A Little Corner Of Paradise

Who knew what straits the old couple would have been reduced to if Nick hadn’t found himself between assignments and decided to make one of his infrequent flying visits home? Perhaps if he’d visited more often he wouldn’t now be up to the neck in complications he’d never expected.

The solution to their difficulties had seemed simple enough at the time. Within hours of learning of their financial predicament, he’d flown from San Francisco to Vancouver and rented the Jeep, and the RV that was to be his home for the few days it would take him to straighten out the mess with the back taxes and generally check out the property that was the cause of so much distress and anxiety.

A day’s drive later, he’d seen for himself that years of neglect had reduced the place to a travesty of what it must once have been. It was glaringly obvious even to the most inexperienced eye. Everywhere he turned the evidence confronted him-—mildew, rot, decay—and with each new discovery his dismay increased, fueled by the information that the garage attendant had been so willing and eager to impart.

‘Them Heritage Society folks wield a big stick in these parts,’ the man had confided over his third beer. ‘Right powerful, they are. You need permission from them to paint your own front door once they decide that what you got is so damned old and ugly you can’t wait to set a match to it.’

‘Is that a fact?’ Nick had replied, deciding on the spot that, Heritage Society or no Heritage Society, he wasn’t about to be told what he could and couldn’t do with property that had been in his family for decades. ‘Well, if I decide to take a bulldozer to the place, it’ll be a fait accompli before anyone from the society has time to stop me.’

‘There’s some folks around town that might agree with you,’ the old coot had cackled, ‘but hell, sonny, the president of yon society ain’t one of ‘em, and she’s your next-door neighbor. The minute as she hears that bull-dozer engine start up, she’ll chain herself to the front wheel sooner than let you touch a single brick on the place.’

‘She’ll be escorted off the property with a flea in her ear if she tries.’

‘Not this here president, she won’t. Miz Slater’s plagued with the idea that if something’s old, it’s valuable. She’s been after the society for months now to turn the Tyler place into some sort of historical shrine. You check at the Town Hall if you don’t believe me. They got it in writing down there.’ He’d chewed on his tattered moustache for a while, before dunking it in his beer again, then added gloomily, “They got every sin a man ever committed written down at the Town Hall, and I oughta know. Darn near shut me down last year, they did, all because that old biddy Roberta Parrish complained I didn’t keep a clean enough washroom. As if that’s where I make my money! Might as well face it, sonny. In this town, you can’t fight the Town Hall, and it’s darn certain that you can’t fight yon Heritage Society—leastways, not while Miz Slater’s president you can’t.’

Disquieting news that, unfortunately, had proven all too accurate. When Nick had gone to pay the back taxes he’d checked, and found that designation of the lodge as a historic site was indeed pending. Any structural changes would require a specific permit approved by the Heritage Society. He would have to appear at their monthly meeting and make his application in person before he would be allowed to remove so much as a broken pane of glass. And his biggest obstacle, the busty blonde behind the desk at the Town Hall had informed him, would be convincing the president of the society.

He’d realized then that, unless he came up with drastic action, he could be delayed here indefinitely while his rights were argued back and forth. Stymied, Nick had thanked the blonde then marched out, determined to overcome every obstacle thrown in his path by whatever means presented itself. Which brought him to where he was now: slapping aftershave on his jaw and preparing to play Romeo to an unsuspecting Juliet.

Snorting with disgust, he left the steamy bathroom and resigned himself to carrying on with what he’d started the day he’d met his lovely next-door neighbor. It was a question of priorities—and the fact that his hormones were out of sync with his brain couldn’t be allowed to influence that. He wasn’t about to be sidelined in this godforsaken provincial backwater, reduced to learning second-hand what major developments were taking place overseas. That wasn’t what being an ace foreign correspondent was all about.

Checking the time, he folded a plaid blanket on top of the picnic hamper, weighted it down with a portable radio, and made sure the ice in the cooler hadn’t melted too fast. Earlier he’d selected a picnic site and prepared a fire pit All he needed now was for the moon to rise and the lady to show.

She arrived just as dusk faded into dark, slender and graceful and more than a little flushed, as if she’d raced to get there on time.

‘You look ready for a little R and R,’ he said, jumping right into Phase Three of Operation Tyler. ‘Tough week?’

‘A normal work week,’ she said, pushing her fingers through that long, dark hair and retying the scarf that bound it loosely at her nape. ‘The pace didn’t let up once and I’m glad it’s finally over.’

‘So am I,’ he said, dismissing the twinge of guilt that persisted in plaguing him. ‘And if you’re anything like me, the last thing you want to do on a night like this is talk about your job.’ He took her hand, lightly and briefly. ‘I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again ever since last Sunday.’

He thought her flush deepened at that, though it was hard to be sure in the faint light spilling out of the camper.

‘Have you?’ she returned, and added with disarming diffidence, ‘So have I.’

‘Then let’s forget about work and concentrate on recreation. I’ve got everything ready down on the beach, except for this stuff here. If you can carry the blanket and radio, I can manage the rest.’

