Tropical Connections

by Vereker, Susie

  Sipping her wine absent-mindedly, she smiled at the memory. At that moment she caught Poppy’s eye down the other end of the table and found herself flushing. It seemed that the returning smile from Poppy was cooler than normal.

  When the elaborate meal was finally over, she was dismayed when Jock followed her on to the terrace. His expression was serious. ‘I’ve been wanting to have a wee word with you, Deborah. Poppy was going to say something, but I gather you haven’t been swimming with us lately.’

  Oh Christ, they know, she thought, feeling sick with guilt. Her face white, she stared down, digging her fingers into the palms of her hands. Of course, it was bound to come out sooner or later. She was astonished that they had gotten away with it for so long in this small community. Especially when Alex stared at her in public the way he did.

  Then Jock’s words began to penetrate. ‘We’re very grateful to you for taking young Alex in hand, getting him out of the house. I hope he hasn’t been a nuisance at all.’

  She looked up. ‘Uh, no.’

  ‘He’s a difficult boy. Talented but lazy. Spends too much time lying in bed.’ Deborah’s face remained blank. Or rather she hoped it did.

  ‘The trouble is the boy has no ambitions. I’m very concerned about his future. He’s talking about giving up the idea of university. He says he wants to live the simple life, paint, blather like that. Poppy seems to think there is a woman involved, perhaps an island girl – we don’t know. He’s very secretive. Always going off and refusing to say where he is going.’

  She gulped and said nothing. Then she managed an enquiring ‘Oh?’

  ‘Anyway, I’ll get to the point. Poppy says the boy thinks very highly of you – in fact, she thought at one point he had a wee bit of a crush on you.’ He smiled in a kindly way and continued. ‘We were just wondering if you would be willing to try and persuade him that he must take up his place at Oxford. He won’t listen to us. But you are nearer his age. He might take advice from you that he wouldn’t take from us.’

  Immensely relieved that they knew nothing about the love affair, Deborah found herself gushing. Sure, OK, definitely, she would do absolutely anything and everything she could to help.

  *

  A few days passed before she could be alone with Alex. He sat on the sofa looking expectantly at her.

  Avoiding his arms, she took the chair opposite and said casually, ‘Shouldn’t you be thinking of going back to Europe, Alex? Surely the semester at Oxford must begin in September.’

  ‘October actually. But I’ve more or less decided not to go.’

  ‘What do you mean “not go”?’

  ‘All that sort of stuff, dons and colleges and dreaming spires, it doesn’t seem all that relevant to real life.’ He kept rubbing his hands together. Then he stood up and began to pace around the room. ‘I thought,’ he said, ‘that we could all go somewhere like Bangkok – somewhere where no one knows us. You could teach and I could get some sort of job – we could take it in turns to look after the children.’

  ‘Hey, wait a minute, you mean that we should go away together, is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘Well, I love you.’ He spoke as if that were the end of it.

  ‘But Alex . . .’

  ‘And you love me – or you seem to. In bed you, you couldn’t be that passionate if you didn’t love me. That’s the way it seems to me, anyway.’

  ‘Yes, I did, do love you, but . . .’ She took a deep breath. ‘It may be perverse, but I don’t think I could ever really love the kind of guy who would give up his future, everything, for me.’

  ‘I’m not giving up Oxford for you. I just don’t want to go any more. I don’t even want to talk about it. Dad and Poppy have moaned on and on about it.’ His voice was tense.

  ‘You’re crazy. You have to think it over. Reconsider. But whatever you decide to do, you do alone. I can’t go away with you. I’m a married woman, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Lots of women leave their husbands. And you don’t even like yours, do you? Or you wouldn’t have bothered with me. Everyone says Johnny is a—’

  ‘Whatever I feel about him, I don’t want to leave him right now. There’s the kids, two kids.’

  ‘We can take the children with us, as I said.’ He smiled briefly. ‘I like them too.’

  ‘Yes, but Johnny is the father they know,’ she said gently. ‘And I guess I ought to stick with him for their sake.’

