by Flora Kidd
A sound from below drew her attention. Caesar was coming out of the living room, closely followed by Adam. The dog stopped at the bottom of the stairs, sniffing, then looked up the stairs and growled softly. Adam said something to the dog and it began to slink up the stairs. He groped with one hand for the banister, found it and began to walk up the stairs too.
‘Oh no!’ Lenore gasped and, turning, fled along the pitch dark landing, trailing one hand along the wall as she went, hoping to find a doorway leading into a room where she could hide. Her fingers had just hit a wooden frame when she heard another sound from the stairway; the sound of someone tripping and then falling down the stairs, bumping against each tread.
‘Oh no!’ she gasped again, realising that Adam had missed a stair and had fallen. She blundered back to the head of the stairs, in time to see Caesar loping down them. On the floor of the hallway at the foot of the stairs Adam lay supine on the floor. Motionless.
‘Oh no!’ Lenore gasped again, and sped down the stairs, forgetful of the pain in her knee. The dog, which was now sitting guard over Adam’s body, growled at her again. Ignoring that warning, frantic now because what had been a humorous situation showed signs of becoming a disaster, she flung herself on her knees beside Adam, wincing sharply when her right knee hit the hard floor.
‘Oh, what happened? What happened?’ she cried helplessly, staring down at him, wanting to touch him somewhere but afraid to. He didn’t move.
Was he dead? How could she tell if he was or not? Oh, how useless she was when it came to anything like this! She knew nothing about first aid. She leaned over him, searching his face intently. The dark glasses were still in place; they hadn’t been knocked off when he had fallen. She would take them off to see if his eyes were open or closed.
Her hands were just reaching out to the glasses to lift them away from his eyes when he moved swiftly, one arm swinging up and around her shoulders, pulling her down on top of him and holding her there.
‘Got you!’ he whispered in her ear, which was against his lips.
She didn’t try to wriggle free. She was too relieved to know that he wasn’t badly hurt. Turning her head, she expressed that relief by kissing him frankly on the lips.
He groaned softly deep in his throat. Immediately she lifted her mouth from his and tried to sit up, but couldn’t, because he was still holding her down against him.
‘Adam, what is it? Are you . . . are you badly hurt?’ she whispered, touching his cheek with gentle fingers.
‘Uhuh.’ He groaned again and twisted his head from side to side. ‘My head—I banged the back of it when I fell,’ he told her.
‘Why did you fall? What happened?’ she asked, trying to get away from him again. He was stroking her back now, slowly, caressingly, suggestively, right from her shoulder to her buttocks, and her whole body seemed to be melting, flowing against his.
‘I tripped,’ he replied. ‘One of the reasons I have my bedroom on the ground floor is so that I don’t have to go upstairs. I have trouble in judging the height of the stair treads.’
‘Then why did you come up the stairs just now?’
‘I wanted you,’ he whispered. ‘I still want you. Let’s go to bed.’
His hand swept up to the back of her head. His fingers tangled in her hair and he forced her face down to his. Slowly and sensually his tongue traced the shape of her lips, and something inside her seemed to burst into flame. Heat scorched through her body. Her thighs burned and tensed, and her breasts swelled.
The arrogant intimacy of his caressing tongue wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She wanted his lips. Hands framing his face, she pressed her mouth against his. With another groan Adam put both arms around her as he lay back on the floor, holding her closely on top of him, pressing all of her against all of him until she could feel the urgent desperation of his need pulsing through him, inciting an even greater arousal of her own desire.
‘Not here,’ he whispered at last against her lips, and she came down from the heaven of ecstasy to the reality of the hard oak floor. Still holding her, he sat up, and somehow without letting go of each other they both stood up. For a moment they stood face to face, Adam’s hands at her waist, her hands resting on his arms. It was a moment of hesitancy, as if they both felt they were standing on the edge of a precipice of commitment and were undecided about whether to plunge in or withdraw.
‘Coming to bed with me?’ asked Adam softly.
‘What if I say no?’ she challenged.
