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‘All right.’
With an indifferent shrug he came up beside her, and she smelt the clean male odour of his body, still damp and faintly musky. His nearness disturbed her, not least because he was barely half dressed, his shirt hanging open, his jeans low on his hips, and she could remember how he had looked in the water. He was certainly attractive, she thought, unwillingly wondering who he was. He didn’t look like the guests at the hotel, who on the whole had that look of comfortable affluence, and to be riding a motorcycle in a country where everyone drove cars … She frowned, feeling an unfamiliar tightness in her stomach, and to combat this awareness she said:
‘Goodbye, then.’
He nodded, pushing the ends of his shirt into the belt of his pants, and she waited apprehensively for him to finish. But when he did, he didn’t immediately move away from her. Instead he looked down at her, at the nervous twitching of her lips and lower to the unknowingly provocative rise and fall of her breasts.
‘Goodbye,’ he said, and before she could prevent him, he slipped one hand around her nape and bent his mouth to hers.
Her hand came out instinctively, but encountering the taut muscles of his stomach was quickly withdrawn. She made a protesting sound deep in her throat, but he ignored it, increasing the pressure and forcing her lips apart. She felt almost giddy as her senses swam beneath his experienced caress, and then to her horror she found herself responding.
‘No!’
With a cry of dismay she tore herself away from him, turning aside and scrubbing her lips with the back of her hand. She felt cheap and degraded, and appalled that just for a moment she had wanted him to go on.
‘See you,’ he remarked, behind her, but she didn’t turn, and presently she heard his footsteps crunching up the slope to where he said he had left his motorbike.
She waited until she heard the sound of a powerful engine before venturing to look round, and then expelled her breath on a shaky sigh as she saw she was alone. He had gone, the receding roar of the motorcycle’s engine indicating that he had taken the route around the lake.
Feeling slightly unsteady, Julie flopped down on to a smooth rock nearby, stretching her bare legs out to the sun. Not surprisingly, she no longer felt like going for a swim, and she wondered if she would ever come here again without remembering what had happened.
Shading her eyes, she tried to calm herself by surveying the outline of an island some distance away across the water. Everything was just the same, she told herself severely. Just because a strange man had erupted into her life and briefly disorganised it, it did not mean that she need feel any sense of guilt because of it. He had taken advantage of the situation—he was that kind of man. He was probably camping in the woods with a crowd of similarly-minded youths, all with motorcycles, and egos the size of their helmets.
With a sigh she got to her feet, picked up her towel, and scrambled back up the slope. She would swim later, she decided. Maybe she would persuade Pam’s twelve-year-old son to join her. At least that way she could be reasonably sure of not being bothered.
The hotel was set on a ridge overlooking the sweep of the bay. It was a collection of log cabins, each with its own bedroom and bathroom, private suites, with meals taken in the main building close by. Backing on to the forest, with a variety of wildlife on its doorstep, it was a popular haunt for summer visitors, who moored their craft in the small marina below and climbed the stone steps to the front of the hotel. The only other approach was through the forest, but the trails were not easily defined unless one knew the way, and only occasionally did they attract visitors this way.
Pam Galloway’s mother had been a friend of Mrs Osbourne, Julie’s mother, and the two girls had known one another since they were children. But Pam was eight years older than Julie, and in 1969, when Julie was only ten years old, she had married a Canadian she had met on holiday in Germany, and come to live in this most beautiful part of Ontario.
Julie had missed her, but they had maintained a warm if infrequent correspondence, and when tragedy struck three months ago Pam had been first to offer her a chance to get away for a while. Canada in early summer was an enchanting place, and its distance had seemed remote from all the horrors of those weeks after her father’s death. Her friends in England, her real friends, that was, had urged her to go, and with Adam’s willing, if melancholy, approval, she had accepted. That had been almost a month ago now, and she knew that soon she would have to think about going back. But she didn’t want to. Somehow, living here had widened her perspective, and she could no longer delude herself that everything her father had done had been for her. Returning to England would mean returning to the emptiness she had discovered her life to be, and not even Adam could make up for all those years she had lived in ignorance. She had thought her mother’s death when she was twelve had unhinged him. Now she knew that only Adam’s money had kept the firm together, and her father’s whole existence had been a sham.
