Spirit Of Atlantis. Anne Mather

of the day and night, and an intercommunication system connected all the cabins to the small exchange behind the desk. The reception area was already a hive of activity when Julie came in, and Pam herself hailed her from the doorway leading to the spacious dining room.

      ‘Hi,’ she exclaimed. It was the usual mode of greeting on this side of the Atlantic, and Julie was getting used to using it herself.

      ‘Hi,’ she responded, swinging her towel in her hand. ‘Is that coffee I can smell brewing?’

      ‘It sure is.’ Pam wrinkled her brow as the younger girl approached her. ‘You’re back early. No swim?’

      ‘No swim,’ agreed Julie, not really wanting to go into details, but Pam was too inquisitive to let that go.

      ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘You’re not feeling sick or anything, are you? ‘Cos if you are, I’ll phone Doc Brewster right away.’

      ‘No, I’m not sick.’ Julie forced a smile. ‘As a matter of fact, the lake was already occupied, and as I didn’t feel like company …’ Her voice trailed away, and passing Pam’s more generous proportions with a sideways step, she walked across the restaurant to take her usual table by the window.

      The dining room was empty, but the waitresses were already about, and one of them, Penny, came to ask what she would like.

      ‘Just toast and coffee,’ Julie assured her firmly, aware of Pam’s enquiring face in the background, and the girl knew better than to offer the steak or eggs or maple syrup pancakes that so many of their visitors seemed to enjoy.

      ‘Well?’ Pam prompted, coming to stand with plump arms folded, looking down at her young friend. She had put on weight since her marriage to David, and having sampled the meals served at the Kawana Point Hotel, Julie wasn’t really surprised. Steaks tended to weigh at least half a pound, with matching helpings of baked potatoes or french fries to go with them, while the desserts of cream-filled pastries or mouthwatering American cheesecake simply added inches just looking at them. Julie felt sure she, too, would burst at the seams if she enjoyed their hospitality for much longer, although her own level of metabolism seemed to dispute this anxiety.

      ‘Well, what?’ she said now, hoping Pam was not going to be difficult, but the other girl seemed determined to discover the facts.

      ‘Who was occupying the lake? No one from the hotel, I’m sure. I didn’t know anyone else knew of that cove.’

      ‘Nor did I,’ replied Julie, playing with the cutlery. ‘But obviously we were wrong.’

      ‘So who was it?’ Pam persisted. ‘Not campers? There’s barely room to pitch a tent.’

      ‘No, not campers,’ Julie assured her resignedly. ‘It was just some man, a tourist, I suppose. He said he was staying down the far end of the bend in the lake near the cove.’

      ‘You spoke to him?’ Pam was interested, taking the seat opposite her and gazing at her with twinkling eyes. ‘Hey, how about that? All these weeks you’ve rebuffed every introduction we’ve arranged for you, and now you go and meet some guy down at the lake!’

      ‘It wasn’t like that,’ declared Julie wearily, wishing she had played invalid after all. ‘He was just—swimming, and—well, he spoke to me. It was all perfectly innocent and certainly nothing for you to get so excited about.’

      Or was it? Julie couldn’t prevent the unwilling surge of some emotion along her veins, and the remembrance of how he had held her and kissed her brought goose-bumps out all over her body. Hoping Pam would attribute them to the chilly air-conditioning of the dining room and not to any other cause, she folded her arms on the table and surreptitiously looped her fingers over the most obvious flesh on her upper arms.

      ‘So who is he?’ Pam urged her, arching her blonde brows. ‘Did he give you his name?’ She frowned. ‘I don’t know who he might be staying with. The Leytons and the Peruccis have summer places along there, but they don’t normally associate with the common crowd.’

      ‘Pam, it was no one like that.’ Julie shook her head. ‘He was riding a motorbike, or’—she added blushing—’he said he was. He just wasn’t the type you think.’

      ‘Ah, older, you mean?’

      ‘No. Younger.’ Julie looked up in relief as Penny brought her toast and coffee. ‘Mmmm, this is just what I needed. It’s quite chilly in here, isn’t it?’

      Pam waited until Penny had departed and then looked at her impatiently. ‘So what was his name? Did you get it?’

      Julie sighed. ‘Prescott,’ she said reluctantly. ‘Dan Prescott.’

      ‘No!’

      Pam was regarding her in disbelief now, and Julie wished she would go away and stop making a fuss about nothing. It was bad enough having her morning disrupted, without Pam sitting there looking as if she had just delivered her a body blow.

      ‘Pam, look, I know you mean well, but I am going to marry Adam, you know. It’s all arranged. Just as soon as I feel able—’

      ‘Julie, did he really say his name was Dan Prescott?’ Pam interrupted her, leaning across the table, her hand on the younger girl’s wrist preventing her from putting the wedge of toast she had just buttered into her mouth.

      Julie pulled her hand free and nodded. ‘That’s what he said.’

      Pam shook her head. ‘My God!’

      Julie regarded her half irritably now. ‘What’s wrong with that?’ she demanded, popping the wedge of toast into her mouth, and wiping her fingers on her napkin. ‘It’s a common enough name, isn’t it? I mean, he’s not an escaped convict or anything, is he?’ Her features sobered somewhat at the thought.

      ‘No, no.’ Pam shook her head vigorously now, half getting up from her chair and then flopping down again as she realised Julie deserved some explanation. ‘Julie, Dan Prescott is Anthea Leyton’s nephew!’ She made an excited little movement of her hands. ‘Anthea Leyton was a Prescott before she got married, and the New York Prescotts are the Scott National Bank!’

      Julie put down her knife and lay back in her seat. ‘So what?’

      ‘So what?’ Pam licked her lips. ‘Julie, don’t you realise, you’ve been talking to Lionel Prescott’s son!’

      In spite of herself, Julie’s nerves prickled at the thought. The names meant nothing to her, but banking did, and judging by Pam’s awed expression the Prescotts were no ordinary banking house. New York bankers tended to be immensely rich, and she had no doubt that it was this which had stunned her friend.

      Forcing herself to act naturally, she poured another cup of coffee, and taking the cup between her cold fingers she said: ‘I rather fancy you might be wrong, Pam. He—er—he said his mother was English, not American.’

      ‘No, she’s not!’ Pam was really excited now. ‘Heavens, that confirms it, doesn’t it? Sheila Prescott is English. I think she was only a debutante when they met. You know how these stories get around.’

      Julie took a deep breath. ‘Well—’ She tried to appear nonchalant. ‘I’ve provided a little bit of gossip to brighten up your day.’

      ‘Julie!’ Pam looked at her reprovingly. ‘Don’t say you’re not impressed, because I won’t believe it. I mean—imagine meeting Dan Prescott! What was he doing here? What did he say?’

      Julie put down her cup as David Galloway came into the dining room looking for his wife. He grinned when he saw them sitting together by the window, but before he could say anything Pam launched into an extravagant description of how Julie had made friends with Anthea Leyton’s nephew.

      ‘That’s not true,’ Julie felt bound to contradict her, looking apologetically at David. ‘As a matter of fact, I was rather rude to him. I—er—I told him this was private land.’

      ‘Good