Instead, she shrugged as if she wasn't too sure herself. 'Oh, you know, general things,' she said vaguely.
'Anything you might think could help, I suppose. What he's been q~~ng, where he's been going, all that kind of thing.'
'Mm.' Jeremy gave her a bright glance and she wondered uneasily whether he understood her better than he pretended. 'But I'm not sure it's really going to help you much, you know. After all, you haven't seen or even had much contact with Keir in that time, unless I'm mistaken.' His glance was frankly enquiring now, and Libby felt her colour rise as she shook her head. 'So you can't really remind him of any events or incidents. You can't jog that memory of his. And anything I can tell you might even make things worse-colour your own attitude in some way. '
And that could only mean other women, Libby thought. Jeremy believed that if she knew the truth about what had been happening to Keir during their separation she would leave him. It was as easy as that.
And-following on from that-if he didn't want to tell her, it must mean that he didn't want her to leave. Why?
'Can't you just tell me about the accident?' she asked desperately. 'If I knew something-I just feel lost about the whole thing, Jeremy.'
Jeremy gave her a long look. 'Yes, I can see it's awkward,' he said. 'Not an easy position for you at all, is it? Forgive me if I seem over-protective-it's just that I look up to Keir and it was pretty ghastly when he first came round and didn't know who he was. Like watching a grown man suddenly revert to babyhood. I suppose I have tended to look after him a bit since then-though I'd never dream of letting him know it.
And I've been especially careful to see that he doesn't have any more problems. He was pretty shaken when your letter came, and nobody else knew he'd written to you-yes, he told me about that this morning, while you were getting changed. So I wanted to be sure you wouldn't hurt him.'
'And that's why you took the morning off to take me to the Blue Grotto,' Libby exclaimed, and he grinned apologetically.
'Afraid so. Not that I often pass up the chance to take out a pretty girl! But I did want a chance to get to know you on my own-make my own judgment, if you like, though I feel a bit mean admitting it.'
'And?' Libby said quietly, meeting his eyes.
'And I think you deserve to know a little at least of what you're asking. Later on, perhaps I'll tell you more.
But I meant what I said, Libby-I honestly don't think it would help either of you to know too much, not at this stage. That's why I haven't even told Keir very much. When he remembers, he's got to remember on his own-not persuade himself that he recalls things someone else has told him.'
Libby digested his words and had to admit that there was sense in them. And hadn't Keir said much the same thing at some stage? What he wanted from her seemed to be mostly reassurance that the memories he did have were true ones. That's why he had continually talked about their engagement.
That and a natural desire to convince himself that their love was still real, still existed.
Well, that was something neither of them could know for certain until he remembered the rest.
Meanwhile, in spite of the common sense behind Jeremy's words, Libby still had an intense curiosity about Keir's forgotten life; and she was still determined to find out as much as she could-whether from Jeremy Brooke, or from others who might be persuaded to talk to her. Though who they might be, she had at present no idea at all.
She looked up at Jeremy and her eyes were wide and limpid, like crystal pools.
'Go on, then,' she said. 'Tell me, tell me whatever you can about Keir's accident, and about what else has happened to him.'
CHAPTER FIVE
THE town of Rabat was alive with people in the warm evening air, and Libby wandered at Keir's side, fascinated by the street market and the strange cries of the vendors calling for people to buy their fish, fruit and other wares. Their dark eyes were eager, darting this way and that as they looked for custom, and they quickly recognized Libby as a stranger who might well be persuaded to buy. A fractional pause by a stall selling highly- coloured cream cakes had the man wielding a huge knife to cut a sample off, but Libby hastily shook her head. Previous experience had taught her that such samples were by no means
'without obligation' and that having accepted one it was difficult to walk away without buying. In any case, the bright colours of the cream attracted her only as a spectacle; her taste didn't run to such rich confections.
All the shops were open as well, and Libby's eye was caught, as they explored the winding streets, by doorways that led into caverns filled with a mixture of goods. There were few shop windows, and it was sometimes difficult to decide which doors belonged to shops and which to private houses; pulling aside one cane curtain she found herself staring in at a Maltese family meal, and hastily drew back. Keir chuckled as he led her away and Libby was glad that it was too dark for him to see how embarrassed she was.
'It's quite different here from in Valletta,' she remarked. 'Valletta is more cosmopolitan-this seems to be real Maltese.'
'Mm. In fact it was originally a suburb of Medina that’s what its name means. It's an interesting old place-I'll bring you to see the catacombs one day. That's the ancient Christian burial place, and they're very extensive. They were used as shelters during the war.'
He took her arm, and Libby felt a shock jar through her as his fingers brushed the thin cotton of her dress. She bit her lip, hoping that the sensation hadn't been powerful enough to transfer itself to him.
Since Jeremy's revelations that afternoon, she had made up her mind that the only way she could survive this was to play it cool-very cool indeed.
Jeremy hadn't meant to tell her so much, of course.
