Hold the Dream by Barbara Taylor Bradford
‘Because I’m running the stores?’
‘Yes. She’s a nit-wit. She could never handle Emma’s business, and Aunt Emma has always known that. She picked the best man she had…you.’
‘If anybody else but you had said that, I’d accuse him of being a male chauvinist.’
‘Sorry, you know I didn’t mean it the way it came out. Just a figure of speech.’ He gave her a pointed look. ‘There’s nothing masculine about you, my darling, let me assure you of that. Come on, let’s go inside.’
He pushed open the door to the sound of tinkling bells.
Together they stepped inside and Paula caught her breath. The central area of the boutique was white with lots of chrome fixtures and the floor was made of white ceramic tiles. There was a paucity of clutter but this starkness made an ideal background for showing off the colourful clothes and accessories. A small cantilevered staircase led to an upper floor. It was cooled by the many ceiling fans.
‘Oh Shane, you’ve outdone yourself,’ Paula exclaimed.
He gave her a delighted grin, turned to introduce her to Marianna, the manager, and the three assistants who worked for Harte’s. Paula chatted to them enthusiastically as she was given a tour. The young women were all pleasant, outgoing, well informed about fashion, and Paula found herself warming to them as they showed her the various displays, gave her a run down on current sales, showed her the latest sales figures.
At the end of an hour, she said to Shane, ‘I have to buy a few things. I simply didn’t get a chance to pick up everything I needed at the New York store. But look, you don’t have to wait. I can meet you back at the hotel.’
‘Oh I’m in no hurry,’ he said with a nonchalant smile. ‘I haven’t seen you since Monday night. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Besides, I may have something to say about the things you’re going to buy.’
After trying on swim suits and other beachwear, and having received a nod of approval from Shane, Paula began to look at cocktail dresses. She threw a number of casual summer evening outfits over one arm, and then Shane joined her, picked out several items he liked. Handing them to her, he gave her a conspiratorial wink. ‘What about these?’
Paula made a face. ‘I’m not sure they’re really me.’
‘Yes, they are. Trust my judgement.’
Not wishing to cause a fuss in the shop, she took them from him. As a child and a young girl Paula had always striven to please Shane, to cater to his wishes, and she found this desire surfacing. It overcame her objections to the outfits he had chosen. All of the dresses and evening wear bore the Lady Hamilton label, and as Paula went back into the dressing room she could not help thinking of Sarah again. Shane was correct about her cousin. Instantly she dismissed Sarah from her mind, not wanting to spoil her lighthearted mood by dwelling on unpleasant memories of their last encounter. She tried one of the outfits on, and returned to the main area of the boutique.
As she swung around she suddenly liked her reflection in the long mirrored wall. He obviously did. He was nodding emphatically. He told her she looked sensational.
Paula stood in front of the glass, studying the dress. It was short, made of the deepest blue chiffon and was simply styled, with only one shoulder and a ruched effect over the bodice. If it lacked the hard-edged chic she usually favoured, it was flattering, feminine and curiously sexy in the way in which it clung to her body. It was a wholly new look for her, but the colour was glorious.
Shane enthused over a white silk trouser suit he had selected, but told her to forget the short red dress he had pulled off a rack. In the end she bought two of his choices, the blue and the white, and a long yellow shift made of silk jersey trimmed with violet ribbons. He waited patiently as she tried on sandals, settled on several pairs, and then picked up a couple of straw hats and added these to her purchases. After complimenting Marianna on the way she was running the boutique, Paula promised to visit them the following day.
They meandered around the semi-circle of boutiques, window shopping. Paula said, ‘Our layout is stunning, Shane. Merry showed me the renderings, but one can never really tell from drawings. Thank you for making our boutique so special.’
‘I’m notorious for pleasing those I love and adore,’ he said.
Slowly they strolled back to the hotel. Shane could not help smiling as he noticed the way Paula’s eyes swung from side to side, scrutinizing the many and varied tropical plants, flowering shrubs and unusual blooms indigenous to the island.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’ll know where to find you – if you’re missing in the next few days. Did you pack a trowel?’
