Seascape

by Anne Weale

  As she replaced the handset, she knew it was her reference to his grandmother which had made him cut the call short. If she hadn’t mentioned Miss Walcott he would have gone on teasing her in that deep, attractive voice which sounded even sexier on the telephone.

  Kate closed her book and put it aside. She switched off the light and slid down under the bedclothes, but not because she was sleepy. Xan’s call had disturbed the calm of her mind like a sudden gust of wind scattering a tidy pile of autumn leaves.

  Why had she dodged his question about someone special? Robert was special, wasn’t he? He wanted to be special to her. He had rung her that morning, fuming because pressure of work and family obligations had prevented him from seeing her. His mother had house guests and expected him to spend his spare time helping to entertain them.

  Turning to lie on her side, Kate tried to fix her mind on the still unresolved issue of whether or not her long-term future lay with Robert. But although she tried to concentrate, thoughts about the immediate future kept intruding.

  By the end of the week the cottage would be closed up and she would be far away in Chaniá. While she was there would she find out the reason why, even though he was picking up the bill for the nursing home, Xan still reacted badly to any mention of the old lady towards whom, in the normal course of events, he should have felt a warmly protective affection.

  On her last night in England she had supper with the Murretts. Inviting her, Mrs Murrett had said, ‘You won’t want to use the cooker after you’ve cleaned it and defrosted the fridge. Robert will pick you up and run you home. It’s not pleasant for a girl to go back to an empty house on her own late at night.’

  In fact, knowing the Murretts kept early hours, and as she herself would be rising early to drive to the airport, it was only a little after ten when Kate thanked them for their hospitality. Mrs Murrett kissed her goodbye. ‘Take care of yourself, my dear.’

  Kate felt warmed by her approval but at the same time slightly wary. She sensed that Beryl Murrett would be a very hands-on mother-in-law, especially as all her daughters lived in other parts of the country and she didn’t see as much of her grandchildren as she would have liked. When Robert set up his own establishment, she would be a frequent visitor, generous with help and advice. Much as she longed for the security and sharing of family life, Kate wasn’t sure she could handle Beryl breathing down her neck for the next twenty years, however benevolently.

  Robert invited himself in for a cup of coffee. While Kate was making it, he said, ‘The next two weeks are going to seem a long time. I expect you’ll be too busy to miss me, but I shall miss you a lot. I love you, Kate. I want to take care of you ... make up for all you’ve missed, not having parents and brothers and sisters. When you come back, will you marry me?’

  His proposal was typical of the man he was... kind, unselfish, dependable. She knew it was foolish to wish he had waited until she came back and chosen a more romantic setting than the starkness of Miss Walcott’s kitchen. A vision of the candlelit table at the Angel came into her mind.

  Robert took her in his arms and kissed her, saying, between kisses, ‘I know I can make you happy. I knew you were the one the first time we met.’

  With closed eyes and parted lips, Kate waited to be swept away on warm waves of emotion. She did experience pleasure, but not the compellingly sensual undertow she had felt in Xan’s arms in the hall. She didn’t feel that, if she let go and surrendered her will to Robert’s, she would find herself swept up the stairs for a night of passionate lovemaking in the old brass double bed where, long ago, Xan had slept.

  When Robert stopped kissing her to ask huskily, ‘You are going to say yes, aren’t you?’ she opened her eyes.

  ‘Have you told your parents about me? That I was abandoned as a baby?’

  ‘I’ve told Mother. She wasn’t surprised. She thought you might be an orphan.’

  ‘What else did she say?’

  ‘That if she and Dad hadn’t been able to have children, they would have adopted some babies whose natural parents weren’t able to bring them up. Has her reaction been worrying you? You should have known it wouldn’t make any difference to the way she feels about you. She’s not that sort of person.’

  ‘Most parents would prefer that their children’s partners come from the sort of family they can relate to. That’s only natural,’ said Kate.