Pam and her husband, David, had their apartments in the main building. It was easier that way. It meant they were available at all hours of the day and night, and an intercommunication system connected all the cabins to the small exchange behind the desk. The reception area was already a hive of activity when Julie came in, and Pam herself hailed her from the doorway leading to the spacious dining room.
‘Hi,’ she exclaimed. It was the usual mode of greeting on this side of the Atlantic, and Julie was getting used to using it herself.
‘Hi,’ she responded, swinging her towel in her hand. ‘Is that coffee I can smell brewing?’
‘It sure is.’ Pam wrinkled her brow as the younger girl approached her. ‘You’re back early. No swim?’
‘No swim,’ agreed Julie, not really wanting to go into details, but Pam was too inquisitive to let that go.
‘Why?’ she asked. ‘You’re not feeling sick or anything, are you? ‘Cos if you are, I’ll phone Doc Brewster right away.’
‘No, I’m not sick.’ Julie forced a smile. ‘As a matter of fact, the lake was already occupied, and as I didn’t feel like company …’ Her voice trailed away, and passing Pam’s more generous proportions with a sideways step, she walked across the restaurant to take her usual table by the window.
The dining room was empty, but the waitresses were already about, and one of them, Penny, came to ask what she would like.
‘Just toast and coffee,’ Julie assured her firmly, aware of Pam’s enquiring face in the background, and the girl knew better than to offer the steak or eggs or maple syrup pancakes that so many of their visitors seemed to enjoy.
‘Well?’ Pam prompted, coming to stand with plump arms folded, looking down at her young friend. She had put on weight since her marriage to David, and having sampled the meals served at the Kawana Point Hotel, Julie wasn’t really surprised. Steaks tended to weigh at least half a pound, with matching helpings of baked potatoes or french fries to go with them, while the desserts of cream-filled pastries or mouthwatering American cheesecake simply added inches just looking at them. Julie felt sure she, too, would burst at the seams if she enjoyed their hospitality for much longer, although her own level of metabolism seemed to dispute this anxiety.
‘Well, what?’ she said now, hoping Pam was not going to be difficult, but the other girl seemed determined to discover the facts.
‘Who was occupying the lake? No one from the hotel, I’m sure. I didn’t know anyone else knew of that cove.’
‘Nor did I,’ replied Julie, playing with the cutlery. ‘But obviously we were wrong.’
‘So who was it?’ Pam persisted. ‘Not campers? There’s barely room to pitch a tent.’
‘No, not campers,’ Julie assured her resignedly. ‘It was just some man, a tourist, I suppose. He said he was staying down the far end of the bend in the lake near the cove.’
‘You spoke to him?’ Pam was interested, taking the seat opposite her and gazing at her with twinkling eyes. ‘Hey, how about that? All these weeks you’ve rebuffed every introduction we’ve arranged for you, and now you go and meet some guy down at the lake!’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ declared Julie wearily, wishing she had played invalid after all. ‘He was just—swimming, and—well, he spoke to me. It was all perfectly innocent and certainly nothing for you to get so excited about.’
Or was it? Julie couldn’t prevent the unwilling surge of some emotion along her veins, and the remembrance of how he had held her and kissed her brought goose-bumps out all over her body. Hoping Pam would attribute them to the chilly air-conditioning of the dining room and not to any other cause, she folded her arms on the table and surreptitiously looped her fingers over the most obvious flesh on her upper arms.
‘So who is he?’ Pam urged her, arching her blonde brows. ‘Did he give you his name?’ She frowned. ‘I don’t know who he might be staying with. The Leytons and the Peruccis have summer places along there, but they don’t normally associate with the common crowd.’
‘Pam, it was no one like that.’ Julie shook her head. ‘He was riding a motorbike, or’—she added blushing—’he said he was. He just wasn’t the type you think.’
‘Ah, older, you mean?’
‘No. Younger.’ Julie looked up in relief as Penny brought her toast and coffee. ‘Mmmm, this is just what I needed. It’s quite chilly in here, isn’t it?’
Pam waited until Penny had departed and then looked at her impatiently. ‘So what was his name? Did you get it?’
Julie sighed. ‘Prescott,’ she said reluctantly. ‘Dan Prescott.’
‘No!’