‘I’ll probably shoot myself,’ he said, his lips twisting bitterly.
She was horrified by his reply. Her hands tightening on his arms, she tried to shake him rebukingly.
‘Adam, you mustn’t say that. It isn’t funny,’ she whispered.
‘I wasn’t being funny,’ he said darkly. ‘I’ve been considering my options ever since that surgeon told me the truth about my sight. Shooting myself is one of them.’
‘No, oh no!’ Her hands slid up to his neck and her arms wound around it. ‘No, you musn’t take your own life. You mustn’t! I ... I couldn’t bear it if you did.’
‘Then you’ll come to bed with me now, make love with me?’ he whispered, his arms binding her to him again.
‘Yes, I’ll come to bed with you now,’ she replied steadily, giving in to her own desire as much as to his.
He swept her off her feet then and carried her surely and strongly into the bedroom, where lamplight slanted across a wide bed. Setting her down on her feet beside the bed, he went back to close the door and stepped back to stand before her, bending his head slightly towards her.
‘You can take my glasses off if you want,’ he said, his hands going to her waist again as if he had to hold her, touch her somewhere in case she ran away from him again.
Gently she removed the glasses. Wide-set eyes, slate blue in colour, seemed to look back at her. Seemed to, only. For they did not focus. There was no life in those blurred irises. The black pupils did not contract to adjust to the soft lighting of the room, and thinking of how once they must have looked bright with mockery, sharp with anger, sparkling with intelligence, Lenore felt riven with empathy, her whole heart reaching out to him.
‘Well?’ he asked, his voice harsh. ‘How do they look?’
‘They look. . .’ she began, and put the glasses down carefully on the bedside table. ‘They look,’ she went on, turning back to him and framing his face with her hands again, ‘like the eyes of a man I could love.’
And drawing his face down she kissed each eye. His response was instantaneous. With a muttered oath he lifted her again and laid her down on the bed. Lying beside her, holding her tightly, he covered her face and her throat with hot savage kisses while his hands began to search her body, reaching under her sweater to curve about her breasts, and from then on there was no sanity, only the sweet torment, the wild frenzy of physical desire.
Clothes were removed and were tossed aside, and for a moment of calm in the eye of the passionate storm they touched and fondled each other admiringly, worshipping silken skin and smooth curves, tantalising delicate nerve endings until passion began to beat along their veins again and in an agony of desire they fused together and seemed to soar like a rocket beyond pain, beyond reason into the blue emptiness of infinite space where they burst in an explosion of ecstatic sensation.
‘Lenore . . .’ Through the spinning aftermath of sensual pleasure she heard Adam speak to her, his voice slightly slurred as if he were intoxicated; satiated with pleasure. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. It was good. For you too?’ she murmured drowsily.
‘It was good. Thank you.’ She felt him lift her hand and brush the back of it with warm lips as if in homage, and then she was whirling down and down into the dark oblivion of sleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
A BEAM of early morning sunlight, slanting in through the east facing window of the room downstairs that had been turned into a bedroom for Adam Jonson, danced on Lenore’s closed ey
elids, teasing them to open. For a moment, eyelashes drooping, she considered closing her eyes again and slipping back into the deep slumber that she had been enjoying. After all, there was no urgency to get up this morning. No one was staying at the Inn, so she didn’t have to help Blythe with the breakfast. She could sleep in, if she wanted.
Closing her eyes, she stretched her legs. Something seemed to sting her right knee as if a pinpoint had been jabbed into it and her foot touched something hard and warm; something smooth yet hairy; another leg.
Wide awake now, shocked into wakefulness and awareness by these unusual sensations, she sat up quickly, sheet and blanket falling away from her, revealing her nakedness, the upward sweep of pink-tipped breasts, the smooth creamy curve of shoulders. Memory of what had happened during the night washed over her and she groaned softly and covered her face with her hands.
What had she done? Oh, what had she done? And all of her own free will too.
