Chapter Twelve

It was dawn when Cody awoke. Barely daring to breathe in case this was just a dream, she watched the sky transform and listened to the birds and insects come alive. Next to her, Annabel lay sleeping, her thick lashes resting on her cheeks like two dark crescents. Her hair, released from its plait the night before, tangled about her head, and her mouth curved delectably upward as though she were dreaming clouds of butterflies.

In the gathering light, Annabel’s skin glowed pale and flawless. Mesmerized by its translucence, Cody peeled the sheet back a little further. Even in sleep, there was an innate grace about her, in the languid droop of her head, the curve of her arm over her hip. How was this possible? Cody marveled. She had just spent the past night making love with this woman, exploring every inch of her body, finding the secret places that made her writhe and beg for more. She was stunning, incredible. Disbelieving, she curled closer and smoothed the bedding over them, careful not to disturb her.

She had no idea where their lovemaking would lead, and for the moment it did not seem to matter. Her body felt warm, used, content. Her mind was clear and fresh. Best of all, she could think of Margaret and… nothing. No tears, no rage, nothing. You shallow person, a voice chastised her. Only six weeks to mend a broken heart. The first attractive woman that comes along and wham! Margaret’s history.

Cody lifted a strand of Annabel’s hair. It was fine and silky, nearly white. The kind of hair chemicals couldn’t reproduce. Cody wished she would wear it loose all the time but guessed she was far too practical for that.

In the two weeks since she had met Annabel, every one of her unconscious assumptions had been turned inside out. Somehow she had never imagined herself with a blonde American lover who looked like she thought hard work was a day’s shopping in Saks Fifth Avenue, but fixed her own plumbing without batting an eyelid.

Annabel was a mass of contradictions. Sometimes she seemed entirely cynical and world-weary. Then she would rush outside to catch the first evening star or stand stock-still on her lawn trying to persuade a mynah bird to eat from her outstretched hand.

During the time they had explored the island together, Cody had been astounded at Annabel’s knowledge of plants and birdlife, her navigation skills, and her fitness. She was once a Girl Scout, Annabel had said.

Easing an arm over her body, Cody tried to remain focused on the magic of now but thoughts of the future hovered like wasps. Two weeks. Her Moon Island booking ran out in just two weeks’ time. What then? London? Some tiny flat in Highgate… wall-to-wall commuters… cliquey parties. Maybe she should head for Australia instead. Melbourne was a laid-back kind of city with plenty of jobs. There were friends she could camp with for a few weeks while she got her act together.

Cody frowned. She didn’t want to think about leaving, especially now. But how could she stay? Even if she booked another month on the island, it would only be a short-term solution. And it would make leaving so much harder. Besides she had no idea what Annabel’s plans were—when she intended to return to Boston. Cody’s heart lurched and almost unconsciously she tightened her arm.

Annabel stirred. Opening her eyes, she blinked sleepily up at Cody and said, “Hi.” She sounded dazed but happy. “Do you still respect me? ”

Cody grinned. “Well, that depends.”

Annabel lifted her eyebrows. “Oh, really? Depends on what? ”

“On whether you can rustle up a decent breakfast, of course.” Cody changed position, lounging back on her pillows, hands behind her head.

“Why how very butch of you, Cody Stanton.” Annabel’s eyes gleamed. “Do I detect a hint of role confusion? Let me see now. One of us was not exactly fighting the other for control last night.” She propped herself up onto her elbow and trailed a knowing hand down Cody’s body, applying just enough teasing pressure to Cody’s clitoris to make her squirm deliciously.

“Don’t get too excited, ” she whispered against Cody’s ear, then nibbled her lobe. “After all, I’m about to go get intimate with your kitchen.” She drew back, slid her feet off the bed and stretched languorously.

“Oh no, you don’t, ” Cody crawled after her, giggling. “I take it all back.”

“Too late.” Annabel located a sarong and wrapped it around herself. “I wouldn’t want you lying in bed suffering from cravings.” She slapped Cody’s hands as Cody tried to untie her sarong.