Pam was regarding her in disbelief now, and Julie wished she would go away and stop making a fuss about nothing. It was bad enough having her morning disrupted, without Pam sitting there looking as if she had just delivered her a body blow.
‘Pam, look, I know you mean well, but I am going to marry Adam, you know. It’s all arranged. Just as soon as I feel able—’
‘Julie, did he really say his name was Dan Prescott?’ Pam interrupted her, leaning across the table, her hand on the younger girl’s wrist preventing her from putting the wedge of toast she had just buttered into her mouth.
Julie pulled her hand free and nodded. ‘That’s what he said.’
Pam shook her head. ‘My God!’
Julie regarded her half irritably now. ‘What’s wrong with that?’ she demanded, popping the wedge of toast into her mouth, and wiping her fingers on her napkin. ‘It’s a common enough name, isn’t it? I mean, he’s not an escaped convict or anything, is he?’ Her features sobered somewhat at the thought.
‘No, no.’ Pam shook her head vigorously now, half getting up from her chair and then flopping down again as she realised Julie deserved some explanation. ‘Julie, Dan Prescott is Anthea Leyton’s nephew!’ She made an excited little movement of her hands. ‘Anthea Leyton was a Prescott before she got married, and the New York Prescotts are the Scott National Bank!’
Julie put down her knife and lay back in her seat. ‘So what?’
‘So what?’ Pam licked her lips. ‘Julie, don’t you realise, you’ve been talking to Lionel Prescott’s son!’
In spite of herself, Julie’s nerves prickled at the thought. The names meant nothing to her, but banking did, and judging by Pam’s awed expression the Prescotts were no ordinary banking house. New York bankers tended to be immensely rich, and she had no doubt that it was this which had stunned her friend.
Forcing herself to act naturally, she poured another cup of coffee, and taking the cup between her cold fingers she said: ‘I rather fancy you might be wrong, Pam. He—er—he said his mother was English, not American.’
‘No, she’s not!’ Pam was really excited now. ‘Heavens, that confirms it, doesn’t it? Sheila Prescott is English. I think she was only a debutante when they met. You know how these stories get around.’
Julie took a deep breath. ‘Well—’ She tried to appear nonchalant. ‘I’ve provided a little bit of gossip to brighten up your day.’
‘Julie!’ Pam looked at her reprovingly. ‘Don’t say you’re not impressed, because I won’t believe it. I mean—imagine meeting Dan Prescott! What was he doing here? What did he say?’
Julie put down her cup as David Galloway came into the dining room looking for his wife. He grinned when he saw them sitting together by the window, but before he could say anything Pam launched into an extravagant description of how Julie had made friends with Anthea Leyton’s nephew.
‘That’s not true,’ Julie felt bound to contradict her, looking apologetically at David. ‘As a matter of fact, I was rather rude to him. I—er—I told him this was private land.’
‘Good for you!’ David was not half as awed as his wife, and she adopted an aggrieved air.
‘You know how Margie Laurence always talks about the Leytons going into her store,’ she protested, getting up from the table. ‘Well, I’m looking forward to seeing her face when I tell her about Julie.’
‘Oh, no, Pam, you can’t!’ Julie was horrified, imagining Dan Prescott’s reaction if the story ever got to his ears. Pam had no idea what she was dealing with, but she did, and her face burned at the thought of being gossiped about in the local chandlery. ‘Please—forget I ever told you!’
‘You’ve got to do it, Pam,’ David asserted, shaking his head. ‘Besides, if what Julie says is true, the least said about this the better.’ He grimaced. ‘Just remember, we lease this land from the Leytons, and I’d hate to do anything that might offend them.’
Pam looked sulky. ‘You mean I can’t tell anyone?’
‘What’s to tell?’ exclaimed Julie helplessly. ‘Pam, I’m sorry, but I wish I’d never told you.’
Pam hunched her shoulders. ‘But Dan Prescott, Julie! Imagine it! Imagine dating Dan Prescott!’
Julie gazed at her incredulously. ‘There was never any question of that, Pam. Besides, have you forgotten Adam?’
‘Adam? Oh, Adam!’ Pam dismissed him with an impatient gesture. ‘Adam’s too old for you, Julie, and if you were honest with yourself, you’d admit it.’
‘Pam!’
