Second Tomorrow by Anne Hampson Page B

amusement, ‘only scared.’ He tugged at her hand, compelling her to follow him in obedience to the command of the gesture. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman as scared as you,’ he added over his shoulder. ‘It’s time you took a good look at yourself—and effected an improvement.’
    ‘I’m not scared!’ she denied. ‘Why should I be?’
    ‘Because you’re sensitive to fear.’ They were approaching an open French window and he fell silent until they were through it and some distance from it, then he stopped, looking down at her in the muted lights from the coloured lanterns in the trees. ‘It’s an attitude of mind which you’ve cultivated over the past five years. You were determined never to be tempted and that determination bred fear. It’s a protective shield which, my child, I intend to pierce.’
    She stared up into eyes that were both mocking and hard. Why was she not retaliating—telling him to keep out of her affairs? It could be that she was afraid she might lose the work hehad offered . . . but she rather thought there was some other explanation for her reluctance to begin an argument with him.
    ‘Shall we walk,’ she suggested, trying to sound coolly civil and half-hoping he would regard it as a snub. But he merely laughed and, before she could even guess what he was about she was swung into his arms and soundly kissed on the lips.
    ‘Oh . . . you promised—’
    ‘Yes, my child,’ he said, ‘we’ll walk.’
    ‘I wish I could understand you,’ she complained as she trotted beside him, keeping pace with his long and easy strides.
    ‘Perhaps you would, if you made the effort.’
    ‘Your interest in me seems out of proportion.’ They were walking quickly towards the shore, the lonely shore where palms and casuarinas and other vegetation made a background of dark, mysterious solitude. Clare had loved walking alone along the narrow shady paths—walking into nowhere because they all circled back to the shore. But now . . . Lifting her face to glance at her companion in profile she owned that what he had said about fear was true.
    ‘Out of all proportion to what?’ came Luke’s query at length.
    ‘Well . . . your promise to Phil. You’re going to great lengths to honour that promise.’ They had reached the gap in the hibiscus hedge that separated the private grounds of the hotel from the beach, and he stopped, his hand still enclosing hers.
    ‘I have my reasons,’ he said, looking down at her with an enigmatic smile. ‘I never do anything without a very good reason, Clare.’
    Her heart seemed to turn a somersault; she could have eased her body close to his, lifted her lips, inviting his kiss. Warmth flowed over her and through her for surely there was no mistaking his meaning. She looked up at him, at the hovering smile, and the sensation of joy was heightened. And then without the slightest warning her mind was a whirlpool of conflicting emotions, a ferment of uncertainty and doubt as, creeping into her consciousness, memories ruthlessly obliterated her happiness.
    She made to withdraw her hand but Luke’s grip tightened, painfully. It was as if, because he was regarding her so intently, he had guessed at her changed emotions. She saw his mouth compress, his eyes glint like dangerous points of steel. For a moment it seemed that he struggled with his temper, as they both stood there in the moonlight and the quiet, with only night sounds to break the silence. But despite his efforts his temper broke the rein and, seizing Clare by the shoulders, he shook her unmercifully, shook her until he himself was breathless.
    ‘Now,’ he thundered, ‘does that teach you a lesson!’
    She swayed, her legs like jelly, her heart throbbing painfully against her ribs, and she would have fallen had he not held her, for she was overcome with fatigue, weakened by his violence. Tears ran unchecked down her cheeksand within seconds great despairing sobs were racking her