Microsoft Word - rooted sorrow.doc

by Amanda Cameron

  'Keir, you're not giving me a chance,' she said unsteadily. 'It's all been a shock-I can't take it all in that quickly. And I need to know more. You say you've a friend here who's been able to help you-' she wanted to ask what friend but couldn't '-can't he-she-tell you these things? I haven't seen you for two years, Keir how can I help? I know nothing-practically nothing about what you've been doing. I ... '

  'I'm not asking you to help me,' he said quietly, and she could see his reflection in the dark glass, tall and slender, watching her with a look that was disturbingly intent. 'I'm just telling you how it's been. And telling you how it is for me-and you. '

  'And your friend?' Libby asked, knowing that she had to face whatever truth there might be.

  'My friend is a man,' Keir told her. 'His name's Jeremy Brooke and he's been working with me-doing researcher acting as secretary and that kind of thing.' His glance' was bitter. 'I gave up having women secretaries some time ago=-too much hassle. And they weren't too keen on the research sometimes.'

  Thinking of some of his books, which had been set in remote and uncomfortable comers of the earth, Libby could see his point. So Jeremy Brooke was the one who knew about Keir's life in the past two years. But what about Pia?

  'Jeremy's told me some of what I need to know,' Keir

  went on in a Oat tone. 'But the rest of it-well, I haven't wanted to be told. I need to remember it by myself-not persuade myself I can remember, because I want to. If he tells me, that might happen and I can't risk it.' His eyes burned into her mind. 'I can't risk anything that might drive us apart again, Libby.'

  Libby found her voice. 'Apart? But we aren't together!' She raised both palms to her face and found her cheeks hot. 'We broke up, Keir, can't you understand that? The fact that you've forgotten it doesn't make it any less real. We quarrelled-bitterly-it was all over. How do you know you won't feel the same when you do remember? How do you know that you don't really hate me?'

  Keir was at her side almost before the words were out of her mouth, his arms gripping her close to him.

  The breath gasped out of her body as she stared up at him, and then his mouth was crushing down oil hers, suppressing her exclamation, and allowing no resistance. And as delight and horror blended in her veins, Libby clung to him, unable to pull away, conscious only of his arms holding her close, his body lean and hard against her own soft curves.

  She felt his lips move with purpose over hers, parting them with an expertise that shot a pang of sweet memory through her. His hands slid over her body, one tightening over her breast, the other curving to the shape of her bottom, drawing her close in against him so that she could be in no doubt as to his desire, and her own flared to match it.

  A tiny moan escaped her lips as his own freed them to nibble their way gently across her cheek to her earlobe, and she turned her head blindly, seeking his mouth again, lost to all reason, lost to everything but the sensations that had been missing from her life for two long years and were now surging within her like a tidal wave which there could be no stopping.

  'Now do you believe I don't hate you?' Keir murmured as his tongue flicked in her ear. 'Do you really think I could hate you-even if I'd forgotten it-and hold you like this?'

  Libby stayed quite still. Then she tilted her head back and looked up into his sapphire eyes. They were serious, sincere-but she couldn't trust them. At this moment, she believed that Keir loved her as much as he had ever done. But when he remembered ... what then? Would he still love her, when the truth was once again a part of his experience, when his emotions were once more returned to him?

  Libby took a long time to fall asleep that night, and the sun was high when she awoke, though her room was still darkened by the shutters that were essential to keep out the fierce heat of the summer. For a few minutes she lay gazing sleepily around the dim, cool room, wondering where she was; and then she remembered and sat up with a jerk.

  That was what it must have been like for Keir-that waking to bewilderment. Only for him it had lasted longer and been more confusing, and for him memory hadn't returned, either so quickly or so completely.

  For him, there were still gaps.

  Libby got out of bed and padded over to open the shutters. Her room faced the sea, down the same valley that she had seen from the big window of the living room; only the bathroom and kitchen faced the street. There was a balcony outside and she stepped on to it, feeling the sun warm on her skin.

