by Susan Lewis
Refusing to go on with that kind of foolishness, she took another large mouthful of champagne, and was about to get up to make her bid for survival when the food started to arrive and everyone returned to the table – including the blondes, who Scott pulled up extra chairs for and introduced as Sherry and Tanya.
It was Tanya who all but sat on Chris’s lap, and Tanya who started to share his meal. It was also Tanya who ordered the next round of drinks, managing to forget one for Rachel, and Tanya who suggested that since the storm was getting worse they should all stay in the rooms upstairs, because the restaurant was also a hotel.
‘In fact,’ Sherry giggled, ‘I think we should book the rooms now, then throw in the keys to decide who shares with who.’
‘No way!’ Tanya cried, putting an arm round Chris’s shoulders. ‘I’ve got mine right here, and I’m not giving him up.’
‘How about we all shack up together?’ Scott suggested, beer sloshing from his glass as he banged it against Sherry’s. ‘It’d save on the cost of the rooms, and think what we could get up to.’
Chris was about to speak, when Scott suddenly burst in over him. ‘Hey, hey,’ he cried excitedly. ‘Chris here’s got one of those digital camera jobs, haven’t you, mate?’ He gave Fenn a bawdy nudge as he winked at Tanya. ‘You girls could put on a show and we’ll turn you into movie stars,’ he guffawed.
‘What about the blow?’ Sherry demanded, sucking rum punch up through a straw. ‘You said you had some.’
‘Fenn!’ Scott barked. ‘You got it.’
‘Sure,’ Fenn replied, from the corner of his mouth. ‘But not right here, mate. Upstairs, when we go.’
‘Let’s get someone over here to sort out the rooms,’ Scott declared, swaying in his chair as he turned to beckon a waiter.
Since they were all being so loud Rachel was sure no one noticed when she called another waiter to ask about getting back to the mainland.
‘No problem,’ he told her, quietly, ‘the boat will take you when you’re ready.’
‘Maybe I should go now, before the storm gets any worse,’ she said, trying not to sound too eager.
He looked out at the pitch-black bay, where small pinpricks of light scattered in the distance marked the dock of Gun Creek. ‘Maybe,’ he agreed. ‘But I think nothing going to get too bad for a while yet.’
As he left she turned back to her food, knowing that all she wanted now was to get away, especially as all the vulgar innuendoes and furtive groping of hands was obviously only going to get worse. Then suddenly aware that there was nothing to stop her except her own innate sense of politeness which was clearly totally out of place here, she put her knife and fork down and excused herself to anyone who was listening, though no one seemed to be. As she walked away she heard Tanya telling everyone about the four kilos of cocaine that had washed up on the shore of Prickly Pear island a month ago, which had led to a week-long party during which she, personally, had water-skied naked off the back of a chopper.
In the ladies’ room, in front of the mirror, Rachel rotated her neck to relieve some of the tension, then tilted her head back and took a deep, shuddering breath. She’d just give herself a few minutes then, without making a fuss, she’d ask the boatman to ferry her back to Gun Creek. From there she’d take a taxi up the hill to the villa, since Chris had the car keys, and she didn’t want to tell him she was leaving in case he felt obliged to come with her. Besides, he’d need transport in the morning if he decided to stay the night here, or if he got back after nine, when there were no more taxis at the Creek.
As she left the ladies she could hear the boisterous banter still erupting and fizzing like fireworks around their table, though she couldn’t quite see them now. She could see the rain though: it was starting to come down in torrents, bouncing off the deck of the restaurant and drumming the overhead canopy as loudly as if it were hail.
‘You OK, ma’am?’ a waiter said, as he passed.
‘Yes. Thank you. Actually, I was looking for the captain of the boat.’
‘He over there, at the bar,’ the waiter told her, pointing to a group of men watching some kind of ball game on a suspended TV set.
‘As a matter of fact, he’s already on the boat,’ a voice said behind her.
Rachel spun round.
Chris smiled.
She took a breath, then couldn’t help smiling too. ‘I’m sorry, I hope you don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I sort of lost the mood.’
‘It’s OK,’ he assured her. Then, glancing out at the rain, ‘We should go now, while we still can.’
She frowned. ‘Oh, but no,’ she protested. ‘You don’t have to come. You’re having a good time …’
His eyebrows rose with mock eagerness. ‘You mean I can stay?’
She met his eyes, then her own narrowed as she realized he was teasing.
‘I just went with the flow,’ he told her, taking her arm and steering her out towards the jetty where the boat was waiting.
Casting him a wry look, and having to shout now that they were out in the wind, she said, ‘Oh, so that’s her name, Flo?’ Hearing him laugh she took the hand he was offering and stepped over the side of the boat, ducking into the covered front seats where the captain was checking the radio.
‘Have you got the camera?’ Chris called from the dock.
‘Oh God, no! Oh hell, how could I have forgotten?’
‘Stay where you are,’ he said as she started to get up, and turning back he almost collided with Scott who’d come after them with the small leather case.
‘Here,’ he shouted, handing it over. ‘And you left too much money, mate.’
