‘We have - done much t’gether,’ Kydd said defiantly.
‘Yet you are so different.’ Somehow her candour made things much easier than the delicacies of conversation before.
‘What do you talk about?’ she asked. ‘No, that’s unfair. You would not be friends unless you shared something -deep,’ she said.
She sat back and stared at Kydd appraisingly. ‘You look every part a sailor, Mr Kydd, and I do confess that before today I would rather be seen dead than talk to a … sailor.’
‘I understand,’ Kydd said, stiffly.
‘No, I don’t mean that,’ she said, her gloved hand coming out to squeeze his. ‘Please forgive what I said about sailors before, but …’
He forced her to feel her shame, then smiled. ‘It’s the most wonderful thing that ever happened t’ me,’ he said in simple sincerity.
She looked at him steadily. ‘There are things in this life …’ she began.
‘My father is a schoolmaster also,’ Kydd put in, thinking of her duty as a governess, but being a little hazy as to what that implied in pedagogy.
‘Is he?’ she said, looking puzzled.
‘Well, not really,’ Kydd said, and explained the saga of the naval school.
She sat still, her eyes unblinking. At the end she sighed. ‘You’re a very nice man, Mr Kydd.’
He was not sure if this meant his duty to his family or something more, so he compromised with an inaudible mutter.
‘And a very interesting one - I demand you will tell me of your voyages across the bounding main. What marvellous things have you seen? Do tell!’
Kydd was no raconteur, his masculine directness only hinting at the loneliness and terror, the consuming bloodlust and exultation, the deeply affecting love of the sea, but it held Sarah spellbound in quite the same way as it had Cecilia. The afternoon passed, tea had come round at least three times, the fine mist insinuating cool and damp but still she would not let him go.
For Kydd, it was a dream, unreal, not of this existence. Less than a year ago he had been a perruquier in a small Surrey town, glad to be noticed by ordinary girls. Here, sitting in front of him, was a handsome woman of the world in far China who was fascinated by him.
Sarah stood, smiling down at him. He snapped out of his daze and scrambled to his feet. ‘Would you see me home, if you please, Mr Kydd?’
‘Ah, of course, er, Miss Bullivant,’ he said. She waited; he waited.
‘Take my arm, if you please,’ she said primly. ‘It is unseemly to be seen walking at a distance.’
He settled his tricorne on firmly, and held out his arm. Hers entwined and lay gently on his, and the electric soft touch of the side of her breast turned his arm into a rigid claw.
They moved off in sedate promenade. Magically, Ah Lee appeared, to follow at a respectful distance, her face blank but watchful. The touch of Sarah’s arm on his was all fire and flowers; Kydd felt twenty feet tall.
He carefully matched his pace to hers, across the praca and into the streaming hubbub of the bazaars. As they walked, Sarah pressed closer to him, turning to speak with a flashing smile. He could manage only monosyllables in reply, but something of his happiness must have communicated itself, for she was plainly flattered. He wondered what sort of picture he made in the fine clothing he wore with such a woman on his arm, and lifted his chin in defiance. He might be a common sailor, but at the moment he was king of the world!
The road widened to a leafy avenue, and in the gathering dusk she stopped before an imposing mansion. Rearing up behind the building was a pagoda, smaller than the ones Kydd had seen in Canton, but more richly appointed. Lanterns gleamed discreetly at the entrance to the mansion; the whole smacked of careless wealth. Ah Lee scurried forward to open the door and waited inside.
Kydd’s heart sank. It was self-evident that Sarah was of a different social order, but had been amused for the length of the afternoon. It had been kind of her, but he had to be realistic.
‘Thank you, Mr Kydd. I did enjoy our tea this afternoon -you are wonderful company, you know.’ Her eyes caught the soft lantern light; they seemed to steal into his soul. She held out her hand. It was bare, the glove had been removed.
‘Er, the same f’r me, Miss Bullivant,’ he blurted, and shook her hand warmly. A brief shadow flickered across her face. He caught the expression, then realised that probably what was wanted was a more formal exchange. He bowed deeply, but forgot to put a leg forward; the gesture ended awkwardly and he blushed.
