by John Hanley
‘I’ll turn around and park at the top of the bridge. You join me there, okay?’
She lifted her head and nodded.
I risked a feet-up turn and propelled the big bike across the road and onto the pavement again, yards from where Caroline had confronted us earlier. It was still warm, balmy even, and I slipped my jacket off and slung it over my shoulder.
She joined me and reached out for my right hand. ‘Let’s sneak into the pool.’ She sounded more cheerful as she squeezed her palm into mine. ‘Come on, no one will know.’
‘Someone will spot us if we climb over the gate. We’ll have to go along the beach and over the back by the stands. I reckon we’ve got about an hour before the tide cuts us off. Time enough for you to tell me what’s wrong?’
‘Perhaps.’ She pulled me towards the steps and hurried me across the sand and onto the rocks behind the terraces. We clambered up the bank and underneath the stands until we were in the shadows of the diving stage.
‘Let’s go up to the Blue Terrace. I feel like a dance.’
She was becoming even more unpredictable than Caroline. She’d be wanting to go for a swim next.
‘Okay, but you’ll have to make the music.’
We climbed the steep granite steps, past the lookout and surveyed the empty terrace. The deckchairs and tables had been scooped up and piled in the shadows alongside the buffet.
The fairy lights, strung along the promenade, seemed brighter in the encroaching gloom as I dropped my jacket and held out my arms to invite her to dance. She eased herself into position and began to hum “Stardust” softly. We moved comfortably together, though I was careful where I placed my hobnailed army boots. Those lessons in the Plaza ballroom above West’s Cinema hadn’t been entirely wasted. She relaxed and moved with me as I responded to her increasing tempo until we twirled in a crescendo, spinning dizzily, almost out of control. We grabbed the buffet counter and held on while the world steadied itself.
‘That was fun, Jack. I needed that.’ She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me firmly on the lips. Before I could react, she was gone, running off towards the cabins. ‘Come on, let’s play hide and seek. You stay there and count to ten and then come and find me.’
Her disembodied voice echoed from the dark somewhere in the middle of the ladies changing area.
‘Count out loud so that I can hide.’
‘Never mind counting, I’m coming now and I’m going to tickle you until you scream for mercy.’
She didn’t respond, so I started off on the quest, uncertain what she expected me to do when I found her. Was this just a teasing game for her, or was she hiding from more than just me?
I tiptoed along the line of cabins, pausing at each to look over the top of the three-quarter length door, my eyes adjusting to the gloom. I heard her shallow breaths but passed on. Two could play at this game. I made a little more noise so that she could follow my progress then slipped into one of the cabins, sat down on the slatted bench and waited.
I strained to listen. Was she stalking me now?
The cabin door burst open and she flung herself at me, wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me hard. This time she stayed and allowed me to kiss her back. Her lips were cool and moist, her breath sweet and her tongue teased mine as she melted into me. We held the kiss, moving through urgent passion to quiet tenderness, then eased apart.
She sat on the bench beside me and grabbed my wrists. ‘If I tell you my secret, will you promise me that you will share it with no one, ever?’
I had no idea what she wanted to say but I had to hear it.
‘Are you sure you want to tell me? Can you trust me when I don’t know myself?’
‘Don’t be cruel, Jack. I trust you probably more than you will ever know.’ She reached out and ran her fingers over my face, touching my eyes then my lips.
A shiver wriggled down my spine. ‘Alright, I promise.’
She took a deep breath then let it out slowly.
‘Yesterday, I discovered that I’m not who I thought I was.’
The shiver froze. I tried to speak but she pressed her finger to my lips.
‘Just listen, I need to explain this. My parents are difficult. You haven’t spoken to them but you’ve seen them. They live in a different age. Mother is kind and generous but never ever disagrees with Father. He is fierce, frightening at times, stubborn beyond belief and will never entertain an opposite point of view. They never discuss things with me. I was told to leave school, told to go to work, given my tasks; there was no debate. I tried to question him once and he roared me into tears.’
