The Singing Tree

by Anne Weale

  Often, as they ate their breakfast and she felt the amazing glow of well-being which followed these interludes, she was tempted to lean towards him and put her hand on his brown wrist and blurt out the truth: ‘Roderick... I love you!’

  What restrained her was the belief that such an admission could only be an embarrassment to him.

  * * *

  As well as swimming with him before breakfast, after watching him run back and forth along the beach the first day, Flower started running herself. Knowing she would not be able to keep up with him at first, she set off in the opposite direction and finished a couple of lengths in the time it took him to ran four.

  Afterwards they would swim again to cool off— for even at that early hour the exercise made their skins glisten—and then sit at the water’s edge, enjoying the changing colours of the cloudscape.

  They had been on the island a week when, during one of these early-morning sky-watches, she realised that in a few hours their honeymoon would pass the halfway point. Then, thinking regretfully of having to return to winter weather and everyday life, she was reminded of a remark made by Kim on the day of her arrival which Flower had not queried at the time but had not fully understood.

  ‘What did Kim mean by saying it was she who got you interested in the connection between junk food and delinquent behaviour?’ she asked.

  Roderick’s dark eyebrows contracted. ‘When did she tell you that?’

  ‘The day she descended on us.’

  His long brown legs with their light covering of dark hair had been stretched out in front of him. Now he drew them up, resting his crossed forearms on his knees.

  ‘It’s been known for a long time that there’s a tie-up between certain foods and certain physical conditions,’ he said. ‘People who suffer from migraine learn to avoid chocolate and oranges. Other people develop rashes after eating dairy products. At the beginning of the Eighties, a New Zealand nutritionist working in California became convinced that, in many cases, unruly and criminal behaviour is caused by a poor diet.’

  Flower had been lying on her back, one arm under her head to protect her wet hair from getting sandy, although before they returned to their bungalow they would both rinse the sand from their bodies under the open-air shower where the garden met the beach.

  As she sat up, Roderick went on, ‘In certain people, refined sugar causes blood-sugar abnormalities which, in turn, are thought to cause hooliganism and crime. The average sugar intake in Western countries is a hundred pounds a year. Lots of young people without proper cooking facilities eat as much as a pound a day, most of it “hidden” in junk food, which also contains a lot of salt.’

  His mention of junk food reminded her of the conversation at dinner the night they had met.

  ‘But these are just theories, aren’t they?’ she asked.

  ‘By no means. Studies in the States show that at least eighty per cent of young delinquents have hypoglycaemia which alters the function of the brain in a way linked to bad behaviour and substance-abuse...drugs, glue-sniffing and so on.’

  He glanced at her and smiled. ‘But I don’t imagine that’s of much interest to you.’

  She said crisply, ‘Don’t patronise me, Roderick. I’m not stupid... or indifferent.’

  ‘I wasn’t suggesting you were. But I know I can be a bore when I get on my hobby-horse. I’ve seen people’s eyes start to glaze,’ he said drily. ‘I’ve learned not to ride it except among those who share the obsession.’

  ‘But I’m your wife. We’re supposed to be sharing everything.’

  ‘Up to a point. It doesn’t mean you have to pay rapt attention to my every utterance. In public— yes. That’s different. But in private—no. To bore an acquaintance is bad enough. To bore one’s partner is more serious.’

  ‘Is that an oblique hint that some of my conversation bores you?’

  He laughed. ‘It hasn’t so far, but I may as well warn you now that if you ever try to induce me to go clothes-shopping with you I’ll put up serious resistance. Maybe European women don’t take their husbands along as often as North Americans.’

  ‘Some of them do. But I shan’t. For one thing you’ll be too busy, and, anyway, I trust my own judgement. But that’s getting away from what we were talking about. If you are seriously interested in the connection between junk food and delinquency, why aren’t you doing something about it instead of founding a clinic to help stressed business tycoons?’

  Roderick rolled on to his front, propping himself on his elbows and sifting the fine coral sand through his long fingers. It was a posture which reminded her of the way, in the aftermath of love, he would stroke her hair off her forehead and drop gentle kisses on her closed eyelids, closed because she dared not let him see the sadness she felt because he had never said, perhaps never would say, ‘I love you.’

  Now he was silent for so long that she thought he might be ignoring her question. Until, suddenly, he said, ‘I have plans to do something about it. But one has to be practical. When the clinic for businessmen is established and making a profit, then I shall have the resources to start another clinic for teenage junk-food addicts. It’s no use attempting to do that without the means to fund it, and clearly it’s not going to please your grandfather, who is one of the major suppliers of junk food.’

  ‘I see. Does Kim know about this plan?’

  ‘Yes; it’s been in my mind a long time. I discussed it with George and with her, but it was only when my father died and the house became mine that I had the ideal place, if not the means, to set up such a clinic.’

  ‘When were you planning to tell me...if I hadn’t asked?’

  ‘I couldn’t see any point in dumping a conflict of interests on you while the plan was only a pipe-dream. Our relationship has its own complications. Do we need to address problems which aren’t even in blueprint yet?’

  ‘I don’t like being excluded from anything which is important to you. Would you like it if I had secrets?’

