Bernadette’s eyes were round and wide and she stared in consternation in the face of such abuse. Radley felt compelled to give the woman a round of applause.
‘That was a cold read,’ the fortune-teller said. ‘Those are the things I can divine about you from the way you came in the room. If you’d answered my questions, it could have been a whole lot more illuminating. There’s no charge. Now would you kindly leave me to get on with my evening?’
‘That wasn’t a fortune,’ Bernadette whispered, her throat dry. She stood up, somewhat shakily, and Radley rose to his feet next to her.
‘Remarkably accurate, though,’ he said enthusiastically, stopping when Bernadette turned reproachful eyes upon him.
‘It wasn’t fortune-telling,’ Bernadette repeated, making hastily for the door.
‘You’re a little madam,’ said the psychic. ‘Here’s your fortune. You and him,’ she jabbed Radley in the chest, ‘you haven’t slept together yet. You’re not even dating. But you’re going to end up together, marriage, bambinos, the works. You’re going to live to a ripe old age and be very happy together. Got it?’
Bernadette shook her head triumphantly. ‘Ha! You’re totally wrong. I’m in love with someone else.’
‘No you’re not,’ said the woman.
‘You’re really not,’ Radley added.
‘If you were in love with someone else, you wouldn’t be here with him now,’ said the dark-eyed mystic. ‘I’m telling you, you’re going to end up with him.’ She jabbed at Radley again. ‘It’s written in the stars.’
Bernadette’s mouth dropped open. ‘In the stars?’ she repeated.
‘Written across the firmament in an everlasting constellation?’ asked Radley hopefully.
‘Exactly. Now goodnight, safe travels, it was a pleasure meeting you.’
Radley handed the woman a hundred-dollar bill, which she looked very pleased about. He had to drag Bernadette from the room, because she was suddenly rooted to the Indian rug, chewing on her bottom lip, deep in thought.
He started down the steep staircase and Bernadette followed carefully. Halfway down, she stopped. ‘Radley?’ He turned to look at her with expectant eyes. The fact that he was standing below her made their heads level. He was disconcertingly close. ‘Do you think she’s right? About us ending up together?’ She asked the question in a clear voice, with no sign of flirtation or malice.
‘I hope so,’ he answered quietly, honestly.
Her eyes shone, and for once she wasn’t trying to be seductive, wasn’t batting her lashes, or pouting, or twitching an eyebrow. She had a sweet face when it wasn’t animated with libidinous feeling, and her body was delicate and soft when not stretched in various artificial poses. She stood still, quivering like an alert deer, and slowly allowed her forehead to lean against his. He hesitated, his vulnerability unusually evident. They stayed like that, neither daring to move, their breathing becoming deeper and slower, their breath mingling, the shared air warming their mouths and signalling further pleasure.
Bernadette was almost unbearably aroused. She had never been more aware of her own breath, and it was a giddying rush every time she opened her mouth in small gasps to accept the air. She could feel a swirling in her stomach, a wonderful and unusual sensation, like breath where your breath shouldn’t be. Her adrenalin soared, her heart beat faster, and she closed her eyes and kissed him.
It was like falling, an overpowering tumble into nothingness. She couldn’t think; she could only feel. His lips were firm and soft against hers, and he moved carefully, as though she were a precious thing. His arms were around her, he was holding her so perfectly, and she leant her weight against him, entirely trusting. Behind her closed eyes she could see bright, flashing colours, a kaleidoscope of desire. He tasted good, and she pushed for more, her tongue finding his and exulting. It was too good, too good, too much and not enough, maddeningly effective. He had complete control of the kiss, as she had complete control of his heart. It was dangerous to be so enthralled, and her knees buckled with the thrill of it.
He guided her down until she was sitting on a stair and he was above her, kissing her all the while. His hands moved to her hair and his lips moved to her neck, and she gasped aloud with the pleasure. He drew away to look at her, to give her the chance to speak, to draw proper breath, but she pulled him back to her and they kissed again, harder and with more urgency.
