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St. John Virgin Islands Romance Novel. Cruz Bay, Coral Bay
romance story set in the U.S Virgin Islands and the BVI.
Island Recess, Chapter 14.
The remains of their meal were mere crumbs
on the gilt-edged hotel china, as they had partaken ravenously of the
beautifully-presented delicacies. A trace of chocolate syrup graced Helena’s
tanned shoulder, and Neil bent chivalrously over her to remove it with a brush
of his lips. Helena sighed languorously, as she reached up to cup Neil’s chin in
her hand and pull his face toward hers. In the soft light of the bedside lamp,
her new gold pendant sparkled at her throat. Gazing into Neil’s eyes, she met
his lips with a soft press of her own. His hands were at the small of her back,
pulling her against him. They both started as the telephone rang shrilly.
“Leave it,” she murmured huskily. Then, as the telephone continued to ring, he
reached across her to lift the receiver.
“Yes?” he inquired, a trace of abruptness audible in his voice.
His brow furrowed as he listened to the message relayed by the caller.
“I see,” he responded cautiously, raising his eyebrows to Helena.
Helena mimed a question, the expression on her face mirroring her confusion.
“I understand,” he continued, sighing and shaking his head in a manner that
belied his apparent comprehension of the situation. “We’ll be down shortly.”
Replacing the receiver, Neil faced Helena, a look of consternation in his dark
blue eyes. Then he laughed, a short, mirthless laugh.
“It looks like good old Karl took rather a crude parting shot. Apparently there
have been so many anonymous complaints regarding the occupants of a certain,”
Here he paused, and indicated the space they were occupying, “Room 894, that the
management has no choice but to ask us to leave.”
“But we weren’t that loud,” erupted Helena vehemently.
Neil smiled at the seriousness of Helena’s response.
“No, not any louder than many, I’m sure,” he agreed with a smile. ”This is
probably just another low-grade effort at harassment, courtesy of Karl. Still…I
think we probably should leave. I’m not anxious to have a good night’s sleep
interrupted by more calls from the management.”
Helena agreed with some reluctance, her gaze dragging wistfully over the plush
pillows and wide bed on which they were still cuddled together. Sighing with
annoyance and hurrying more out of a desire to accomplish their departure than
from fear of any more retaliatory behavior on Karl’s part, they quickly dressed
and prepared to leave.
“Where now?” was the question on Helena’s lips as they waited for the arrival of
the sleek, glassed-in elevator.
“Well, I’m not sure that it’d be wise for us to return to your place or mine
tonight. I want to be good and sure that Karl is off the island and out of our
lives before we go back to ‘business as usual.’ I have a friend who’ll give us a
bed for the night. We could spend the night there if that’s okay with you.”
Helena nodded her assent, and stifled a yawn with the palm of her hand.
Slipping his arm about her waist, Neil pulled Helena against him, and she
responded by leaning her head against his shoulder. A question floated to the
surface of her mind and stayed there, prompting her to speak, despite a nagging
desire to keep things as they were.
“Neil, do you really work for the Scarpellis?”
Neil’s laughter was sudden and deep, an ironic chuckle that for a moment,
swallowed his speech. Helena was startled, then relieved, as he shook his head
heartily and smiled broadly in her direction.
“Helena, when I told you my tattoo was the result of a frat house prank, I meant
it. One of my old college roommates was distantly related to the Scarpelli
family, thought the whole mobster thing was a joke and had decided it would be
cool if all of his frat brothers got the same tattoo: the Scarpelli ‘family
crest.’ One night we all got really drunk and headed for the tattoo parlor. I
guess everyone sobered up pretty quickly when the needle got buzzing; that is
everyone but me and my frat brother. Funny, before last night, my tattoo had
never gotten me anything other than some good natured ribbing.”
Neil continued to chuckle, seemingly incredulous that Helena had thought him an
associate of a mobster family.