“What do you feel like eating? ” Her tone was business-like, but her eyes sparkled. “Something hot? ”

“Precisely, ” Cody said and grabbed her around the waist. “Come back to bed, you flirt.”

“Make it worth my while, ” Annabel said.

And Cody did.

“I have to go.” Annabel slid her arms around Cody’s waist and kissed the corner of her mouth. “I’d know that whine anywhere.”

Cody grimaced and followed Annabel outside in time to see the Dominie slouch its way across the sky.

“Can’t he go without you for once? ” she muttered.

Annabel was saddling Kahlo and pushing her shirt into her loose-fitting jeans. She shook her head. “Duty calls, I’m afraid. If I don’t go to Rarotonga none of us will eat. And while you and I could probably think of better ways to spend our time, the other guests might not see it that way.”

Cody made a snorting sound. “Let them eat cake. Doesn’t Mrs. Marsters look after all that stuff.”

“Actually, I do. The job comes with the house, ” she said, not quite ready to explain that she owned Moon Island.

Her aunt had previously employed a manager to handle the day-to-day operation of the island, ferrying guests, bringing in supplies, and handling requests. But the woman was pregnant now and had given notice virtually the day Annabel had arrived, having put off her departure for Annie’s sake. She had spent a few days showing Annabel how things were run, then she was on her own. How hard could it be? she had thought. There were only a few guests and they seemed to keep to themselves, obviously seeking privacy and seclusion.

Following a tradition her aunt had started, Annabel operated an open house a couple of evenings each week, serving hors d’oevres and drinks. The rest of time guests did their own thing. Each morning she or Mrs. Marsters delivered platters of food to the occupied cottages and made note of any problems.

Annabel had not yet decided if she would continue to run the island as a vacation spot. She could not envisage living here indefinitely, miles from civilization. For now, she had decided to give it six months—maybe a year. So she was continuing to accept reservations, content to see how things went. Annie had found it too lonely on the island by herself and had built the guest cottages for that reason. It made sense, Annabel thought. And besides, it had brought Cody here.

Finished with the saddling, Annabel glanced back. Cody looked so dejected standing in the doorway, her unbrushed hair sticking out at crazy angles, gray eyes wide and appealing. Annabel felt curiously protective. She was startled by the emotion and not entirely comfortable with it. Feeling protective smacked of ownership and blurred boundaries. In her experience it was a trap for the unwary. It meant losing touch with your common sense and sometimes your self-respect. The last time she had felt protective, she’d sold herself short, allowed a woman to manipulate her, and been hurt. She knew better than to do that again.

With a hint of reserve, she looked at Cody and willed herself not to respond to the unspoken plea. She had responsibilities. Life could not be put on hold because she had just rediscovered sex with one of her guests.

“Want to come over later tonight? ” she said, mounting Kahlo with careless ease.

“Okay, ” Cody said quietly.

Annabel tried not to notice the slight hurt in her voice. She could feel Cody watching her as she reined the mare away from the villa, but she did not look back.

Bevan was waiting when she reached the landing strip, and he greeted her over his habitual cigarette. Without ceremony, Annabel boarded and strapped herself in. She was fast coming to take for granted the shuttle to and from the island. She liked the fact that they went to Rarotonga almost every day and brought in fresh supplies, taxied guests and Mrs. Marsters, and collected mail.

At first the decrepit plane had unnerved Annabel, and Bevan’s comment that he could fly her under the Golden Gate if necessary had done little to inspire confidence. She hated the helpless, dependent feeling of being an ignorant passenger, of staring at the flickering needles on the control panel without the slightest idea what any of them meant.

To her surprise, Bevan had been quick to notice her attitude and had promptly offered to teach her to fly. He pointed out that the Dominie was originally used as a navigation trainer for the English RAF. The plane was built during World War II, originally for six passengers, but after the war, it had found its way into private ownership in Australia, and eventually Bevan swapped a bag of opals for it at Broken Hill.

