And she never saw Heath again.
Chapter 6
Ann sat up suddenly as a loud knock at her door pierced her reverie and brought her back to the present. She glanced at the clock on the inn’s bedside table.
She had been sitting in the armchair, lost in the past, for more than two hours.
She shook out her left leg as she walked to the door; it was stinging with pins and needles, numb from remaining in the same position for so long. She pulled the door open and saw a room service attendant standing in the corridor next to a rolling cart set lavishly with an elaborate dinner.
“For Miss Talbot,” the waiter said, glancing at the number on the door when her expression revealed her surprise.
“I didn’t order this,” Ann said.
He picked up the slip stuck under an ivory china bud vase containing a single rose. “It’s complimentary, from a Miss Amy Horton. The order was placed at one-thirty this afternoon.”
Ann smiled. Amy was determined to get her to eat, one way or another.
“All right, you can bring it in,” Ann said, tightening the belt on her robe and pushing back her hair. She stepped aside as he wheeled the cart into her room and then she fished in her purse for a tip. When he had left her alone, she lifted the shiny silver covers from the dishes and discovered that Amy had ordered enough food for an army—soup and salad, main dish and vegetables, dessert and coffee, not to mention rolls and butter and various garnishes. It was a feast.
Ann sighed. Dear Amy. She just couldn’t seem to understand that availability of food was not the problem; it was complete lack of appetite.
But after this gesture, Ann felt she had to try.
She dutifully sat down in front of the cart and picked up a roll, beginning to eat.
* * * *
Heath Bodine put down the computer printout he was trying to read and sat back in his chair. He looked around the office of Bimini’s Big Palm marina, aware that he would not get any work done today. This pit stop had been a waste of time.
The phone at his elbow rang and the secretary in the outer office picked it up. He watched the red light blink and then switch off without interest.
Since he’d left Harold Caldwell’s office he’d been unable to think of anything but his meeting with Ann and the proposal he had made to her. And then when he’d checked in with his Miami branch and heard that she’d left him a message there, he’d known that he had won.
She was going to do what he wanted.
It was curious how little satisfaction that piece of knowledge gave him.
After waiting eleven years to take revenge for Ann’s betrayal, he’d thought that the success of his well-planned scheme would taste a little sweeter.
Perhaps the lack of savor resulted from Ann’s defeated air, the obvious fragility of the woman who’d confronted him in the lawyer’s office. She had always seemed delicate—it was part of what had first attracted him to her—but now she looked haunted, ethereal, unhappy. He supposed that it was only to be expected, with her family’s company on the ropes and her brother in jail. But he had still anticipated some vestige of the old, feisty Ann, always ready to take on her father, the town, the entire universe, anyone who might separate her from her down-scale lover across the tracks.
But of course, that image wasn’t the real Ann, or she would never have left him pacing the Big Palm bus station for twelve hours, watching the sunrise and the day begin, looking for her every time the door opened. He remembered the commuters with their paper cups of steaming coffee, the mothers dragging unwilling toddlers toward family visits, the single travelers passing him with closed faces. He’d been unable to acknowledge that she wasn’t coming until he’d finally fallen asleep and woken to the gathering dusk to find himself still alone.
Then he’d sped back to Lime Island on his bike, the tears streaming down his face, to find Ann’s house closed and dark, a padlock on the garage. He’d torn out of the driveway and gone straight to Luisa Sanchez’ house in Hispaniola. Her face expressionless, she’d told him that Ann had transferred to a new boarding school in Massachusetts and her parents had gone to their vacation home in Maine for several weeks. She didn’t know anything more.
Amy Horton was no help; whatever had caused Ann to change her plans, she hadn’t told Amy about it before she’d left.
End of story.
He had joined the navy the next day.
Heath rubbed the bridge of his nose, thinking about that break with Ann, the way it had formed the rest of his life. With his background, it had been difficult for him to trust anyone, but she had somehow slipped inside the barriers his nineteen-year-old self had erected against the world and won his heart.
Then, when Daddy Talbot crooked his imperious finger, she had tossed that heart away as if it were garbage.
What had happened? Had she thought about what it would be like to live without the cushion of the Talbot money and developed cold feet? Probably. Romantic daydreams were one thing but reality was quite another.
And then, of course, there was the payoff. He couldn’t let himself forget about that.
Knuckles rapped on the door of the office. Joe Jensen pulled the door open and stuck his head inside the gap he’d created.
“Heath, we have to talk about the Sea Ray inventory. I’ve got several used twenty-footers that need a markdown, will you come and take a look?” Jensen said.
“Be right there,” Heath replied. He stood abruptly, thinking ahead to his dinner the next night with Ann.
He would marry her, and make her pay for everything.
* * * *
Ann changed three times for her meeting with Heath, not even sure why she was doing it. Some vestige of their earlier relationship made her want to look nice for him, even though she knew that the subject on his mind would hardly be romance. Everything she owned was now too big for her, but she settled on a blue silk shirtwaist that fit reasonably well, wearing it with high-heeled pumps and her mother’s pearls. She brushed out her hair, checked her lipstick for the last time, and finally left her room, her hands blocks of ice from nervousness as she descended in the elevator.
Heath was already seated in the inn’s dining room, a glass of Scotch on the table in front of him. He rose as she approached him and held out a chair for her, his face unsmiling. She sat and looked at him across the table, which was covered with a white linen cloth and illuminated by a candle set in a small hurricane lamp.
“Have you been waiting for me a long time?” she asked.
“For eleven years,” he said.
She looked at him.
“Just a few minutes,” he amended. “Would you like something to drink?”
Ann shook her head. He was wearing a raw silk blazer, obviously expensive, that fit him like a glove, with an ivory shirt, striped tie and brown slacks. He looked every inch the successful businessman, a far cry from the impoverished teenager she had known. But she saw that boy in the features that had not changed—the high cheekbones, the seal-black hair, the almond-shaped amber eyes. Oh, Heath, she thought, feeling the fullness of tears in her throat. She blinked and looked away.
Heath folded his hands on the table and said, “I think you should know there have been a few developments in your brother’s case. I assumed that you wanted to see me in order to agree to my plan, so I took some preliminary steps. First thing this morning I contacted Trevor Hankins in New York, and he called the judge who refused to free Tim on bail. Hankins has arranged for a new bail hearing on Thursday and will be flying in to represent Tim at the proceeding. Hankins feels confident that he can spring Tim within twenty-four hours, and I will put up a cash bond for whatever amount the judge demands.”
It took several seconds for Ann to absorb the information. “You’re very efficient,” she finally said quietly.
“Money talks,” he replied shortly. “I’ve also contacted the board of directors at ScriptSoft to see if I can make a loan to the company in exchange for their dropping the mismanagement suit against your brother. I’ll buy up the existing stock if I have to, bring in a reorganization team, whatever is necessary. I’m confident something can be arranged.”