“And, Helena, as for the rest, I was just bluffing: playing for time. I never
dreamed it would work, but when it did, wow, magic!”
Helena gazed up at Neil, suddenly certain that he spoke the truth.
Smiling, she acknowledged and humbly apologized for the error of her suspicions,
and then sat back, lost in thought. While she felt closer to the truth than she
had before, unanswered questions continued to rear. However, with Helena
reluctant to sound as if she were interrogating Neil on the subject of his
mysterious past, the opportunity for questioning had passed for the moment.
Silently, she gazed out the passenger window, willing the uncomfortable churning
of her doubts to cease until she were better equipped to handle possibly painful
explanations.
It was just after midnight, and it seemed like half of St. John’s was still wide
awake and on the move. Music throbbed from cars cruising near the beach, and
merry-makers jostled each other as they emerged from noisy little bars and
restaurants. Helena watched the motion with tired eyes. It seemed ages since
they had drive this way in search of Room 894 and the promise it had held. As if
reading her thoughts, Neil reached a hand out from the steering wheel and
stroked her cheek.
“We’ll have other times together,” he promised her softly.
“But when?” was Helena’s unspoken response. While she had not yet booked a
flight home, she felt a niggling responsibility to do so. Had they not just
“gotten rid” of Karl, only to be disturbed by him a few short hours later? How
much longer could she continue compromising the life Neil had chosen with the
complications of her own? The time was rapidly approaching when she would have
to say her good-byes. She swallowed hard as she contemplated the prospect of a
future without Neil Streep.
The dismal train of her thoughts was interrupted by Neil’s announcement that
they had arrived at their destination. Pulling up to a well-lit, trim little
bungalow Neil hopped out of the truck and came around to Helena’s door to offer
her a hand. Entwining her fingers with his, Helena kept pace with Neil as they
approached the residence. Their cautious knock was answered almost immediately
by a curly-haired young man in his early twenties. Tucked under his arm was a
thick textbook, and a marking pen took up the only corner of his mouth that was
not part of his wide smile.
“Come in, come in,” he said in a loud whisper, “After all the trouble Neil said
you two have been having over the past couple of days, I was half-expecting you.
We just have to be a bit quiet as my mother and little sister are already
sleeping.”
Helena ducked through the narrow doorway, followed by Neil. As the young man
extended a calloused palm and introduced himself as Jose, Helena had the strange
feeling that she had already made his acquaintance.
“Jose is a law student at the University over on St. Thomas,” explained Neil in
a hoarse whisper. “I met him when I building a gazebo in the main garden area.
He works part-time in maintenance to help pay his studies and we took to talking
lawyerly ethics one afternoon. We still get together when we can.”
Jose smiled. “Neil is a great friend of mine. I can’t begin to tell you how much
he has helped…”
His words trailed off, as a racking cough was heard from somewhere in the
interior of the small house.
“Mi madre,” he whispered, and excused himself before hurrying down a narrow
corridor.
“His mother,” whispered Neil.
“I know that much Spanish, at least,” responded Helena, rolling her eyes as she
gave him a gentle dig in the ribs. While they waited for Jose’s return, Helena
glanced about the tiny living room. Photographs seemed to dot every surface and
cover the walls. Colorful carvings and brightly woven blankets completed the
décor. One of the larger photos caught her eye, and Helena bent down to examine
it more closely. With a start, she realized why Jose’s appearance had struck her
as being familiar. A frisson of apprehension caused her to shiver in the humid
night air. Jose had been the man she had seen at the marina: the driver of the
Jeep with whom Neil had exchanged a package for a wad of bills. Out of the
corner of her eye, she saw Neil’s eyes on her and flushed as if he could read
her thoughts.
“Senor Neil!” the words were spoken with warmth and enthusiasm and boomed in the
quiet little house. A tiny, elderly woman was reaching up to Neil, gnarled hands
shaking as he bent to embrace her. She caught sight of Helena and smiled
broadly, “Mister Neil, he is como mi son. Such a good boy.” Her dark eyes
glistened as she beamed at him with obvious pride.
