by Susan Lewis
‘Rarely, I imagine,’ Christian answered, batting away the flies and blowing on her neck to keep her cool.
Reaching up to her shoulder she put her hand over his and leaned into him. ‘Shall we go and take a look at that church?’ she said, pointing to the time-blackened dome of a small Spanish church at the end of the main street.
He shook his head. ‘No. Let’s get out of here for a while and go where the air’s a bit fresher.’
The car was parked at the water’s edge, between a mound of fraying bamboo baskets and a cluster of morose, scraggy mules. A fisherman moved his oars and tackle to allow them to get into the car, and obligingly waved down an approaching ox cart for it to wait while they reversed on to the road. Christian drove slowly, steering the rusty vehicle around rocks and potholes as they went back through the village, passing skinny, barefoot children playing in the dust in front of their makeshift houses. Skeletal, lethargic dogs slept in the shade of barren trees and car wrecks, or scavenged the mouldering piles of trash dumped carelessly on the roadside. At the other end of the village they passed a funeral procession, where mourners in faded T-shirts and ragged shorts followed the limping, flat-tyred car on foot, carrying torn umbrellas to shade them from the sun.
As she looked out of the window Penny’s emotions were binding tightly inside her. The grimness of their lives was as heart-rending as it was incomprehensible. She turned to look at Christian. Feeling her eyes on him, he smiled and held out his hand for hers.
‘Makes you realize how lucky we are, doesn’t it?’ he said, pressing harder on the accelerator as they left the village behind.
‘Yes,’ she said quietly, finding it hard to feel anything beyond the misery of such deprivation and the dread of the passing hours.
They were soon climbing the mountain roads, winding through dense, brittle hedgerows of bamboo and fern and soaring forests of coconut palms. When at last they reached a clearing on the brow of a hill, they got out of the car and walked over the coarse, sun-dried grass to look down over the lake and village. In the distance they could see the merging of the waters and the vague smudge of mountains through the haze.
Leading her over to a cluster of rocks Christian sat down in the shade and settling her between his legs rested her head back on his shoulder. Neither of them spoke for some time, but as they watched tiny green lizards scurry and dart over the slated rocks Penny could feel his melancholy as deeply as she could feel her own. In truth she felt so strangled by emotion she was unable to speak and almost wished that time would stand still so that neither of them would ever have to face what lay ahead.
Taking her hand he lifted it to his lips and kissed it softly. ‘Did you know,’ he said, ‘that the British Airways plane is already here?’
For some reason she felt dizzied and strangely panicked. It seemed incredible to think that something as familiar as a BA plane with its supercilious stewardesses and confident pilots was here on this island.
‘It takes off tomorrow night,’ he told her. ‘Your ticket’s booked. The flight’s at nine-thirty.’
Penny closed her eyes as they filled with tears. It was all coming too soon.
‘What will you do when you get back to France?’ he asked, breaking another long and difficult silence.
Her heart turned over. She’d been thinking about little else for days now, but not knowing how either David or Sylvia had viewed her disappearance was making it impossible for her to come to any decisions. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘It may well be that I no longer have a job there, so I’ll have to return to London.’
‘You think David will have fired you?’
‘Possibly. Probably.’
‘You’ve only been gone a couple of weeks,’ he pointed out. ‘Not exactly a capital offence.’
‘No, not exactly,’ she said, her voice barely audible as she thought how much longer it seemed.
‘My guess is he’ll be glad to have you back,’ he said, giving her a comforting squeeze. ‘And if he’s not, then he doesn’t deserve you anyway.’
Penny smiled. ‘Let’s just hope he sees it that way.’
They sat quietly again, waiting and listening and watching the sun start to burn gold in the sky. Penny turned her head to look up at him and felt her heart spill over with sadness as his lips came gently, seekingly, down on hers.
They hadn’t made love at all since the day he had told her he was letting her go and, though in some ways Penny had felt relieved, she had missed the closeness. But even as she felt his desire mounting now, she knew he was going to push her away. When he did, he got abruptly to his feet and walked back to the car.