‘You’ve gone to so much trouble,’ she said, staring around her when they arrived at his pre-selected hollow in the dunes. ‘I hadn’t expected anything quite so…elegant.’

‘Why not?’ He spread the blanket for her to sit on, placed a couple of cushions in the small of her back, then put a match to the kindling. ‘You’re an elegant lady and deserve nothing less.’

She smiled at him and said, ‘And you’re very gallant.’

He smiled back, and hoped that the deceit didn’t show in his eyes.

CHAPTER THREE

‘A SIMPLE dinner,’ he’d said when he’d issued the invitation. ‘Remember, I’m living out of a camper.’

But it was a camper that ran to mohair blankets and quilted cushions, and his idea of simplicity included champagne cooling in an ice-bucket. Madeleine was glad she’d worn her apricot cashmere sweater and silk-lined woollen trousers instead of the fleecy jacket and jeans she’d originally considered. Glad, too, that vanity had compelled her to sprite her throat with a little Alfred Sung cologne and to add a touch of mascara to her already dark lashes.

‘I got steaks,’ he said, poking at the flames and arranging the bed of coals so that he could prop a metal grill over it. ‘And potatoes and mushrooms. How does that sound?’

‘Perfect.’

All the time he spoke he was busy unloading from the picnic hamper. Little foil-wrapped packages emerged that she assumed were the potatoes and mushrooms, followed by plates made of rather good china, and fluted glasses that, though plain, were definitely crystal.

‘Thought we’d start with champagne,’ he said, tackling the corked bottle with casual familiarity. ‘And smoked salmon. It’s going to take a while before the potatoes are ready.’

The champagne foamed and sparkled in the firelight; the smoked salmon bites glowed like uncut jewels. The air was completely still, allowing the smoke to spiral straight up into the night. Beyond the shelter of the dunes the surf mumbled and complained, but the hollow Nick had found seemed charmed, a place removed from the everyday world. Madeleine sank back against the cushions, that sense of rightness she’d experienced from the first with him flourishing more strongly than ever.

‘A little music, and we’re all set,’ he said, fiddling with the radio dials until he found a station playing light classics. He cocked a dark eyebrow her way, inquiringly. ‘This OK with you, Madeleine?’

‘Perfect,’ she said again, intoxicated by something more potent than the champagne.

The firelight danced over his face, blurring his features with shadows and masking him with a mystery tinged with a delicious edge of danger.

Dropping down beside her, he sprawled on one elbow and tapped the rim of his glass against hers. ‘Here’s hoping that dinner is edible.’

‘I’m not worried.’

He smiled engagingly. ‘Perhaps you should be. I’m not renowned for my cooking, but restaurants are a dime a dozen and I thought something like this—’ he gestured at the scene around them ‘—would be a change. Come to think of it, though, I don’t suppose it’s all that novel an experience for you, living so close to the shore. You probably average a beach picnic a week.’

‘When I was in junior high school, yes,’ she admitted. ‘My girlfriends would come out on the weekends during the summer months and we’d have wiener roasts and beach parties. But it wasn’t the beach that was the big attraction so much as the place next door.’

‘I can understand why,’ he said. ‘I find myself quite obsessed by the poor old relic, too.’

‘But it wasn’t always the way it is today.’ She shook her head, remembering how awed she and her crowd had been by the Tyler Resort. ‘Back then, it seemed the epitome of sophisticated elegance to us, a sort of for-bidden Shangri-La that never lost its fascination. I remember one time a whole gang of us went sneaking over there and swam in the outdoor pool.’

‘Did you get caught?’

‘No. There was some sort of costume ball being held and people were too busy having a good time inside to notice what was happening out.’

He laughed. ‘I bet you all had a pretty good time, too.’

‘Not really,’ she said, smiling at the memory. ‘We were too terrified by our own daring, tiptoeing through the bushes and slipping into the water without making a splash, and always looking over our shoulders to make sure no one saw us. The thrills came the next day when we regaled everyone else at school with what we’d done. I suppose if anyone had asked what we all wanted most from life at that time we’d probably have said, to be part of that glamorous segment of society that used to gather on the fringes of our very ordinary lives.’

‘They were probably very ordinary people, too.’

‘Not all of them. When my mother first came here, as a bride, some very well-known names and faces used to be seen at the lodge. Movie-stars, politicians, even minor royalty.’ She paused, recalling winter evenings when she’d been a little girl and the wind had screamed like a banshee around the farmhouse. She had used to cuddle up on the long sofa that flanked the living-room fireplace, and listen entranced as her mother talked about those grand old days. The resort might have sunk into dilapidation, but the tales of its former grandeur endured, untouched by time.

‘You’re looking very pensive all of a sudden,’ Nick said. ‘Does talking about the place stir up unhappy memories?’

‘It’s not the past that’s bothering me; it’s the future— at least, as far as the resort is concerned.’

‘How so?’

She shook her head. ‘Don’t get me started! You came here looking for peace and quiet, not to listen to me rambling on about my pet peeves and boring you to tears.’

‘I cannot imagine ever finding you boring, Madeleine,’ he said quietly.

She laughed. “Then you don’t have a very vivid imagination.’

