“Oh, come on! You play in a band—you must have had offers.”
He shrugged. “One or two, I suppose. But it never seemed worth the hassle. Things were complicated enough already.”
“And they’re not now?” She gave him a wry smile.
“Listen, Lou, I know this is going to sound corny as hell, but I’ve never felt like this about anyone else.”
Louisa blinked. What was she supposed to do now? He was staring at her with those fathomless eyes, and all she could think about was how it had felt to kiss him.
“Mum!”
She whipped her head around. The children were running up the beach toward them.
Tom wanted everyone to play French cricket, so she and Michael spent a strange couple of hours acting as if nothing had happened. They went back to the cottage for lunch, and then Heather asked if she could take the kids to the playground.
“Are you sure you want to?” Louisa asked her. She couldn’t help wondering if this was something Michael had put her up to.
“Yes,” she said, with a grin exactly like her father’s. “If they weren’t around, I’d have no excuse not to be studying: that’s why he’s brought me here, haven’t you, Dad? Get me away from my friends, so I won’t be distracted!”
“She’s a lovely girl,” Louisa said, watching them disappear up the path.
“I hear what you’re saying.” Michael pursed his lips. “Yes, I agree: it’s a shame about Monica and me. But we passed the point of no return a long time ago.” He reached for her hand across the table. “Do you understand how I feel about you? I’m not interested in some meaningless fling, you know.” He traced a line from the tip of her index finger to her wrist. “Do you remember that time in the woods when you bumped into me? I wanted to kiss you then. When we said good-bye, I wanted to run down the road after you. I wanted to phone you the minute you got home. I’ve spent all these months wondering what it would be like to hold you, to be with you . . .”
Listening to him, realizing they had both felt exactly the same from the very start, something clicked inside her head. Without a word she got up, walked around the table and sat on his lap. Taking his head in her hands, she kissed him, dizzy at the sensation of his lips on hers. “I want you so much,” she whispered. “I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you.”
Chapter 39
Two weeks later, on the eve of her thirtieth birthday, Louisa walked into the most luxurious bedroom she had ever seen.
It had been Michael’s idea to spend their first night together here. In the cottage at the beach they had done little more than kiss, afraid of being discovered by the children. But now she was afraid for a different reason. Since that hot afternoon in the dunes she had thought about little else but making love to him. Now, in the conspiratorial glamour of this hotel bedroom, she was nervous. She felt her stomach ice up at the memory of the other times. The robotic fumblings with Ray that had made her feel numb and dirty. And the pain and shame of Trefor’s brutal rape.
She went over to the window. Below her couples were walking along Aberystwyth’s promenade, some hand in hand. Gina’s words buzzed inside her head. He’s taking you to a hotel? For a dirty weekend? Despite Louisa’s explanation, she’d been skeptical. How can you be so sure he’s telling the truth? Gina said it reminded her of what had happened to her: for all she knew, Andy could have spun his girlfriend a line like that.
Knowing that Gina had a point didn’t make it any easier. All Louisa knew was that she was deeply, hopelessly in love.
“I’ve been useless at work the past few days.” She felt his breath on her neck as he came up behind her, sliding his arms around her waist. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.” The ice in her stomach melted. Her pulse raced at the warmth of his hands through the thin fabric of her dress.
“Michael,” she began, turning to face him. “I . . . I haven’t . . .” She didn’t know how to explain. She wanted to warn him, ask him to give her time. She was afraid of being a disappointment to him.
He put his finger up to her lips, stroking them softly. Then he was kissing her, paralyzing her with desire. He picked her up, lifted her onto the bed, and began unbuttoning her dress. A sob shook her body.
“Oh, Louisa! Darling! What’s the matter?”
Lying together, side by side on top of the covers, as the sun slid into the sea, she told him all about Trefor. All about Ray. He reached out for her, stroking her hair.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have just assumed . . . We don’t have to . . .” She heard him take a breath. “We can just go to sleep.” His fingers, massaging her scalp, sent ripples of heat along her spine.
“No.” She touched his face, letting her hand slide down to his chest. She undid one button of his shirt, then another, burying her face in the earthy warmth of his chest. She could feel his tongue on the back of her neck, tracing a path of fire over her bare shoulders. She pulled off his shirt, then wriggled out of her dress. His mouth hovered over her breasts, his hands sliding over the skin of her belly.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” His eyes were indigo pools in the twilight.
“Yes,” she murmured, “I want to know . . . how it feels. To really make love.”
The sea whispered through the open window as they shed the last of their clothes. She felt the warm, urgent tautness of him against her. A shiver of fear spread icy tentacles over her skin, but his mouth was on her neck, his hot breath and the flicker of his tongue melting her again. Her body arched with desire, shuddering as his wet fingers slid down her belly. She wondered if he could hear the noise her heart was making. She could feel her blood pumping, rainbows shooting behind her eyes. And then he was inside her. She could hear herself crying out like a wild animal. Who was she, this woman? This new creature he had made?
