Treacherous Longings. Anne Mather
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visitors too? I suppose it is the season.’
‘Just one visitor,’ replied Ezekiel carelessly, flexing his gleaming biceps beneath the thin cotton of his vest. Zeke, as he was commonly known, was proud of his muscular torso. Although he was in his sixties, he assured everyone that he could still hold his own with the most obstreperous of his customers.
Julia refused to be alarmed by his answer. Nor had she any intention of asking who his visitor might be. She had heard that that man—Neville? Yes, Neville Hager, that had been his name—had stayed at the Old Rum House too when he was here. And she had no wish to draw attention to the fact or arouse Zeke’s curiosity.
‘You had another visitor yourself, couple weeks ago, didn’t you, Mrs Stewart?’ Zeke remarked after a moment, thereby restoring all of Julia’s fears. ‘Said he was looking for a Ms Harvey, isn’t that right?’ He shrugged. ‘I told him we didn’t have no Ms Harvey on the island, but he seemed to think you might be able to help him.’
‘But I couldn’t,’ said Julia shortly, and Zeke gave her an apologetic look.
‘I know that. And I hope you didn’t mind me telling him you were the only English lady we got living on San Jacinto, Mrs Stewart,’ he added. ‘If’n I hadn’t, someone else surely would’ve. And it’s no secret, is it? I mean, you’ve been here a long, long time.’
‘A long time,’ agreed Julia tightly, looking rather apprehensively towards the ship. Would Jake see her here, if she didn’t go to meet him? she wondered. She’d prefer to keep a low profile until the other passengers had disembarked.
To her relief, Zeke wandered off as the alighting travellers came down the gangplank. Many of the passengers were islanders, returning from a day-trip to Grand Cayman. On the days the ferry ran, it was possible to arrive in George Town at lunchtime, do some shopping, and catch the late afternoon sailing from the harbour. From her vantage point along from the quay, Julia recognised several of the local women, laden down with carrier bags.
She saw Jake at once. Although he was dark, like the other children, his hair was straight, not curly. At present he insisted on wearing it long on top and short at the back, and his ears stuck out endearingly. But in his school uniform of white shirt and maroon shorts his appearance was unmistakable anyway, even if his tie was loose, his collar was unbuttoned and his jacket was draped untidily over one shoulder.
She had started towards him when she saw the man following him down the gangplank. Among so many dark and suntanned faces his comparatively pale olive-coloured skin was a notable contrast, and she guessed this was the visitor Zeke had spoken about. That it wasn’t Neville Hager was some comfort. If his paper was going to continue its enquiries, it had evidently decided to send someone else. But wasn’t that a paranoid conclusion? she chided herself. The majority of visitors to San Jacinto came because of the good diving. And some of them came alone, from England and the United States.
Suppressing the impulse to stay where she was, Julia continued towards the quay. Jake had seen her and he waved cheerfully, his haversack banging against his legs as he quickened his pace. He really needed a new haversack, she thought, noticing how the old one was bulging at the seams. Jake stuffed everything into that bag: school-books, trainers, computer games, the lot! Not to mention his dirty laundry, which Julia knew from previous experience would be rolled up at the bottom.
‘Hi, Ma,’ he said disrespectfully, but the hug he returned was as eager as she could have wished. He handed her his haversack then, and skipped away towards the Mitsubishi. Until she’d taken him home and fed him, that was as much as she could expect.
‘Julia?’
She was turning away, not thinking about anything but her son, when she heard the soft, disbelieving whisper behind her. She had been so intent on behaving naturally, she’d briefly forgotten the man who had come off the ferry behind her son.
The voice wasn’t familiar, but her head turned almost instinctively towards that hushed recognition. She should have ignored it, she thought later, but he’d caught her off her guard, and she’d admitted the fact by her actions, if not by word of mouth.
‘My God—it is you!’ the man said again, incredulously, and Julia felt the ground shifting beneath her feet.
‘Hello, Quinn,’ she managed, while the world she’d created crashed around her. ‘You’re looking well. Are you on holiday?’
QUINN sat on the veranda of the Old Rum House, drinking a glass of the strongest punch he had ever tasted. And he needed it, he thought ruefully. God, imagine that! Meeting Julia Harvey herself as soon as he stepped off the boat. Hector would say it was a bloody miracle. And it was. He just hadn’t come to terms with it yet.
Inside the hotel he could hear the preparations for the evening meal getting under way, and there was a delicious aroma of foreign herbs and spices. Mr Hope—Zeke—had asked if fresh papaya and a conch chowder would be suitable for supper, but Quinn barely remembered what he had said in response. His thoughts had still been focused on the familiar, yet unfamiliar woman he had met on the quay, and he hoped he hadn’t looked as stupefied as he’d felt.
Thank God he hadn’t had to make conversation with the other guests, he reflected now. There were only two of them: a young couple from England, Zeke had said, who’d arrived a couple of days ago, and Quinn suspected that they were here on their honeymoon. They were seated on a couch at the other end of the veranda, murmuring together in low, intimate voices, and every now and then there was a pregnant silence that spoke volumes for itself. They made Quinn feel unbelievably old, and a rather large gooseberry into the bargain.
Not that he wanted company, he reminded himself, taking another stiffening mouthful of the rum. Right now he was having to cope with the fact that Hector’s information hadn’t been wrong, and that was not something he could take lightly.
Even now he found it incredible to believe that the woman he had seen earlier was the Julia Harvey he had known. Oh, she had recognized him, so it had to be her, but she was nothing—nothing—like he had expected.
Yet what had he expected? He’d hardly believed Hector’s story to begin with, and he’d been half prepared to find it was all a wild-goose chase. But what the hell? A trip to the Caribbean in February was no hardship and, in spite of Susan’s aversion to the idea, he had been curious.
And now? Now he didn’t know what he felt. Meeting her like that had certainly robbed the situation of any fantasy, but he was no longer sure he wanted to pursue it. She had changed so much, and although she had been perfectly polite he could tell he was the last person she had wanted to see.
His own reaction had been no less astounded. It was like being confronted by a dinosaur when you’d believed they were extinct. Not that Julia looked like a dinosaur. Her appearance was unique. He couldn’t get over how young she looked—how unsophisticated, how natural.
How old was she? he wondered. She had to be thirty-five at least. But she didn’t look it. She looked to be in her mid-twenties. She’d evidently stopped cutting her hair, and the sun had streaked its silvery blondeness with shades of gold and honey. She’d put on some weight, too, though that suited her. And her skin was tanned now, instead of the magnolia-white that the studios had demanded.
He took another swig of his punch and shook his head, as if by doing so he’d make some sense of the turmoil in his brain. Julia Harvey—and not just Julia Harvey but her son as well. For God’s sake, had her disappearance been due to nothing more than the fact that she’d got married? And if so, why hadn’t she just announced the fact? She wouldn’t have been the first woman to give up a successful career for love.
For love...
His glass was empty, and rather than disturb his amorous neighbours Quinn picked it up and ambled into the foyer of the small hotel. The reception desk was unmanned, but he could hear the sound