After a while Penny followed him and found him slumped over the wheel, his head resting on his arms. As she looked down at him she found herself wondering how long it would be before he met someone else, how long he would have to wait before he could hold a woman in his arms again and make love to her. She could only guess why he was resisting it now, that the comfort of her body simply wasn’t enough, not when what he really wanted was her love.
He turned to look up at her and as she gazed down into his dark, heavy eyes her heart started to falter. She knew beyond any doubt that David meant more to her, but, dear God, she loved Christian too. And what future was there for her and David when he already had a wife and two children he loved? What was she really going back for? What was waiting for her there, besides the loneliness of loving a man who didn’t want her and the pain of worrying about a man who did. How was she going to feel in six months, maybe six years, from now if she read in the papers that Christian had been arrested? That his borrowed liberty was over and there was no one except him to care?
‘Oh God,’ she sobbed, turning away and burying her face in her hands.
He was out of the car in an instant. ‘Hey, come on,’ he said, pulling her to him. ‘It’s all right. It’s going to be all right.’
‘I don’t know if I can do this,’ she wept. ‘I just can’t bear the idea that I might never see you again.’
‘You will,’ he told her. ‘I promise. One day.’
Tilting her face up to his he held it between his hands and looked tenderly into her eyes. ‘And if, when you get back,’ he said gruffly, ‘you find that he doesn’t want you . . .’ He swallowed hard. ‘Just get word to Lei Leen and I’ll come back for you.’
Penny’s eyes closed as she pulled her lips between her teeth and felt pain swamp her heart. ‘You know?’ she said.
‘Sure I know.’ He smiled sadly. ‘I knew all along.’
‘Then . . .’
‘Shh,’ he said, ‘it doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that you get tonight over with, then go back to your life and try to pick up the pieces.’
‘But what about you?’
He smiled. ‘Don’t you worry about me. I’m going to be just fine. Now, what do you say we start back to the hotel?’
Nodding, she used her fingers to wipe the tears from her cheeks and leaning against each other they turned back towards the car.
‘Do you remember the way?’ he asked as they reached it.
Penny gave a splutter of laughter. ‘Why? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.’
‘No, I know the way,’ he answered. ‘I just want to be sure that you do.’
‘Why?’
‘Because, chérie,’ he said, turning her in his arms, ‘this is where we say goodbye.’
Penny’s heart jolted as her eyes widened with panic. ‘Oh no,’ she cried. ‘No, please, don’t let it be here.’
‘Better here,’ he smiled, ‘than in the village. I don’t want you remembering me along with the stench of fish and poverty.’
‘But how will you get down there?’
‘It’ll only take an hour or so to walk it.’
‘But you don’t have anything with you. All your things—’
‘Are right here in the car,’ he interrupted, and kissing her briefly he went to haul his bag from the boot.
As he came back
Penny was watching him, and though he was doing all he could not to show how hard this was for him she wasn’t fooled.
‘Christian,’ she whispered.
‘Shh,’ he said, opening the car door for her to get in.
Obediently she slid into the driver’s seat. Then, looking up at him again she so very nearly told him that she wanted to go with him, that, had he not leaned through the window at that moment to give her one last, farewell, kiss she knew the words would have tumbled from her lips.
‘Look after yourself, Penny,’ he said, his voice thick with unshed tears.
For a moment her throat was too tight to speak. ‘Christian,’ she sobbed. ‘Christian, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—’
Putting a finger over her lips, he stopped her. ‘Just drive,’ he said, ‘and don’t look back.’ Then he pulled away from the window and waited as she started the engine. As she slipped the car into gear he said, ‘The next twenty-four hours aren’t going to be easy for you, I know, but be brave, ma chérie, and remember, I love you.’
As Penny pulled away, moving slowly along the narrow, stony track, she couldn’t stop herself looking back. He was still standing there, his bag at his feet, his hair tousled by the breeze, his loneliness as stark and painful as the ache in her heart.
