Indiscretions - Elizabeth Adler [107]
Raymunda paced the floor, elegant in high heels and a white linen suit.
“Of course,” she said, ignoring his remark, “you needn’t worry about me, not that you would have anyway. Salty Majors has been kind enough to say he’ll fly back with me to New York—he has a race at Newport on Saturday and I shall be going with him.”
She flung the statement at him as a challenge and Fitz smiled—she was still playing her games.
“That’s very kind of Salty. Obviously I shall worry about you, Raymunda. I don’t want you to be unhappy. And I never wanted to hurt you … it just didn’t work out, that’s all.”
Raymunda knew he was right. She’d played her final card—and lost.
Fitz took her arm and escorted her onto the deck. The launch was waiting, piled with her baggage, and a young sailor, smart in white shirt and shorts and peaked cap, stood at the wheel. Raymunda hesitated, turning her face to Fitz.
“Couldn’t we try again,” she whispered, “one more time?”
Fitz kissed her gently on each cheek.
“It’s over, baby,” he said, stepping back. “Let’s part friends, Raymunda?”
Raymunda shrugged.
“Friends!” she said, stepping into the launch. “We were never friends.”
She was probably right, thought Fitz, watching the launch speed toward the harbor.
Venetia had spent the morning with Masters in Bridgetown being shown the local shops and exploring the markets, admiring baskets of green- and peach-colored exotic fruits, and dazzling vermilion chili peppers, and the silvery displays of strange fish, fresh from the local waters. She’d encountered friendly, beaming faces at all their stops and had managed to thrust her personal dilemma temporarily to the back of her mind. She was here to do a job, and she wasn’t going to let Morgan down—at least not in that way.
The launch from the Fiesta was just tying up as Masters and Venetia arrived at the harbor laden with their purchases. Raymunda stepped out, pausing to throw instructions over her shoulder to the young crewman who was busily unloading her bags. As she stalked toward the car her icy glance swept them just once, and then, with a tilt of her chin, she strode on.
They stared after her in surprise.
“Never did think she was a lady,” commented Masters. “It looks as though we’re well rid of her.”
Rid of her? Venetia followed him to the launch. Raymunda’s baggage was piled on the harborside and she watched as it was carried across to the car where Raymunda sat, staring straight in front of her. He’d done it, then! Fitz had done it! He’d finished with Raymunda—sent her away. Because of her. She climbed into the launch with shaking knees. He’d be waiting for her now—oh, life was wonderful after all!
Masters piloted the launch back to the Fiesta, helped Venetia unload her parcels, and sent the boat back to wait for the other crewman.
In her trim galley Venetia packed away her supplies. The previous chef had left a sheaf of notes and she had planned to read them and to begin to familiarize herself with the equipment, but she was too hot and excited. She would take another shower, put on fresh clothes, and make herself look pretty for Fitz.
Fitz couldn’t concentrate. He’d run his eye over the same paragraph three times and he still didn’t know what it was about. Angrily, he tossed the book aside. Why didn’t he admit to himself that he was waiting to see her, hanging around like some schoolboy with a crush, just to see her smile at him? He was crazy—he’d better do something about it now before it was too late and he became even crazier. Picking up the ship-to-shore phone he placed a call to Pete’s Island Sport Fishing. He’d go off for a couple of days with his old friend Pete, go after some martin or barracuda—that’d keep him busy and out of mischief. Morgan would be with her next week and life would get back to normal.
Fitz had been gone three days, three whole days, and Venetia felt that each one was a loss. She tried to rationalize the shock when she’d discovered he had gone without even seeing her, but ultimately it always came back to the same thing. Perhaps Fitz was upset