Better get used to it, thought Genda to himself.
He came level with the dancing girls. A deep longing came to his heart. Surely her arms had been more sinewy than theirs, her movements more fluid?
He blocked the thoughts from his mind. They were too painful. What was the point in tormenting himself?
* * *
Nadine ran across the baking tarmac. It was only a small airport. There was only one queue, mostly military but with a few civilians, paper pushers working for the military.
It had occurred to her that she wouldn’t recognize him, but there he was, wearing a navy blue suit, white shirt, dark tie and a trilby, every inch the corporate American. He’d put on a little weight, though not too much. He’d always been broad-shouldered, she remembered – but that was before they were hungry, before they’d fled the camp.
Slowing to a walk, her heart quaking, she came up behind him. Like others in the queue he was watching some native girls dancing. They had a silk scarf on the floor into which those waiting were tossing money.
‘Say, how can they dance like that without music?’ somebody said.
An official asked for Genda’s passport. As he took it out of his wallet, a piece of singed, ragged paper fell to the ground.
The queue moved forward and a breeze blowing in from the sea carried it out of his reach. The man who had spoken to him earlier picked it up.
‘It’s mine,’ said Genda politely, and held out his hand.
The man was surly. ‘What is this? Hey, I didn’t know Japanese read poetry!’
He began to read. ‘How do I love thee…?’
Genda curbed his anger. ‘Please.’
The man sneered, then with great deliberation and even greater delight, he tore it into pieces. Like petals the pieces fell to the floor.
‘Hope you learned them words off by heart,’ said the man, his eyes chinks of blue in his pink, plump face. ‘Go on, Jap. Tell us how it goes – if you can remember.’
Not yet seen by Genda, Nadine stepped forward, her voice clear and melodic. ‘Like this. It goes like this:
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways…
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace…’
He turned and saw her, his mouth gaping, his eyes wide enough to drown in.
Nadine smiled through her tears of joy. ‘Joseph Smith Junior the Third, I presume.’
His jaw dropped before he managed to pull himself together. The words came easily.
‘The Honourable Miss Nadine Burton. It’s you. It’s really you?’
There was space between them, and yet there was nothing. The world was in a mess, people displaced, people dead, people lost, but they knew where they were. It was as if they were back on that beach, a ragged cloud across the moon and the sound of surf kissing the beach.
They cared not at all for the strange glances of those around them. Neither did they care that the queue divided and moved forward. They were an island in a human wilderness: a silent wilderness. Nothing else needed to be said.
Also by Erica Brown…
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An explosive series featuring the Strong family and a legacy of lies that leads to love and murder, passion and heartbreak…
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First published in the United Kingdom in 2018 by Canelo
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
57 Shepherds Lane
Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU
United Kingdom
Copyright © Erica Brown, 2018
The moral right of Erica Brown to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788630443
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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