David was horrified at his wife’s lack of discretion, and even Julie was a little embarrassed at the bluntness of her tone. It seemed that meeting with Dan Prescott had been fated from the start, and now she was left in the awkward position of having to accept the apologies David was insisting Pam should make.
‘All right,’ she was saying, when he nudged her to continue, ‘I know it’s not my business, but—well, I’m only thinking of you, Julie. Adam was your father’s partner, after all, and he’s at least old enough to take over that role. Are you sure that’s not what you were thinking of when you accepted his proposal?’
There was another pregnant pause, and then, to Julie’s relief, the Edens came into the restaurant, the children’s voices disrupting the silence with strident shrillness. It meant Pam had a reason to go and summon the waitresses, and David, left with Julie, squeezed her shoulder sympathetically.
‘She means well,’ he muttered gruffly, his homely face mirroring his confusion, but Julie only smiled.
‘I know,’ she said, grimacing as one of the Eden boys started doing a Red Indian war-dance around the tables. ‘Don’t worry, David. I’ve known Pam too long to take offence, and besides, I have disappointed her.’
‘Over the Prescott boy? Yes, I know.’ David shook his head. ‘Take my word, you’re well out of it, Julie. I wouldn’t like to think any daughter of mine was mixed up with him. I don’t know how true it is, but I hear he’s been quite a hell-raiser since he left college, and there’s been more scandal attached to the Prescott name …’
‘You don’t have to tell me all this, David,’ Julie said gently. ‘I’m not interested in Dan Prescott, and he’s not interested in me. We—we met, by accident—and that’s all.’
‘I’m glad.’
David patted her shoulder and then excused himself to attend to his other guests, leaving Julie to finish her breakfast in peace. But as with the swim earlier, her appetite had left her, and despite her assertion to the contrary, she could not help pondering why a man with all the lake to choose from should have swum in her special place, and at her special time.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_8de83684-f82c-57fd-ba12-4ef2dc676952)
JULIE’S CABIN was just the same as all the other cabins, except that in the month she had been there she had added a few touches of her own. There was the string of Indian beads she had draped over the lampshade, so that when the lamp was on, the light picked out the vivid colours of the vegetable dye; the Eskimo doll who sat on the table by her bed, snug and warm in his sealskin coat and fur cap; and the motley assortment of paperweights and key-rings and ashtrays—chunky glass baubles, with scenes of Ontario imprisoned within their transparent exteriors.
The cabins were simply but comfortably furnished. The well-sprung divans had rough wood headboards, and the rest of the bedroom furniture was utilitarian. There was a closet, a chest of drawers with a mirror above, a table and chairs, and one easy chair. The bathroom was fitted with a shower unit above the bath, and there was always plenty of hot water. Julie had discovered that Canadians expected this facility and remembering the lukewarm baths she had taken in English hotels, she thought they could well learn something from them. Everything was spotlessly clean, both in the cabins and in the main building, and the staff were always ready and willing to accommodate her every need. She would miss their cheerful friendliness when she returned to England, she thought, still unable to contemplate that eventuality without emotion.
Changing for dinner that evening, Julie viewed the becoming tan she was acquiring with some pleasure. She had looked so pale and drained of all colour when she had arrived, but now her cheeks were filling out a little with all the rich food Pam was pressing on her, and she no longer had that waif-like appearance.
Regarding her reflection as she applied a dark mascara to her lashes, she decided Adam would see a definite change in her. She had grown accustomed to seeing a magnolia-pale face in the mirror, with sharply-defined features and honey-coloured hair. Now she had a different image, the thin features rounded out, the hair bleached by the sun and streaked with gold. She had not had it cut for months, and instead of her usual ear-length bob it had lengthened and thickened, and it presently swung about her shoulders, curling back from her face in a style that was distinctly becoming.
She had not troubled much about clothes either since she left England. Most of the time she wore shorts or jeans, adding an embroidered smock or tunic at night instead of the cotton vests she wore during the day. Adam, who had always complimented her on her dress sense at home, would be appalled if he could see her now, she thought ruefully, putting down the mascara brush and studying herself critically. He did not approve of the negligent morals of the younger generation, and in his opinion the casual attitude towards appearance was equally contemptible. Still, Julie consoled herself wryly, she had paid little heed to what she had thrown into her suitcases before she left London, and because what she had brought was unsuitable to her surroundings, she had bought the cheapest and most serviceable substitutes available.