He'd made that clear from the beginning. But once he had begun, telling her about the accident that had landed Keir in hospital, it had been quite easy to encourage him to go on. He clearly thought a lot of Keir and was only too pleased to talk about the places they had visited to research Keir's books, the people they had met and the friends they had made. And from that point, it was almost impossible for him not to mention the women.
Libby pulled her mind back to the present. Keir was leading her away now from the hubbub of Rabat and across a deep, dry moat. Looking up, she could see the floodlit' "triumphal gateway with its carved arch and rampant beasts guarding the entrance to the city. Then they passed through and Libby was instantly conscious of the contrast.
Outside, it was all noise and bustle, humanity at its most gregarious. In here, there was tranquility and peace, a quietness that pervaded the air so that even the people walking through the narrow streets and tiny squares spoke in lowered voices. There were few cars-Keir had told her that they used to be banned altogether-and the tiny city seemed to be a world alone, isolated from the boisterous hurrying of the rest of the island.
'The Silent City,' Keir said as if echoing her thoughts. 'It's really more truly Maltese than anywhere else on the island-it was here that the aristocracy of the island drew together, uninfluenced by the Knights of St John who ruled.' He led her through the streets between tall, dignified houses and palazzi. 'In some ways, it's a museum in itself-but it's still very much alive.' He indicated a shop selling leather and suede goods, and another displaying exquisite lace. 'You come here for quality-they'll make you a suit in suede, and if you can't collect it they'll send it to England for you.' They walked on through the quiet passages. 'Come and look at the view from the walls. It's best at sunset, when everything glows with pink, but we're too late for that today. We'll come again to see it.'
Libby followed him up on the walls and looked across the island. It was dark enough now to see the great bowl of the sky, spattered with stars, and it was almost impossible, as she looked out, to tell which of the sparkling lights were stars and which were earth-bound. A great cluster not far away belonged to Mosta, Keir said, and he told her the story of the bomb that had fallen into the cathedral during a service, bouncing against the walls as
it dropped from the huge dome, and coming to rest in front of the terrified congregation without exploding. It was still there, in a small room, and was one of the attractions of the church.
Libby stood beside him, shivering slightly in the breeze that found its way across the rocky plain, and wondered if he'd brought any other woman to this point. She felt his hand resting lightly on her shoulder, and a tingle ran through her body as his fingertips caressed her bare arm. Play it cool, she remembered, play it cool. There was only pain in store if she let her heart rule her head. And although she wanted nothing more than to move closer to the warmth of his lean body, to rest against his hard strength, she moved away so that his hand could no longer reach her skin.
'I'm getting hungry,' she murmured, though food had been furthest from her thoughts, and Keir nodded and turned away at once.
'Then we'll eat. There are several very good restaurants in the city, so we won't have to walk far. We must come here again during the day-there are quite a lot of things to see. The Magisterial Palace-it's a Natural History museum now-the cathedral and its museum, and several smaller churches. And just outside the gate is a Roman villa, together with its own museum, of course! The Maltese seem to love them, but then they have a lot of history to display. '
He took Libby into a dimly lit restaurant and they were shown to a table by a long window, looking out on a courtyard with a single fig tree growing in the middle. The walls were decorated with pieces of armour and old weapons, and candles flickered in glasses on the dark wood of the tables.
The meal took a long time and Libby was happy to linger over every delicious mouthful. She was already beginning to feel tinglingly nervous about their return to the flat. It wasn't at all wise, she was sure, for her to goon staying there alone with Keir. All right, he'd made a promise, but it was quite clearly one he didn't want to keep and although he'd shown iron control during their engagement it didn't mean he'd do the same now. And Libby was uncomfortably aware that her own control had never been that good-she had longed for Keir to
love her from the start, and now that she was with him again after such a long separation, she felt her yearnings as a continual ache.
Savouring the taste of the timpana Keir had chosen for her, Libby thought back to Jeremy's story that morning. He hadn't told her everything, she knew, but he'd let slip far more than he had intended to. And that was just what Libby had intended, but afterwards she wasn't sure that having her suspicions confirmed had helped her at all. So now she knew that Keir had had plenty of girl friends during those two years-did it make things any better? Or worse? Or did it just not make any difference at all?
'Enjoying it?' Keir asked, breaking in on her thoughts, and she felt herself blush as she looked up with a start. 'The timpana,' he added patiently. 'Is it good?' 'Oh-oh, yes, it's splendid. It seems to have just about everything in it.' She touched the delicate flaky pastry with her fork. '
'It has, almost. Cheese, minced meat, aubergines, onions, eggs, tomato-it's quite a mixture. Tasty, though.'
'Mm, it certainly is.' Libby finished and laid her knife and fork on the empty plate. 'I'm not sure if I can manage a dessert. '
'Oh, I'm sure you can. They specialise in a particularly delicious concoction called prinjolata here-a sort of pyramid of sponge fingers filled with almonds and cream and covered with melted chocolate and cherries. It's a carnival dish, but they know the tourists will eat it at any time.'
