Edward carried her cases into the hotel. He had switched her room demanding the best they had, and it was the bridal suite. He gave the bellhop a big tip, too big, to get rid of him, before he scooped her up in his arms. She clung to his neck and they both fell on to the enormous bed together. ‘So tell me, how in God’s name did you find me?’
He began to take off her dress as she repeated what Allard had told her. He again asked if Alex knew, and she flopped back on to the pillow. ‘No, no one knows I’m here, except Norman – why? Is this place a secret or something?’
Edward told her that he was in the middle of a complex deal, and didn’t want even a sniff of it to get back to London until he was ready. She began to undo the buttons on his shirt, kissing his chest. ‘Well, you can leave me with that dreadful lizard-type gent at the pool, I won’t get in your way, I promise, just needed to see you.’
Edward pulled off his shirt and got up from the bed to take off his trousers. ‘The lizard, my love, is Skye Duval. He does the odd bit of work for me.’
He moved back to the bed, and took her shoes off. She rested her head against his shoulder, rubbing his back with her hand. ‘You know, sometimes I forget just how you look, I think I know but I don’t. I love you, Edward, I do love you.’
He held her, rocking her slightly. He didn’t tell her the effect she had on him, seeing her there, standing in the shadows of the verandah. His initial anger, his instinct for self-preservation and concern that no one knew his whereabouts had made him angry at her intrusion. Now he could think of nothing he wanted more . . . ‘Tell you what, I’ll get through all the business, then we’ll go some place, what do you say to that?’
She mimicked Barbara, Alex’s wife, using a soft Texan drawl, ‘Why honey, that sounds divine . . .’ She laughed, describing Barbara to him as he had never met her. She insisted on entering the room from the wardrobe, giving him Barbara’s performance in their manor and he lay back on the bed with his hands behind his head. She could always make him laugh, and she was so unselfconscious that her whole performance had been done stark-naked.
He held out his arm for her to lie next to him. Her skin was so pale against his dark tan, and he found himself instructing her to take great care if she went out in the sun. They lay side by side, completely relaxed with each other, and he pulled her even closer. His arm slipped around her, resting on her belly and drawing her body into his own curve. It was a simple gesture, but one she always associated with him, with security. He kissed the nape of her neck . . . his hand stroked her body, and he felt the tiny stretch marks at her back. He knew what they were, maybe she was even unaware of them herself . . . they were the marks from her child, the child he believed had been Pierre Rochal’s. Even thinking about it, about a part of her life he had never known, made him jealous. He held her closer. ‘I want you to have our son . . . no, no, now don’t turn away from me . . . I want your belly growing fat with my boy, our son . . . Why not? You’ve been well, and you’re fit and strong . . . what do you say?’ She looked into his face and they kissed . . . he took it to be an answer and, aroused, he began to make love to her.
The black cloud inched fragment by fragment across her mind, weighing her down, engulfing her. ‘Don’t think about it, don’t think about it.’ She repeated it to herself over and over . . . She moaned for him, her legs opening to him, but her mind began closing, the voices screamed inside her head, ‘Push . . . push . . . he’s coming, push Harry . . .’ and the pain engulfed her, making her gasp as if she couldn’t breathe. The black cloud burst with the fragmented picture of their dead baby’s face. Unaware of what she was doing, she was pushing Edward away from her, her body rigid . . . but he came into her, climaxing into her until he shook.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered . . .
He moved from the bed and walked into the bathroom, closing the door. Suddenly he kicked it open. ‘What in Christ’s name is wrong with you? . . . If you tell me what I do wrong, then we can work it out. Jesus Christ, you drive me crazy, do you know that? You think I don’t feel it? You think I don’t feel you freeze up on me? What am I doing wrong, do I hurt you? Harry? . . . Harry?’
‘I’m just tired from the plane, I said I was sorry.’
He stood for a long time looking at her. Then he sighed. ‘I’ll take a shower.’ She pressed her face into the pillow, not wanting him to hear her crying.
When he came out, he sat on the bed. ‘I’ll book a table, invite Skye, is that all right . . .? Harry?’ She held her arms out, wanting his forgiveness . . . wanting to tell him why, what happened to her, in her mind . . . how could she tell him that the son he wanted died in her arms. The fear of her own madness linked to the loss of the child, the baby she blamed herself for losing. Her guilt was more powerful than her body, her desires, and yet she loved him completely.