Now she turned away from the mirror, and checked that she had her keys. They were in the pocket of her jeans, and she adjusted the cords that looped the bottom of her cheesecloth shirt before leaving the cabin.
It was a mild night, the air delightfully soft and redolent with the scents of the forest close by. She crossed the square to the main building with deliberate slowness, anticipating what she would have for dinner with real enthusiasm, and climbed the shallow stairs to the swing doors with growing confidence. These weeks had done wonders for her, she acknowledged, and she felt an immense debt of gratitude towards Pam and her husband.
The reception hall was brightly illuminated, even though it was not yet dark outside. Already there were sounds of activity from the dining room, and the small bar adjoining was doing a good trade. Julie acknowledged the greeting of the young receptionist, a biology student working his vacation, and then was almost laid flat by an energetic young body bursting out of the door that led to the Galloways’ private apartments. It was Brad Galloway, Pam’s twelve-year-old son, and already he was almost as broad as his father.
‘Hey …’
Julie protested, and Brad pulled an apologetic face. ‘I’m sorry,’ he gasped. ‘But there’s a terrific yacht coming into the marina! D’you want to come and see?’
‘I don’t think so, thank you.’ Julie’s refusal was dry. ‘And you won’t make it if you go headlong down the steps.’
‘I won’t.’ Brad exhibited the self-assurance that all Canadian children seemed to have and charged away towards the doors. ‘See you, Julie!’ he called and was gone, leaving Julie to exchange a rueful grimace with the young man behind the desk.
‘I know—kids!’ he grinned, not averse to flirting with an attractive girl, so far without any success. ‘Did he hurt you? Can I do anything for you?’
‘I don’t think so, thank you.’ Julie’s lips twitched. ‘I think a long cool drink is in order, and Pietro can supply me with that.’
Pietro, the bartender, was an Italian who had emigrated to Canada more than twenty years ago, yet he still retained his distinctive accent. He had been quite a Lothario in his time, but at fifty-three his talents were limited, and Julie enjoyed his amusing chatter. His wife, Rosa, worked in the kitchens, and their various offspring were often to be seen about the hotel.
‘So, little Julie,’ he said, as she squeezed on to a stool at the bar. ‘What have you been doing with yourself today?’
Julie smiled. ‘What do I usually do?’ she countered, hedging her shoulder against the press of George Fairley’s broad back. He and his wife were always in the bar at this hour, and invariably hogged the counter. ‘Yes, the same as ever,’ she nodded, as Pietro held up a bottle of Coke. ‘With plenty of ice, please.’
‘Wouldn’t you like me to put you something a little sharper in here?’ Pietro suggested, pulling a very expressive face. ‘A little rum perhaps, or—’
‘No, thanks.’ Julie shook her head, her smile a little tight now. ‘I—er—I’m not fond of alcohol. I don’t like what it can do to people.’ She gave a faint apologetic smile, circling the glass he pushed towards her with her fingers. ‘It’s been another lovely day, hasn’t it?’
Pietro shrugged, a typically continental gesture, and accepted her change of topic without comment. ‘A lovely day,’ he echoed. ‘A lovely day for a lovely girl,’ he added teasingly. ‘You know, Julie, if I were ten years younger …’
‘And not married,’ she murmured obediently, and he laughed. They had played this game before. But, as always, she saw the gleam of speculation in his eyes, and picking up her glass she made her exit, carrying it with her into the dining room.
She chose a shrimp cocktail to start with. These shellfish were enormous, huge juicy morsels served with a barbecue sauce that added a piquant flavour all its own. When Julie first came to Kawana Point, she had found herself satisfied after only one course, but now she could order a sirloin steak and salad without feeling unduly greedy.
She was dipping a luscious shrimp into the barbecue sauce when she looked up and saw two men crossing the reception hall towards the bar. Her table was situated by the window, but it was in line with double doors that opened into the hall, and she had an unobstructed view of anyone coming or going. The fact that she averted her eyes immediately did not prevent her identification of one of the men, and her hand trembled uncontrollably, causing the shrimp to drop completely into the strongly-flavoured sauce.