They were so engrossed that they didn’t hear the fortune-teller locking the door at the top of the stairs, didn’t hear her until she was right on top of them. ‘I told you so,’ she said loudly, smiling with satisfaction at the couple writhing in the stairwell. Bernadette felt Radley laugh; it was entirely possible for him to kiss and laugh at the same time, which she thought was a great talent. He managed to keep kissing her while he reached in his pocket for the roll of hundred-dollar bills, and they were still kissing as he thrust all the money at the surprised psychic. The happy woman dropped the bills, and banknotes rained down on them, fluttering past them and landing like snow on the stairs – and still they kissed on.
9
Big Sur, the stretch of coastline north-west of Los Angeles, bursts with teleological beauty. Every flower and shrub, each white-tipped wave, towering cliff and expansive redwood, is perfectly positioned. Uniformly riotous, everything between heaven and ocean is designed for one purpose: to bring joy to those lucky enough to bear witness.
Bernadette was unmoved. She had been in an ornery fit since New York. Kissing Radley had been too wonderful and too terrifying. She hated to feel out of control, and the kiss had been most unnerving.
Afterwards, when they had emerged into the heat of the New York night, still giddy, and he had pulled her to him, looking down with the most pleasant expectation, she had taken fright. She was shy, and shaky, and wanted to cry with how much he affected her, and what it meant.
‘I can’t do this,’ she said. ‘I’m not ready.’
And he had, surprisingly, been incredibly compliant. He walked her back to her hotel and left her at the door, sensibly not even leaning in for a goodnight kiss, which would inevitably have led to so much more.
She texted to let him know that she didn’t want anything to change between them, cringing at the platitude. And he had replied: I still want everything. I want all of you. But I will wait. I will wait, indefinitely. And somehow he avoided the platitude snag, and sounded sweet rather than corny.
She had been so shaken that she wouldn’t allow him to see her for the remainder of the New York trip. The morning after their kiss, the morning of her speaking engagement, he had sent a package to her hotel room, because she had refused to let him hand-deliver it. Inside the large box was the sapphire-blue cocktail dress she had so admired in the Neiman Marcus window when they had been shopping for wedding dresses. She laughed out loud to see it. The wedding-dress excursion seemed so long ago, and it was impossible to trace the passage of feeling from then to now. She couldn’t remember who she loved. She couldn’t decide if she loved Tim any longer. When she thought of Tim, her head hurt. And when she thought of Radley, all she knew was the kiss.
She had laughed at the dress because she had already bought its duplicate for herself, and had it with her in New York. She took a picture of the two dresses, side by side, and sent it to Radley captioned Haha!
Who bought you the other? he asked, immediately.
No one, moron. I bought it myself. I don’t need no man, she texted back.
Of course. Forgive me for being primitive.
It was strange for Radley to be so docile and manageable. She half expected him to burst through her door in an impassioned show of feeling, demanding a continuation of their carnal escapade. But he kept his distance, respectfully.
It was an odd moment for Bernadette, who was conscious of some change in herself. It was, unfortunately, not the provenance of some higher sensibility, a transformation towards a more stoic way of being, but something far more commonplace. Thoughts of Radley ca
me unbidden at every moment: the feel of his mouth on hers, the luxury of his gentle arms encircling her body. She was not dreaming only of sensation, because now her emotions were more than they had been. She was no longer lecherous, but left more than anything desiring his good opinion. Suddenly she wanted his beliefs as her own, his good sense to guide her; she craved his respect, and wanted to be worthy of his friendship.
She was disgusted with herself, and couldn’t understand how her old love for Tim had been so effortlessly eclipsed. And if love could be that easily transferred, what mattered love at all?
But her heart turned out to be as contrary a beast as her mind, and seemed to be overtaken by her perverse nature, for no matter how hard she tried to rekindle the ancient feelings, her love for Tim would not relight. Bernadette had not foreseen such an event, although her lust for Radley should conceivably have aroused some secret suspicion. And Tim’s odd behaviour, the fact that he had treated her badly and given no reason, was unexpected. Perhaps her love for him had been a projection after all.