‘It’s OK, we owe you,’ Chris shouted back, passing the camera on to Rachel. Then signalling the skipper to start the engines, he helped one of the waiters with the ropes before leaping on board.
‘Are you all right?’ he said, sliding in next to Rachel. ‘Not cold?’
‘No. Not at all,’ she answered, falling against him as the boat abruptly circled away from the dock. ‘Are we going to get back in one piece?’
‘Sure,’ he laughed, straightening her up. ‘Could be a bit bumpy though, so hold on tight.’
Almost immediately the boat began a reckless challenge to the elements as it dipped, bucked, rolled and tilted so sharply in the violent gusts that assailed it that Rachel’s mounting fear was only matched by Chris’s apparent exhilaration.
‘Come here,’ he yelled, as she was suddenly thrown up against the side.
Feeling the strength of his arms pulling her to him, she gripped hard on the seat back in front and turned her face into his chest. Overhead the thunder rumbled and crashed through the skies, while daggers of lightning lit up the night as though flashing the hidden secrets of darkness.
‘Almost there,’ he told her, a few minutes later.
She started to look up, then quickly ducked again as his embrace tightened and a second afterwards the boat reared up like a horse, before smashing down with a sickening thud. There were at least a half dozen more rears and thuds like it, until the boat was virtually standing on its stern, where it hovered for an impossible moment, then slammed so hard into the waves that she screamed.
‘Is no problem,’ the skipper shouted. ‘We there. See, there the dock.’
Letting her go, Chris jumped up on to the side of the boat to begin throwing the fenders overboard. Then turning a dangerous loss of balance into a spring on to the jetty, he grabbed a rope and began winding it tightly round one of the cleats. The skipper, being no novice at docking in a storm, revved and slowed the engines as he sidled the boat in, while Chris snatched another rope, coiled it around another cleat, then used all his might to heave the boat up against the dock.
‘Take it steady,’ he yelled to Rachel, as she started to climb out. ‘Here, grab my hand.’
‘I’m OK,’ she shouted, holding on to him as she stepped quickly on to the jetty. The captain was right behind her, hands out ready in case she staggered.
&n
bsp; ‘Are you going back?’ Chris cried, hardly able to stand still in the raging wind.
The captain grinned. ‘Not tonight,’ he answered, checking the rope knots. ‘I stay here with the woman.’ Then to Rachel, ‘You need get that baby home. No weather for a baby.’
Wrapping an arm round her shoulders, Chris ran her along the jetty to where the car was parked, just below the Last Stop bar, which was no longer visible through the misty grey thickness of rain. They were almost there when the wind suddenly gusted them back, spinning them round into the bus stop, then hurling them forward again.
‘Up you go,’ Chris shouted, managing to wrench the car door open.
Rachel clambered in, grabbing the seat back to haul herself clear of the door. It slammed behind her, then a moment later Chris was climbing in the driver’s side.
‘Holy shit!’ he laughed, dripping wet and unable to see a thing through the windscreen. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine,’ she answered, still trying to catch her breath. Then laughing too, she said, ‘Are we going to get up the hill, or shall we join the captain and his woman?’
‘Trust me,’ he declared, rashly, and inserting the key he started the engine.
The journey was nothing short of perilous, as the wind thrust its might into the car as though to force it from the road and over the cliffs into the sea. They took each bend cautiously, bracing themselves for the worst each time the gale caught them, then leaning steeply to the right to counterbalance the dangerous tilts on to two wheels. Their bodies became hard with tension as they used as much willpower as fuel to force the Jeep up the twisting, potholed surface of the hill. Finally they reached the church, which was no more than a white blur in the fog, where they turned right at a tile-roofed bus stop, and began heading along the road towards the villa.
Being on a flatter surface helped them to relax a little, though when Rachel glanced at Chris she could see the strain in his face, as he held firmly to the wheel and brought them safely out of a skid.
‘You know, someone told me earlier that this was the most rain they’ve had at this time of year in two decades,’ he remarked, coming to a complete stop before taking the wheels slowly over a banana-thin speed bump.
Rachel’s voice was ironic, as she said, ‘Don’t you find it amazing how you always manage to hit a worst record?’
He laughed, then let the car roll into a dip, before accelerating out again.
A minute or two later they passed the school where earlier they’d spotted goats and chickens roaming the yard with crisply uniformed children. Now the single-storey classrooms seemed to hover like an apparition in the low cloud and rain. Further along the road the charred remnant of an aircraft engine had rolled from the bank on to the tarmac. Chris steered the car round it, edging frighteningly close to a ditch, then drove on to the junction that finally turned them towards the villa.
When at last they reached the top of the drive, he turned off the engine and let his breath go in a loud, drawn-out sigh of relief. Turning to Rachel he said. ‘Told you to trust me.’
‘But I never doubted you,’ she assured him.
Cocking an eyebrow he said, ‘There’s an umbrella in the back. Stay where you are, I’ll get it and come round for you.’
‘Are you mad?’ she laughed. ‘I’m already soaked to the skin. What good’s an umbrella going to do now?’
But he was already out of the car, slamming the door behind him and opening the tailgate.
‘You should have stayed at Saba Rock,’ she told him, as he held the umbrella over them while ushering her up the steps to the villa compound.