  ‘But you don’t love him.’

  ‘No, I don’t love him, but I can’t leave.’

  Alex turned angrily towards her ‘Then you don’t love me either. You were just playing games.’

  She stared at him for a moment and then she spoke. ‘I was unhappy before I met you – more unhappy than I realized, and you made me happy. You restored my faith in myself, made me feel female and desirable again. I hadn’t felt that way in a long while and I’ll always be grateful to you and always remember you. But I knew it was kind of a temporary thing and I guess I thought you did too. I can’t exactly say what sort of love it was we had, but . . . but if we went away together you would start to hate me, and the kids too – no, let me finish – we’d hang round your neck like, I don’t know, heavy burdens. You’d soon resent us all. You don’t know what it is to have small children around all day, every day. You should be free at your age, young and free. I can’t tie you like I got tied.’

  ‘Why can’t we be free together? I don’t see why—’

  ‘We just can’t, not with kids and no money.’

  ‘Money! You’re as bad as Dad. I can earn money, you can earn money.’

  ‘You and I won’t earn freedom kind of money. Anyway, I’m too old for you. You know that.’

  ‘What does age matter? In the papers you read about people who—’

  ‘It matters. Alex, I’m sorry, but I know I’m right and when you’re older you’ll agree with me.’

  ‘No, I won’t. I’ll just stay here in Maising till you change your mind.’ He grabbed her by the shoulders.

  ‘No, Alex, no. I don’t want to be lovers any more. It’s over. If we go on, everything will be spoilt. We have to end it now, when it’s good.’

  She pushed him away and took a step back. She could hardly bear to look at his face. He seemed puzzled and wounded, like a small child that doesn’t understand why it is being punished.

  ‘So you really don’t love me. You were just pretending.’

  ‘Oh . . . I can’t explain. You must know I wasn’t pretending, you must – but now I have to tell you that it’s over.’

  ‘So you don’t love me enough to come away with me.’

  ‘No, I mean, yes. I mean I like you too much to come away with you. You must go alone. I must stay here with my family and not act like some crazy lovesick school kid.’

  ‘So I’m acting like a crazy school kid?’

  ‘No, no. I didn’t mean that, but it has to end.’

  ‘You told me before, more than once, lots of times, that you wanted to end it and then it started up again,’ he said, on the edge of breaking down.

  ‘Yes, but now I’m serious, truly. Do you understand, I want to stop now while it’s still special and not have it peter out, drag on to some terrible slow quarrelsome end – which it surely will. This way it’ll finish when it’s good and we’ll remember it that way.’

  He went to the drinks tray and poured himself a large whisky which he drank all at once, like medicine. She had never seen him drink spirits before.

  ‘I need to make love to you one last time,’ he said suddenly.

  She smiled a little. ‘If you want to, but it really does have to be the last time. Promise.’

  ‘All right.’

  He watched as she took off her clothes and then he made love to her, fiercely, peremptorily, with passion, but without tenderness, digging his hands into her back so that she thought she would cry out in pain. Then it was all over. As he lay above her, she felt his tears fall on her face.

  *


  Three days later he telephoned briefly to say that he was leaving the country and could they meet. As tactfully as she could, Deborah said this would not be a good idea. Johnny was around all the time at the moment.

  ‘Come to the airport to see me off, then. Jock and Poppy will be there so I won’t make a scene or do or say anything that will embarrass you. But I have to see you one more time.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise.’

  When she set off for the airport that evening, it began to rain heavily. Cursing, she reduced her speed. The rainy season was always a problem. Maising’s inadequate drainage system could not cope with the sudden prolonged downpours and lakes of water formed at the sides of the road, making the crowded streets impassable. Suddenly the truck in front of her stopped. She came to a halt. Rain poured down. She could see nothing beyond the truck except a long blur of red tail-lights. Half an hour later she had moved no more than thirty metres. Trying to remain calm, she could do nothing but wait, hoping that the plane would be delayed. But it was another twenty minutes before the traffic began to move.