  As she said it she thought, But you wouldn’t want to know the only thing I am keeping from you.

  ‘It isn’t a secret, Flower...never has been.’ He stopped playing with the sand and with one lithe movement sprang up. ‘Let’s go and eat.’

  After breakfast one of the islanders took them and two other couples snorkelling. So far, no one had guessed that she and Roderick were honeymooners.

  The boat trip included a picnic lunch in the shade of an awning rigged on a tiny islet by the boatman.

  Listening in silence while her husband chatted to the others, Flower was glad that he had a more serious purpose in life than merely making money and preserving his heritage.

  That evening, while they were strolling along the moonlit beach after dinner, she said, ‘Would you really have thrown us out if I hadn’t agreed to marry you?’

  ‘To throw out suggests a heartless eviction of people with nowhere to go,’ said Roderick. ‘It wouldn’t have been like that. Your grandfather is a multi-millionaire. He would have had no difficulty in finding somewhere else to live. The manor is only a status symbol to him. There are plenty of others around.’

  ‘But it means more than that to me... I love the house. It’s my home. I’ve probably spent more time there than you have.’

  He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him.

  ‘Is that why you married me, Flower?’

  He had his back to the moon and his face was in shadow. She could not read his expression or deduce from the tone of his voice whether the question was prompted by idle curiosity or whether her motive for marrying him was a matter of much deeper interest.

  ‘No, it wasn’t,’ she answered. ‘To marry a man for his house—however beautiful—would be crazy. I won’t deny that I’m glad I’m going to go on living there, but that wasn’t the reason I agreed to marry you.’

  ‘What was?’

  For a moment she was tempted to answer him honestly; to admit the depth of her feelings for him.


  Instead, after a pause, she said lightly, ‘Perhaps instinct told me that you would be a brilliant lover. As I don’t believe in adultery, it was an important consideration.’

  ‘In that case, I’m surprised you didn’t check out my prowess beforehand,’ he said drily.

  ‘I’ve always trusted my instinct. It’s never let me down yet.’

  She stepped out of her sandals and bent to pick them up, intending to walk through the crystalline shallows, putting an end to a line of conversation she regretted having started.

  As she straightened, the sandals dangling from her fingers by their heel-straps, Roderick moved closer.

  ‘My instinct told me the same thing about you,’ he said. ‘The night you came down to the morning-room and ran away, you weren’t running away from me but from your own feelings, weren’t you?’

  ‘Perhaps... I can’t really remember.’

  ‘Can’t you?’ He put his hands on her waist, caressing it with his palms. ‘I think you can. I think you remember that night as clearly as I do, but you still can’t bring yourself to admit that you wanted me as much as I wanted you. Why not, I wonder?’

  It was easy to avoid answering this awkward question. She had only to lift her face and part her lips to make his light hold tighten possessively, his dark head swoop towards hers.

  Although it was possible there might be people watching them, she abandoned herself to his kiss, not caring who saw them embracing. Nor did she protest when he swung her up in his arms and carried her across the beach and along the path to their bungalow.

  In their bedroom, the curtains had already been drawn by the maid while they’d been dining. But they didn’t shut out the moonlight, which filtered through the filmy material, turning the room into a silver cave. And there was something of the caveman in the way Roderick tossed her on to the centre of the bed—fortunately it had a well-sprung mattress on a padded base—and began to tear off his clothes.

  Flower sat up and pulled her loose printed voile top over her head. It was airy but not too see-through and she wasn’t wearing a bra. The matching culottes had a waistband of stretchy shirring. She pulled it down over her hips, taking her panties with it and swiftly discarding both garments.

  Then she lay back, naked and motionless, waiting for Roderick to do whatever he wished with her.

  Silhouetted against the bright backdrop of the translucent curtains, he looked very tall and powerful, wide shoulders tapering to lean hips and long, hard thighs.

  Stooping, his hands grasped her knees and swept them apart. He plunged forward. But instead of the rapid possession she expected, the rough, even brutal coupling for which he was clearly ready, she found herself clasped in his arms and rolled over until it was he who was lying on his back with her softer, slighter body balanced on his.

  ‘I want you... God, how I want you.’ The words were a husky murmur from deep in his throat.

  And then she was seated astride him, their bodies joined in a wild, rhythmic, sensual tango, her spine arched, her head flung back, her mind oblivious to everything but the subtle, irresistible mastery of his touch on all her most sensitive places.

  Time and again he drove her to panting, shuddering ecstasy until she felt drained and exhausted. Only then, when she collapsed on his chest, her whole body throbbing and quivering, did he reverse their positions and with long slow thrusts and extraordinarily erotic kisses begin to set fire to her senses, making her nerve-ends sizzle and burn like slow fuses.

  When the flashpoint came, it was the most wonderful sensation she had ever experienced, lasting longer than before and, as it slowly subsided, bringing the prickle of tears to her closed eyelids. Surely, she thought as their bodies relaxed, surely if they could share these intimate physical delights the time must come when their minds would be equally in harmony?