He looked up again, fearing ridicule, but her face was set, albeit with the tiniest trace of vexation. She brightened. ‘Do you know? We never did get to see the Sao Tiago. Do you think it would be very wicked of me to suggest that we met again tomorrow to remedy the omission?’
Kydd was thunderstruck.
‘That is, if your duties on board your boat do allow,’ she said.
‘After noon, we are free t’ step ashore,’ Kydd stammered.
‘Splendid!’ Sarah exclaimed, clasping her hands. ‘If we meet at two at Honrar Nunez’s, perhaps I can prevail on Ah Lee to provide a picnic basket.’
Her mood was infectious and Kydd found himself grinning inanely, his hat passing from hand to hand.
‘Very well - until two then, Mr Kydd,’ she said decisively. A final radiant smile came that stabbed right through him, then she swept up the steps and into the mansion. The door closed soundlessly. For a moment he stared after her, then slowly turned to make his way back the short distance to the priest’s residencia.
There was no way Kydd could think of returning on board so early, but equally he had no desire to join his friends at their roystering in the Solmar. He paced slowly along the seafront, conscious but uncaring that a lone sailor strolling past at this hour was an unusual sight.
Sarah wanted to see more of him. The simple fact kept repeating itself, raising his hopes to levels of fantasy he knew to be foolish. At the same time he was uncomfortably aware that her proximity and physical contacts, however slight, had awakened powerful urges that in no sense could be termed honourable. One thing was certain, next to Renzi he was nothing but an oaf. He cringed at the memory of his awkwardness and lack of conversation.
Suddenly resolved, he set out for the quay where the ship’s boats secured — he would return aboard and resume his acquaintance with the literature.
On the berth deck there was only one occupant, still and silent at the table under a lanthorn glow. It was Renzi, reading. Kydd slid into the seat opposite. Renzi did not acknowledge his presence, continuing to read his slim volume with great concentration.
‘At y’r books still, I find,’ Kydd said lightly.
Renzi looked up balefully then resumed his concentration.
‘The priest has tired of y’r company?’ Kydd said, with more emphasis.
‘He does have other duties,’ Renzi said.
Kydd bit off a hot rejoinder and remembered his intention. ‘Then I’d be obliged were you to suggest t’ me one of our books,’ he said, ‘that would improve th’ mind.’
Renzi laid down his Wordsworth. ‘So Miss Bullivant might be agreeably impressed with your undoubted erudition?’
‘So I might have th’ chance of knowing somethin’ more of this ragabash world.’
With a theatrical sigh, Renzi leant back. Then his expression softened. ‘You are not — yet — a friend to logic, the rational course, but should you so desire then I have in our sea-chest an old and very dear piece by John Locke, An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, which may yet persuade you.’
Sarah was wearing light blue, with many tiny bows sewn into the skirt of her frock, and a gay lace bonnet that was very fetching.
‘M’lady!’ Kydd smiled, rising to greet her. Nunez was silent, watchful as a bird.
‘Kind sir!’ Sarah replied, bobbing a curtsy with a radiant smile just for him. Kydd felt a rush of feeling that left him in confusion.
He collected himself and said casually, ‘I rejoice t’ see you in
looks, Miss Bullivant, if th’ validity of th’ inference may be allowed as experientially rooted.’ The bit about empiricism could come out later.
Nunez’s eyebrows shot up. Sarah hesitated in puzzlement, then her expression cleared. ‘You have been disputing with Nicholas,’ she said, in an accusing tone, ‘and now you mean to quiz me.’
Kydd couldn’t keep it up, and a wide grin spread. She was caught by his infectious glee and returned the smile. They stepped out into the street, as prim a couple as any to be seen. There was little small-talk as they walked companionably together.
At Sao Tiago they stood on the ancient battlements and looked out to sea, to the islands and scattered ships at anchor, the bobbing sampans and serene junks. Sarah stood in front of Kydd, her bonnet held in her hands and looking outward in silence. Kydd stood close behind: the scent of her hair came up to him, the lines of her body inches from him.
As if it were some other he watched as his hands came up to take her shoulders, his head bent and he kissed the top of her hair very gently, her female scent briefly enclosing him. She froze; her hands came up slowly to touch his, still facing away, still silent.