To her amusement, Helena could discern a faint blush coloring Neil’s skin. She
nodded as Jose’s mother chattered on, her enthusiastic declarations peppered
with an increasing number of Spanish words. Shaken by her recognition of Jose,
she found it hard to concentrate on the chatter of the friendly woman, and felt
her smiling lips go rigid with effort. Neil seemed relaxed and attentive,
leaning in toward the speaker, and patting her shoulder from time to time with
an affectionate gesture. Jose leaned in confidentially toward Helena and
murmured in a low voice.
“My mother has very bad rheumatism and much pain. Neil has a doctor friend in
the U.S. who is able to get for us a very experimental drug that makes her
attacks much less severe. He does not ask of us any more than the cost for his
friend of mailing these pharmaceuticals. My mother is so grateful to him for his
help that she often calls him mi otro hijo - my other son.”
“It’s really not much,” Neil began, his color heightening to crimson, as the
senora reached up and patted his cheek fondly.
Helena sat up with a start, her thoughts suddenly focused on Jose’s revelation.
She was struggling to invent a subtle query that would throw light on the
exchange she had seen at the marina. Perhaps the package exchanging hands had
contained nothing more sinister than the prescription medication for an aging
mother. Biting her lip in consternation, she looked up to see Jose’s dark eyes
fixed on hers. Then, his words broke her chain of concentration entirely.
“You look so familiar,” he said, “And I’ve been trying and trying to place you.
I’ve just realized that you are the spitting image of a girl I saw down by the
marina. I was with Neil at the time, giving him a ride to thank him for
arranging another refill of mi madre’s medicine. The funny thing is, that at the
time, he thought he recognized you, and now I do!” His smile broadened and he
looked expectantly at Helena, as if she were to share in the joke.
Helena blanched and attempted a carefree laugh. “I guess I just have one of
those faces,” she said with a sickly smile. For a moment, the room fell silent,
and Helena felt three sets of eyes regarding her with steadfast curiosity. For a
moment, she racked her brains, and then made a desperate attempt to change the
topic. Leaping to her feet, she began gesticulating toward an elaborately woven
throw-rug tacked to one of the sloping plaster walls.
“What a beautiful blanket!” she exclaimed with what she hoped was sparkling
enthusiasm.
As the older woman rose to point out the pattern on the heirloom, Helena felt
the moment of danger pass. Relief flooded through her as she realized the
innocent nature of the pair’s exchange, and the foolishness of the fears she had
cultivated in her espionage mission. Feeling Neil’s arms about her waist, Helena
relaxed and leaned her head back against his chest. Her eyelids felt suddenly
heavy and she tried to smother a yawn. The lateness of the hour, and Helena’s
obvious fatigue did not elude the little family. Within minutes, they were
bustling about the small house, trying to find the most comfortable sleeping
quarters for their guests. Despite Jose’s best efforts to have the couple use
his own bedroom, Helena and Neil insisted on making up the tiny pull-out sofa.
As the hall lights were extinguished, Helena and Neil crawled under the covers
of the little bed, the springs protesting under their combined weight. Neil’s
breath on her cheek was gentle as he pulled her against the curve of his body
and fitted his arm over the line of her waist. Closing her eyes, she sensed the
beating of his heart in the silent house, and snuggled closer to further
minimize the distance between them.
“I love you,” he whispered softly. Helena heard her own I love you pass from her
lips, and then she was fast asleep in Neil’s arms.
Shafts of sunlight beaming in the window awoke Helena from a deep and
dream-filled sleep. She yawned and stretched, then turned to find an empty
pillow beside her. Hugging the blankets to her chest, she craned her neck to see
if she could catch sight of any movement in the room beside her. At that moment,
Neil entered the room, a large glass of orange juice in his hand. Bending and
kissing Helena on the crown of her head, he passed the glass to her. Suddenly
aware of her rumbling stomach, Helena took a great gulp of the pulpy fruit juice
and asked, “What time is it?”