He converted it to a two-passenger and cargo transport and had spent a decade flying charter through most of Southeast Asia and the Pacific. Annabel’s aunt had employed him six years ago when he settled on Atiu, the island whose coffee was the best Annabel had ever tasted. He still lived there with a friend she had never met, but who was evidently some kind of journalist.

Annabel had been amazed at how easy it was to learn to fly. With each lesson she grew more confident, co-piloting at different stages of the flight and coming to grips with navigation.

“Feel like taking her up today? ” Bevan asked, securing the hatch.

She smiled wryly. “I don’t think I’m quite ready for that.” She had made a futile attempt on their last flight. After they bunny-hopped the entire length of the strip twice, Bevan finally took the controls back and got them off the ground.

“They’re like horses, ” the pilot told her. “You have to keep climbing back in the saddle.”

“Okay, ” she said with resignation. “It’s your funeral. But just don’t ask me to land the thing.”

Bevan wiggled his cigarette, the equivalent of a grin, then made a show of stubbing it out, ready to do business. “Full throttle, ” he ordered blithely.

Annabel had no idea how they made it to Rarotonga. By some fluke she coerced the Dominie into the air and, apart from a few bumps, managed to keep her at the appropriate altitude. As they approached, Bevan radioed for clearance and cheerfully informed Annabel that he would talk her down.

“Land her? I can’t! ” she protested.

“Most popular words in the female dialect, ” he goaded her. “Come on. It’s no big deal. Anyway, we’re low on fuel, so we can’t muck around up here for too long.”

“Oh, great! ” Annabel glared at the gauge and turned accusing eyes on him. “You’re paid to make sure that doesn’t happen! ”

“And it hasn’t. We’re here, aren’t we? Watch your back pressure.”

“Bevan! ” Her hands began to shake.

“Keep your nose up, ” he said blandly.

He continued firing instructions at her, and there was no time to do anything but obey. Putting her anger aside, Annabel concentrated on her landing transition. They came in with a resounding thud and veered waywardly along the strip while she tried to sort out her rudder control. When they finally stopped, back-to-front and off the runway, she let out a whoop and collapsed over the controls with relief and exhilaration.

“Well done, old girl.” Bevan shook her hand with British formality, and Annabel felt her anger dissolve.

“I really did it, ” she marveled as they taxied across the tarmac. “I flew a plane! ”

Bevan’s mechanic, known universally as Smithy, was waiting for them a few yards from the hangar. A wiry little man of indeterminate age, he set the chocks and released the hatch.

As they descended, he doffed his cloth hat to Annabel, saying gallantly, “Nice to see a lady at the controls.”

Once on the tarmac, Bevan instantly lit a cigarette, revealing a stress level belied by his casual demeanor. “Last time I talked a novice down was in ’Nam, ” he said, quickly exhaling.

“You fought in Vietnam? ” Annabel eyed him suspiciously.

“God, no. Not a British war, old girl. The Aussies and the Kiwis joined you folks, of course, under the ANZUS alliance. I ran supplies. A spot of black market here and there.”

“Racketeering, ” she said, shocked.

He blew a modest smoke ring. “Beats slaughter any day. You sleep a whole lot better, too.”

Annabel said nothing.

“Oh, by the way...” He fished around in his pockets. “I picked this up yesterday.” He handed her a folded notice. “Compliments of the local constabulary.”

Annabel opened the sheet and stared, knuckles whitening. “But it’s—” She fell silent, willing herself not to leap to any conclusions.

“Thought I recognized one of your guests.” Bevan sucked calmly on his cigarette.

Annabel examined the photograph and the caption underneath. Cordelia Grace Stanton.

“The police…” she murmured.

“Seems they’re concerned for her safety. Sounds like she did some kind of runner, and the folks back home have their knickers in a twist.”

Annabel’s brow creased. “Have you told anyone she’s here? ”

He shook his head. “She’s your guest.”

Annabel slid the poster into her bag. “I’ll take care of it, ” she said with more confidence than she felt.

Back on the island later that afternoon, Annabel paced agitatedly about the Villa. Her brains felt scrambled, her nerves on edge. Part of her wanted to rush straight over to Cody and ask her what was going on, another told her to mind her own business.