‘On the contrary, at the moment it’s running wild.’ His voice was low and intimate, his gaze on her mouth so irresistibly sensual that her amusement withered and left her throat arid as a desert. ‘More to the point, though, is that I’m a good listener if you’ll give me half a chance.’ He emptied the last of the champagne into their glasses. ‘So, instead of worrying about boring me, why don’t you just tell me what it is that’s troubling you about the place next door?’

He could charm apples off trees with that voice, she decided, aware that she was falling more helplessly under his spell with each passing moment. ‘It’s nothing very exciting,’ she said lamely.

‘It doesn’t have to be,’ he assured her, his words stroking warmly over her skin. I’ve got all the excitement I can handle right now, just being with you and looking at you.’

A blush sprang to life in the pit of her stomach and spread to points south with embarrassing effect. ‘Um…thank you…I think…’ she managed, drawing her knees primly together and clasping her hands around them to keep them in place.

‘I’m waiting, Madeleine.’

And she was practically trembling! ‘The man who owns it doesn’t care about it,’ she babbled, rushing headlong into an explanation that she prayed made more sense to Nick than it did to her because, in all truth, she hardly knew what she was saying. ‘He hasn’t been near the place in years and he probably doesn’t care that it’s almost in ruins.’

To her relief, Nick turned away and reached into the cooler. ‘Has he said as much?’ he inquired, placing the steaks on the grill as he spoke.

‘He doesn’t have to. The fact that he’s neglected it for so long says it plainly enough,’ Madeleine replied, admiring Nick’s clean-cut profile in the sudden burst of light as the flames flared up around the meat. His face was a study in contrasts—a collage of aristocratic planes and angles drawn in gold against a dark background. He looked invincible, a warrior about to go to war, and she was reminded again of her first indelible impression of power and command.

‘You’re quite sure of that, are you?’

‘Hmm?’

‘The way you spoke just now,’ he explained, with a hint of impatience in his voice that took her aback somewhat. ‘As though you have it on very good authority that the reason he’s neglected the place is that he’s lost interest in it’

‘Oh…’ She really had to put an end to her absorption with Nick Hamilton’s looks. Not only was it embarrassing to discover she’d completely lost the thread of a conversation, it was also foolishly immature. It wasn’t a man’s appearance, it was what he was like on the inside that mattered—a lesson she thought she’d learned a long time ago. ‘Well, what other explanation could there be when you consider that old man Tyler didn’t even bother to pay the taxes on the place until he stood in danger of having it seized by the local council and auctioned off to cover the debt?’

Nick paused in the act of uncorking the dinner wine. ‘Old man Tyler?’

‘The owner.’

‘You know him?’

‘Not exactly. He lives in the States and is something of a recluse now, but I used to see him occasionally, years ago.’

‘Clearly he didn’t leave behind a very favorable impression if you think he simply turned his back on this place and left it to rot without a second thought’

‘Normally I don’t think about him at all,’ she replied, ‘but his lodge is of major concern to me. He might not care what happens to it but I intend to see it restored and protected, if I have to move heaven and earth to do it.’

‘Is that a fact?’ Nick stared into the fire, the oddest expression on his face.

She tilted her head to one side, puzzled. Moments earlier he had accused her of being preoccupied. Now, hands slack around the neck of the wine-bottle, he was the one absorbed in his own thoughts.

‘Have I said something to upset you, Nick? You seem…’ She searched for the exact description, discarding the word that immediately came to mind because it simply didn’t make sense that he should be angry. Yet there was a stillness about him and a tension that suggested that he was coiled to strike at something. ‘Disturbed,’ she finished lamely.

The cork came out of the bottle of Cabernet with an unseemly pop. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s this damn thumb of mine. Ever since I cut it, I seem to be smashing it or squashing it against everything I touch. I’m not used to being so clumsy. Tell me more about this man—what was his name?’

‘Tyler. Edmund Tyler.’

‘Was he one of those romantic sophisticates you admired so much?’

‘He was very handsome, as I recall. Tall, silver-haired, very distinguished-looking. And his wife was a lovely woman.’ Madeleine looked at Nick curiously. ‘Are you really as interested in all this as you seem, or are you just being polite?’

He laughed. His teeth were very white, very straight. ‘I’m never polite just for the sake of it,’ he assured her. ‘I’ve spent a fair bit of time this last week wandering about the place and it’s interesting hearing someone else’s impressions of its history, that’s all. Finish your champagne, Madeleine. The steaks are just about ready and I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.’

The meat was fork-tender, the potatoes delicious, the mushrooms delectable. ‘This is a feast,’ she said.

‘But a bit primitive.’ Nick grimaced as his plate almost overturned in his lap. ‘Maybe I should have suggested a restaurant after all.’

Madeleine looked around. Within the circle of light cast by the fire the sand glowed butternut-gold. Beyond, it was swathed in taupe shadows. Overhead, the stars winked, icily remote, unlike the rising moon which peeped saucily over the edge of the dunes. ‘I can’t think of any place I’d rather be at this moment than right here.’

His smile caressed her. ‘Not even if the resort were open for business and you’d been invited there by a foreign count?’ he teased.

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