She hesitated, reliving the moment, her voice catching with sadness. ‘I think they love me but that would be the last thing they would ever say. They are quite alone. There were some relatives we used to visit but there was a big argument and now only one of Mother’s cousins ever calls. They are both Viberts, you know, though they aren’t related. They did tell me that once.’
She paused again. ‘Yesterday evening I overheard Mother talking to Cousin Enid. They didn’t realise I was in the hallway. They were talking about Enid’s daughter, who has a prolapse.’
She sensed my question but squeezed it off with her hand. ‘That’s a woman’s problem with her womb. Apparently, it’s pretty awful and she is in considerable pain. I’ll spare you the details. Anyway, they were discussing whether she should follow the doctor’s advice and have a hysterectomy. She’s thirty-five now, which is quite young for such an operation. Enid reminded Mother that she had the same problem when she was thirty-three and wanted to know what went through her mind before she had the operation. Mother is sixty-one. I’m eighteen. You can do the arithmetic. It means that I was born ten years after her womb was removed. You see, Jack, I am a little miracle.’
She swallowed. ‘I crept away and sneaked into his study, where he keeps his desk. There is a little hidden compartment. He is very clever with his hands and he made the desk. It probably has other secrets as well. He was out collecting rents so I opened the compartment and pulled out the small bundle of papers wedged in there. One of them was in French – you know, the legal Norman version. It was a letter from Jurat Le Brocq. I didn’t understand all of it but it referred to an agreement between my father, Edward Vibert, and two other parties, a George Vibert and Louisa Mahrer who were resident in Caen. It was about the adoption of a sixth-month old infant girl.’
I gasped but she pressed her hand over my mouth before I could speak.
‘I remembered Mother and Father arguing about his young cousin who had stayed in France after the war – how he was good for nothing, indolent, a ladies’ man. I didn’t understand what they meant at the time and he wasn’t mentioned again in my presence. I do remember another time when they had received a letter and were talking about a Louisa who lived in France.’ She stopped.
I felt her stiffen, could feel the tension gripping her. I waited.
‘Mother said “it was only to be expected.” Father was very angry and slammed the table before ripping the letter to shreds. He turned to Mother and said, “What else could you expect from the Jewish bitch?’’’
I reached out and pulled her into me.
‘You see, Jack, I’ve been living a lie for eighteen years – I’m not me.’
I didn’t know what to say but had to speak. ‘Do they know?’
‘Not yet. Oh, Jack, where can I get the courage to tell them?’
‘Do you need to?’
She stopped sniffling. ‘You’re right. Why do they need to know – what can I gain by confronting them? Father will see my searching his desk as a betrayal. No, it’s not worth it. Unless they’re willing to tell me about my real parents and why they kept this from me. Tell me that I’m more than a purchased servant. Tell me they love me. Because they never have. Not once. Not ever.’
Silence, then a small voice. ‘I’m sorry, Jack. This must be very tedious for you. You wanted some fun, not my sordid little story.’
&nbs
p; ‘That’s cruel, Rachel. Of course I’m interested. I just want to help you find the best way of dealing with this.’ I turned away, hurt.
‘Don’t sulk, Jack.’ She turned with me and ran her hand over my cheek. ‘You have been wonderful. Don’t you understand that you are the only person I wanted to tell? She reached up and kissed me again. My heart raced as she pulled my head towards her, crushing my lips with a force and passion I had never experienced before. I felt helpless, and, again, she was the first to break away.
‘I’m too hot. Let’s go for a swim,’ she said
‘What? You’re mad. We haven’t got any costumes, or towels – we’ll be seen.’
‘Shush, stop being so…’ she sought for the word, ‘conventional. Come on. It will cheer us up.’
She stood up, removed her shoes and socks and pulled her jumper over her head, revealing a white bra, which she shrugged out of in one movement. Almost innocently, like a young child, she undid the side zip on her slacks, stepped out then kicked them away. Without pausing, she rolled down her white knickers then stood, hands on hips, looking at me. ‘Come on, slow coach. I’m ready.’