  Eventually she arrived at the airport. She abandoned the car in a no-parking zone and ran through the puddles to the Departures building. Soaking and dishevelled, she bumped into Jock and Poppy on their way out.

  ‘Sorry, my dear, you are too late. Appalling weather, we’ll have floods soon, I dare say,’ said Jock with a pleasant smile. He explained that contrary to all expectations the London flight had left on time.

  ‘Alex asked me to give you this present – he said he was sorry to miss you,’ said Poppy, less pleasantly. There was something hostile about her manner. If she had guessed the truth, it seemed she had not told Jock, but she did not smile when they said goodbye.

  Deborah felt instinctively that their friendship had come to an end and that it was, of course, her own fault – another painful casualty of this crazy affair. She had behaved like a shit, betrayed a good friend and hurt a young man. All because she wanted to get back at Johnny.

  Once she had returned to the car, she unwrapped the parcel and found a small framed pencil drawing of herself, well-executed, flattering. She recognized it as Alex’s favourite. He had shown her only a few of the others, saying this was his only successful attempt, where he had really captured her face and her soul. It was the portrait that he had vowed to keep beside him for ever.

  As she drove home through the rain, Deborah could not stop weeping.

  Twenty

  The flood water was deep in the outer suburbs of Maising. Claire became increasingly nervous as she drove back from work that afternoon. It was a mistake to be driving in these conditions. She should have left her car at the office and taken the bus home. She lectured herself: must keep the engine running, drive slowly and steadily, but not too slowly. She tried to ignore the fact that the water was slapping against the bottom of the car. It was like being in a boat, a boat with no rudder, a very unpleasant sensation.

  Then water started to seep through the doors and a small pool formed around her feet. She drove on past several cars which had broken down. She could see that the islanders were making desperate attempts to shore up shop doorways with sandbags. Unlike her, they all looked cheerful and in high spirits.

  Fighting down a feeling of panic, she contemplated turning around while her engine was still working. She could return to Jean-Louis’ compound where the land was higher and as yet unflooded. But she didn’t fancy staying at his house overnight.

  With a bang, one of her wheels struck an invisible pothole in the road. Her car stalled and refused to start again. Grinning delightedly, two small boys who had obviously been waiting for just such an occurrence waded through the water with cries of ‘We help, madame.’ Brandishing a can of water-repellent, they opened the bonnet of the car and sprayed the oil liberally around. She tried the starter again and to her immense relief, the engine turned and fired. Thrusting a generous tip into the hands of her rescuers, she set off again.

  Her mistake was to take a side road with the idea of turning round. The car died again in a narrow lane where there was nobody in sight. On the verge of tears, she sat for a moment in her wet skirt and very wet shoes. Who could she ring? The local garages would be hopelessly busy. There must be cars broken down all over Maising. Howard probably wouldn’t want to risk bringing out his precious BMW.

  Then she thought of Drew and the Land Rover, the all-weather vehicle. He lived quite near to where she now found herself. That’s probably why she had turned down this stupid lane, because she’d recognized the name and knew it led into his road. She’d never been inside his house, but once or twice, or even three times, she had driven past it out of curiosity. (Not that she approved of driving past the houses of potential boyfriends – that was the sort of thing teenagers did. Well, anyway, it was a long time ago, when she thought she might have been falling in love with Drew.)

  A small truck went by at amazing speed, creating a wake which caused the flood water in her car to cover her ankles. At that point, she made up her mind. She could not stay in her car all night so she would have to swallow her pride and go to Drew’s. At least he was the practical sort of man who would know what to do. She prayed that he was in the country rather than overseas.

  The water in the lane didn’t quite reach her knees, but it was mid-brown and murky. She thought of insects, especially cockroaches, then she thought of sewage, never very reliably dealt with in Maising, and then she thought of snakes. She waded on, as fast as she could, holding her briefcase over her head. The faster she walked, the wetter she became. Now and then she stumbled into a hole but managed to keep her feet, until finally she arrived at Drew’s gate.

