicholas later. She didn’t need Anthony to turn her on anymore. It was suddenly very clear.

After she hung up, she put her hand between her legs and touched her wetness. She came almost instantly.

It was there again, that terrible feeling, one she had never felt before she met Nicholas Frayne — the feeling that for all those years she might have fooled herself into believing what she and Anthony Quartermaine had for each other was love. A love that could not be because of circumstances beyond their control. Perhaps it was no wonder there had been no possibility of building a life with Anthony. The
basics had all been wrong. It was not just that he had a wife, that he was close to the Queen of England and could not bear the scandal of divorce; nor was it that he was a devout Catholic with four children. It tormented her now to think that she may have been kidding herself about this love affair with Anthony. Was it possible that he had found a damaged girl, damaged by an inner loneliness, and he had used that to get her, just as later he had used his conservatism, his inhibitions, to build up a sexual relationship with her and label it “impossible love” to keep her?

Anthony Quartermaine, the man she loved, had been her “godfather” because he had recognized the ailing girl and had in many ways healed her with his loving presence. But he had also been the lover who had introduced her to sexual madness, eroticism, lust. Arabella had been completely seduced by him, as he had been initially by her.

Only now did she realize that when he had stepped aside for her to assume a glorious role in the world alone, she had really been alone,
all
alone. Her fantasy was that it had been a genuine sacrifice for him to give her up, as it was for her to be given up. How clever he had been to hold her all these years. He had pushed her out into the world but never let her go. He held her by sexual lust and hung the label of secret love on them.

It occurred to her that until she had signed those documents in Paris and freed herself from the past eighteen years, not one of the men in her life had ever really had a chance because Anthony had never let her go. Then she had freed herself.

Freedom, real freedom. That’s what she had now and the first man to appear is Nicholas Frayne, and he has a chance. Or does he?

She remained paralyzed in the chair, not able to escape the memories Anthony evoked in her.

Arabella remembered her thirty-fifth birthday. She was in London at that time and Anthony was very much a part of her life. She recalled being on a ship with Anthony — a
ship with wings. She and Anthony spent three wonderful days and nights aboard a flying boat, and she could recall every detail of that glorious adventure.

It was the last Friday in May. It should have been a sunny day, a day when the crocuses and daffodils were pushing up through the new bright green grass, reaching for the sun and swaying in the soft spring breeze. But instead it was pouring buckets, the sky was pale gray, and all the flowers were bent from the pelting of the rain.

Arabella, dressed in a white silk shirt and a black-and-white checked raw silk jacket under a white belted raincoat, adjusted her perky black hat in the Art Deco mirror in the back of the limousine. It was Anthony’s favorite car — his vintage Silver Ghost Rolls-Royce. In front were his driver and Xu. The interior of the car was paneled in gray suede and the seats were upholstered in dark-gray leather, sumptuously padded and as comfortable as an old armchair. The dashboard and the partition between driver and passenger were of finely carved ebony, as was the bar discreetly encased in the middle seat armrest. The car was carefully restored to its original splendor, and Anthony’s only concessions to modern equipment were the tinted glass windows to ensure privacy and the stereo sound system that filled the air with music, displacing the abrasive traffic noises of the London streets.

They were driving along the Birdcage Walk, and Arabella could just make out Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament blurred by the sheets of rain pouring down the car windows.

She checked her watch against Big Ben as they rode past the famous clock tower. They both read one minute to twelve. The Silver Ghost swung around the front of the Houses of Parliament, so majestic and dramatic on the edge of the River Thames. The car eased along through the puddles of rain water, passing awesome Westminster Abbey, and continued toward the House of Lords.

What bad luck, she thought. My thirty-fifth birthday and it had to fall on a Friday. The worst day for Anthony and
I to be together. By Friday noon he was usually on his way to Heversham Park, if not there already. She sighed, thinking how eager she was to return to Paris. These past few months working in London again only made her acutely aware of how impossible their relationship was and how conflicted she felt. She thought about how sweet he had been the night before, and embarrassed, pretending he had forgotten her birthday. Anthony assured Arabella he would make it up to her. Then there had been more embarrassing apologies, for all he could offer her on her birthday was a brief lunch in the restaurant at the House of Lords before he took off for the country and his weekend with his family and important guests.