As she bathed, Edward lit a cigar. He had already booked the table, and was dressed and ready to leave. Skye had invited them for drinks first . . . sex with Harriet had never been the mainstay of their relationship . . . he reconciled himself to the knowledge that it never would be. Sex he could get wherever he wanted . . . he would just have to make do with loving her. He paced the room, even thought about going elsewhere, for another woman to father him a son . . . he stubbed out the cigar, grinding it into the ashtray. Trouble was he wanted the mother of his child to be Harriet . . . he didn’t want just any woman’s brat.
Edward didn’t remark on how beautiful she looked when she came out of the bathroom. She had made a great effort, even making up her face. He just said, ‘Let’s go.’ But as always, when she looked at him in that tentative nervous way, his whole body wanted to hold her, say it was all right . . . but tonight, like so many other nights, she had pushed him away . . . He knew he would be won round soon enough, but he wasn’t going to make it easy for her.
They drove to Skye’s in silence. She was biting her nails, looking at him, needing him to be kind, but he purposely remained silent. It was not until he parked the car outside Skye’s bungalow that he made a conscious effort to be nice to her. ‘You look lovely . . . and don’t worry, we’ll work it out, okay?’ She nodded her head, then flung herself into his arms. ‘I love you, I do love you.’
‘I know, I know . . . and by the way, don’t take one of his joints, they’re lethal.’
Skye did not get the slightest hint that all was not well, far from it. Edward bounded in, hand in hand with Harriet. The champagne corks popped, and this time Mrs Barkley drank. They also had more champagne at dinner. Harriet and Skye began to interact fast, she picked up his camp humour and then had not only Skye weeping with laughter, but Edward too. She repeated the story about discovering Dewint dressed as Joan Crawford, but she made Edward promise never to mention that she had told him. His mood eased, and he started to enjoy himself for real. He could see the way Skye was being captivated by her and he liked it.
She had ordered snails, and then held up one of the shells, and with a serious face looked at Skye. ‘Did you know that the shell is the most delicious part of the escargot? You really must try it . . .’
Skye bit into the shell and almost lost his front tooth before he realized she was joking.
Edward didn’t find it quite as hysterically funny as they both did, but concentrated on ordering a good wine to go with their main course. They had all ordered different dishes.
When the meal was served, Harriet was very disgruntled by what she called ‘her shrivelled chicken’. Skye, getting well drunk, admired with relish his Dover sole. He made a great show of offering his plate to her, then withdrawing it, saying she could only have it if she gave him a forfeit. Edward sliced into his steak, warning Harriet against the ‘deal’, and Skye splashed more red wine into his already full glass . . . ‘Don’t be so bloody boring, come on, Harry, yes or no? Yes? Okay . . .’
Skye thought about it, and then pointed to the pianist sitting playing a very soft rendering of show tunes. ‘Okay, Mrs Barkley, I want you to go across the ro
om, and ask him to play something . . . and you have to sing, in front of everyone . . . if you do, you’ll get my Dover, if you don’t, you are stuck with that very sickly chicken.’
Edward wiped his mouth with his napkin and suggested she simply call the waiter and order something else. ‘No, that’s not the point, it’s not the point, is it, Skye?’ Edward was slightly embarrassed, they were already louder than any of the other diners. Skye was obviously encouraging her, and at the same time giving sly little nudges to Edward. Harriet was having a ball, she banged the table. ‘I’ll do it on the condition you do one as well.’
Edward had almost finished his steak, he put his knife down. ‘This is getting stupid, just order something else, or I’ll order it for you.’
She clapped her hands not listening to him. ‘You, Mister Duval, have to go across to that table and act as a waiter.’
Skye turned to the group of people already raising their eyebrows and giving disapproving stares.
Edward threw down his napkin. ‘That’s enough Harry, just call the waiter and stop this.’
‘But I am the waiter, dear heart, I am.’ Skye was lisping, and being overtly camp.
Before Edward could stop her, Harriet was at the piano. The pianist, who had very rarely had a request and could play his medley of show tunes with his eyes closed, became quite animated. There was no microphone, and Harriet sat next to him on the piano stool. He flipped through his books and she helped him to find the music.