  The balcony ran along the length of the apartment, and she could see that the wide window of the living-room was open, but there was no sign of Keir. Relieved-Libby still needed time to think-she went back into her room to shower and dress. Thank goodness her room had its own shower and washbasin and she didn't have to use the bathroom; at least she wouldn't run the risk of meeting Keir before she was fully in command of herself.

  Not that she'd been that last night, she thought ruefully, remembering the way he had held and kissed her and her burning response. She had almost given in then told Keir that it didn't matter, that she was still in love with him and she was willing to go back two years and start again whatever had happened in the meantime.

  But she hadn't; not quite. And after the night's sleep that he had at last allowed her, she knew that she had been right.

  She was still in love with Keir Salinger, there was no doubt at all about that. But she couldn't go back and start again as if nothing had happened. Because things had happened-a lot of things. And two things in particular.

  When Keir did, eventually, remember why they had quarrelled, he might well want her out of his life, as he'd walked out of hers. And it would be worse still when he remembered the other complication.

  Pia. What had happened between her and Keir?

  Where was she now? Would she come back-and if she did, just what would Keir's reaction be?

  Until these questions were answered there could be no future for Libby with Keir-if, indeed, there could ever be. And until he could accept this she had to tread very carefully. For his sake as well as for her own.

  Libby sighed as she stepped into the shower and turned it on. This was a whole lot more complicated than she'd envisaged. And it might tum out, even now, that she had been as crazy as Sally had said she was, to come. But she knew too that she had had no real choice. She'd had to respond to that letter; even if Keir had had no idea he'd written it.

  There was still no sign of Keir when Libby, wearing a fresh skirt and camisole top of vivid coral pink, went back out to the balcony and along to the living-room. There was a round white table on the balcony, with two chairs, but Keir had evidently eaten his breakfast and gone out. Not sure whether to feel deflated or relieved, Libby went through to the kitchen and found fruit juice, fresh bread and coffee. She carried it out to the sunshine and sat there, gazing abstractedly down the valley to the sparkling sea and thinking hard.

  It hadn't been easy to persuade Keir to let her go last night. It hadn't even been easy to persuade herself there was nothing she longed for more than to stay in his arms, feeling the close warmth of his body, letting his lips play havoc with her emotions, letting her own body respond to his as it had longed to do on that afternoon on Dartmoor. And this time, she guessed, Keir wouldn't have refused her-they could have gone on, glorying in each other, until their lovemaking reached that triumphant conclusion they both needed so desperately. And then well, she supposed they'd have taken it from there, living just for the moment, reckless of the consequences.

  She was almost sorry that they hadn't. It would have been something to keep, to remember; if, when Keir regained his memory, the worst happened and she found herself alone again, she would always have that moment of fulfillment, the knowledge that they had, even if for a short time, belonged to each other.

  Wouldn't it have been worth it?

  There was no way of knowing. But Libby had suffered enough anguish when she had lost Keir for the first time. She couldn't risk it again-knowing that it would be so much worse once she had
truly known his love.

  'You'll have to let me go, Keir,' she had told him quietly as he bent to kiss her again. 'We can't just dismiss what's happened. We've got to go slowly-carefully.' Her grey eyes searched his. 'Wouldn't it be better if we discussed it-if I told you what broke us up, what happened to us?'

  But Keir had shaken his head. 'I don't want to know. I have to remember things for myself. Don't you see, Libby, I'd only hear your side-I still wouldn't know just how I'd felt, just what thoughts went through my mind at that time.' He watched her face. 'Could it have been so bad, Libby? You don't seem to bear any grudge.'

  But she shook her head. There was no way of explaining just half of what had happened-it had to be all or nothing. It had been bad at the time, but- oh, it was all too difficult.

  She played absently with her bread as her mind went back to those final days. It had all seemed so right at first, so easy. Keir, writing his book about the war, telling her that he wanted to interview some of the people who had actually survived concentration camps, find out what their experiences had been and how they felt about them now, forty years later. She, excited by the project and never thinking about the results of her action, telling him that her own father had been in such a camp, certain that although the doctor never normally spoke about his experiences he would be happy to do so to Keir.

