Caprice (6 page)

in appreciation. An early morning, the sunshine lighting the dark

green grass to silver white and dispersing the pre-dawn chill, making

her long to be outside in the warmth. A quiet morning, since most, if

not all, were still abed after the party the evening before, and as

Caprice dressed in tan slacks with a lemon yellow rugby shirt, she

could not resist sneaking down the stairs and outdoors.

The air was more chilly than she had expected, and she rubbed her

arms under the short sleeves with a shiver. To her left, the wind took

hold of a few pine trees and shook them, sending a light scatter of

browning needles to carpet the ground underneath. She walked

around the lodge aimlessly, feeling curiously lonely at that quiet time

in that strange place.

She had slept uneasily, with a restlessness and dissatisfaction that

was unusual for her. Before she had slipped into that troubled rest,

she had asked herself a myriad of questions with an unaccustomed,

sharp bitterness. What was she doing here? What was she doing with

her life? Why should she feel a lack of substance and depth to her

existence now, of all times?

In the early morning sunshine, she bowed her head and hunched her

shoulders. With a poignancy she had not felt since early youth, she

longed to go home.

She had rounded one end of the lodge from the front, watching her

pale brown, sleek leather shoes with some absorption, and when a

male voice sounded from above, she started violently. 'Sorry,' said

Pierce from above, sounding amused. 'Do you have any idea what

time it is?'

' She put a hand to her thumping heart exaggeratedly, and heard him

laugh deeply. Then she looked up, and found him leaning out of his

open window, elbows propped on the sill, black hair tousled and

gleaming glossy bright. It looked wet, as if he had just showered, and

his shoulders and chest were bare. Her eyes ran over what she could

see of him, involuntarily, for his skin was smooth over well-toned

muscles, with just a hint of satin hair at his breast.

Then her imagination brought to her a vivid picture of the rest of

him, beyond her sight and quite nude, and dark colour tinged her

cheeks. To cover it, she finally explained the reason for her early rise.

'I don't sleep well in a strange bed. Besides which, I tend to be an

early riser.'

'Wait a moment.' His head ducked back in, and suddenly something

cream coloured and fluffy floated out the window. She lurched to

grab it, and found the article of clothing to be a masculine-styled

cardigan. He reappeared, and regarded her rather quizzically. 'You

seem to have a peculiar helplessness when it comes to dressing

adequately.'

'Unjust, unjust,' she said, without heat, as she slipped her arms into

the sweater and burrowed in appreciatively. 'Last night I hadn't

expected to go out on the lake, and this morning the sun looked

warmer than it really is.' She sent her gaze running over him again.

'Besides, you're one to talk, hanging out of an open window with wet

hair and no shirt.'

A slashing grin creased his face. She stared, obviously. 'You ought to

see what I haven't on, below the windowsill.'

'I'd suspected as much.' His laughing gaze lingered on her face at

that, and one brow rose slowly at her second blush.

'Is that so?' He looked to be hugely enjoying himself, and in no hurry

to dress or shut the window. Then he marvelled, 'Goodness, what a

high colour. It surely can't be sunburn at this hour?'

She was thankful she hadn't lost any more of her composure, as she

said mildly, 'You are a horrid man, and the question doesn't deserve

an answer. Thank you for the use of your cardigan. You will find it in

the lake.' She started to walk away.

'I'll meet you in the dining room for coffee and breakfast in five

minutes,' he called laughingly after her, and then she distinctly heard

his window slam.

She nearly went. As she walked to the back, she found herself

actually wanting to go. But then, Apparently from nowhere, came an

odd anger. A strange, shaking, upsetting anger it was, astonishing her

with its force, wearying her with its inexplicability. She was angry at

Pierce, she was angry at herself, but most of all, she was angry at

Roxanne, of all people, for persuading her to come this weekend.

She bent at random, and picked up a twig, and then she strolled to the

end of the pier and sat, leaning against an end post. About ten

minutes later, Pierce found her there, staring broodingly into the

water and breaking off bits of the twig to toss out. She heard him

come out of the lodge, it was so quiet, and her face set into

expressionlessness when his footsteps first sounded on the pier's

boards.

He came to stand beside her silently. She could see out of the corner

of her eye the. lean, lower part of his leg, and the tip of his shoe.

After a moment, when she refused to look up or acknowledge his

presence as she flung her pieces of bark into the lake, he said quite

casually, 'Our first date, and you've stood me up. Not a very

auspicious beginning.' He squatted beside her, and then said, 'Here.'

She turned her head. He held two cups of coffee, steaming hot and

suddenly pungent as the aroma hit her. 'Thank you,' she said, taking

one from him. She refused to let her gaze linger on him too long, and

so after a quickly flicked glance, she turned back to the water. He

was lean and elegant in grey slacks and sweater. Suddenly mocking,

she continued, 'Besides, I don't remember saying I'd show.'

'Is that why you're out here?' He sounded idle, bored, as though she'd

done a petty thing, and she was fiercely glad she didn't care.

'No,' she told him flippantly, and sipped daintily from her cup. 'I just

couldn't make up my mind whether I would or not, that's all.'

'I don't believe you.'

It was several seconds before she realised he had said that without

any mockery, amusement, or anything else that would detract from

the quiet impact of the simple words. When it finally registered, she

was angrier than ever. He wasn't supposed to have reacted that way.