Edward finished his steak. Skye leaned close to him. ‘She’s wonderful, just wonderful, I adore her . . . how in the hell did you find her. My God, she’s going to do it . . .’ Skye drew the entire restaurant’s attention as he applauded loudly. He knew Edward was getting more uptight, and he revelled in it, pouring even more wine. ‘Ease up, Eddie, I reckon she knows what she’s doing.’
‘Do you, she’s never sung before in her life, and when I want more wine, I’ll bloody ask for it.’
Harriet began singing, softly at first. ‘Blue Moon, you saw me standing alone, without a dream in my heart, without a love of my own . . .’
Skye never took his eyes from her, and slowly Edward, too, turned towards the piano. There she was, eyes closed, swaying against the pianist and her voice was as sweet as a bird’s. He felt a helplessness sweep over him, she captivated him as she did the entire room. He applauded along with everyone else.
Skye was up and removing a tray from a passing waiter. He slipped his napkin over his arm and tangoed between the tables. Even the elderly foursome managed a half-smile of amusement as he insisted on serving them, and cleaning their breadcrumbs from the table.
He then ordered a very good bottle of port as a peace offering. With the tray held aloft he turned to Harriet who was still standing by the piano. He fell to his knees. ‘I love you, I am in love with you.’ He led her proudly back to their table, bowing low and kissing her hand. ‘Mrs Barkley, you are exquisite . . . I don’t suppose you have a sister do you?’
Edward lit up a cigar, his voice was quiet, nasty. ‘She doesn’t have a sister, Skye, but I think you might prefer her brother. He’s an iron hoof too.’
Harriet saw Skye flinch, the slight flush in his face and she frowned at Edward. She then cupped her hand to Skye’s ear and whispered. ‘Pa calls him a shirt-lifter, isn’t that funny?’
He bent down and gave her a swift kiss on her lips, catching her completely by surprise. His eyes were serious, painful . . . ‘You don’t believe me, do you? But I meant what I said . . . I am in love with you.’
Edward pushed his chair back, clicking his fingers for the waiter. The cigar clenched in his teeth. ‘Oh she likes compliments, she likes to tease, but doesn’t come up with the goods.’ He gripped her arm. ‘Let’s go.’
Just as she had seen the hurt in Skye, Skye saw Edward’s remark hit home, but he didn’t bargain for her reaction. She jerked her arm free. ‘Want to see my next trick, Mr Barkley . . . LADIES AND GENTLEMEN I SHALL REMOVE THIS TABLECLOTH, LEAVING ALL THE CROCKERY ON THE TABLE . . . AHHH ONE, AHHH TWO . . .’ Edward walked out as the crockery smashed to the floor. The bottles of wine, the glasses . . .
He sat in cold fury in the car waiting. They came out arm in arm, and the manager bowing and scraping. It reminded Edward of Cambridge, of Charlie, and his fury grew. She was one of them, the bread-throwing English upper classes. As they reached the car, Edward got out and pulled her round to the passenger seat. He pushed her roughly inside.
‘Oh my God, there is no need to be so butch, dear, I can get in all by myself.’
Skye had his hand on the door, as Edward shoved him aside. ‘Get yourself home, you’ve done enough for one night, show time’s over.’
Skye watched the car career out of the parking lot. He shouted, waving his fists.
‘I love you, I love you Mrs Barkley.’
Harriet folded her arms. ‘That was unnecessary, and very silly.’
Edward drove fast, too fast. ‘Silly? . . . the two of you behaved like schoolkids and you call me silly, Jesus Christ.’
She glared out of the window. ‘Only having a bit of fun, you didn’t have to say that about me, or what you said about him, and stop the car . . . I want you to go back for him.’ He didn’t stop. ‘Did you hear me?’
The car screeched to a halt and she slid forwards banging her head. ‘You think you know him, do you? You think you really know him! Well, believe me, you don’t. There’s more to Mr Duval than you could ever imagine, take it from me.’
‘Ah! Does that mean you know everything about him?’
‘Yes, yes I do. Now let’s forget it.’
Harriet was already sitting on the balcony eating breakfast when Edward, very hung-over, stumbled out from their suite. She peered over her bright pink-rimmed sunglasses. ‘I hope we are in a better mood than we were last night. Coffee?’
