Spirit Of Atlantis

‘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

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.

Putting down her fork, she wiped her lips with her napkin, trying desperately to retain her self-composure. What was Dan Prescott doing here? she wondered anxiously. People like the Prescotts did not visit hotels like the Kawana Point. They stayed at their own summer residences, and when they needed entertainment they went into Orillia or Barrie, or to any one of a dozen private clubs situated along the lake shore road.

Her taste for the shrimps dwindling, she picked up her glass and swallowed a mouthful of Coke. It was coolly refreshing, and as she put down her glass again she felt a growing impatience with herself. What was she? Some kind of cipher or something? Just because a man she had never expected to see again had turned up at the hotel it did not mean he had come in search of her. That was the most appalling conceit, and totally unlike her. Was it unreasonable that having discovered the whereabouts of the hotel he should come and take a look at it, but how had he got here this time? She had not heard any motorcycle, a sound which would carry on the evening air, and although he was not wearing evening clothes he had been wearing an expensive-looking jacket, hardly the attire for two wheels.

Appalled anew that she should remember so distinctly what he had been wearing after such a fleeting appraisal, Julie determinedly picked up her fork again. Then she remembered the yacht, the yacht which had aroused such excitement from the normally-laconic Brad. Was that how they had made the trip across to the hotel?

The appearance of Pam in her working gear of cotton shirt and denims, her plump face flushed and excited, did nothing to improve her digestion. Her friend came bustling towards her, and it was obvious from her manner that she knew exactly who was in the bar.

‘Did you see him?’ she hissed, bending over Julie’s table, and the younger girl deliberately bit the tail from a shrimp before replying.

‘See who?’ she asked then, playing for time, but Pam was not deceived.

‘You must have seen them cross the hall,’ she whispered impatiently, casting an apologetic glance at her other residents. ‘They’re in the bar. What are you going to do?’

Julie looked bland. ‘What am I going to do?’ she echoed.

‘Yes.’ Pam sighed. ‘Well, I mean it’s obvious, isn’t it? He didn’t come here just to taste the beer. His cousin’s with him—at least, I think it’s his cousin. He calls him Drew, and I know Anthea Leyton has a son called Andrew—’

‘Pam, their being here has nothing to do with me,’ declared Julie firmly. ‘If they choose to come—to come slumming, that’s their affair. I have no intention of speaking to Dan Prescott, so don’t go getting any ideas.’

‘But, Julie, you can’t just ignore him!’

‘Why not?’ Julie hid her trembling hands beneath the napkin in her lap. ‘Honestly, Pam, I don’t even like the man!’

‘You said yourself, you hardly know him.’

‘All the more reason for keeping out of his way.’

‘Well, I think you’re crazy!’

‘Oh, do you?’ Julie stared up at her, half irritated by her insistence.

‘Yes.’ Pam dismissed the younger girl’s objections with an inconsequent wave of her hand. ‘Julie, you may never get another chance to meet him socially—’

‘I don’t want that chance, Pam.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m not interested.’

Pam gazed at her disbelievingly. ‘You mean you’re afraid.’

‘Afraid?’ Julie gasped.

‘Yes, afraid.’ Pam straightened, resting her hands on her broad hips. ‘You’ve had your life organised for you for so long, you’ve forgotten what it’s like to take a risk—’

‘So you admit it is a risk?’

Julie tilted her head, and Pam pulled a wry face. ‘All right. So he does have a reputation. What of it? You’re an adult, aren’t you. You can handle it.’

Julie sighed. ‘I don’t want to handle anything, Pam. I just want to sit here and eat my dinner, and afterwards I’m going to watch some television and then go to bed.’

Pam made a defeated gesture. ‘I give up.’

‘Good.’

Julie determinedly returned to her shrimp cocktail and Pam had no alternative but to leave her to it. But she shook her head rather frustratedly as she crossed to the door, and Julie, watching her, doubted she had heard the last of it.

By the time she had eaten half a dozen mouthfuls of her steak, she knew she was fighting a losing battle. The awareness of the man in the bar, of the possibility that he might choose to come into the dining room and order a meal, filled her with unease, and she knew she would not feel secure until she was safely locked behind her cabin door.

Declining a dessert, she left her table, walking swiftly through the open doors into the reception area. It was usually deserted at this hour of the evening, most of the guests either occupying the dining room or the bar, and she expected to make her escape unobserved. What she had not anticipated was Brad Galloway, deep in conversation with the man she most wanted to avoid, or to be involved in that discussion by the boy’s artless invitation.

‘Julie!’ he exclaimed, when he saw her. ‘Do you remember that yacht I told you about? Well, this is Mr Prescott who owns it.’

‘I didn’t say that, Brad.’ Dan Prescott’s voice was just as disturbing as she remembered. ‘I said it belonged to my family. It does. I just have the use of it now and then.’

His grin was apologetic, both to the boy and to Julie, but she refused to respond to it. In fact, she refused to look at Dan Prescott at all after that first dismaying appraisal. Yet, for all that, she knew the exact colour of the bluish-grey corded jacket he was wearing, and the way the dark blue jeans hugged the contours of his thighs. His clothes were casual, but they fitted him well, and she realised something she had not realised before. Men like Dan Prescott did not need to exhibit their wealth. They accepted it. It was a fact. And that extreme self-confidence was all the proof they needed.

‘What do you say, Julie?’

Brad was looking at her a little querulously now, and she forced herself to show the enthusiasm he was expecting. ‘That’s great,’ she murmured, realising her words sounded artificial even to her ears. ‘You must tell me all about it tomorrow.’

‘Why not right now?’

The words could have been Brad’s, but they weren’t, and Julie was obliged to acknowledge Dan Prescott’s presence for the first time. Even so, it was almost a physical shock meeting that penetrating stare. The lapse of time had been too brief for her to forget a second of their last encounter, and it was only too easy to remember how she had had to tear herself away from him, breaking the intimate contact he had initiated. Nevertheless, she had broken the contact, she told herself firmly, and he had no right to do this to her. But as his eyes moved lower, over the firm outline of her breasts and the rounded swell of her hips, she felt a wave of heat flooding over her, and nothing could alter the fact that if she were as indifferent to him as she liked to think, it wouldn’t matter what he did.

With a feeling of mortification she felt his eyes come back to her face, and then the heavy lids drooped. ‘Why not right now?’ he repeated, as aware of her confusion as she was herself, and conscious of Brad’s puzzled stare Julie tried to pull herself together.

‘I—why, I don’t have time just now, Brad,’ she offered, addressing her apology to the boy. ‘Some other time perhaps …’

‘Okay.’

Brad shrugged, obviously disappointed, and she was sorry, but then, to add to her humiliation, Pam appeared. It only took her a couple of seconds to sum up the situation, and acting purely on instinct Julie was sure, she exclaimed: