Torn Asunder (9 page)

"Very
good." Cle's voice was hoarse.

"I
should be there sometime between Christmas and New Year's day. I'm not just
sure which day but I'll call you from one of our layovers. Ta, Cle. I think
I'll deduct the charge for this call from your first salary check when you
return."

"That's
what you think, you—" Cle broke off and laughed as she realized she was
talking to the burr of a line gone dead. Jaime had ended their conversation
with the dramatic flourish he affected in his work. Cle's hand shook as she
replaced the phone.

Oh,
Dev, won't you ever leave me alone? she cried silently. I will live without you!
/ will! She grated her teeth, cursing the weakness in her that kept the picture
of him so clear in her mind.

Christmas
came to
Sydney
with sunshine and picnics and promises that she would learn how to handle a
surfboard in no time. Cle was skeptical as she listened to Max describe the
learning of the skill that seemed so natural to Australians, Hawaiians, and
Califonians. She couldn't forget she was a New Yorker. The drive to Alistair's
beach house was not a long one but it gave Cle a chance to see the sun drenched
beaches that seemed to stretch to infinity.

Max
glanced over his shoulder to see if he could pass a car and grimaced.
"Cle, did you have to bring so many gifts? Lord, did you bring two for
everyone? I want you to know that I wasn't fond of all that wrapping
either." He frowned at her.

"You
know you loved it." Cle smiled at the man who had become a friend to her
in such a short time. "You shook your own gift for ten minutes trying to

figure
out what it was."

"I
just hope you paid a fortune for it. I'm worth every penny." Max gave her
a pleased look when she laughed.

Alistair's
beach house was a rough wood affair that overlooked craggy rocks that seemed as
though they'd been thrown there by a giant hand. Beyond the rocks was whitish
sand with darker, volcanic sand rimming the water. Monstrous waves crashed onto
the shore.

Cle
inhaled the tangy salt air and felt a tinge of excitement. Alistair's wife,
Diana, was an artist and, as she stood next to Cle, she smiled at her.

"Magnificent,
isn't it? I see it every morning and every day it's new and different."

"Aren't
you afraid of sharks when you surf?" Cle asked raising her voice to be
heard over the roar of the waves.

"We
have some of the largest sharks in the world off the coast of
Australia
and
anyone who isn't wary of them is a fool, but I can't say that we have ever had
much trouble with them here and we've lived here for eight years."

Over
lunch Cle discovered how delightful the company was. Everyone was friendly and
eager to show her all the rudiments of surfing. Later, when she appeared in a
one piece lycra bathing suit, she felt Max's eyes on her.

"No
wonder, Jaime is so protective of you, Cle. You are quite lovely." He
looked at the slight frown on her face and shrugged, lifting her board to his
shoulder and carrying it to the water's edge.

Cle
felt awkward and nervous when she tried to grasp the board as the others were
doing. All at once she had the feeling that she should announce it was too soon
after lunch to swim or that the waves looked too dangerous, or...

"Feeling
edgy, Cle? Everyone does the first time but you'll like it once you try it. It
takes years and dedication to be expert at this sport but even a novice can
have fun if she's careful. Come along now, push your board out and lie on it
full length. I'll be right next to you."

Cle
could feel her heart pounding as she paddled out over those deep troughs.
Neither she nor Max paddled out as far as the others, Cle turning her board as
Max directed then looking over her shoulder at the rollers that seemed to come
endlessly.

"Here
comes a nice one for us, Cle. It's small."

Cle
gulped, thinking Max must be out of his mind if he called that crusher
galloping up behind them small. She did as he said, though, and began paddling
toward the beach and when she felt the upward thrust of the wave she pulled her
legs up under her until she was kneeling. She couldn't bring herself to stand
as Max was doing, but still she got an enormous thrill from the ride. She
tumbled from the board as it slid into shore. Laughing and shaking out her
hair, she called to Max. "That was fabulous. Let's do it again."

Cle
felt all her muscles come into play as she tried the board again and again,
sometimes simply losing balance and falling down, several times being plowed
down by the force of the water. It was exhilarating, it was dangerous, and she
welcomed the deep fatigue that affected her when they called a halt.

"Dear
Lord, Cle," the woman named Pam exclaimed, "you're in better shape
than all of us. If I had done this much on my first time out I would have been
stiff for a month."

Cle
gave her a rueful smile. "I'll be stiff, I'm sure, but it's worth it. I
loved it. No wonder you Australians are always smiling. You work off all your
tensions in that lovely surf."

The
others laughed and made teasing remarks to one another about her observation.
She felt very much at home. Then, too, the knowledge that she was so tired that
she would undoubtedly sleep through this Christmas Eve night made her glad. She
was afraid of more torture from memories of how Dev had awakened her every hour
last year to cuddle and love her and each time had given her a small,
beautifully wrapped gift. She could still see Dev's elfin grin when she chided
him for his extravagance in buying her so many things and how he'd kissed her.
Then he'd told her not to lecture him, that he had sent a check in an amount
equal to all the gifts he'd bought to Mother Theresa of Calcutta—and in her
name. Cle had cried and hugged him hard. She'd mumbled over and over, "I
love you, I love you," but perhaps not loud enough for Dev to hear.

She
was glad when dinner that evening was loud and raucous. She was grateful for
Alistair's two children, who were so excited they could hardly eat. It felt
good to watch the children tear into the two gifts they were allowed to open on
Christmas Eve and sing the Christmas carols. She hoped the others would take
the mistiness in her eyes for sentimentality.