‘No, and it’s odd, Shane, I have no desire to do any gardening.’ This was true and she was surprised at herself. She glanced up at him. ‘All I want is to be with you.’
He put his arm around her shoulder, kissed the top of her head. ‘So let’s go up to the suite, shall we?’
She lay within the circle of his arms.
The bedroom was dusky, shadow filled. The filmy muslin curtains around the bed stirred gently in the soft breeze, and beyond the open louvered doors leading out to the terrace the sky had turned to a deep pavonne blue. The only sounds were the rustling of the palm trees and the faint distant roar of the ocean.
The bosky stillness was soothing after their frantic and impassioned lovemaking, and she luxuriated in it, and in her own sense of fulfilment. How surprising she was with him. Whenever they made love she felt completely satiated as they drew apart, exhausted, staring in astonishment. But the minute Shane was aroused again, so was she, and her feverishness echoed his. And each time he took her they reached a greater pitch of excitement and the ultimate in gratification.
A tiny sigh of contentment trickled through Paula. She could no longer recognize herself. Only a few days of loving Shane…being loved by him…and she would never be the same woman again. Shane had somehow helped her to shed her old self. He had recreated her. And in so doing he had made her his.
On Monday and Tuesday she had worked frantically to be able to leave for Barbados today. She had raced between the apartment, the store and Harte Enterprises, and had worked until three in the morning on Tuesday. He had rarely been out of her mind, and whatever she was doing he insinuated himself into her thoughts. Their relationship had reverted to what it had been when they were growing up. With added dimensions – sexual adoration and a deep abiding love, that of a man for a woman, a woman for a man.
There were no jarring notes or irritating habits to contend with. Shane was a communicator. He venerated the language, verbalized everything that came into his fertile, agile, searching mind. And he never shut her out. He shared, confided, never ever withheld. She did the same. His secrets were her secrets now. Hers had been conveyed to him and in explicit detail. His responses, his thoughts and his understanding were her great consolation. He made her feel whole, and completely female. A total woman.
She stole a look at his face. It was in repose. He drowsed. Her heart filled. What a mixture he was – impetuous, extravagant, and vain in some ways. Yet he was intelligent, tender, loving, thoughtful and passionate in everything he did. There was that strangely fey, mystical side to his nature which she knew sprang from the Celt in him, and he could be melancholy and brooding at times. And yes, he had a terrible temper. In the past they had had their violent quarrels. As a child she had often been the victim of his whims and moods and temperamental outbursts. But Shane was flexible, and he could disarm and enchant her with his self-deprecating humour, his dry wit, and his sweeping natural charm. As a man he was as complex as she was as a woman.
Suddenly she endeavoured to evaluate their relationship as it stood at this moment. It was so unusual she could think of no way to describe it to herself. And then she thought: Shane and I have an intimacy of the heart and mind as well as the body. Together we are complete. I feel more married to Shane than I do to Jim.
She held herself very still, appalled at this thought. Gradually she eased herself
Why did you marry him? Shane had asked her the other night in New York. Because I was in love with him, she had responded. Shane had admitted that she probably had been, but he had also suggested that Jim’s fatal attraction might have been his name. A Fairley was forbidden to you because of Emma’s past, Shane had ventured, and possibly he was right. She had believed herself to be in love with Jim, and yet now she understood that her feelings for him had never equalled her tremendous emotional bonding to Shane. She and Jim were totally different; she and Shane were incredibly alike. And she had never known what sex was all about, had never really enjoyed participating until Shane had made love to her. She had told him this. He had said nothing, had simply sighed and held her more tightly in his strong and loving arms.
Her life, her responsibilities, the complications of her business and family intruded. Suddenly the future glared her in the face like a terrible spectre. She was frightened. What was going to happen to them? What would she and Shane do? Release the fear, fling aside these distressing thoughts, she told herself. For God’s sake don’t dwell on your problems now. You’ll spoil the next few days if you do. Enjoy this time with Shane, enjoy being free, unfettered.