  ‘In my experience, in-laws hardly ever really like the other,’ said Robert. ‘They put on a show, but usually it’s just a façade. As a matter of fact Mother’s been egging me on. The fact that you haven’t a mother is a bonus in her eyes. She loves organising weddings and can’t wait to tackle ours. She did a great job on my sisters’ weddings.’

  tom sure she did,’ said Kate. ‘But I don’t know that I’m ready for marriage yet, Robert. Apart from other considerations, Miss Walcott is going to need me. I can’t desert her now.’

  ‘Of course not, but we wouldn’t be getting married before the spring anyway. There’s a house to find ... a honeymoon to plan...a hundred and one arrangements.’

  Kate felt a sudden thrust of panic. ‘You’re jumping the gun,’ she said hastily. ‘I haven’t said yes yet. I’m not as sure of my feelings as you are. I have to be honest...I’m not in love with you, Robert. I’m very fond of you...extremely fond...but I don’t think that’s enough. I need more time ... a lot more time.’

  His face fell. Clearly he had been ninety-nine-per-cent certain she would be as eager as he to set in motion the months of elaborate preparations which, among people like the Murretts, were the proper prelude to a marriage.

  Nowadays, even in their conventional world, some things had changed. Kate knew that two of Robert’s sisters had shared flats with their husbands before the bond was official. If she and Robert were engaged, Mrs Murrett would not disapprove of their going on holiday together and making love, discreetly, whenever the opportunity offered. But people in love had always done that even when society frowned on it. Miss Walcott had done it and had her life blighted in consequence.

  But there would be no unwanted baby if Robert and Kate went to bed together. He would make sure of that. And suddenly she wanted very much for him to scoop her up and, ignoring her half-hearted protests, spring up the stairs to her bedroom and make irresistible love to her.

  But of course he didn’t. He wasn’t that sort of man. In his book it would be not on to put sexual pressure on a woman who wasn’t sure of her feelings. Besides, which, having been hurt by the girl whose career had been the most important thing in the world to her, this time he would want to be sure of whole-hearted commitment.

  After they had said goodnight, Robert going home visibly disappointed but hopeful that she would come back from Crete in a different frame of mind, Kate was glad he hadn’t tried to overcome her doubts by physical persuasion.

  She felt sure that Xan, in similar circumstances, would have had no such compunction. Although he bad claimed that he hadn’t been trying it on, she was pretty sure that, if she had been willing, he would have spent the night here. Men like Xan took their pleasures lightly and wherever they found them. If, in Crete, there was no one else to catch his fugitive attention, he might try his luck with her again.

  On Kate’s first Palette trip to France they had flown to Bordeaux and stayed in a restored citadel overlooking the mid-river islands near the mouth of the Gironde.

  On successive trips she had found she could pick out members of the group before the Palette labels on their hand luggage confirmed that they were Miss Walcott’s pupils.

  Generally speaking, people whose hobby was sketching had an identifiable look about them. Sometimes it was merely an expression of intelligent interest in the world about them. Sometimes it was a slightly ‘arty’ way of dressing.

  The plane to Crete was a Lockheed Tristar carrying almost four hundred passengers and Kate’s charges were scattered throughout the main cabin area, so there was no opportunity for them to get to know each other. Nor,
with so many people on board and the aisles busy with holidaymakers, many with small children, going to and from the lavatories, was it possible for Kate to locate and chat to them.

  She wondered if Xan would come to the airport to meet them and if, while exploring the hinterland behind the seaport, he had given much if any thought to the people whose enjoyment depended, to a large extent, on him.

  It didn’t follow that because he was a well-known successful artist he would also be a good teacher. Miss Walcott was an excellent teacher who, whatever she thought of the students as people, was unfailingly helpful with their work. Whether Xan had the ability to deal kindly and constructively with the least talented students remained to be seen.

  Flights to Chaniá landed at an airport which was run by the military with no attempt to smooth the arrival of tourists. The macho scrum for luggage round the badly sited conveyor left Kate feeling battered and breathless and she wondered how the frailer members of the group would get on.