Slowly she lowered her hands and glanced sideways. Beside her, his back to her, Adam slept. Sunlight burnished his bare shoulders and glinted on his tousled pale hair. Remembering how much she had exulted in his strength and masculine beauty when he had been making love to her, Lenore smiled a small mysterious smile of satisfaction. It was good to know she had been wanted and had been possessed by such a man; to know that for a short time she had been able to release him from the torment in which he had been living.
Her hand was reaching out to touch him, to stroke the smooth broad back, when she heard the dog barking somewhere at the back of the house. Withdrawing her hand, she listened. Were those voices she could hear? Outside or inside?
She remembered suddenly that Adam had said the Smiths would be coming this morning. They must have come, and any minute now one of them would be coming to this room looking for Adam. She must not be found here in bed with him.
Quickly she rolled out of bed and began to collect up her scattered clothing. As she pulled on her jeans she spared the time to look at her right knee. It was badly bruised but not as swollen as she had expected. When she touched the swollen place a sharp pinprick went through it, making her wince.
When she was dressed she gave the sleeping Adam another glance, wondering whether to wake him or not, decided against waking him since he was sleeping so peacefully and limped to the door. Turning the knob as quietly as she could, she opened the door, slid through the narrow space into the hallway and closed the door after her. She stood for a moment listening again and heard quite distinctly the voice of a woman speaking in a room somewhere at the end of a passage which led off the hallway to the back of the house.
Moving as quietly as she could, she went into the living room. Sunlight showed up the dust on wooden surfaces. The rosewood piano glowed with ruby-coloured highlights. The fire was out, the hearth full of grey wood-ash. On the marble overmantle the elegant ormolu clock struck the hour. Seven o’clock. She had just pulled on her jacket and was about to pull on her boots when she heard footsteps coming along the hallway. They came straight to the living room and a woman, short and sturdy in stretch-knit brown pants and a brown and beige striped sweater came in. She had grey hair and her round face shone with good health. When she saw Lenore her light hazel eyes widened with surprise and she dropped the Electrolux vacuum cleaner she was carrying to the floor.
‘Land sakes!’ she exclaimed. ‘Who are you, and what are you doing here?’
Having zipped up her boots, Lenore got to her feet and smiled. She knew exactly how she was going to handle this situation.
‘You must be Bertha Smith,’ she said. ‘Adam told me you’d be here this morning to clean up. I’m Lenore Parini—my sister owns the Northport Inn. I got caught in the storm when I was walking this way last night and hurt my knee, so Adam let me stay the night. We couldn’t let anyone know I was here because his phone was out of order. I’m so glad you’ve come. Are the roads very bad?’
‘Seen worse,’ said Bertha Smith with typical down-east brevity, her yellowish eyes, narrowed now in suspicion, flicking over Lenore’s clothing. ‘Hurt your knee, eh? How?’
‘I banged it when I fell. It swelled up and I couldn’t walk properly. Do you think your husband would drive me to the Inn now? I’d like to get back—my sister must be out of her mind with worry!’
‘I dunno if he will or he won’t. You’d best ask him yourself,’ replied Bertha surlily. ‘He’s in the kitchen feeding the dog.’ Her glance fell on the tray on the coffee table, studied the two coffee mugs and two plates.
‘Thank you,’ said Lenore, picking up her hat and mitts and beginning to limp towards the doorway. There she paused and looked back. ‘Your chowder was very good, by the way,’ she said. ‘So was the chocolate cake.’
But all Bertha Smith did was snort and mutter something about some women being mighty loose in their behaviour, staying overnight with men they weren’t married to, so Lenore hurried away down the passage to the kitchen to find Albert Smith, hoping he would be more friendly than his wife was.
He was a tall thin man dressed in thick denim overalls and checked woollen shirt. He had a long blue-chinned cadaverous face and didn’t seem at all surprised to see her. He listened to her explanation, all the time watching her with bright blue eyes, his jaws moving rhythmically as he chewed gum.
‘About time Adam got himself another woman,’ he remarked sardonically when she had finished. ‘It ain’t healthy for a man like him to live without a woman. You sure now you want to go back to the Inn?’