  Late the following afternoon, she woke up from a nap—the result of spending the morning on water-skis followed, after lunch, by a repetition of last night’s lovemaking—to find Roderick no longer beside her. He was outside, on the veranda, reading what looked like a letter.

  When she went outside he said, ‘This is a fax from Kim. She’s still in England...wants to stay.’

  He handed over the facsimile of a typed letter. But ‘Dear Roderick’ and ‘Yours affectionately, Kim’ had been written by hand.

  Flower’s heart sank as she read the typed part in which Kim said he would be glad to hear she had asked for and been granted an immediate release from her present post in order to help Roderick launch his clinic.

  ‘Did she discuss this with you? Did you know what she was going to do?’

  ‘No, she didn’t, and I’m not sure that it’s a wise move to uproot herself. But, of course, she’ll be a great asset. She’s extremely good at her job, or was before George’s death threw her whole life out of kilter.’

  Flower remembered what her grandfather had said about Kim. Perhaps it wasn’t true. Perhaps it was. Either way, she didn’t relish the prospect of having Kim around on a permanent basis.

  But, afraid that Roderick would think her uncharitable, she kept her misgivings to herself.

  Once they got back from their honeymoon, everything changed.

  Matters relating to the clinic occupied almost all Roderick’s time. Often, when they were together, he was exasperated by delays and unforeseen snags. Although he was good at handling people and would have made an excellent diplomat, his energy and efficiency were such that it was hard for him to bear patiently with muddles and mistakes caused by others’ lack of those qualities.

  He did not take it out on Flower when he was annoyed, but neither was she the confidante of his troubles. He talked them over with Kim, and Flower felt that the bond between them was growing daily stronger while her own relationship with him seemed at a standstill.

  Only in bed, in his arms, was she able to nourish the illusion that they would one day be lovers in the fullest sense. For, even if their minds were not, their bodies were perfectly attuned.

  But even that changed as the weeks passed. Once the final ecstasy was over and they were lying breathless and spent, their heartbeats beginning to slow down, he did not remain in her arms as he had on the island.

  Now he moved away almost at once. They never went to sleep entwined. And often, instead of sleeping, she would lie awake, locked in a loneliness she had never felt before she was married.

  Another worry was her grandfather’s health. By now Stephen had proved that, left to his own devices, he could handle the responsibility, and it was changing his character. As his confidence in himself grew, his progress-reports to Abel became less full and less frequent.

  ‘I want to know what’s going on,’ her grandfather fumed. ‘If he doesn’t come round tonight, tomorrow I’m going to the works.’

  ‘You know what it would do to your blood-pressure, Dodo. Stephen can’t come tonight. He’s taking Sharon out to dinner,’ Flower reminded him.

  She thought it right that her brother should give most of his spare time to his wife and children and only come to the manor to bring the old man up to date once or twice a week. It was Abel who was being unreasonable, to the detriment of his damaged heart.

  This anxiety came to a climax when the middle-aged secretary, who had been Abel’s right hand, asked for indefinite leave to look after the elder brother with whom she lived and who was seriously ill.

  Stephen, who had found her a trial, promptly offered her early retirement on a good pension. But engaging a personal assistant to replace her was harder than he had anticipated.

  ‘Why not get Flower to help you until you can find someone suitable?’ Roderick suggested when Stephen mentioned this difficulty.

  ‘Me?’ she exclaimed in surprise.

  ‘Why not? You know more about the business than a new PA would at first. You have some computer skills. You could hold the fort quite effectively, I should have thought.’

  ‘That’s not a bad idea, Rod,’ said her brother. ‘Yeah...why
not? Let’s give it a go.’

  So, for the first time in her life, Flower started going out to work, and found it an effective distraction from her personal problems.

  What surprised her was how easy it was for someone with common sense and the skills required to supervise the running of a large house to pick up the not dissimilar techniques involved in being Stephen’s assistant.

  Because she thought it inappropriate to arrive at the works in her scarlet Ferrari, she arranged for her brother to pick her up in the morning, and she dressed in her most discreet clothes: pleated skirts, blazers and white or cream shirts. She even modified her hairstyle, brushing it close to her head and twisting it into a neat coil. She made a point of not wearing her engagement ring or any striking jewellery. Perhaps she was overdoing the understatement, but she felt it was the best way to get it across that she was a serious person, not the frivolous butterfly the other staff might perceive her to be.

  Among her duties was the preliminary interviewing of the applicants for the post she was filling temporarily. Although the salary was good with lots of additional perks, there were not many of them. For some reason the job wasn’t attracting the kind of girl Stephen wanted.

  ‘Maybe you should think about staying on permanently,’ he said to her after yet another applicant had failed to satisfy Flower that she could hold down the job. ‘We make a good team, you and I.’

  Flower smiled and agreed that they did, but didn’t commit herself. She had already missed one period. She hadn’t mentioned it to Roderick and he had too much on his mind to have thought about it himself. But, if she was pregnant already, she would keep it to herself until there was more conclusive evidence.

  Often when she got home Roderick and Kim were still busy. In any case, her grandfather insisted that she go straight to him and describe the events of the day. Only when he had questioned her was she free to go to her room to bath and change for the evening.