"It's
hard to be away from your own country and people on Christmas, but soon, Cle,
you will think of us as your people."

Cle
gave Max a grateful smile and allowed him to kiss her under the mistletoe.

Jaime
called from Hawaii two days before New Year's Eve to tell her that he would be
there to celebrate with her and Max. They met Jaime's plane and it seemed that
they were all talking at once. He was going to stay with Max during his visit
and he seemed especially pleased that Cle had decided to give a small party in
his honor on New Year's Eve.

"I'm
anxious to see this place you have raved so much about, dear Cle." Jaime
squeezed her shoulder as she sat between the two men on the front seat of the
car.

"I
didn't rave. After all I've only talked to you once and written to you
twice."

"Well,
it sounded like raving." Jaime shrugged, smiling at her.

For
the rest of the journey to Max's apartment, Cle was content to listen to the
two experts argue the merits of the business that engrossed them.

Cle
was delighted by the small catering firm Max had recommended—and relieved to
discover Max was correct in saying they were not expensive. Unlike Jaime who
had an imperial notion of what was "frugal," Max was realistic. The
caterer was well within Cle's budget and so on New Year's Eve day she found
herself, with Max's blessing, taking the day off to do the last minute cleaning
that she thought was necessary. She was horrified at Jaime's offer to help,
knowing that he would sit around, drink gallons of coffee, and distract her
with talk about the world of high fashion. She was grateful when Max coaxed him
into visiting a weaver that he considered a master.

Hair
tied in a kerchief, Cle waxed the wood paneling in the lounge and dining room.
She had worked her way into the kitchen feeling very satisfied with the two
rooms she had finished, when the doorbell started ringing. Someone was leaning
on the bell and, thinking it was an overburdened caterer, Cle flung the door
open.

"Happy
New Year, Cle!" Dev leaned against the door jamb, his indolent pose belied
by the green sulfur of his eyes. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

CHAPTER
FOUR

Open
mouthed, Cle stared, not really able to believe that Dev was actually standing
in front of her. The stun of surprise wore off within seconds, though, and she
tried to shut the door on him.

Dev
slowly forced the door wide, shoving a straining Cle behind it. "Not very
friendly of you, darling, and after all we've meant to each other." His
voice sounded like a fingernail down a blackboard.

She
had to grit her teeth to keep from screaming. Inhaling deeply, she faced him in
the paneled foyer. "Get out of here. What are you doing here? You can't
stay."

"I
can see you're overcome with joy at my presence, so much so that your speech is
erratic. You're talking like a robot whose batteries have run down, love,"
Dev drawled, unbuttoning his sport coat as casually as if he'd just come home
from work and nothing was wrong between them. He ambled past her toward the
lounge area, his eyes moving in narrow assessment over the apartment.

"How
like you to make some remark about my speech, m'lud," Cle grated, yanking
the kerchief from her head and following him, stopping dead on the top step
leading down into the living room when Dev whirled on her, his face a savage
mask.

"Don't
get nasty, Cle. I can get a great deal nastier and have bloody better
reasons." His voice had the sound of a sledgehammer hitting concrete. His
eyes were just as Jaime had described them. Green sulfur.. .and murderous!

Cle
licked her lips, thrusting out her chin. "What are you doing here?"

"Now
what the bloody hell do you think I'm doing here?"

"I
realize you're angry with me, but... but I did what I thought was..."
Cle's voice trailed off as she watched his features contort.

"Yes.
You had better stop talking, Cle. I don't know how far my control will stretch,
but I would guess not far." Dev's head swiveled until his eyes lighted on
the decanter and glasses sitting on a small table next to the fireplace. He
strode across the room in four thrusting moves. His hand tilted a large measure
of sherry into a glass. He tossed off the first then upended another into his
mouth. He stood there staring at the decanter in his hand for long moments
before he looked at her again. "Do we talk now or at some later
date?"

Cle's
instinct was to run and hide in a closet and stay there for a year. She had to
force the words from her throat. "I...I'm having guests this evening. It's
New Year's Eve..."

"I'm
aware of the day and time." His voice was silkily sarcastic and made Cle
shiver. "I'm sure you'll want to be polite and issue me an invitation as
well."

"Oh,
I will, will I? Think again, Dev." She stared at him. "How long are
you going to be in
Sydney
?"
she croaked.

"As
long as it takes."

He
was all steel heavily wrapped in velvet—terribly threatening and Cle felt
shaky. "You're talking in riddles."

"If
you want straight answers, ask straight questions." His eyes swung away
from the Chinese rug and fell full on her. "While I'm here, I'll want to
see
Sydney
. You
can show it to me."

"I'm
not a tour guide." Cle watched his lips peel back from his teeth at her
words and took a step backward. She cleared her throat. "I still have work
to finish before my guests arrive... so... if you don't mind."

He
glowered at her. "Why haven't you hired a daily to take care of the work?
It's nonsense for you to be doing all this manual labor and then expect to
entertain this evening."

Cle's
chin came up, her hands pulling the kerchief between them like a rope. "I
don't have unlimited funds. And don't make some snide remark about that, please!
Besides, I enjoy doing some of the housework, even though I can't do it
all." She braced herself, remembering Dev's irritation with her when she
would insist on doing some of the household tasks herself rather than save them
for Mrs. Hubbard.