‘What’s the time, I’ve got a meeting at nine.’
‘Well you’ve just missed it, and I suppose you’ll say that’s my fault. Here, sit down and have your coffee and I’ll order some eggs and bacon.’
‘Christ, no! I couldn’t face eggs and bacon, just coffee. I must have had more to drink than I thought.’
‘Is that an apology?’
‘No.’
‘Well it should be, you know you left Skye in the car park?’
‘Well somebody had to behave like an adult. You two are not safe to be let out together. I am supposed to be here on the quiet, doing subtle business deals, and what happens? The wife gets up with that ancient pianist and sings, then pulls the whole fucking tablecloth off . . . very subtle, can I borrow your sunglasses?’
Harriet continued to read the paper eating her toast. Edward sat in moody silence. She looked up and then back to her paper, hiding a smile. He was feeling dreadful, she knew it, and he was now wearing her bright-pink sunglasses.
‘I’ve got to go to Pretoria, do you want to come?’
‘No, thank you, I just want to sit and relax by the pool.’
He took his coffee inside. She could hear him on the telephone, then he came back out again. ‘Right, I’m going then, you sure you don’t want to come with me?’ She flicked through the paper, pursing her lips.
‘I don’t understand you. Why don’t you want to come with me?’
She flicked the paper again. ‘Because you are foul. To discuss your wife’s sexual problems in public is to my mind the ultimate in bad taste . . . would you mind standing to one side or the other, you are blocking the sun.’
He sighed, shaking his head. ‘You are something else, you know that. You come all the way out here, and now you’re having a go at me . . . I don’t even remember what I said . . .’
She looked at him over the paper, then carefully folded it. He reached over and took her hand. ‘All right, I do, and I’m sorry, I’d had too much to drink . . . and he was all over you, I never got the chance to tell you something.’
She left her hand in his, and he lifted it to his lips. ‘I liked yo
ur song, but before I could say anything he was in like Flynn . . .’
She beamed. ‘Do you mean it? You liked it? Honestly?’
He kissed her hand . . . then caught the time on her wrist-watch. ‘Shit, I’m going to miss my next appointment . . . come on, your coat’s on the bed.’
He grinned at her, and she punched him. ‘You bastard, you always win me round so easily . . .’
He ducked the next punch, still smiling. ‘Was it that I liked your song or the hand kissing?’
She got him a good left, and he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. ‘You can sing to me in the car, it’s a long drive . . . and tonight we’ll go dancing, but without Skye Duval, is it a deal?’
Edward was cramming his white panama hat on to Harriet’s head as the Rolls Corniche screeched out of the parking lot. She was driving. Skye rolled down his window but he knew they hadn’t seen him. He had a bunch of wild flowers for her, and he tossed them away. He sat in the boiling hot car, brooding . . . he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind.
She belonged to Edward, maybe that was why he wanted her so much . . . he lit a cigarette, wondered what Eddie boy had meant when he had said she liked to tease, was that what she had been doing to him? . . . the cigarette followed the flowers as he started the engine, crashing the gears. ‘Bitch . . . they’re all the same, bitch . . .’
He drove as fast as Harriet out of the hotel. He turned the music up loud. ‘I’m Your Back Door Man’ . . . he was Eddie’s back door man all right, he was that schmuck, well, he’d taken enough. By the time he arrived back at his bungalow, he was seething with impotent jealous rage. He rolled up a joint, inspecting his hidden stash, warning himself to go easy, his crop was almost through. He looked at the joint and laughed. If he could get Mrs Barkley to take one of these, he’d show her what teasing was all about.
Skye did not see Edward or Harriet for two days. He was in constant contact with Edward, but he never said a word about their last meeting, or his wife. Edward was no fool, he kept them well apart, knowing that Skye was a bad influence. He was, however, very busy and constantly in meetings, and after two days trailing around with him she grew restless. Unable to sit in the sun for long she went on shopping sprees buying a strange assortment of African carvings. She arrived back at the hotel as the phone rang. It was Skye. He asked what she had been doing, and if she ever had a free afternoon, he would love to show her the sights. She accepted, but said she would have to be back by six as she was expecting Edward then.
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