  She wasn’t able to help them recover their luggage because she had to stand outside to direct them to one of the many coaches waiting to convey tourists to various resorts.

  Being tall and strong, Xan would have had no problem retrieving his baggage when he arrived. She felt that a chivalrous man, knowing the airport had neither trolleys nor porters, would have come to help the elderly members of the group with their luggage. Robert would certainly have done so.

  To be fair, Xan wasn’t to know the party included three widows and an elderly spinster. But even if he had, would he have sacrificed his own pursuits for their benefit? Probably he was painting, putting off as long as possible the moment when he would have to step into his grandmother’s shoes.

  The final lap of their journey took about half an hour. When the coach was on a straight stretch of road, Kate, who was in the front seat behind the driver, stood up and faced the other passengers. Using the microphone provided for tour guides, she said, ‘Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. As we only met briefly at Gatwick, let me introduce myself again. I’m Kate Poole. Please call me Kate and come to me with any queries or problems.

  ‘We shall soon be arriving in Chaniá,’ she went on, pronouncing the name in the Cretan way, with a silent c, in case there was anyone on board who thought it was pronounced as spelt. ‘As soon as we arrive at the Hotel Cydonía, you’ll be asked to register and then there’ll be time to unpack and rest, or to stretch your legs, whichever you prefer.

  ‘At seven o’clock there’ll be complimentary drinks on the roof terrace and you’ll be welcomed by Kyria Drakakis, the owner of the hotel, and meet your tutor, Alexander Walcott. Many of you will already know him by reputation. I think you’ll agree we’re very lucky that, in Miss Walcott’s absence because of illness, her famous grandson has agreed to take her place.

  ‘It’s rare for an artist of his stature to lead a painting holiday and I’m sure you’re going to enjoy watching him work and talking to him. Now I’ll just repeat that, if you have any questions, worries or suggestions, don’t hesitate to come to me. That’s what I’m here for. Thank you.’ She switched off the mike and sat down.

  Like the outskirts of many large towns, the approach to Chaniá was not particularly attractive, although here and there gardens with orange trees and the vivid purple or deep crimson bracts of bougainvillaea caught the eye.

  But when the coach entered the narrower streets of the ancient town, Kate heard exclamations of pleasure and excitement coming from the seats behind hers.

  At the Hotel Cydonia two sturdily built teenage maids helped the older people with their baggage. When the formalities had been completed and everyone else had gone to their rooms, the receptionist handed Kate her key.

  The rooms had been allocated by the hotel and Xan would have been given the one preferred by Miss Walcott, who had been coming to Chaniá every autumn for a long time. It had a large balcony where she could paint before breakfast when the light was particularly good and, during the afternoon break, lie nude in the sun.

  Prepared to find herself in the hotel’s worst room, Kate was pleasantly surprised, when she opened the tall shutters, to discover that she was looking out at the sea.

  The room was simply but attractively furnished with an icon-style painting of a saint on the wall behind the two single beds and pictures of women in Cretan peasant dress on either side of the window. This, in addition to the shutters left closed by the chambermaid, had inward-opening panes of glass and translucent white curtains hanging from a painted pelmet. In place of a wardrobe there was a curtained recess with two shallow drawers forming a low shelf with space underneath for baggage.

  While she was unpacking, there was a tap on the door. When she opened it, a smiling maid handed her a cotton bath mat with what was evidently an apology for disturbing her.

  Kate put it on the stool in her small shower-room and then decided to cool off under the shower before she finished unpacking. She was naked when another knock at the door made her wrap a towel round herself.

  Expecting to find the maid had come back with something else she had forgotten, Kate was startled and disconcerted to find herself looking up at Xan.

  ‘How was your flight?’ he asked, entering the room, taking it for granted that he could come in and talk to her even though she was undressed.

  ‘It was fine...although we could have done with some strong-arm help at the airport,’ she added pointedly.