She nestled closer to him, slipped her arm across his stomach, let her fingers curl against his side, bent herself into the shape of his body.
Shane stirred, opened his eyes, looked down at her. He smiled to himself, his heart full of love and tenderness for her. His dreamlike child of his childhood dreams had become his dreamlike woman. Except that she was no dream. Paula was reality. His reality. His life. She had extinguished all pain, all hurt, all of the anguish in his heart and mind. And with her he could truly be himself, expose himself, warts and all, and in a way he had never been able to do with any other woman. There had been legions of women until two years ago. Too many really, and of too little quality. Now he belonged to Paula – as he always had in his soul and heart and his imagination. He would belong to her for the rest of his life. She owned him.
She opened her eyes, looked up at him, smiled. He smiled back, bent to kiss her, stroked her rounded breast, moved his hand down to nestle between her thighs. She reached out to touch him, knowing how much he took pleasure from the feel of her hand on him. Within the space of a few minutes they were both aroused, craving each other. Shane rolled on top of her, slipped his arms under her back, took her to him. He began to move against her slowly, looked down into her unnaturally blue eyes, marvelled at the joy that lit her face. He whispered her name, spoke his love for her, his heart leaping at her swift and ardent responses. He closed his eyes, as did she, and they lost themselves in each other and their love.
The jangling telephone bell pierced the silence.
They stopped, startled, snapped open their eyes, gaped at each other. ‘Oh Christ!’ Shane groaned. He disentangled himself, switched on the light, shot another look at her as she clutched his arm fiercely.
Sitting up, Paula exclaimed, ‘Maybe I’d better answer it, since we’re in my suite.’
‘It’s all right, don’t look so alarmed. I told you the switchboard’s monitoring all of our calls.’ He lifted the receiver on the fourth ring. ‘Shane O’Neill.’ He paused. ‘Thanks, Louanne. Put him through.’ He covered the mouthpiece with one hand. ‘It’s my father,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ Paula tugged at the sheet, covered herself.
Shane began to chuckle. ‘He can’t see you lying here naked, you know.’
She had the good grace to laugh. ‘But I feel funny. Exposed.’
‘You’d better be – to me,’ Shane said, then shouted into the phone, ‘Dad! Hello! How are you? What’s up?’ As he began to listen, he cradled the phone between his ear and his shoulder, lit a cigarette, shuffled himself up against the pillows.
‘Well, I have to admit I’ve been expecting it, Dad, and let’s be honest, the idea does have a lot of merit. But look here, I can’t go over there right now. Certainly not until January or February. I’ve got my hands full in New York. You know the hotel’s at the most crucial stage. It would be disaster if I left. And I thought you wanted me down here in the islands over the holidays. Jesus, Dad, I can’t be in two or three places at once.’
Shane flicked his cigarette ash, relaxed against the pillows, listening once more. ‘Oh good,’ he interrupted. ‘Yes, yes, I agree. And you’ll enjoy the trip. Why don’t you take Mother with you?’
Paula slipped out of bed, found her dressing gown in the bathroom, slipped it on, returned to the bedroom. She began to pick up their clothes which were scattered all over the floor. We were in a terrible hurry when we first went to bed, she thought, then sat down on a chair, watching him.
Shane, silent again, winked at her, blew her a kiss, then again he interrupted his father. He exclaimed, ‘I say, Dad, Paula’s just this minute walked in and she wants to say hello.’
Paula shook her head. She felt ridiculously – and irrationally – self-conscious.
Shane put down the phone and his cigarette, leaped out of bed, grabbed her and dragged her to the phone, whispering, ‘He doesn’t know we’ve been making passionate love for the last two hours, you silly thing. It’s only seven-thirty here. I’m sure he thinks we’re having drinks before dinner.’
Paula had no option but to take the phone. ‘Hello, Uncle Bryan,’ she said in the most normal voice she could summon. Then she fell quiet, listening to Shane’s father. ‘Oh yes,’ she said after a moment, ‘I got in this afternoon. The hotel’s simply beautiful, so is the boutique, Uncle Bryan. Shane’s done a marvellous job. He’s very talented. I’m most impressed.’ She sat down on the bed, as Bryan commenced to relay his news from London.
