‘He has cancer,’ Grace persisted. ‘According to Cole, the doctors give him a few weeks at most. Jo, he is Cole’s father. Can’t you find it in your heart to feel some compassion? I know you and he have had your differences, but——’
‘Differences!’ Joanna almost spat the word. ‘Grace, that man and I did not have differences! We were totally opposed to one another in every way. Ryan Macallister doesn’t deserve anyone’s compassion. He’s a twisted, evil man!’
Grace sighed. ‘You really hate him, don’t you?’
‘Wouldn’t you? Don’t you?’
‘Not hate, no.’ Grace was tentative. ‘Oh, I know what you’re going to say. If Ryan hadn’t made such a big thing of my wanting some independence, Luke would never have found the guts, strength—call it what you will—to make that ultimatum. But Jo, it was Luke who made me choose between staying at Tidewater, and vegetating, or making a life for myself. Ryan might have fashioned the bullets, my dear, but Luke fired them.’
‘Yes, but——’
‘Hear me out, Jo. I want you to know I haven’t regretted what I did. Not really. Oh, I miss the boys, of course, but it’s not as if they were babies when I left. And I’ve had a good life here. Running the gallery, becoming Ray’s partner. He and I have more in common than Luke and I ever did. Luke was different. He was exciting. And I don’t deny that Ray and I—well, we don’t have the same kind of relationship. Ours is more—intellectual, if you know what I mean. But I’m not bitter. I have everything I need. I can afford to feel pity.’
‘Well, I can’t.’
Joanna pressed her lips together, and Grace breathed deeply. ‘No,’ she conceded, after a moment. ‘No, I see that. I suppose I’d forgotten how much you love Cole——’
‘Loved!’ Joanna amended harshly. ‘You’d forgotten how much I loved Cole. Not any more. That love died when they killed Nathan. Or did you forget about him, too?’
There was silence for a while, and when Grace spoke again there was regret in her voice. ‘No,’ she said softly. ‘No, of course I haven’t forgotten Nathan. I’m sorry, Jo. Naturally you must do what you think best.’
Conversely, Joanna felt guilty now. Oh, not about Ryan Macallister, she consoled herself, but perhaps she had been hard on Grace.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, forcing her mind on to other things. ‘Um—how are the arrangements for the exhibition going? Do you think it’s going to attract enough interest?’
‘Are you kidding?’ Grace responded eagerly, evidently as anxious as Joanna to turn their conversation on to a business footing. ‘I’ve already had acceptances to the opening from all the most important critics, and even Howard Jennings has agreed to make an appearance.’
‘Oh, good.’
Joanna tried to summon some enthusiasm for the news that the editor and presenter of a monthly television arts programme was apparently interested enough to attend, but somehow the importance of the exhibition had been blurred. In spite of all she had said, the image of Cole’s father, sick and dying of that most pernicious of diseases, would not go away, and she was inordinately grateful when Grace said she would have to go, and rang off.
But, if she had hoped that by severing the connection with Grace she could sever all thoughts of the Macallisters, she was mistaken. Memories of Cole, and his father, and Tidewater just kept on coming back, and it was with an angry sense of resentment that she snatched up the bag containing her book, sun-screen, and dark glasses, and left the room.
THE sun was soothing. It was hard to think of anything with its rays beating against her closed eyelids, and bringing a film of perspiration to her supine body. It was hot beside the pool, hotter than on the beach, where there was at least a breeze off the water to temper the humidity. But Joanna welcomed the numbing effects of the heat, and the mindless lethargy it engendered.
Her hands uncurled against the cream towel she had spread over the slatted sun-bed, and she arched one leg in an unknowingly provocative pose. Oh, yes, she decided contentedly, this was definitely the life! She refused to think about anything, except what she was going to have for lunch.
She had chosen a chair in a secluded corner of the pool deck. It wasn’t that she was unsociable. It was just that she had no wish to appear in need of company. She knew perfectly well that a woman alone often attracted unwelcome attention from the opposite sex, and indulging in any kind of holiday flirtation was not what she had come here for. At home, she did accept an occasional invitation to dinner, or the theatre, but that was different. On the whole, her escorts knew that she was not interested in any serious commitment, and if any of them showed they would prefer a more intimate relationship they were quickly discarded. She liked men, but at a distance. She was polite, and friendly, but nothing more. She had been hurt badly once, and she had no intention of repeating the experience.
Consequently, she was not a little irritated when someone came to occupy the chair next to hers. Through half-closed lids, she glimpsed the cuffs of dark blue swimming-shorts, and brown, muscular legs that curved beneath the cuffs into tight masculine buttocks.
Damn, she thought, closing her eyes again, and pretending she was unaware of him. There were at least fifty other sun-beds set at different angles around the pool. And surely among them were other single women, who would be flattered to receive his attention. Why couldn’t he have chosen one of them? She wanted to relax, not spend her time fending off passes.
The seductive stroke of a cool finger along her arm brought her eyes open with a start. The light, sensitive touch was unwillingly sensual, but she was too angry to admit its effect. What cheek! she thought furiously, pushing herself up. Was it too much to expect that she should be left alone?
Jerking down her sunglasses, which she had been wearing as a kind of surrogate head-band, she turned her incensed gaze on the man beside her. And then her jaw sagged disbelievingly. It wasn’t some pool-side Romeo who was resting on the chair beside hers. It was Cole!
‘Hi,’ he said non-committally. ‘I’m pleased to see you don’t encourage boarders.’
Joanna’s anger floundered. ‘What are you doing here, Cole?’ she exclaimed. ‘I thought you’d be on the next flight back to South Carolina.’
‘Hmm. I guess you did.’ Cole stretched his long legs comfortably, and laced his hands beneath his head. ‘Well, as you can see, I’m still here.’
‘I won’t change my mind, you know.’
Joanna’s response was half peevish, and she wished she hadn’t felt the need to defend herself, when Cole merely shifted to a more restful position.
‘I haven’t asked you to, have I?’ he countered, looking up at her through the sun-bleached tips of his lashes. ‘Relax, Jo. It’s much too hot to fuel all that adrenalin.’
Joanna pressed her lips together mutinously, trying to regain her composure. Now that she was assured that no one was trying to proposition her, she ought to be able to rekindle her sense of well-being.
But, of course, she couldn’t. Although she determinedly lay down again, the feeling of tranquillity had left her. She felt on edge, and agitated, and far too aware of the man on the sun-bed beside her.
His arm was only inches from hers, she observed covertly, tautly muscled, and displaying the tiny tattoo of a venomous bushmaster, which he had had etched when he was just a boy, and for which, he had told her, his father had soundly beaten him. The muscle flexed, as she watched it, tightening and hardening, before relaxing once again. The skin that covered the rest of his arm was brown and smooth and flawless, almost hairless, and lightly