  ‘I did intend coming to meet you, but, today being my last chance to concentrate, I wanted to make the most of it. To get to the airport in time would have meant breaking off in the middle of a picture of some boats which won’t be there tomorrow. I’m sure if you’d flashed those eyes, you’d have got all the help you needed. Blondes are popular here,’ he said, smiling.

  ‘That wasn’t apparent at the airport. It was every man for himself.’

  ‘You’ve had a long day. What you need is a pick-me-up. I told them to put a bottle and a tub of ice in your room. I’ll fix you a reviver. Do you like the room I picked out for you?’

  ‘Yes, very much.’ How adroitly he turned the tables, she thought. A difficult man to put down. ‘But I hope all the group are equally happy. Our job is to look after them, not put ourselves first.’

  ‘Within reason, yes. But we’re entitled to some perks.’

  The room being designed to accommodate two people, it had two glasses for toothbrushes in the shower room and two drinking glasses on the tray on the side table. Xan had dropped ice into both, adding generous splashes of brandy before topping up with dry ginger.

  “That’ll make you feel better,’ he said, handing a glass to her.

  ‘I was just about to have a shower,’ said Kate.

  He glanced at his watch. “There’s no hurry. They don’t run out of hot water like some small hotels. Sit on the window ledge and unwind for ten minutes.’

  It was where Kate had been planning to sit for a while after her shower. But settling herself in a comfortable position without embarrassing exposures was easier said than done. Luckily, Xan had caught sight of the icon, and while he was looking at it more closely she was able to hoist herself on to the wide ledge between the building’s thick outer walls and arrange her legs as decorously as a rather small bath towel allowed.

  There were men who, in Xan’s place, would have studied the icon out of tact. But she didn’t feel that was his reason. Conversely, with any other man she wouldn’t have been so conscious of the towel’s skimpiness. It covered more than her swimsuit and she didn’t feel shy when she wore that. But somehow Xan made her abnormally aware of her body and her femininity.

  Having looked at all the room’s pictures, he picked up one of the two upright rush-seated chairs and positioned it near the window.

  ‘This is a delightful place. I could happily spend a month here. There are interesting subjects everywhere one looks—the old buildings, the boats, the fishermen. By some happy chance Chaniá seems to have escaped the massed ranks of expen
sive motor-cruisers and floating gin-palaces which have changed the character of so many Mediterranean ports.’

  ‘I’m glad you like it. It certainly looks very nice from where I’m sitting,’ she said, before taking her first refreshing swallow of ice-chilled ginger.

  The kick from the brandy was stronger than she had expected. She didn’t often drink spirits, preferring wine. But it proved an effective reviver. Within a few minutes the tiredness resulting from lying awake last night and rising at five this morning had begun to wear off.

  As he had during most of their dinner at the Angel, Xan exerted himself to be an agreeable companion, and she found her annoyance at his failure to show up at the airport dissipating.

  He drank faster than she did and had only an inch of liquor left in his glass when he said, ‘Are you looking forward to this fortnight? Or does having an inexperienced tutor to cope with as well as the paying customers make you feel as if you were starting an endurance test?’

  ‘I’m expecting to enjoy myself. I hope everyone will,’ she said cheerfully. And then, impulsively, added, ‘I was a bit anxious about whether your grandmother would be happy in the nursing home, but she’s settled in very well. It’s a lovely place...couldn’t be nicer. They moved her the day before yesterday, and yesterday I drove over to say goodbye.’

  As she spoke his expression had hardened into the cold indifference which was always his reaction to any mention of Miss Walcott.

  ‘In that case you can stop worrying about her, can’t you?’ he said curtly. ‘You’ve done all and more than anyone could expect of you. She’s receiving excellent care. She’s not your responsibility.’

  ‘She’ll be my responsibility until you accept yours fully,’ was Kate’s impetuous retort. ‘To pay for her time at the nursing home is going some way towards that, but it’s not going far enough. She needs someone to be there for her... and you aren’t.’