He was supposed to either be amused or confused, either attracted or

repulsed, and she could have felt a safe contempt for him. 'Well,' she

said then, thrusting to her feet. 'You should. I have a terrible time

making my mind up about anything.' She looked down at his

upturned, self-contained expression, and added drily, 'Everybody

knows that of me, sooner or later.'

Caprice turned to walk away, escape. He looked away, over the calm,

mirror-smooth lake, and then said softly, as though he'd never seen

her exit bid, as though they were having a leisurely conversation,

'You see, everyone has a basic reason for doing something.

Sometimes, with the more twisted or fanatic mind, you need to

search deeper for the reason, but it's always there, deep, underlying

actions and thought like the still waters under the surface of this lake.'

He had caught her as effectively as if he'd reached out his large,

slender hand and curled his fingers around her ankle. She felt an

inner lurch, and then was frightened. Foolish, foolish, for this man

was a stranger and he didn't matter any more than the others

mattered. She shouldn't fear him. He didn't know her, couldn't know

her. She was glittering brightness, she was cool fire, she was laughter

and gaiety, and malicious gentleness, she was Caprice. Underneath

that, she was untouchable.

Laughter bubbled up from her throat. She bent and set her half empty

cup down carefully, and then danced away from Pierce. He

swivelled, then stood, as she' whirled back to face him tauntingly. 'I!'

she cried, extravagantly, bowing to him from the waist, one hand

held gracefully curved outward. 'I don't need a reason for doing

something. I do it because I want to, like a spoiled child.' She

pirouetted lightly, silver blonde hair flying. Then she faced him

again, mockingly. 'In short, I know myself for what I am. I am a

social butterfly! I flit from place to place! I flirt, hook the fish, reel

them in bit by bit, and let go of the line when I grow bored! I have

fun. I do what I wish. Finis!'

She bowed again. Laughing applause from behind her, and she

turned to find Jeffrey, Lane, Roxanne and Gwynne treating her

performance like a huge joke. She threw open her arms, and laughed

again, calling out, 'My sweet public! My audience!'

'Come on in, you nut!' Jeffrey called back, his pique of last night a

thing of the past, almost forgotten already. 'Breakfast is hot and

ready!'

She glanced back at Pierce, who looked indolent, hands in his

pockets and head tilted back as he looked at her with a half curled,

lazy smile. She did not like that smile. 'Nice show,' he told her,

sardonically. She blew him a kiss, and thankfully ran away. Just as

she reached the others, she remembered her coffee, by now probably

quite cold and abandoned on the pier, but for the life of her she

wouldn't go back to get it. He brought it out. He could take care of it.

She didn't care.

Behind her, unheard, Pierce repeated conversationally, 'But I still

don't believe you.' Then he bent and picked up the cups, and went

back to the lodge also.

Inside, she followed the others to the large, tasteful dining room

where several hot dishes had been set on the sideboard. As each

began to compile a breakfast, Caprice found a silent presence at her

elbow. Pierce handed her cup to her, which she took without a word

and drained. Then she refilled it at the sideboard, and sat at the table,

unobtrusively putting distance between herself and Pierce.

'What, no breakfast?' Jeffrey teased, as he sat beside her.

Too aware of Pierce's presence, too aware of his aloofness from the

others and his idle contemplation of herself, Caprice turned to Jeffrey

and replied, with a careless flick of her finger to his collar, 'That's

right, love. And do you know why?'

'No, why?' His eyes devoured her, and she saw Roxanne out of the

corner of her eye, a bit pale.

'Because I'm playing tennis with you after breakfast,' she told Jeffrey,

letting her eyes go wide as she stared into his. She licked her parted

lips, and saw him swallow. 'And do you know what?'

'What?' he whispered. Everyone was watching them, avidly.

She found herself looking to Pierce. He was frowning slightly at her

as though she were an alien species that he couldn't quite identify.

Then she looked back to Jeffrey and told him sweetly, 'I'm going to

win.'

Emory, who had just come into the room, laughed.

She looked into sunlight, letting it blind her for a full moment to

make her dry eyes water. Then, with her head bowed, she rubbed at

them with thumb and forefinger for they stung. She looked across the

court at Jeffrey, who was stretching lazily while he waited. Full of

confidence, he had eaten a large breakfast while teasing her

unmercifully. She had responded with warmth, in an attempt to

demonstrate to Pierce that she was indeed the flirt she'd claimed to

be. It had apparently worked, almost too well. Roxanne wasn't

speaking much to her, and while every one of the guests was present

to watch the match, Pierce wasn't. Life could be, she reflected

sighingly, almost excruciatingly predictable.

'Ready?' she shouted enthusiastically to Jeffrey, who threw her a

mock salute. The tennis court was privately owned by the Langstons,

and somewhat secluded from the lodge by a row of pine trees, though

still visible.

He had given her the first serve, and, as they positioned themselves

in the appropriate corners, everyone settled at the sidelines. 'Go get

'im!' called Emory, as he sprawled in the grass.

'Piece of cake!' She turned to smile sweetly at Jeffrey, and then

turned sideways. A graceful, leisurely throw of the tennis ball up into

the air, her borrowed racquet coming up with a snakelike quickness,

and both her feet left the ground with the force of that first blow.

Jeffrey never saw the ball pass him.

Nor did he see the second ace she slammed over the net. Emory