Louisa lost count of the number of times they made love that night. Each time they closed their eyes, their limbs entwined, the slightest movement, the merest touch, would set them both on fire again.
At eleven o’clock the next morning they were woken by the cleaner knocking on the door. Having missed breakfast, they settled for alfresco bacon sandwiches from a kiosk on the promenade. Later they swam, Louisa in a bikini this time. Her skin was the darkest it had ever been. When she had seen her reflection after that first day at Ynyslas, she was shocked at the transformation. But as she’d gazed at her new face in the mirror, fragments of ancient summers had drifted into her mind, making her smile. This was the face of those carefree childhood days before the move to Wolverhampton.
Now, on the beach, she was aware of curious stares. Some of the looks they were attracting were downright hostile. She pulled her towel around her shoulders, determined not to let it get to her.
“I’ve got us tickets to see a band tonight,” Michael said, as they sat hand in hand, watching the waves.
“A band? In Aberystwyth?”
“Don’t look so surprised—they do come here, you know.”
“Who are we seeing?”
He arched his eyebrows. “It’s a surprise.”
“Oh?” She snapped the elastic of his trunks playfully. “Where, then?”
“The Arts Center. Ever been there?”
She shook her head. “It’s on the university campus, isn’t it? I thought it was just for the students.”
“No: anyone can go. So come on!” He winked as he pulled her onto her feet. “We’ve only got about five hours before it starts—do you think they’ll have finished cleaning the room yet?”
They made love in the shower before falling exhausted into bed, waking just forty minutes before the concert was due to start.
Louisa shrieked at the sight of her hair in the mirror. “Hell, look at me! I can’t go out looking like this!”
“Yes you can.” Michael slipped his arms around her waist, kissing her neck. “You look gorgeous.” He stretched. “Don’t know about you, but I’m famished. What shall we do about food?”
She fed him fish and chips from the wrapper as they drove up the hill. “Are you sure we’ll be allowed in?” She felt suddenly nervous, self-conscious.
“Of course we will!” He plucked another chip from the newspaper in her lap. “You’re going to love it: believe me!”
Louisa spotted the poster as they turned off the road. “Hot Chocolate! Is that who we’re going to see?”
Michael nodded. “You said you liked them.” He shot her a worried glance. “You did, didn’t you? I didn’t dream it?”
She leaned across the car and kissed him.
They got to their seats with less than a minute to spare. The auditorium was packed. Louisa looked around in amazement at the black people in the audience. She had had no idea there were people like herself living in Aberystwyth. She had certainly never seen any on her weekly trips to the market.
Michael had followed her eyes. “I think they’re probably students,” he said. “I guess the university brings in people from all over the world.”
She reached for his hand as the lights went down. “Thank you so much for bringing me here,” she whispered.
On Sunday evening they climbed to the top of Constitution Hill to watch the sunset over Cardigan Bay.
“Are you happy?” Michael asked, nuzzling her neck.
“What do you think?” she beamed back at him.
“Can you bear it? Waiting, I mean.” He looked at her with fear in his eyes. “I don’t want to lose you, Louisa.”
“Two years.” She shrugged. “What’s two years?” She kissed the tip of his nose. “I’ve waited nearly half my life to feel the way you’ve made me feel these past few days.”
Before their next weekend together Louisa received a heavy package with a higgledy-piggledy line of American stamps. She gasped as she unfurled the reams of paper inside.
Michael was incredulous when she phoned him with the news. “A hundred and fifty thousand Willises?”
“One hundred and fifty-one thousand, four hundred and eighty-two, to be exact,” she said. “I’ve started writing down the addresses of the ones with the initial W and the zip code for Louisiana. I’ve got two hundred already!”
“What are you going to do?”
“Get writing, I guess. I’ll start with the ones who live in New Orleans, and if nothing comes of that, I’ll try the rest of the state.” She took a breath. “Don’t know what I’ll do after that.”
“Don’t they give some idea what age these people are?”
“No,” Louisa sighed, “I phoned them this morning to ask. They said if I had a date and place of birth, they could do a search. But I don’t even know what year he was born, let alone the date.”
“I bet your mother knows when his birthday was.”
“Yes, I’m sure she does. But after what happened last time, I daren’t push it any further. I’m quite scared of her having a stroke or something—she got so worked up about him.”
“I can understand how you feel, but writing all those letters—it’ll take you forever!” She heard him click his tongue against his teeth. “There has to be someone still living in New Orleans who remembers him, who could help us narrow it down a bit.”
“But how would we find them?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” he replied. “When I was over there, I noticed that all the different cities seem to have their own TV stations. What if we got in touch with the one for New Orleans and asked if they could put out some kind of appeal?”
“Do you think they would?” Louisa couldn’t imagine any television producer being interested in something as mundane as tracking down a relative.
“Well, there’s no harm in asking, is there? If you could let me have a copy of Bill’s photo and write down everything you know, I’ll find out the name of the local station. We can send it off when I come down, if you like.”
Louisa smiled as she replaced the receiver. She was touched by his enthusiasm for her search for Bill. It was as if the whole thing excited him as much as it did her. Why was that? she wondered. Was it because he had never really known his own father?
