Marta Perry - Land's End

Sarah glanced out toward the pool, remembering how it had looked a year ago at Adriana’s party. Twinkling white lights had festooned the trees. Everywhere there had been flowers, music, laughter, the clink of china. All of island society had been there. The heavy scent of magnolias in an isolated corner of the garden filled her mind.

No. She wasn’t going to remember.

Jonathan came back, handing her the key. “Come up to breakfast anytime you like.” His black eyes warmed with sympathy. “Honey, you look plain exhausted. Tomorrow we’ll talk about your problem with Trent. Okay?”

Sarah nodded, her throat tightening at his kindness. “I’ll do that. Jonathan, I can’t thank you enough…”

“Don’t.” Something she couldn’t read moved in his eyes. “I’m not sure we’re doing you a favor.” He kissed her cheek lightly. “Good night.”

Jonathan’s advice was good, but Sarah wasn’t sure how to follow it. Once ready for bed, she couldn’t settle. She turned down the peach spread on the king-size bed, fluffed the pillows, switched on the bedside lamp. Still she felt restless, uneasy, physically and emotionally exhausted but unable to rest.

Finally she wandered into the kitchen, switching on the light. The tea canister was stocked with herbals, so she filled a mug and popped it in the microwave.

A dose of chamomile tea, to be taken at bedtime. Her grandmother used to recite the line from Peter Rabbit whenever Sarah, visiting her at the big house on Beacon Hill, struggled to get to sleep.

Something rattled over the soft hum of the microwave. Sarah paused, spoon in hand. What was it? Something inside the cottage, or out? She listened.

Somewhere an owl called. Beyond the owl she could just make out the muffled murmur of the surf. The main house was between her and the ocean, but that must be what she’d heard.

When she and Miles first arrived on St. James, she’d wake up sometimes, tense, listening, and then realize that it was the quiet that had wakened her.

The water boiled. Sarah added the tea bag and a little sugar. When she lifted the mug to her lips, the aroma of the chamomile teased her nose, reminding her of home. Reminding her how far away, how alien, this place was.

Nonsense. Only tiredness made her think that. In the morning, her prospects would look better. She’d have to reassess her plans. She’d hoped that Trent would be, if not happy to see her, at least cooperative.

He must have had some reason for accepting so readily the idea that Lynette and Miles were lovers. Had there been something Lynette said or did that convinced him she was having an affair? If so, he clearly didn’t intend to tell her.

On to Plan B. She’d talk to Adriana to get the local gossip.

Then there was Trent’s half brother. Derek had always been kind, and always less afraid, less in awe, of Trent than everyone else. The difficult part might be getting to him without letting Trent know it, but she’d manage.

And she had to see the police reports. Her parents were right; she’d run away too quickly. She hadn’t the faintest idea how thorough the investigation had been. Surely there were other people she could talk to, other avenues she could explore.

Sarah put the mug down, realizing she’d been standing there, staring blankly at the black rectangle of the window. Thinking about what she had to do wasn’t making her more relaxed, it was making her tenser.

The sound again. Sarah froze. That hadn’t been the distant rumble of the surf. That gentle rattle…she knew what it was. Something, perhaps an unwary step, had rattled the crushed shell that surrounded the guest house. The hairs lifted along her arms as if a chill wind had blown into the room.

Animal? Human? No one should be outside the guesthouse with the elaborate security Jonathan had installed. It must be an animal. She was letting stress fuel her imagination.

She switched off the light, ears straining. Nothing. Darkness pressed against the window glass, seeming as palpable as a hand, but there was nothing else. She was being ridiculous.

A footstep. Just outside the window a step fell on the tabby walk. Something, maybe a hand, maybe a sleeve, brushed the wall inches away from her.

Stifling a gasp, Sarah slipped away from the window. No one should be out there. If Jonathan had returned, he’d knock on the door. She moved, step by careful step, out of the kitchen, trying to think where the telephone was. Maybe she was overreacting, but she’d rather be safe than sorry.

Her pulse jolted. She hadn’t noticed whether Jonathan had locked the door when he’d left.

Please, Lord. I’m probably being ridiculous, but be with me.

Heart thudding in time with the prayer, she started across the darkened living room. Maybe there was no reason to fear, but she’d still make sure the door was locked before whoever was outside could reach it. She strained for the faintest sound that would tell her where that person was.

Shadows distorted the furniture. There’d been a glass-topped coffee table, hadn’t there, somewhere between the kitchen and the entrance?

Her shin cracked against the table, and her breath caught at the pain. All right. A few feet more to the door. Arms outreached, she touched a panel just as she heard the telltale crunch of shells outside. Her fingertips brushed a dangling chain. She caught it, snapped it into place.

She stood for a moment, hand on the door, listening. Nothing. The pounding of her heart slowed. She was locked in. Now find the phone, call the main house.

Back across the living room, bumping into the table once more. The phone must be in the master bedroom. Why didn’t she remember?