It took her almost two hours to find the hotel, hidden as it was in the thick, nerra forest of Antipolo. By the time she got there night had fallen and she was badly shaken by the fear that she had become so hopelessly lost she would never find where she was going.
Leaving the car on the little patch of wasteland, she picked her way carefully through the darkness towards the feeble flicker of neon over the front door. She noticed, with unease, that there were no other cars around and the only sound was that of her footsteps treading the gravel. When they’d checked in the day before, after Christian had been warned that the DEA were watching him, there had been several other guests around. Now the entire place looked deserted.
A single candle lamp cast a shadowy glow over the dull wood panels of the lobby. It smelt of beeswax and mould. There was no one on duty and the dusty honeycomb of message boxes the other side of the desk held nothing but solid, old-fashioned keys. She looked around for a bell and, finding none, called tentatively into the silence. Her voice echoed eerily along a passageway as her heartbeat thumped in her ears.
‘Hello . . . Is anyone there?’ she called again.
A door creaked open and as a sliver of light fell over the desk a slender young girl emerged from the office.
‘Can I take my key, please?’ Penny said.
The girl looked at her blankly.
‘Key,’ Penny repeated, pointing and twisting her hand in a locking action.
The girl looked behind her, unhooked one of the keys and slid it across the counter.
‘Thank you.’ Penny smiled, her lips quivering slightly. She’d have liked to ask the girl if they were alone in the hotel, but since she clearly didn’t speak English there was no point. But maybe it was better not to know, for if they were it would only unnerve her even more.
Her room, on the fourth floor, was a large, featureless square with a small balcony overlooking the woods. An attempt to liven it up a little had been made by placing a bowl of plastic fruit on the table between the beds. Putting down her bag she went steadily from one lamp to another, flooding the room with light while trying to quash the mounting fear of how remote and vulnerable she was in this godforsaken place. If only they could have stayed on at the Manila Hotel, in the midst of civilization, where people spoke languages she knew and a constant flow of guests, floor attendants and maids populated the corridors and rooms. But they’d had no choice. The DEA had known Christian was there and were simply biding their time, waiting to catch him red-handed with the cache of heroin.
Not knowing what else to do, she wandered into the bathroom to shower off the dust of the day. By the time she came out again she had coaxed herself into an unsteady calm, reminding herself that she had only to wait for the phone calls, then she could get out of here. The temptation to go now was almost overwhelming, but the suspicion that Benny Lao was having her watched was even greater. Please God he wasn’t planning to double-cross Christian and kill her anyway, thereby eliminating any lingering possibility that she might tell what little she knew.
Struggling to keep control of her fear, she slipped into a pair of blue leggings and a thin, loose sweater. Then, seeing the moon rising over the trees, she opened the balcony door and stepped outside. It was just after nine o’clock. Christian had told her to expect the first call some time around eleven. Gazing up at the moon, she wondered where he was now and how he was feeling. She had known that leaving him would be hard, but she had never dreamt that it would be quite so hard as this and even now she could feel herself weakening under the terrible sense of loss.
She sat down on a fraying bamboo chair and, leaning an elbow on the railing, stared out at the darkness. The night before, they had talked into the early hours, mainly about small, inconsequential things. Later, just before they had fallen asleep, he had taken her through the simple procedure she had to follow tonight. Then, unable to stop herself, she had tried to persuade him to hand himself in. It surely had to be better than this solitary life of exile he was planning for himself, a life that, no matter what he said, would continue to be at the mercy of the Chinese. But he had remained unmovable, determined to pursue the path he had chosen for himself.
‘Of course,’ he’d said, smiling, ‘I’m in your hands. There’s nothing to stop you turning me in. You know where I am, you know where I’ll be tomorrow night—’
‘No,’ she’d interrupted, shaking her head. ‘I’d never do it. It’s not my life, it’s yours, and I’d never be able to live with myself if I was responsible for taking your freedom away. I’m not a judge, nor am I a jury . . .’