The other obstacle to complete happiness was that Radley Blake seemed, as he always had done, Too Good To Be True. Bernadette did not believe herself worthy of such opportunity. Radley, like the MP, like her father, was too charming, too debonair. He was a tender trap, and she must not fall again.
Surprisingly, Rose had seemed to know that something had happened. After the Man Whisperer’s New York speech, she had taken Bernadette for a celebratory dinner.
‘You spoke beautifully, my darling,’ she said, as they faced one another over a damask tablecloth, lit by soft candlelight. ‘It was quite inspiring.’
Bernadette’s second speaking engagement as the Man Whisperer had indeed been something of a triumph. She had made an impassioned but well-thought-through argument for gender equality, without alienating her audience. It was the first time in her career that she had actually been both truthful and sympathetic. It was a liberating experience, and she felt weirdly connected to the roomful of women.
‘Do you really think I spoke well? It seemed like I did. The audience didn’t yell at me this time.’
‘You were wonderful. Radley thought so too; I spoke to him afterwards. He’s very proud of you.’
Bernadette stiffened. ‘He doesn’t really have a reason to be proud of me. We’re not that close. We don’t even know each other very well.’
Rose glanced at Bernadette, her beautiful face unfathomable. ‘The way he speaks of you, he seems to know you very well. He has a great understanding of your character. When he picked me up from the airport the other day, we had such a good conversation. And it was all about you! I felt like I was learning things about you that even I hadn’t realised.’
‘Oh, Radley can be charming,’ Bernadette said crossly. ‘He’s good at dominating conversation.’
‘No,’ said Rose, who rarely expressed a contrary opinion with such resolve. ‘Your father could be charming. Charming men are not uncommon. Radley is more than that. Radley is a man of substance.’
Bernadette had been surprised by Rose’s endorsement; it made the situation with Radley seem all the more significant and terrifying. Which was why, as she was driven up the beautiful Big Sur coastline towards Tim and Elizabeth’s wedding destination, she was distinctly discomposed. There would be no escaping Radley at the celebration, as there had been in the intervening weeks.
Her discomfort was not the frantic kind; she didn’t feel sick with nerves, she wasn’t sweating and close to tears, nor physically uncomfortable. But there was an unseen tension that kept her feeling as though she was light as air, as though she could escape her body at any moment.
The fact that David was driving her did not affect her much one way or the other. She had asked him to the wedding as a platonic date, wishing, rather than believing, that he would be happy with friendship alone. She was trying to be as nice to him as possible, flattering him gently and encouraging him to talk. David would serve as an unmistakable sign to Radley that she must not be touched nor loved, a sign that she was clearly not yet of sound mind.
But as she gazed at the passing landscape, and the vivid, sparkling ocean, she felt a twinge of regret that she had not been brave enough to fend off Radley alone. She was using David again. When would she see people as people, and not as commodities with a certain value? It was a beautiful day, but she could not enjoy it. Nothing would break into her inner world; she was all emotion and consciousness, quite useless in objective reality.
They arrived at the Post Ranch Inn just as the sun was setting. Each room was stand-alone, and was either built high up in a pine, as a tree house, or was a sort of Hobbit hole cut into the cliff, suspending the occupants above the heaving ocean below. David and Bernadette went to the main house to check in, and found Tim and Elizabeth there greeting arriving guests.
Elizabeth called out in delight when she saw Bernadette, running to her and hugging her hard. Bernadette had a mad-doggish reaction to seeing her friend, and was quite distracted by unaccountable joy.
‘Bernie! Stay with me tonight!’ giggled Elizabeth. ‘Tim and I are in different rooms – you know, tradition before the wedding! I’d love for you to stay with me. What do you think?’
‘Yes!’ Bernadette grinned, and then whispered, ‘It’ll save me having to share a room with David!’