She paused in the door to the bedroom. Naturally she’d left the light on here, and the drapes were open. The lamp was on the bedside table.

And there sat the telephone, also on the bedside table. She had no choice but to cross the room, in full view of anyone standing outside, to reach the phone.

Quickly, before she could think too much, she raced to the table, snapped off the light and sank to the floor in blessed darkness, pulling the telephone down with her. The lighted receiver listed the house code. She punched the button.

“Hello? Sarah?” Thank goodness Jonathan picked up.

Now that she heard his voice, she felt foolish.

“I heard someone outside the guesthouse just now. Should there be someone in the grounds?”

“Sugar, I should have told you a security patrol checks the grounds during the night.” His voice was warmly reassuring. “We’re pretty safe here on the island, but you never know. It must have been one of the guards, but let me check. I’ll call you right back.”

Phone in her lap, Sarah sat against the bed, shivering a little. She’d have to turn the air conditioning down, but she didn’t intend to move from this spot until Jonathan called back.

She lifted the receiver almost before it stopped ringing, feeling as if she already knew what she’d hear.

“I should have told you.” Jonathan sounded rueful. “The security guard made his rounds by the guesthouse just about the time you called. Said he saw the lights go off, but didn’t think anything about it. He didn’t spot another soul anywhere.”

“I feel like an idiot. I’m so sorry I disturbed you.”

“Not at all. You try and get a good night’s sleep, okay?”

That seemed highly unlikely, but she agreed.

Once he’d hung up, Sarah crossed to the window and pulled the drapes closed with a violent jerk on the cord. She felt irritated, embarrassed and more than a little foolish. It would be amazing if she got to sleep before dawn.

Sarah struggled to get her eyes open, aware of sunlight beyond the cream drapes. She fumbled for the bedside clock. Nearly nine, and she’d planned to get an early start today. At least she’d slept, and last night’s alarm was a half-forgotten dream.

Once she’d showered and dressed, Sarah looked up the telephone number for the Donner house in her small personal directory. She sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, staring at the phone. If she called, how likely was it that Trent would answer?

If anyone else answered, she could simply ask for Derek, without giving her name. She punched in the number quickly, before she could change her mind.

“Donner.”

Sarah stopped breathing. Okay, she definitely didn’t want to talk to Trent this morning.

“Is anyone there?” The words snapped, tinged with irritation.

Carefully, holding her breath as if he might identify her by the slightest exhalation, Sarah hung up.

Well, that little exercise showed that she was in no better shape to deal with Trent than she had been yesterday. She’d try again later. It must be possible to get through to Derek without Trent knowing about it. The man was powerful, not omniscient.

She walked to the main house through air so wet it felt like a sauna. May on the island was like August in Boston.

French doors fronted on the patio, and Jonathan sat with coffee and a newspaper in a sunny breakfast room beyond them. He sprang to his feet when she opened the door.

“Good morning.” He laid aside the paper and pulled out a chair. “Sit down and have some breakfast with me.”

She slid into a chair. A smiling maid appeared, setting a wedge of melon in front of her and pouring coffee.

“You look better today.” Jonathan sounded as satisfied as if he were personally responsible.

“I’m sorry about calling you last night. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

Jonathan waved her concern away. “Not at all. You did the right thing.” He held up a section of newspaper. “Do you like to hide behind the paper at breakfast, or would you rather talk?”

“Actually, I’d like to talk.” He had been frustratingly circumspect the previous night. Maybe if he understood what she was after, he’d feel differently. “About why I’m here.”

He put the paper down on the glass tabletop, folding it neatly, not looking at her. “Forgive me for saying so, but this seems like the last place in the world you’d want to be.”

“In some ways, it is.” Sarah frowned down at the scrambled eggs that had appeared in front of her. “A year ago, I never expected to come back.”

“Anyone would feel that way.”

“So you can’t help wondering why I’m here.” She couldn’t quite manage a smile.

“Only if you want to tell me.”

She didn’t, but she had to if she were to get his help. “I finally realized I couldn’t accept what happened and move on. The truth is, I don’t believe it.” Sarah dropped the spoon to the saucer, its tiny clatter accenting her words. “I don’t believe my husband was having an affair with Lynette Donner.”

“Maybe it’s easier for you to feel that.” Jonathan’s voice was very gentle. “You loved him.”

“You’re very sweet and tactful, Jonathan.” But she’d rather have honesty than tact. “It isn’t that I think our marriage was so perfect, Miles couldn’t fall for someone else.”

“Then what?” He didn’t look at her, and she sensed his discomfort.

“Miles. The kind of person Miles was. Honest, honorable. All those boring, typically New England virtues.”

Puritan, Trent had said. There was nothing wrong with that.

“Even the most honorable man might succumb to attraction.”

“Miles wouldn’t betray his marriage vows. And he wouldn’t betray his friendship and respect for Trent.”

“Anyone can make a mistake.”

Her lips tightened. “You sound like Trent. He thinks anyone capable of betrayal. I don’t.”