‘Of course I’m sure. I have to let my sister know I’m still alive and I have to go to the hospital to have my knee looked at. I really did hurt it, you know, and I’ll be glad if you’ll drive me.’
‘Told Adam you’re leaving?’ he asked.
‘No—he’s still asleep. But he knows I want to go. It was his idea that you should drive me back.’
He considered her thoughtfully, still chewing his gum.
‘Don’t rightly hold with you leaving before he wakes up,’ he muttered. ‘Reckon I’ll go and tell him.’ He took a stride towards the doorway leading into the passage. ‘Don’t want him cussing me for driving you back to Northport without letting him know.’
‘But it will be all right, really it will,’ argued Lenore, going after him and sliding between him and the door. ‘Please, Mr Smith, let’s go now. I want to get back before my sister tells the police I’m missing. And Adam won’t cuss you—he doesn’t want me to stay any longer. He’ll be glad I’ve gone when you tell him, I know he will.’
Again Albert frowned as he stared down at her.
‘You known Adam long?’ he asked.
‘No. Only since yesterday when I asked him if I could use his phone. He didn’t want to help me. He didn’t want me to stay, so he won’t be angry if I leave.’
‘Okay, then,’ sighed Albert. ‘Guess it’s none of my business.’ Turning on his heel, he went over to the back door where his parka hung on a hook. He pulled on the jacket, covered his head with a visored cap and opened the back door. ‘Truck’s right outside, ma’am,’ he said politely. ‘Watch your step now on them steps—they’re some slippery.’
The truck was a blue Ford pick-up. Lenore had a little difficulty in getting up into the cab because of the pain in her knee, but with a boost from behind from Albert she made it into the passenger’s seat, and soon, guided by Albert, the truck was trundling down the driveway from which the snow had been ploughed to the sides by the snow-plough on the front of the truck when Albert and Bertha had driven to the house that morning.
The sky was blue and sun-flushed, arching above smooth white curves of snow. Against the blue the dark green feathery branches of pines and the pinkish blur of elm and birch branches were delicately etched. A flock of dark birds, disturbed by the noise of the truck, rose from the trees edging the boundary of the Jonson land. Compared with the stormy night the morning was serene and bright, and Lenore felt in tune with it. She too felt calm and hopeful now that the dark surging pass
ion that had sprung between her and Adam Jonson had been culminated. She could only hope that he felt the same.
Out through the stone gateposts the truck trundled and turned right following the curve of Pickering Lane under the slanting shadows of the trees. As the lane changed direction, arrowing straight towards Main Street, houses appeared on either side, white clapboard gleaming against white snow in the yellow sunlight.
‘Reckon the snow will soon be gone if the sun keeps shining like this,’ drawled the laconic Albert. ‘Temperature’s up already.’ He slanted her a glance from under the visor of his cap. ‘You stayin’ long at the Inn?’
‘I’m not sure,’ replied Lenore. She could also be laconic when she wished; as laconic as any Mainer.
‘Adam and me are cousins,’ was the next surprising remark.
‘Really? How come?’
‘My mother was a maid at the house way back when Albert Jonson—he was the father of Adam’s father—was alive. She had a daughter, who was also Albert’s daughter, bom wrong side of blanket, as they used to say in the old days. Albertine, she was called. She was my mother and half-sister to Martin and Adam Jonson. That makes me cousin to this Adam’s father and second cousin to Adam himself. Time was I kind of believed I’d inherit the property, being the only direct descendant of Albert Jonson. Or so it seemed.’
‘You must have been disappointed, then, when you found out Martin had left everything to his brother’s grandson,’ said Lenore gently.
‘Reckon I was, until I met Adam.’ He gave her another sidelong glance. ‘I went to visit him when he was in that hospital just to make sure he was the right Jonson. Soon as I see him I knew we were kin. Even though he was blind and his face was all cut up he was the spittin’ image of my grandfather and Adam’s great-grandfather, Albert Jonson. He’s like him in other ways too— likes women and attracts them the same way honey attracts bees. Know what I mean?’