The poster said information was wanted by her family. Perhaps they were incredibly possessive of her, Annabel reasoned. Perhaps she’d had to disappear just to get a little privacy. Some families were like that. All the same, Cody did not seem the type of woman who would vanish without a word, leaving people worried for her safety. And if she had, surely it would be a good idea to get in touch with them so they could give up bothering the police and pasting up wanted posters.

Annabel made herself a double espresso and examined the poster for about the thousandth time. What was it Cody had said the day before about something she regretted, something that made her feel guilty? This must be it, Annabel decided. She had lost her lover and her job and she needed space. Without really thinking it through, she had picked an island in the middle of nowhere and fled. Her family, knowing she was upset, had panicked. Or maybe her family knew nothing about her lesbianism and therefore would not understand what she was going through. It was probably asking a bit much for anyone to come out to her parents when her lover had just left her for a man.

Annabel sipped her coffee and chewed her bottom lip. She wished Cody would open up to her. All she really knew about her family was that her parents had separated when she was much younger. She had no idea whether Cody got along with her mother, whether she had sisters or brothers, or anyone else close to her in Wellington. With a sudden pang, she wondered whether they needed to get in touch with her because of some emergency. Someone might be sick, or worse. Annabel’s thoughts strayed to her own aunt and she frowned again.

It was all very peculiar, she decided. But Cody would be around soon and no doubt she would have a simple explanation for everything.

With reluctant fingers, Cody tore open her mail and stacked her letters in an orderly pile. There were several from Janet. These accompanied a large bundle Janet had tied together to forward. Protruding from the stack, a long, white envelope with a distinctive embossed logo taunted her. Deciding to read the bad news first, Cody plucked it from the pile.

The letter was polite and to the point. It told her how much her employers had regretted the need to downsize and how they wished her all the best in her next career move. She was not to hesitate if they could assist her in any way with obtaining a new employer and to that end a reference was enclosed.

Disbelief mounting, Cody read the said reference and told herself to breathe. It was full of glowing comments about her skills, reliability and self-motivation. It promised any prospective employer that they would be getting a good deal, and it said nothing whatsoever about ninety thousand missing dollars.

They didn’t know, Cody realized with a shock. It was almost anticlimactic. Here she was convincing herself that she would have to leave the islands—probably in the dead of night in a cargo boat—change identity, dye her hair, get a tattoo. But no. Those incompetents in the accounting division hadn’t even noticed the discrepancy. How typical!

Almost drunk with relief, she leaned heavily into the sofa and took a moment to breathe. She could stay! Maybe they would just write the discrepancy off as some mysterious accounting glitch, and it would be swallowed, like most things inexplicable, in the mists of time.

“Fat chance, ” she muttered to herself. Come the audit, they would leap on that extra zero like a shoal of piranhas and that would be the end of Cody Stanton’s life of crime. Shuddering, she wondered how long she had.

Janet’s letters were mostly gossip and complaints about the miserable winter weather. Cody was reaching the end of them when a name leapt out at her. Margaret. She had phoned and asked for Cody’s address. She wants to see you, Janet had written in her scrawling purple ink. She says there’s something she needs to talk about. According to Janet she seemed upset that Cody had gone without discussing her plans.

Cody snorted. Since when did you call your ex-lover—the one who had just traded you in for beefcake—and say, By the way, dear, I’m so traumatized about the way you’ve treated me that I’m leaving for a month’s peace and quiet on a tropical island. Here’s the address.

What a nerve! And to cap it off, Scott, her bloke, also had an opinion to share. Margaret says Scott is truly concerned. He cares about you, too. Janet had written puke! next to this in big purple letters, along with the comment, I told her to go fuck herself, of course. Cody felt like ripping that page up and ritually burning it. Scott cares, too…How touching, how very liberal of him. What a prince.

“Jerk, ” she said, and wondered all over again how a woman of Margaret’s intelligence could have been taken in by a BMW and a bunch of smarmy platitudes. Scott Drysdale was about as plausible as the Animal Liberation Front browsing a fur shop.