Arabella had been quite surprised, however, when he had suggested they meet in such a very public place for all to see. Not at all like Anthony, she mused.

The Silver Ghost pulled up to the entrance and came to a halt. She watched Xu step out into the rain opening a large black silk umbrella. The chauffeur jumped out into the deluge and opened the door for her.

Anthony, the Earl of Heversham, greeted them in a formal, almost aloof manner, as they walked into the House of Lords. As Arabella began untying her raincoat belt, Anthony stopped her, saying “No, don’t do that. The dining room is damp and cold. You might be chilly. Do keep it on.”

Arabella thought, This is going from bad to worse. He’s so obviously nervous about my being here. Feeling suddenly uneasy herself, she said in a rather impersonal tone, “Anthony, it was kind of you to suggest that Xu and I come by for a tour of the House of Lords.”

“I was happy to arrange this. Follow me and I’ll take you down and introduce you to a page who will give you a tour of both the House of Lords and the House of Commons.”

He gave Arabella a brief, twinkling smile and said, “Come along. We haven’t much time.”

As he hurried them through some of the dark and elegant
rooms, she caught a fleeting glimpse of the famous and wonderful Henry VIII room, with its magnificent oil portraits. She was swept past the House of Lords dining room, but even at a glance she could see it was not at all the drab, chilly room Anthony suggested it was. It was, in fact, one of the most exclusive dining rooms in the world, reeking of the privileged, of aristocracy.

She was feeling embarrassed and somewhat humiliated as he rushed her through the magnificent rooms facing the Thames and then down a long corridor. They seemed to be heading toward a less used, more remote part of the building. The atmosphere was declining rapidly as well.

Arabella could barely keep up with Anthony. She lagged behind feeling more the tourist than the mistress of one of the most powerful men of the land. The rooms they passed now were deserted, the corridors empty. Many members had obviously already left for the weekend. They went down a flight of stairs that were positively dingy and then through a pair of dull-gray metal swinging doors. Finally they reached a large wooden door bolted at the top and bottom. Arabella felt the dampness and the cold as she watched Anthony reach up and shoot one bolt back, then bend down and do the other one. He pulled the door open and the gray light poured in and filled the corridor. For the first time that day he smiled at her.

“And this,” he said, “is Parliament Pier, and that,” he continued, raising his arms in a gesture of offering, “is your flying chariot, madam. Happy Birthday, my love.”

The cool, reserved facade was dropped as he took Arabella in his arms, kissed her, and began to laugh.

“She’s called the
Belvedeer Clipper
, one of the last of the great flying boats. I bought her, saved her from disappearing into oblivion, restored her, and had her fitted with new engines and a new interior. As a birthday present for you, I’ve planned a wonderful trip for us, my dear. We will have three days together, and the
Belvedeer Clipper
will be our magic carpet.”

Arabella was speechless with surprise. She looked through
the open door and through sheets of pouring rain to the magnificent great white flying ship moored at the historical stone pier where Henry VIII and Sir Thomas More might have docked. The door of the plane opened and two men jumped down on to the pier. Xu stepped around the couple out into the rain, opened the umbrella, and raised it for them to step under. The first thing Arabella said was, “You got me this time. I had no idea whatsoever.” Then she looked at Xu, smiled, and said, “You knew?”

“Yes, I did, Miss Crawford.”

“Well, of course he did, darling. He helped me. I couldn’t have done it without him. Now no more questions.”

A loud crack split the air, cut through the sound of the pouring rain; puffs of white smoke briefly escaped as the engines began to roar. The three hurried through the rain and Anthony and Arabella boarded the plane. From his breast pocket Xu took a pigskin case, handed it to Anthony, and whispered, “Miss Crawford’s passport, sir.”