‘But you are a law-abiding citizen.’
She’d smiled weakly. ‘I’m not even sure I’m that any more,’ she said.
As she recalled the conversation now, Penny wondered if she would be made to face charges. The DEA obviously knew about her and, even if they didn’t suspect her of drug trafficking, someone would surely want to question her about something. The idea of it brought the spectre of Benny Lao closer. Forcing it away, she tried to concentrate on what she was going to say if she was detained. She wondered if her disappearance had been made public. Not having seen an English or French newspaper since she’d left, she had no idea. What was it going to be like to go back? How much was she going to have to face?
She moved restlessly as her heart twisted with a terrible sense of foreboding. It wasn’t the first time she’d had this presentiment of disaster, but tonight it seemed so much worse, so much stronger. It was as though some terrible, unthinkable repercussions were even now playing themselves out somewhere beyond her reach, and the dread of what she might find when she got back to France was increasing all the time. For a moment she felt so panicked that it was all she could do to stop herself running out of there and getting on the next plane via anywhere to get back and stop whatever it was that was happening. But of course she was overreacting, giving herself an importance she just didn’t warrant, for what possible consequences could anyone else face for a foolishness that was all her own?
She stiffened suddenly as something moved in the bushes below. Then, telling herself that it was nothing more than a night creature, she turned back into the room and started to put the few things she’d taken out back into her suitcase. It was incredible to think that this one designer trunk contained over half a million dollars’ worth of clothing and jewellery. What would she do with it all now?
A door slammed down the hall, jarring her heart and causing her to drop the bottle she was holding. Then everything was so silent again, so still and unnerving. But even though she knew her fear was much more acute than she was admitting, she wasn’t going to let it rule her. She just wished to God she could sleep or read or do something, any
thing, to make the time pass more quickly.
Seeing her computer sitting beside her case, she smiled bleakly. There was little chance she’d be able to concentrate, but why not indulge herself? Nuance might well be in the past for her now, but what was the harm in pretending, just for a short while, that her life could go back to the way it was? Her head fell forward as the stultifying dread that it might not engulfed her, but, raising it again, she took a deep breath and lifted the computer on to the table.
Thinking she could hear the distant sound of a car engine, she stood still, listening to the delicate hiss and sigh of the night, the persistent grating of night creatures. Something suddenly fell in the bathroom and she almost leapt from her skin. The burn of fear was still sore in her heart as she forced herself to go and see what it was. Just her hairbrush, which had tumbled into the wash basin.
Picking it up she walked back to the table, trying to persuade herself that she had nothing to fear. Then opening the computer she pulled out a chair. As she moved to sit down, the telephone rang, wrenching a startled scream from her throat.
Panicked, she looked at her watch. It was too early. Christian had said around eleven. It wasn’t yet ten. Had something gone wrong? Was he calling to warn her to get out of there? Please God she could find her way back to Manila in the dark.
With her heart pounding in her chest, she gingerly picked up the phone and put it to her ear.
‘Penny? Penny?’ a faint, tremulous voice came down the line. ‘Pen, is that you?’
‘Sammy?’ Penny whispered incredulously.
‘Yes, it’s me,’ Sammy answered. ‘Oh, Penny, I don’t know what’s happening, but you’ve got to help me!’
A bolt of alarm stiffened Penny’s heart. ‘Where are you, Sammy?’ she said.
‘I don’t know where I am,’ Sammy answered.
‘Oh God, Sammy,’ Penny muttered, ‘please, don’t do this to me now. I’m not in any position to bail you—’
‘No, listen, Pen, you don’t understand. I know where I was, but then these . . . these people came along and they’re holding me here, Pen. I don’t know who they are, but they’ve got a message for you. They told me to tell you if—’ she stopped and sniffed – or maybe she sobbed; Penny couldn’t be sure. ‘They told me to tell you that if you don’t do as they say, then—Oh God, Penny, they said to tell you you’ll never see me again.’