Eventually, Paula had a chance to reply: ‘Then you’ll be seeing Grandy before me. And Uncle Blackie. Do give them both my love. And lots of love to Aunty Geraldine and Merry. See you soon, Uncle Bryan, and have a safe trip. Here’s Shane again.’
He took the phone from her and she lolled across the end of the bed. Shane resumed his business conversation with his father, but after only a few minutes, he said, ‘All right, Dad, that’s it then. I’ll be here until Monday morning, after that you can get me in New York. Love to Mother and Merry, kiss little Laura for me, and take care of yourself. And listen, don’t forget to give my love to Grandpops and Aunt Emma. Bye, Dad.’
Shane hung up, looked at Paula, rolled his eyes. They burst out laughing. ‘Come here, you witch, you,’ he exclaimed, dragging her up from the end of the bed, wrapping his arms around her.
She struggled with him, still laughing and rumpling his hair. They rolled over and over on the bed, their merriment accelerating. He gasped, ‘My father certainly picks the wrong time to call, doesn’t he? Just as we were about to have another few minutes of lovely passion.’
‘Few minutes!’ she shrieked. ‘More like an hour, you mean.’
‘Are you complaining or is that a testimonial?’ He kissed her ear, chuckled again, mimicked her, saying, ‘Shane’s done a marvellous job, Uncle Bryan. He’s very talented. I’m most impressed.’ Reverting to his own voice, he murmured against her neck, ‘I sincerely hope Shane’s done a marvellous job, that he’s talented, and that you’re truly impressed, sugar.’
‘Oh you!’ She beat her fists lightly against his chest. ‘You vain conceited impossible gorgeous man!’
He caught her wrists, held them tightly in his hands, peered down into her face. ‘But oh how that man loves you, darling.’ He released her suddenly, sat up.
Paula did the same. She said, ‘Imagine Blackie deciding to buy a hotel in Sydney. I’ll bet you anything that that grandmother of mine was goading him on.’ She gave him a long look. ‘Uncle Bryan wanted you to go to Sydney, didn’t he?’
‘Yep. Grandfather hasn’t actually bought the hotel yet. That’s why he wants either Dad or me to fly there immediately, give it the once over. What I said’s true, Paula, I can’t get away. I’m jammed. And you
Shane kissed the tip of her nose. ‘I’d better go and shower, get dressed, wander downstairs, check up on a few things.’
He sprang off the bed, pulled her to her feet. ‘Would you mind meeting me downstairs when you’re ready?’
‘No, of course not. Where will I find you?’
‘How long will it take you to dress?’
‘About three-quarters of an hour.’
‘By then I’ll be waiting for you in the bar off the main lobby. You can’t miss it – it’s called The Aviary.’ He chucked her lightly under the chin. ‘I would’ve called it The Birdcage, but I didn’t want to be accused of stealing someone else’s idea.’
At Shane’s twenty-fourth birthday party, early in June of 1965, Emma had made a comment to Paula. She had said that he had an intense glamour. Paula had not understood exactly what her grandmother had meant four years ago. She did now.
Paula was poised at the entrance to The Aviary, viewing him with unprecedented objectivity. He was at the far end, stood leaning with one elbow on the bar, one foot resting on the brass rail that encircled the base of the bar.
He was wearing black linen trousers, a black voile shirt and a jacket of silver-grey silk. Although he was tieless, he nevertheless looked extremely well dressed, as impeccably groomed as usual. But the aura of glamour her grandmother had spoken about had little to do with his clothes, as Paula was realizing as she continued to study him unobserved. It emanated from his height and build, his natural good looks, and the force of his personality. He was in command of himself – and this room. And he has abundant charisma, Paula thought. That’s what it is, and it’s the kind that every politician in the world would give his eye teeth to possess.
Shane was talking animatedly to a couple, obviously guests of the hotel, his face alive, expressive. The woman was entranced, hanging on to his every word. But then, seemingly so was the man who accompanied her.