  'He thinks a lot of you, I know,' she said, 'and I'm sure he'd be able to tell you a lot. He'd just qualified as a doctor then, and he practised as one in the camp. That's all I know, really-he never talks about it. But for your book I'm sure he would.'

  'Well, don't let's rush at it,' Keir said thoughtfully. 'Some of the survivors just want to blot out that time, forget it completely. I wouldn't want to distress him or make him feel pressurised. '

  'Oh no, that'll be all right,' Libby said confidently. 'I'll ask him, if you like. I'm sure he won't refuse.'

  'And that's just what I mean,' Keir said with an affectionate grin. 'The nicest kind of pressure-and the hardest to refuse. No, I'll ask him-and I'll ask him in such a way that he can refuse if he wants to. I might not be so kind to all my victims---but I can't have my future father-in-law alienated!'

  He had made his request later that evening, when he and Dr. Marsh were walking round the garden after supper. Libby hadn't worried about it at all, confident that her father would agree, and she had been pleased but not surprised when Keir told her as they said goodnight that he was going to spend the next day with the doctor, making notes and even a tape-recording of the older man's reminiscences.

  'I knew he'd agree,' she smiled, lifting her face for Keir's kiss. 'Who's a clever girl, then?'

  But Keir had remained grave. 'I'm still not entirely sure it's a good idea. Your father's obviously got some harrowing memories and I don't know that it's a good idea to disturb them. He asked me not to mention this to your mother, Libby.'

  'Oh well, that's all right,' she said carelessly. 'Mummy does fuss rather a lot. And she's got a bit of a thing about the war-doesn't like people talking about it. Perhaps she had some unpleasant experiences, too.'

  'I don't know.' Keir was thoughtful. 'Well, he's a grown man and can make his own decisions, but somehow I rather wish you'd never told me about this. I've got a nasty feeling . . .' And then he had shrugged and laughed at himself and kissed her, and they had been happy.

  The next day he had spent with her father, and when the two men emerged for supper Libby had been surprised and concerned to see how drawn and weary the older man had looked. Her mother had been concerned too; she had exclaimed and fussed, and insisted on an early night, and then she had come back to the living room where Libby and Keir were listening to records, and demanded to know just what had been going on.

  'William won't tell me a thing,' she complained, 'but it's obviously to do with you, Keir. Just what have you been doing in that study all day? You've worn him out and quite possibly made him ill, and I have a right to know.'

  'Oh, Mummy, don't fuss-' Libby began, but Keir got up at once, looking anxious. .

  'I certainly hope he isn't ill Mrs. Marsh. I admit he seemed very tired. We've been talking all day and it can be very tiring. I really am sorry. '

  'Talking? What about?' Mrs. Marsh's face narrowed with suspicion. 'Just what is the sudden interest in my husband, Keir? Just what is it you've been talking about all day? Tell me!'

  Keir glanced at Libby and shrugged. 'I did promise your husband that I wouldn't say-' he began reluctantly, and Mrs. Marsh snorted. Libby, watching her, was struck with sudden fear. She had never seen her mother look like this-never seen quite that quality of anger in the thin, worn face.

  'Mummy-' she began, but Mrs. Marsh ignored her and addressed Keir, her voice sharp.

  'It's the war, isn't it? You've been talking about the war-about that horrible camp and what went on there.

  Oh, God!' She covered her face with her hands, 'Can he never have any peace? Can he never forget?

  Why does it have to be dragged up, all over again?'

  Libby scrambled up,' but when she touched her mother the older woman turned on her as if she were a stranger. 'Don’t touch me! Don't you realise the damage you may have done?' Her eyes burned in her face as she glared at them. 'All these years I've looked after my husband, knowing that he could never tell me adequately what he'd been through, knowing that he had to bear it alone. And I knew, too, that it was better buried. If he were forced to tell-it could destroy him.'