I couldn’t believe it. Was this Rachel or Caroline in front of me? The speed with which she had shed her clothes and the matter of fact way she now stood naked, almost challenging, was a complete surprise. Naturally, I’d examined her shape, surreptitiously, through her wet costume before. Now, I admired her well-rounded, firm breasts and prominent nipples, the slender waist, which curved into almost boyish hips, and the dark triangle between her legs. She was beautiful, but quite mad.
Impatient with me, she started to tug my shirt out of my trousers, reached for my belt and started to struggle with the buckle. It had been easy enough to release in the town hall, but I hadn’t had the chance to tell her about that yet.
‘Come on, Jack, you’ve been swimming without your trunks before.’
I batted her hands away, released the buckle myself and let gravity take over. There was no way I could control the erection and she giggled when I eased my underpants over it before I dropped them to the concrete floor.
‘My, my – I think that little rudder will slow you down.’
‘What do you mean little?’
But she was gone, running off down the alleyway, her feet pattering softly as she weaved her way to the terrace. I struggled furiously with the laces of my boots and gaiters, tripping over the jumbled clothes and almost fighting my way out of the cabin. When I reached the top of the steps, she was dancing about on the concrete starting blocks twenty-feet below.
‘Wait, Rachel. Don’t dive, you’ll make too much noise.’ But it was too late. She had plunged in and disappeared under the black water.
I hurried after her. There was no way I was going to jump or dive in this state so I waded down the short flight of steps, gasping as the cool water rose to my waist. I could hear her splashing about as she surfaced.
‘Quiet,’ I hissed, ‘swim slowly to the raft.’ I stepped lower, enjoying the tingle on my skin as the sea sucked me under, took a deep breath and swam breaststroke along the sandy bottom towards the closest moored raft. It felt very strange without a costume and she was right about the rudder effect. The water bubbled away as I let out a silent laugh.
I surfaced once for air but she was nowhere in sight. I dived again and propelled myself to the wooden platform. I’d once been too frightened to dive under and surface into the pocket of air, yet it was a fascinating experience once I had plucked up the courage.
I had to go quite deep to avoid the empty copper tanks, which provided the flotation, before I popped up with barely enough room to keep my head above the inky water. The club had purchased the large rafts from the company which had scrapped the RMS Mauretania for seven pounds each – a bargain, we’d been told. They were certainly well made and it was fun hiding under there and listening to the swimmers jumping about on top.
There was still no sign of Rachel then, suddenly, she slid up behind me and clasped me round the neck.
‘This is fabulous.’ She sounded so carefree, as if the last thirty minutes had never happened. Would I ever understand women? I felt her nipples rubbing against my back and was suddenly aware of my rudder again.
The raft had drifted closer to the bridge and I could stand on tiptoe. I spun around and wrapped my arms around her, pressing her breasts into my chest. My former patron saint of travel now dangled round her neck, a silver shield between us. She gasped as the top of her thighs brushed against my stiffness then giggled again.
‘I apologise. It is not so little. Not that I have any experience of rudders. For all I know, amongst rudders, it might be considered a very small one indeed.’
Before I could reply, she found my mouth and pressed her salty tongue into mine.
Despite the cool water, I was burning. I couldn’t tell whether it was with desire or embarrassment. I felt awkward, guilty. I shouldn’t be doing this, yet I wanted to caress her, run my hands along the curve of her spine and down to her firm buttocks. I wanted to lose myself in her but instead I broke off the kiss and turned myself so that I pressed into her side and away from the danger area of her thighs. She moaned but I hugged her and kissed her forehead, trying desperately to subdue the evidence of my arousal. I had to start behaving like the gentleman she believed me to be rather than taking advantage of her emotional confusion. While this sounded good to my thinking brain, the other one didn’t agree so I thought of frozen rivers of blood and the despair in my uncle’s voice. That worked.