What did Margaret want? she wondered. Their coffee machine, or maybe half the bed linen? Perhaps she’d discovered her precious Ferron tape missing. Cody allowed herself a smug little smile. As it happened, a few of Margaret’s most cherished collector’s items had found their way out of the boxes of music she had packed and into the stuff Cody had donated to the City Mission before she left. Shame.

Petty, a little voice prodded, very petty. Ignoring it, Cody continued reading her mail. There was no other long, white envelope, no court summons, no letter from a law firm. Nothing. Cody wished the queasy feeling in her stomach would leave. It was ridiculous. She had some breathing space. They hadn’t found out yet, but she almost wished they had. At least then she wouldn’t be faced with another week of uncertainty, of waiting for the ax to fall.

The truth was, she was fed up with thinking about the wretched money. None of this trivia should be able to interfere with her holiday, but it did. Here she was, preparing to go round to a new lover’s house for the evening, probably the night, and all she could think about was a briefcase full of banknotes in her best friend’s bedroom.

Poor Janet. What if she found out? What if she was somehow caught with the loot? That would make her an accessory. Cody cringed. Theirs was an indestructible friendship, and Janet would love her no matter what—but arrested? That could be pushing her luck.

Cody cleared the pile of letters away and went inside. Looking around her bedroom, she couldn’t help but smile rather foolishly. The bed was a shameless mess, mattress askew, sheets untucked, and duvet languishing on the floor.

Annabel’s tank watch and some small pearl studs sat on the window ledge and Cody examined them with careful fingers. She sighed, felt a telltale wetness between her legs and poked her head out the window to search the sky. She wanted to go ’round to Villa Luna now. She wanted to hold Annabel, bury herself in her. The strength of her feelings struck her like a physical blow. It’s a holiday romance, she tried to tell herself, a brief intense encounter, safe because it offers no future.

She had never had a fling, although there’d been no shortage of offers. Her only other lover apart from Margaret had been her first—May, thoughtful, introspective and academic. They had met as students, both in Women’s Studies. May had offered to help Cody with an essay, then calmly seduced her. Their relationship lasted nearly two years until May returned with her parents to Canada. By that time they were more like close friends than lovers, and Cody was not even entirely sure how the transition had occurred.

She had never fully understood the dynamics of that relationship. She had nothing to measure it against. May never asked for monogamy, but Cody hadn’t imagined anything else. At first she had been shocked to find May had other lovers, and she was also puzzled at her choices—always a new lesbian.

“It’s my duty, ” May had told her very seriously. “Women coming out need careful handling, a happy introduction to lesbianism. It’s the least I can offer.”

It sounded hilarious but May had been deadly serious. In retrospect, Cody, too, was grateful for that careful handling.

May had a child now, a three-year-old daughter. She lived with her lover in Montreal. Come and see us, she had written to Cody earlier in the year. Cody thought about that invitation. It was summer over there now, she supposed. Montreal sounded like a great place to visit, and with Canada being a Commonwealth country, she would be able to get an extended visa. It wasn’t such a bad idea.

She tried to picture herself sharing May’s spare room with whatever waifs and strays were passing through her home at the time. People borrowing her jeans, her CDs, her car keys. Helping themselves to her vitamins, eating her personal cache of ice cream. I’m too old for that shit. She and Margaret had just saved enough for a house, and over the past few months Cody had started looking at real estate, thrilled that they could stop renting at last.

But Margaret had emptied their savings account the day before she left. If she and Scott were going to buy a place together, she would need it, she said when Cody confronted her. It was not like Cody could afford a mortgage on her own, anyway. Margaret would pay it back as soon as she could, which—knowing her ex’s spending habits—would be when hell froze over. Cody knew she should hire a lawyer, but the thought of having to recount the sorry truth of her own stupidity to a stranger was too humiliating by far.

Feeling angry with herself over this feeble cop out, she gathered up her bikini and headed off to Passion Bay. She would have to make a few tough decisions about Margaret before much longer. Meanwhile, she had just enough time for a swim before she went to Annabel’s.