“Nearly nine, sleepyhead!” he teased, ruffling Helena’s disarrayed curls. “Jose
is already at school and his mother off to work. That leaves his little
sisters,” Here he paused and pretended to be considering their whereabouts, “And
they’re off playing with their friends. And that leaves us all alone!”
He pretended to lunge at Helena, grabbing lustfully at her bottom as she scooted
around to the other side of the sofa bed. They grappled playfully for a moment
before Helena stopped and her expression became suddenly serious.
“It’s time I checked in with everybody, Neil. I need to find out what’s
happening at the school, and to let people at home know that I’m okay.”
Pinned on his back by Helena, Neil clearly would have preferred to continue
their playful wrestling, but managed a gracious affirmative. While they set
about tidying up evidence of their stay, it seemed that Neil took every
opportunity to make affectionate contact with Helena. Standing on her tiptoes to
tuck the blankets back on a high shelf, Helena felt his lips at her ear as he
reached up to assist her. As she sloshed their dirty glasses in a dishpan of
soapy water, Neil was there with a clean dishrag and a rain of soft kisses.
Within half an hour, the little house was once again spotless. Before leaving,
Helena made a quick phone call to her principal. While she missed her pupils and
the routine of her classroom, Helena found herself slightly relieved to find
that school most likely would not resume until after the summer. While the
threat of Karl’s presence had paled somewhat, Helena was still preoccupied with
unanswered questions. Sensing that Helena was lost in thought, Neil slipped his
hand inside hers and drew her to him before leading her through the tiny
entranceway. Closing and locking the front door behind them, they walked side by
side up the modest pathway to Neil’s truck. Before climbing into the passenger
seat, Helena turned and gazed back at Jose’s home. She sighed softly and Neil
spoke gently to her.
“You never know. One day we might have a little picket-fenced house just like
that ourselves.”
Helena bit her lip to keep from smiling too broadly as she laced her fingers
with those of his free hand.
Not wishing to disturb Ben, a late sleeper, so early in the day, Helena
suggested she try accessing her e-mail account at the local internet café.
Trying hard not to look aghast at the hourly charge, Helena made her selection
from the three available terminals and began the process of retrieving her
messages. As she typed in the password to access her account, she was aware of
Neil’s hand at her elbow, carefully placing a steaming cup of coffee just within
her reach. Then, with a parting squeeze of her shoulder and a stern admonition
not to rush herself, he had moved away, stationing himself in a cracked vinyl
armchair behind a day-old newspaper. Left to examine her correspondence in
privacy, Helena began the laborious task of weeding the junk mail from the
genuine communications. She smiled to herself as she read the tongue-in-cheek
titles of some of her co-workers’ contributions, and resolved to spend a few
minutes answering these once she had sent her reassurances to her mother and
best friend. Clicking quickly on the most recent message from Julie - “Where R
U? I have news!”- Helena began reading. As her eyes scanned the first few
sentences, she shot a quick glance in Neil’s direction. He appeared to be
thoroughly engrossed in his reading. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her
stomach, Helena returned to the start of the message, and began re-reading
Julie’s communication, this time with greater care.
Helena! Where are you? the message read. Your mom told me the whole story about
your supposed kidnapping and your rescue by the mystery man. What happened with
Karl? Is he back in Seattle? Please (!) call when you get this message and give
me the update! I was so worried about you! Okay, here’s a biggie: I have news
for you about Mr Neil Streep..