‘You wanted to do that drive alone?’ he challenged.
‘No, but you were having fun.’
‘We’ve already dealt with that,’ he responded, pushing her towards the porch outside the master suite.
‘Oh my God!’ she gasped, leaping back into him.
‘What? What is it?’
‘A crab. It’s huge.’
Stepping around her he looked down at the frightened eyes of a big yellow ghost crab whose arched legs were quivering like a dancer’s who didn’t know the next move. ‘Poor chap,’ he said, stooping towards it. ‘Her name’s Rachel, but she won’t hurt you, so you’re free to go.’
Shoving him forward, she was about to grab the umbrella when the outdoor lights started to flicker.
‘Oh no,’ she murmured, holding her breath as she looked at them.
A few seconds passed. Nothing happened, then, with the suddenness of a flick, they went out, plunging the night into absolute darkness.
‘Oh hell,’ she muttered, unable to see even the white wall that a moment ago was in front of her.
‘Got any coins?’ he asked.
‘You’re so funny,’ she responded.
Laughing, he took her by the shoulders and eased her into the porch. ‘Wait there,’ he told her, ‘I’ll go and find a torch.’
‘There were three, in a drawer next to the fridge,’ she called after him. ‘But I don’t know if they have batteries.’
As she waited she decided to use her keys to prod around for the lock. It took several attempts, but finally she made the right connection and was able to let herself into the room. She still couldn’t see, but the lightning flashed some assistance as she moved gingerly towards the bed, then groped her way along it to the nightstand. As she pulled a drawer open her copy of The Magus fell, making her wince as it hit the tender bones on the top of her foot. Then the baby suddenly made some vigorous movements, probably because it had just got the champagne. Smiling at the wonderful sense of connection it gave her, she reached into the drawer and began fumbling around for the candles she was sure she’d spotted just after arriving.
‘Are you in there?’ Chris said, from the door, painting the room with a torch beam.
‘Over here,’ she replied, turning towards the moving wand of light. ‘So they work. Great.’
‘Only one, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘But I found a full box of candles, about a dozen books of matches and an electronic lighter.’
‘There are more candles here,’ she said, pulling them out of the drawer. ‘We just need saucers, or something to stand them in.’
He looked at her.
She looked back. ‘There’re plenty in the kitchen,’ she told him.
‘Heavens, why didn’t I think of that?’ he cried, hitting his head, and swivelling on his heel he took off back through the horizontal rain to the kitchen.
A few minutes later they had managed to turn her room into a cocoon of treacly soft candlelight that seemed so impervious to the roaring storm outside that the sound of it, mewling its eerie cry around the balcony and howling angrily against the shutters, was like an effects track that belonged to another scene.
‘You should dry yourself,’ he told her, as she turned round from lighting the last candle.
She blew out the match, then put it in the saucer. The air smelt of sulphur from the matches, and damp from their rain-soaked clothes. ‘So should you,’ she replied.
As they looked at each other in the shadowy darkness she could feel the air starting to lock in her chest and knew that more than anything right now she wanted to step into a shower with him. Would he be shocked if she suggested it? She wouldn’t, of course, but the thought stayed with her, spreading a gently insistent desire all the way through her.
‘I’ll get some towels,’ he said.
As he went into the bathroom, lighting the way with a torch, she began reasoning firmly with herself, telling herself that he wouldn’t want to make love to a pregnant woman, that he’d already rejected her once, and that it was just a pathetic need to be held that she was feeling, nothing more. But the desire for the kind of physical closeness she hadn’t had in so long was just getting stronger.
When he came back he put the torch on the bed, then covering his hands with a towel he lifted them to her face and began gently to dab her dry.
She looked up at him, and felt her m
outh tremble as she attempted to smile.
His eyes remained on hers as he moved the towel to her neck, and over her hair. Then drawing one hand free, he put his fingers under her chin and tilted her head back. For a long, breathless moment he merely gazed down at her, then very slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers.
It was as though her heart was afraid to carry on beating as her eyes flickered closed and her lips parted to receive his. The kiss was sublime in every way, for the feel of him was as beautiful as the taste and as evocative as the smell.
‘You should take those wet clothes off,’ he murmured.
‘So should you,’ she said.
He looked deeply into her eyes, then, unable to stop himself, he kissed her again.
She lifted her hands to his, and felt him enfold them and bring them to his chest. She longed for him to put his arms around her, but as she leaned in closer to his body, he gently drew back from the kiss. ‘We can’t do this,’ he said softly.
Confused, and embarrassed, she said, ‘I’m sorry, I …’
‘No, don’t be sorry. It’s not you, it’s me.’
She looked up at him, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes.
‘There was a time,’ he said, sounding almost bitter, ‘when I considered myself an honourable man, so maybe I should be thanking you for giving me the chance to be one again.’
She continued to look at him, wondering if this was some oblique reference to the baby. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘What …?’
‘I know you don’t,’ he said gently. ‘I thought you did, but …’ He stopped as his eyes closed. Then looking at her again, he said, ‘We can’t do this, Rachel, not because I don’t want to, but because I’m married.’