Elizabeth squeezed her hand in response, and the two women smiled conspiratorially at one another. Bernadette’s breath caught in her throat as Tim came up behind her and gave her a welcoming bear hug. She startled, and skipped neatly out of his reach, grinning manically as though happy to see him, but unable to look him in the eye. He had only sent her a cursory text since their non-encounter in New York, apologising but giving no reason for his change of heart.
Elizabeth laughed at Bernadette’s gawky behaviour, and took her by the hand. ‘Don’t scare Bernie, Tim! Creeping up like that! I’m taking her away to my room. We’ll see you guys at the rehearsal dinner.’
David looked miffed and Tim appeared quite thoughtful as the women moved away.
The hotel grounds were set between the ocean far below and the forest, with the rooms stippled among the trees and along the cliff edge. A path wound through the middle, where the smell of the pine and the salt air mingled. The girls walked arm in arm in the fading sunlight, enjoying the slight breeze that worked its way over the nearby cliff.
‘It’s so beautiful here,’ Bernadette sighed, leaning against Elizabeth as if fatigued by happiness.
‘I feel like the luckiest person in the world!’
‘And so you are. You deserve to be.’
The bridal suite was a tree house, and they climbed the long, rustic staircase into the leafy canopy. The room had a spectacular view of the treetops, and the walls were made of warm red wood, which gave a cosseting, womb-like feel to the place. There was a large bed covered with a blue bedspread, and an enclosed fireplace with a tin chimney. Everything was entirely sympathetic to the natural surroundings, and Bernadette felt that all architecture should be as ecologically sound, if it was also able to be so sumptuous.
Elizabeth lay down delicately on the bed and gazed up at the darkening sky through a carefully positioned skylight. ‘Do you think Tim and I are a good match?’ she asked, from nowhere.
Bernadette stared at her, moving to the bed slowly, taking time to think of an answer and instead asking a question of her own. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘Because I respect your opinion, of course!’
‘Well it would be a bit late to do anything about it now, wouldn’t it?’
‘Not necessarily. I’m not the jilting type, but you never know. People can surprise you. It’s always the quiet ones …’
Bernadette sat next to her and took her hand. Elizabeth looked up at her with such trust, a smile on her sweet face, her hair framing her head like a halo.
‘Do you really want an answer?’ asked Bernadette. ‘Or do you just want to talk?’
‘No, an answer! A re
al answer.’
Bernadette thought carefully. ‘I think you are an excellent match. There could be no better choice of wife for anyone than you. You are the epitome of everything good and wonderful. You’re kind-hearted, and honest, and intelligent, and fun, and attractive.’ Here she twisted a lock of Elizabeth’s sandy hair through her fingers. ‘You see the best in others, you love fiercely, you’re protective, and maternal, and – and Tim’s great too.’
Elizabeth kissed Bernadette’s hand. ‘You’re so cute.’
‘Why do you ask, though? Are you not happy? You need to be happy! Tim needs to make you happy.’
‘Oh, I’m always happy. Happiness comes from within. I’m not relying on him for that.’ She sighed and stretched, and Bernadette noticed a more knowing look on her face than she had ever seen there before.
‘You’re not … you’re not going to ditch him at the altar, are you?’ she asked, afraid.
Elizabeth laughed. ‘No, I’m not, don’t worry. Now, let’s call for your luggage, and get ready for dinner.’
The rehearsal dinner was in the hotel restaurant, a low building slung out over the cliff edge so that the view from the window tables was of the Pacific Ocean swirling far below. There was a festive atmosphere, with a jazz quartet playing well-known songs, and soft candlelight illuminating the mise en scène.
Entering with Elizabeth was helpful, as the arrival of the bride was distracting to the gathered guests, and Bernadette was able to slip into the room relatively unnoticed. She skirted around the dark edges of the place, observing with a scholarly detachment. There were many smiling, laughing faces. There was a large and appetising buffet laid out with delicious farm-to-table dishes. There was no seating plan, but round tables were clustered in friendly groups, each with a centrepiece of wild flowers. No one was seated yet, and more people were still arriving.
Acts of Love Page 23