I let her rest against me, felt her heart beating. We stayed in a comforting embrace for a few more minutes but I was losing the battle. She stirred against me, her hand moved slowly south. I shuddered then she kissed me with such completeness that those frozen rivers turned into hot springs and I eased myself into her.
It was a strange sensation – the cold water sucked around us as she moved freely. I lost myself in her rhythm but tried to detach myself to prolong the moment as Caroline had taught me. But Rachel was so genuine, so absorbed in me, so determined, that I couldn’t. The heat shot through me and into her. We both shuddered but she kept her lips tight to mine, grabbed my buttocks and pulled me deep into her. Her heart thudded against my chest and our breathing echoed against the metal barrels.
Eventually she eased away and I ducked my head under, luxuriating in the coldness. She joined me and tried to kiss my lips but bit my nose instead. I could feel the bubbles from her giggles tickling my chin.
We broke the surface and even though it was pitch-black, I could sense her smile.
‘I feel much better now. Thank you, Jack. Thank you.’
My laughter exploded, shaking the planking. She joined in until we shivered with the release of tension and of the awareness of the chilly water and the reality of what we had done.
She spoke softly, ‘Should we swim back now and try to dry ourselves?’
‘Of course, I know where I can find a towel.’
We ducked under the raft and swam side by side until we reached the steps. Her body glistened in the reflections off the water as she mounted the steps. She paused and turned to me. ‘It’ll be alright won’t it? With the cold water, nothing could happen. Could it?’
My stomach lurched. Caroline would have known, wouldn’t have asked. Old wives’ tale? How many old wives made love under cold water? I forced my words up from the depths. ‘You’ll be – I mean, we’ll be fine.’
I was about to reach out and pull her back for a reassuring kiss when our world exploded in a blaze of light. The beams from three torches pounced on our heads.
‘Now, what have we here?
I recognised Brewster’s voice and felt like a bucket of ice had been thrown over us. Rachel splashed back to hide behind me, modest now in front of the two policemen and the club manager.
Brewster handed two towels to me. He turned to the policemen. ‘I’m sorry about this. These two are club members. This was obviously a silly prank. The woman who
telephoned you must have been mistaken about burglars breaking in. Please let me handle this now. I’m sure they have an explanation for their behaviour. If not, I will want to talk to their parents about their state of undress.’
‘Oh God, no. Please, Mr Brewster, please don’t tell my parents. It would kill them.’ Rachel’s voice crackled with fear.
‘Good night then, sir.’ The policemen grinned then swung their torches onto the granite steps and climbed up to the terrace. Brewster waited for us to wrap the towels around ourselves then led us to his office.
As we followed him, I was sure I could see a Bugatti parked outside the telephone box opposite the Ommaroo Hotel.
12
Tuesday Morning – Palace Hotel
‘Sorry.’
‘Uh. Sorry?’
‘Yes, about yesterday.’
‘Sajnos, eh? Words cheap. You say “sorry”. I want you swim “sorry” – now work apology. You think I have nothing better to do than stand and watch you? Fereg!’
I assumed fereg wasn’t a compliment in either Romanian or Hungarian and lowered myself into the pool. I’d never seen Miko angry before. I felt guilty about not turning up yesterday and being late again this morning. He was doing this for nothing, after all. I’d swim off my apology but I felt so tired.
I’d fallen asleep just before I was meant to wake Alan. We were then too late for me to drive him to the harbour, get back and collect Boadicea. Father had driven him instead, insisting I follow behind. After we’d seen Alan up the gangplank and onto the steamer, he’d turned on me and given me a lecture about responsibility, arriving home late at night, fouling up his morning and riding Fred’s bike. Rather than argue, I’d let his anger wash over me, keeping my clenched fists hidden behind my back. Puzzled by my silence, he’d stalked off, kicked the car’s tyres and driven away. I’d heard some clapping from the deck above and turned to see Alan and a few of his friends applauding ironically. When he returned on Friday, I’d warm his ears for him.
Now Miko was acting like my father. Bugger the lot of them. Instead of warming up slowly, I sprinted the first four lengths and worked off my frustration.