Anthony thanked Xu and turned back to Arabella, who had missed the exchange. They both waved good-bye to him as the crew jumped aboard, having released the plane from its mooring.

The
Belvedeer Clipper
taxied out onto the Thames. Like her current owner, the flying boat was a part of English history. She had been in service on the Lisbon-London flight during World War II. Adventure and romance were very much a part of her past. Many a soul who had boarded her with the Nazis close on their heels had been carried to freedom during the worst time the world had ever known. She was big and bulky, with a cabin that seemed to hang beneath the wings. On the outside she had been restored exactly as she once was, and the interiors had been redesigned to satisfy Anthony Quartermaine’s needs while retaining a certain period charm. He saved her so she could take him on adventures up the great rivers of the world, to explore mountain lakes, and to travel in ultimate privacy.

They were standing in the main cabin, a luxurious but simple room with high-backed wing chairs covered in brown
silk velvet that were screwed down to the richly carpeted floor. It was all walnut paneling and subdued colors. A pair of tables was also bolted to the floor.

Anthony took her by the hand, rushed her forward to the cockpit, and introduced her briefly to the pilot and his navigator, then helped her back to a chair. They strapped themselves in. The
Belvedeer Clipper
began picking up speed as they passed under the Westminster Bridge up the Thames. Arabella looked through the window, the rain pouring down and beating against it. The spray from the river displaced huge amounts of water, nearly obliterating the view. A good distance upriver the airship turned and charged downstream again at full speed, passing once more under Westminster Bridge. Just as they passed the Parliament building, the clipper ship climbed up off the water into the air. Arabella looked back at the House of Lords and saw the faithful Xu standing in the downpour, a waterfall of rain from the umbrella dancing all around him. She waved and he waved back.

When they were finally airborne, the storm cleared, their ascent completed, Anthony unbuckled her seat belt and helped her from her chair. They walked back into the main cabin together.

“Happy?” he asked. “I really got you this time, didn’t I?”

She nodded.

“Did you really think I would offer you nothing more for your birthday than a sandwich at the House of Lords?”

She nodded again.

He touched the tip of her nose with his forefinger and looked into her eyes. He said, “When next you’re in London, I’ll take you to lunch in the dining room of the House of Lords. The food is exquisite, the room magnificent and warm, the company usually fascinating. I always lunch there when I’m in the House. I would deem it a privilege to take you there for a fine meal, but even that is not good enough for your birthday.”

Then their eyes met and he took her in his arms and
kissed her, softly at first, then deeper, then passionately, never releasing her lips from his. Anthony put his hands on her shoulders, then down her arms until he held her hands in his. He stepped back, still holding her hands, and said, “Come on. Let me show you our room.” And he led her toward the back of the ship.

It was a simple room, not overly large, just adequate to accommodate a dresser, a chair, a dressing table and a real bed rather than an airplane-style berth. It was not a glamorous room, but efficient and pretty in its simplicity. Off to the side was a lovely bathroom. The most surprising thing about these rooms for Arabella was that Anthony had organized them so that all her clothing, accessories, and toiletries were there and laid out for her.

“Good Lord, how did you ever manage it?” asked Arabella.

“Simple. I had Missy and Xu buy duplicates of everything you brought with you from Paris. Even the flowers are the same ones I sent to you at your hotel this morning.”

Anthony opened a bottle that had been chilling in a cooler on the dresser. He poured two glasses of the champagne. As they clicked their glasses he said, “Happy Birthday,” and they drank.

He slipped her jacket off her shoulders, unbuttoned her blouse, and removed her bra. He touched her breasts, placed his face between them, and began to kiss them, moving his head from side to side. He caressed them, fed her nipples into his mouth, and sucked long and hard on them. Slowly, reluctantly, his kisses tapered off, leaving her trembling. She dressed as he filled their glasses again, and they drank. Anthony ran his fingers through her long, luscious hair and pulled her face up to his, touching his lips to hers. He put his arm around her shoulder and said, “Come on. Let’s go up to my chart room. I want to show it to you — the hub of the
Belvedeer
, where I plan my adventurous journeys.”