  His Land Rover was parked on a raised piece of ground by the front door. So he must be there, at home. She stood still for a moment to catch her breath, smiling in relief. Like most of the dwellings in this low-lying area, the house was raised on high foundations. Only the bottom steps were submerged by the flood. She would only have to take a few paces across the garden and she would be out of this vile water.

  She rang the bell on the white gate. A pretty young maid came wading to unlock it, holding up her sarong and laughing at the adventure. She led Claire up the steps into the house calling, ‘Sir, sir, come quick. Flend come.’

  Drew stood at the top of the stairs. A stab of excitement went from Claire’s throat to her stomach and back again.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘I see it is a very nice “flend” indeed. What a surprise! Long time no see. You look a bit wet. Swim here, did you, Claire?’

  She couldn’t stop smiling. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I’m dripping filthy water all over your clean hall. It’s a bit smelly too. You see my car . . .’

  ‘Yeah, I know, it broke down. Like every other damn car in Maising. Now, first things first. Min, take madam upstairs for a bath. She can use the guest room to change.’

  Drew’s white bathroom was very much like any other basic old-fashioned masculine bathroom. Claire was pleased to find nothing female amongst the razors and bottles of aftershave, not a trace of scent or face lotions. Not that she approved of searching men’s bathrooms, of course.

  After a quick soak, thinking about Drew and wondering if he was really as pleased to see her as he’d seemed, she stepped out of the bath and stared at herself in the mirror, an old uneven mirror that had cracks on the edge like the bath. What a sight, drowned rat sprang to mind. Telling herself she felt perfectly calm and controlled, she combed her hair with Drew’s comb and put on a white towelling robe that was hanging behind the door. It was far too big for her and trailed on the ground.

  She went to find her clothes which, in the hope that they might dry a little, she had left on a chair in the guest room. But she could find only her briefcase. Even her underwear had disappeared.

  ‘Min!’ she called hopefully, standing at the top of the stairs.

  ‘Can I help you, madam?’ Drew asked in a polite ton
e.

  She grinned down at him. ‘I was wondering what your maid has done with my clothes.’

  ‘Sorry, she’s gone home. I sent her back before it got too dark to see her way through the floods.’ He walked halfway up the stairs and smiled at her. ‘Nice dressing gown. Looks good on you. As for your own gear, I guess she washed it. She likes to wash everything she can lay her hands on. An absolute fiend for laundry. Your stuff’ll be dry in the morning, I hope. I told her you were staying the night. She said you had a suitcase.’

  ‘Just a briefcase full of papers, actually. Drew, you’re very kind, but I wasn’t thinking of staying. I suppose I was vaguely hoping you’d take me home in the Land Rover.’

  ‘Sorry, it’s a bit crook at the moment – doesn’t like the weather either. Anyway, they said on the radio everyone should stay put unless their journey was really necessary. Only the foreigners’ll take any notice of that, mind you. But please stay. It’s the safest thing to do. The guest room is all yours.’

  Finding it hard to believe that the Land Rover was really out of action, Claire was far from sure it would be safe to stay, but she could only smile and agree. ‘You’ll have to find me something else to wear. I keep tripping over,’ she said, still maintaining what she hoped was a serene and friendly manner.

  Drew took her into his bedroom and, murmuring something about food, left her alone to choose whatever she wanted. It was a large dark room, quite bare except for a great many books piled up beside the double bed. She glanced at the titles and found mostly history and biography plus agricultural subjects. Again she looked around for something female, but there was no sign, not even a photograph.

  Though it was tempting to search through all the drawers and cupboards, politeness compelled her to confine herself to the shelves he had shown her. After some thought, she selected a blue shirt and a pair of striped swimming shorts. The shorts had a drawstring, so she could tighten them to fit her narrow waist, but they were still far too big. Drew’s huge shirt covered the shorts like a frock. Examining the ensemble in the bedroom mirror, Claire thought she looked like a clown.