The next few months were a roller coaster of highs and lows. The day after she sent off the first batch of letters, she had a call from a TV reporter in New Orleans. He wanted to know if she had any photos of herself and the children to show alongside the one of her father. He explained that his station was doing a feature on war babies to coincide with the next anniversary of Pearl Harbor.
“We’ll have to be careful how we put your story across,” he said. “Don’t want to ruffle any feathers—if he’s got a wife and family, I mean.”
“Oh.” Louisa frowned at the phone. “I hadn’t thought of that. How will you do it?”
“I think we’ll take the line that the men we’re featuring may not have known their wartime sweethearts were pregnant. That lets them off the hook with their current families, doesn’t it?”
“Well, yes,” she said, considering the implications. “I suppose that would be the best thing—even though it’s not strictly true.”
“You know what they say.” He chuckled. “Never let the facts get in the way of a good story!”
During the weeks after the program aired, Louisa was in a state of permanent tension, waiting for a letter, perhaps even a phone call from New Orleans. But there was nothing. In the end she phoned the TV station herself. The journalist said he was sorry, but the appeal had brought no response. The following week the photos she had sent with such optimism returned in the mail.
She clung to the hope that the letters she was writing to all the W. Willises in Louisiana would bear fruit. But by the summer of the following year she had sent nearly three hundred, and all she’d had back were a few polite nos and a hoax letter from a man who said he was sure he was her father, despite being unable to recall her mother’s name, and asking her to send return tickets to the UK as soon as possible.
When Michael came down to the cottage with Heather in August, she felt the strain beginning to tell. They had to pretend nothing was going on between them, so apart from visiting for the day with Tom and Rhiannon, she hardly saw him.
Christmas had been awful too. She had spent the whole day thinking about him sitting down to lunch with Monica, opening presents with Monica, when he should have been with her. They had managed to spend New Year’s Eve together, but only because Heather had been invited to a party and wouldn’t be around.
Louisa liked Heather, but she found it increasingly difficult not to feel jealous of the hold she had on Michael. He had become very defensive when she’d tried to explain. His words echoed in her memory: You know I love you, Lou! Do you think I like living like this?
He had begged her to be patient, reminding her that this time next year everything would be different. As if she needed reminding. She was counting the days.
A few weeks after Michael’s visit, Gina announced she was moving in with Jeremy. They had been seeing each other off and on ever since the party at the commune. Jeremy had ditched the hippie lifestyle to set up his own sawmill business at a farm farther down the valley.
“I’m really happy for you,” Louisa said, as she watched Gina pack the last of her things. There were tears in her eyes, but no twinge of envy this time. No wishing she had what Gina had. Because she already had it. Well, almost.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Gina took her hand. “I worry about you, you know.”
“I’ve got Michael, haven’t I?” Louisa smiled through her tears.
Gina looked away. “Are you sure about him, Lou? I know I’m a cynic, but do you really think he’s going to leave her when the time comes?”
“Yes!”
Gina didn’t smile back. “Have you told your parents about him?”
“Well, not exactly: Dad knows.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I said I was seeing someone who’s separated but not divorced yet. He doesn’t know it’s Cathy’s son.”
“And you did
n’t mention Heather? Or the fact that he’s still living with his wife?”
Louisa shook her head. “I told him Michael has a grown-up daughter.” She looked up, a frown creasing her forehead. “I didn’t want to worry him, Gina.”
“Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“What?”
“You’re lying for him already.” Gina pressed her lips together. “You shouldn’t have to do that, Lou—you deserve better!”
Louisa stared at the sun-faded pattern on the rug by Gina’s bed. “I know it’s not ideal,” she murmured, “but in a few months things are going to be different. I love him, Gina. And he loves me. He’s just trying to do what’s right.”
On Louisa’s birthday the following year, Gina’s words were ringing in her ears. During the intervening months, she had kept herself frantically busy, sending off hundreds more letters to America. She had written to every single W. Willis in the state of Louisiana, and now she had moved on to addresses in Illinois. She told herself that Chicago was the place. With its more liberal laws, he would have been bound to head there, especially if he was as close to his aunt as Cathy had suggested. Michael had been worried when she’d said this. She knew he thought she was becoming obsessed. That perhaps the time had come to admit defeat.
Now she was sitting in the restaurant of the Aberystwyth hotel where they’d spent their first night together. She was watching the sunset, waiting for him to arrive. It was going to be the last birthday they would have to celebrate in this cloak-and-dagger way. This time next year they would be together. Maybe even married.
She looked at her watch. He was twenty minutes late. Perhaps his car had broken down. Please God, she thought, not an accident.
What if he’s stood you up?
The voice in her head was Gina’s. No, he wouldn’t do that. Would he? She tried to recall the last conversation they had had. He had been uptight when she phoned because Heather was in the middle of her exams. He was worried for her. Louisa told herself that was only natural, that it wasn’t surprising he didn’t want to talk about the future when he had so much on his mind.
The Color of Secrets Page 32