I showed the photo of your “Neil Streep” to Alex and he recognized him
immediately. As Alex so eloquently put I, ‘Who could forget cheeks like that -
and I‘m not just talking about his face.. The kicker is, that your friend’s name
isn’t Neil Streep, it’s Neil Peters. Anyway, apparently he was one of the up and
coming entrepreneurs in the state, maybe even the country, until he vanished
from the scene a couple of years ago. After a bit of coaxing (promises of
martinis, etc.) Alex managed to dig up a couple of things: an article from
“Entrepreneur” and ( of all things!) a wedding announcement. With a bit of help,
I scanned them into the computer. Read and form your own opinions, but remember
this: People who suddenly change their names are often hiding something. PLEASE
be careful, Helena. You’ve already had one lunatic in hot pursuit so don’t be
getting into bed with another one (or at least, be ready to get OUT right away
if needed!) I know you’ll make the right choice. Miss u…Love, Julie.
The scanned articles followed as attachments:
[Georgetown Gazette, May 2001]
Mr. And Mrs. Norman Johnson are pleased to announce the engagement of their
daughter, Caroline, to Neil Peters, son of Mr. And Mrs. Douglas Peters, of
Portland, Oregon. Caroline Johnson, an interior designer for the firm of
“Intercede,” graduated magna cum laude from California Polytechnic in 1992.
Crowned Miss Mayflower in her senior year, Ms. Johnson continues her “reign” as
a volunteer, modelling for many local charity fashion shows in her spare time.
Neil Peters is the owner of “New England Construction Ltd.” and a graduate of
the University of Washington. Since 1995, his company has grown to include 30
employees and to become one of the top twenty new businesses in the country.
Taking time off from their busy schedules, Caroline and Neil will exchange vows
in the company of family and friends in a candle-lit double-ring ceremony. The
wedding will take place on October 20, 2002 in Hartford, Connecticut, at the
Johnson family’s country estate. Following an extended honeymoon in the Grand
Cayman Islands, the couple will reside in Georgetown where Neil Peters plans to
establish a new branch office for “New England Construction.” Family and friends
extend congratulations to the happy couple on their engagement.
[Entrepreneur, March 2001]
An economy that has been slowing since the late eighties hasn’t stood in the way
of the partners of “New England Construction Ltd.” “There’s always going to be a
need for well-constructed, affordable commercial and residential buildings,”
says Neil Peters, who along with a building team headed by his college
room-mate, Gene Scarpelli, have planned and built some of the most high profile
retail space in Georgetown. Peters and Scarpelli met their freshman year in
college and decided they’d follow the path set by Peters’ uncle, a builder with
an eye for what he termed ‘affordable quality.’ Following graduation, the pair
worked in the private sector to save money until they had the skills and
finances to start their business in 1998. A few years of sweat equity later,
profits for the company are expected to reach $40 million. The pair hope to
expand their business throughout the state of Maine, beginning with the
establishment of a new head office in Georgetown.
Scarpelli…Neil Peters! Helena massaged her temples as she leaned in to re-read
the article from Entrepreneur. From the corner of her eye, she caught Neil’s
movement, a subtle shift in posture followed by a smoothing and folding of the
now-finished newspaper. She caught his eye and smiled somewhat tentatively as he
stood and stretched, arching his back as he smothered a yawn. Her heart beat
wildly against her ribs and she prayed fervently he would stay where he was for
the moment. With a quick click of the mouse, she closed the window on her e-mail
and exited from the program. By the time he had reached her, Helena was already
standing, adopting a rueful gaze at the cold cup of coffee and studiously
avoiding Neil’s eyes. Unanswered questions knocked dully inside her skull. With
a sinking heart, Helena realized that the time had come for her to seek some
answers. As she reached for the door to the café, she saw that Neil already had
it open. Passing through, she felt his hand slip around hers and the brush of
his lips as he kissed her fingers. With a heartfelt sigh, Helena tried for a
moment to ignore the stirrings of passion and focus on the mystery that Neil
presented. Then, as he pulled her toward him in a spontaneous and tender
embrace, Helena heard her inner voice pleading softly, just one more day?
Inhaling the warm, musky scent of his skin, Helena clung to Neil, and breathed
her answer against his chest. One more day.
Chapter 15.
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