Suddenly she turned round, but said in a quite practical tone, as if nothing had passed, ‘I believe you would like to see a Chinese pagoda - Thomas.’ Her eyes held his but moved past, over his shoulder. Kydd knew that something was happening, but was unsure, painfully aware of a thudding heart. ‘Come,’ she commanded, her grip on his arm a fierce imperative.
In a trance Kydd conveyed her back along the narrow streets the way they had come, feeling his masculinity uncomfortably, and longing with a fierce dread for what he knew must lie ahead.
Ah Lee opened the door to the mansion for them, and they entered arm in arm. ‘Mr Tsoi journeys to Canton in the winter season,’ Sarah said, with a peculiar air of defiance. ‘The house is deserted.’
Kydd glanced at Ah Lee, whose expression was even more blank than usual. The house was easily the richest and most spacious that he had ever entered, but had an alien look and smell with a compelling exoticism.
‘We will have our picnic in the pagoda,’ Sarah said, and in halting Cantonese told Ah Lee, who looked shocked, but bowed once and withdrew.
Sarah steered Kydd through the vast house and out into the garden. Her arm still in his she chatted on, remarking on this Oriental bloom and that until they reached the door at the base of the pagoda. Kydd wondered what lay in the dark interior. Fiddling with the dark bronze latch, Sarah eased open the tiny door and held up her lantern.
Kydd started uncomfortably. In the flickering gleam he saw her face turn to him, and in his heightened state it seemed distorted, devilish, leading him on into an unknown perdition. ‘Come on, silly!’ She giggled at his hesitation, and ducking down, entered the pagoda.
Quite used to the low deckhead of a man-o’-war, Kydd followed. The golden light of the lantern steadied and strengthened away from the evening breezes, revealing mysterious forms and carvings on all sides. He stared uneasily, the odour of cedarwood and the dust of ages acrid and strong.
‘These are Mr Tsoi’s ancestors,’ Sarah said, then girlishly tripped around a spiral passageway at the periphery. They circled madly in a dizzying whirl that left Kydd breathless. At the very top they finally stopped, laughing. The curved roof above provided a small room, which was barely furnished with a small table and some red straight-backed Chinese chairs on a dark carpet. Many richly ornamented hangings with elaborate writing characters decorated the walls.
Taking his hand, Sarah pulled him over to a window opening and looked at him in triumph. ‘There, Thomas, is it not worth the climb to see this?’ In the clear dusk the twinkling lights of Macao spread away over the hills, fairy-like from this height. The dense, wafting fragrance of the Orient enveloped him and Kydd knew he would never forget that night. The moment hung mysteriously, enigmatically.
‘Ah Lee will not be long,’ Sarah said, in her matter-of-fact way. ‘She will not stay, though, she dislikes being here.’ She drew him back inside, and they sat in the hard chairs, the lantern hooked to a beam overhead.
‘Where do you come from, Thomas?’ she said politely.
By degrees his hot desire subsided. He had misread the situation, and if he were to press his attentions now he would suffer a stinging rebuff. Yet she had already compromised her reputation by being alone with him - he wondered why she trusted him, then remembered that she had called him ‘a nice man’; he didn’t know if he should take this as a compliment or resent it.
The tapping of footsteps on wood began far below. ‘Ah Lee,’ said Sarah unnecessarily. The conversation tailed off until finally Ah Lee appeared with a big tray.
Kydd jumped to his feet to take the tray but was stopped by a warning cough and meaningful frown from Sarah. He sat down again in an awkward silence, while Ah Lee patiently laid out the table, her eyes surreptitiously flicking from one to the other. It was a Chinese meal, many small dishes holding hidden pleasures, and in the middle what looked like a flower vase.
‘Fa tiu’ Sarah said, pouring an opaque liquid the colour of varnish into delicate porcelain cups. ‘A Chinese wine, best served hot.’ She smiled at him over her cup, and he raised his own to her and sipped. It was dense and cloying to his taste, but he felt the glow begin to spread.
Ah Lee left quietly; they heard her steps rapidly diminishing until once more they were alone together.
Sarah’s eyes fixed on his face and she spoke levelly. ‘Do you know, Thomas, that with half a thousand bachelors out here, there isn’t one I’d call a man - not a real one who’s big and strong, daring, handsome.’