  'Destroy him?' Libby whispered. 'But why? What's it all about?'

  Her mother looked at her with something very like contempt. 'You wouldn't understand, Libby. You're too young-you didn't live through those times. But I did. I waited at home, knowing that he might never come back, knowing that he was going through hell and unable to do a thing to help. And when he did come back, I knew that his experiences had changed him forever. He was never quite the same again and never would be. It was the same with a lot of others. Some never recovered; some went on, as your father did, to lead useful lives. But none of them were ever the same.'

  'But why should it do such harm to talk about it?' Libby asked, and her mother turned away with a curiously defeated attitude.

  'Because your father's memories, from what little he has told me, are peculiarly horrific-he was a doctor then, don't forget-and because talking about them, even thinking about them, has always been very distressing for him. And-' she turned back and Libby was shocked to see the despair in her face '-

  because he has a heart condition. He's been warned to take very great care. He mustn't be distressed.'

  She was almost out of the door before she turned again and spoke directly to Keir. 'I'm going up to him now. I don't want to have to come down again--will you lock up and see that everything's ready for the night?' She didn't wait for his answer but left the room, closing the door behind her, and in the silence they heard her footsteps going slowly and wearily up the stairs.

  Dr. Marsh had his first heart attack later that night, and two more the next day in hospital. He didn't recover from the third one and he died before Libby, telephoning frantically to Claire, could get back to his bedside. She found herself looking down at his body with a numb grief and a lasting sadness that she hadn't been there to say goodbye.

  If Libby could have lost her own memory regarding the period following her father's death, she would gladly have done so. It wasn't just the grief and the misery of arranging the funeral, letting people know arid making a hundred and one other arrangements-they were the normal events following any death.

  What made it all the worse was her mother's reaction, and the way it affected Libby and her relationship with Keir.

  Rationally, she knew that Keir had been unaware of her father's condition, and she knew too that Dr.

  Marsh had taken his own decision to talk about the past, knowing quite well what it might mean to him.

  There was no way that Keir could be blamed-but Mrs. Marsh did blame him, and her bitterness had an inevitable i
nfluence on Libby just when she was at her most vulnerable.

  'Why did you have to do it?' she cried one afternoon as they sat in the garden. 'Dragging it all up-what good can it do? Things like that are best forgotten, it can't help anyone to bring it all out again after so long. '

  'Can't it? That's a matter of opinion,' Keir said thoughtfully. He picked a stem of grass and began to chew it. 'It's forty years more since that last war began. Couldn't that have something to do with the fact that people haven't forgotten it-that they keep reminding each other with books and films and plays showing its horror and futility? These things happened, Libby, and we can't pretend they didn't. They're part of our past whether we like it or not, and I believe that we ought to keep the memory alive-not so that we can keep hatred alive, but so that it's less likely to happen again.'

  'But did you have to drag Dad into it?' Libby asked bitterly. 'You must have realised there was some reason why he didn't want my mother to know. Couldn't you have let it go?' She turned her head and looked at the strong profile, the firm jaw and well-shaped mouth. 'No, I suppose you couldn't,' she said slowly, feeling a coldness creep over her body. 'You had a good story there and you knew it, and that was all that was important to you, wasn't it? Never mind that my father was getting old and tired, never mind that he was ill. Never mind that for forty years he'd tried to forget the horrors he'd seen. The story was all that mattered-the story that you could write down and sell and make money out of.' Anger shook her as she stood up and looked down at him. 'My mother's right-you insinuated yourself" into our family for what you could get from us. Well, you've got it-and I hope you're satisfied!'

  She turned away, but Keir was on his feet and gripping her arm before she could escape. His face was hard and angry now, and she felt a bolt of fear jerk through her heart as she looked up at him. She had never seen that expression before and she knew suddenly that Keir would be a bad man to cross. But she held her ground and stared up into the dark blue eyes, defiance in her own.