Kydd stirred in his chair. Did this mean she really … ‘Damn you, Thomas, do you make me beg?’ The tone was shrill, and had an edge of hysteria.
‘Sarah …’ he began hoarsely, but she was the opposite side of the table and he hesitated.
She breathed deeply, then got abruptly to her feet, in the process sending the table and its contents to one side in an appalling crash of china. Kydd stood up in horror.
At first he could not respond to the passionate assault. The kiss was deep and hungry, her mouth taking his violently, her body pressed into him without restraint. They swayed, clamped together. ‘Thomas!’ she whispered, drawing away slightly. ‘My darling, sweet Thomas! My dear sailor man! Do you not know we’re meant to be one, my love?’ Her eyes were huge and lambent in the lantern’s glow.
Kydd held her in an intoxicated trance, not daring to move. Her leg interposed slowly, caressing between his thighs in an excruciating sensual invasion; his hands in response moved down her back.
‘Thomas — I’ve never been with a man,’ she blurted. Her hands slid down his body and discovered his arousal. She gasped, her breath came fast and ragged; he lowered her gently to the floor.
As with a stranger’s eyes he saw her tear off her shoes, and with a flood of sexual feeling he saw her pull up her dress to the white of knees and upper thighs. She lay on the carpet, writhing and vulnerable.
‘Please, Thomas, my love, my love …’ Her words were nearly incoherent but Kydd was not listening. He knelt between her legs, his head roaring at the sight of her under him, and he tore at his breeches. His hard manhood got in the way and in a rage of frustration he ripped the cloth.
They came together, hard, savagely, their bodies moving together in tidal surges of sexuality. The climax was explosive and uncontrollable. She clung to him while the spasms spent themselves. ‘My darling, my dearest/ she murmured, over and over, clasping his body in hers with an immovable grip.
At last she released him; he drew apart and lay next to her. Wonderingly he gazed across at her, her body still racked by dying shudders, his own knowing only a beautiful, deep satisfaction. They lay there unmoving.
Kydd reached out for her, his arm across her bodice. There was something infinitely endearing in the sight of the trusting pale nakedness of her lower body, but he was becoming aware of the night’s chill, cooling the h
ot wetness, and he clutched at his breeches.
Sarah stirred. ‘My God’ she said brokenly. ‘What have we done?’
Puzzled, Kydd propped himself on his elbows and tried to make out her expression.
‘What have we done?’ This time it was a harsh, tearing sound, sending cold shafts of fear into him.
‘Sarah?’ he asked gently.
She sat up suddenly, plucking feverishly at her dress. Her eyes showed their whites, like a frightened horse, and his unease grew. She lurched over to one of the straight-backed red chairs and sat with her head in her hands.
Kydd got to his feet and covered himself, but his breech flap hung down torn and useless. It seemed futile to pretend a dignity he no longer possessed, but he softly crossed over to her. Then the sobs began, quiet and endless. Clumsily he tried to put his arms around her, but she shrugged them off. The sobs turned to weeping; a hopeless, racking female sorrow.
In all the helplessness of a man he sat motionless, waiting. The evening turned to night, the lantern guttered low. He found his coat, put it around her and resumed his vigil. Long after the night noises of Macao outside had settled in slumber, he held her while the fitful weeping continued. The silent intervals between lengthened until at last it ceased.
‘Thomas,’ she said in a low voice.
‘Yes?’
‘It’ll be all right if we love each other, won’t it?’ she said.
Kydd paused. His thoughts sped ahead. He had not even considered this, but then he realised that he could answer truthfully. ‘Yes, Sarah, if we loved each other of course it would be all right.’
She sighed and reached for him. Her face in the dimness was a wet smear on his, but he kissed her dutifully, then gently disengaged to trim the lantern. The renewed light revealed wild disorder. Sarah stood the table on its legs again and began mechanically to pick up broken pieces of crockery and congealed food from the carpet. Kydd tried to help her.
The coolness of the night was now a hostile cold. Sarah shivered and moved to a corner of the room. Kydd found a tasselled covering and he brought it across to where she sat hugging her knees. In a touching gesture she held it open for him also. He snuggled up to her and found her feminine warmth roused him again. He dared not reveal it to her.
Artemis k-2 Page 18