'I really don't think I could-' Libby began, but Keir gave the order anyway, remarking that what she couldn't eat he certainly could, and Libby subsided. It would be nice to try it anyway-and when it came she found it was so feather light that she could eat almost the whole portion, thus thwarting Keir's plan to have two helpings.
'That really was delicious,' Libby said as they emerged at last into the quiet, moonlit streets. 'And I love the Marsala we drank with it. You're spoiling me, Keir, tomorrow I really must do some work and earn my living.'
'Must you? Why?' Keir's voice was soft and deep as he led her up a short flight of steps to lean against the ancient wall and look out across the darkened plain. 'If you were my wife now, you'd be doing just what you are doing-accompanying me, helping me, just being with me. And' as far as I'm concerned, that's what you should be-my wife.' He drew her close and Libby could feel her heart thump against his.
'Don't hold back, Libby. Don't pretend we're strangers--we're not. This is the way we're meant to be=can't you feel it? Can't you see what you're doing to me-to us?' His fingers were hard, almost cruel, on her soft arms.
'We've wasted enough time, Libby. God knows why, but could there really have been any reason for us to stay apart for two years? Don't let's waste any more.' His lips were on hers before she could begin to reply, and her swift protest died before it could be voiced as his mouth made demands that were impossible to refuse. She felt her mouth open under his, felt the sweetness as his tongue met hers and his teeth made tiny nips at the soft flesh of her lips, felt the inevitable weakness as his strength overcame her feeble efforts to struggle. Then, knowing just what she did but not caring any more, she let her hands move of their own accord, wound her arms round his neck, tangled her fingers in his thick hair and shaped her palm around the nape of his neck, returning his kiss and pressing her body close against his in passionate response.
Keir made a tiny sound of triumph and dragged his mouth away from hers and down the slender column of her neck, as far as the low scoop of her blouse. Her heart leapt under his kiss and instinctively she tilted her head back, arching her breasts towards him in open invitation, moving sensuously as his fingers pulled the elasticated neck lower to make way for his seeking lips. Their warmth was like fire on her cool skin, sending shudders of delight through her body, and the blood pulsed through her veins in intoxicating rhythm, making music of her desire, a song of yearning and love.
'We're not strangers,' Keir muttered against her breast. 'Why pretend we are? Why worry about the future--it may never happen. Let's take what we've got now, Libby, take it and enjoy it. Hold me--ah, hold me, my sweet, and never let me go again.'
Dazed, Libby clung to him, every nerve in her body focused on his touch. His words washed over her, barely heard; yet even after his murmurings had ceased she could still vaguely hear them, lingering in her ears. Strangers . . . the future _. . . Her mind struggled for attention, but the clamour of her body was more powerful as Keir's caresses became more intimate, more demanding, and Libby moaned faintly and moved against him. Strangers ... what had he said about their being strangers? Treating each other as strangers, that was it, starting from the beginning, but what Keir was doing now wasn't any sort of beginning and she almost cried out at the sharp delight of it. And the future . . . had she been worrying about it, about what would happen to her if Keir regained his memory-and didn't love her after all? Oh Keir, Keir, she begged silently, don't stop loving me, don't stop ... But she knew she must stop him before he went too far. He wouldn't, surely, in this place which, although it was a hidden corner was still a public place ...
Suddenly panic-stricken, she wriggled in his arms, trying to escape, but Keir only held her more tightly and she knew that her struggles were having no effect, were only stimulating a passion that had almost taken him over-had almost taken them both over . . . With a last surge of effort, she twisted away from him, using elbows and hands to push herself away from that warm, magnetic body, and half fell down the steps into the road.
'Libby! What the hell-?' Keir stumbled, then regained his balance and stood staring down at her from the wall. 'What's the matter? No one will see us there.'
'I don't care whether they can or not!' Libby panted. 'Keir, you promised-I thought I was safe. We agreed, didn't we, to take it slowly, to start from the beginning, get to know each other all over again. That was the only reason I stayed. And if you won't keep that promise=-' her voice shook. '-I won't be able to stay. I'll have to go back to England. Don't you understand?'
Keir
came down the steps, pushing strong fingers through the thick corn of his hair. 'Hell, I know we agreed, Libby, but it was crazy, we aren't strangers; we do know each other. And we want each other-you can't fool me, or even yourself, about that. We're not children, Libby. We're adults, and when two adults love each other and need each other like we do, well, there's only one conclusion. You can't escape that.'
Libby stared at him in the darkness. She could see the gleam of his teeth as he spoke, the glitter of his eyes; the bulk of him made a dark shape against the moon-bright sky. She wanted nothing more than to be folded against that tall, firm body-but it wouldn't do. To Keir, the future might seem simple and clear-cut, but Libby had been hurt once already and she just wasn't prepared to risk it again.
Keir had been hurt too, she thought wryly, but he didn't remember it. When he did, it might not be just another woman who stood between them. It might well be his memories of Libby herself.
'Please, Keir,' she said in a low voice. 'Let's stick to our agreement. Don't go too quickly. I just can't cope with it.'
Keir stared at her for a long moment, his face shadowed. Then he shrugged lightly and turned away a little, sending a pang of fear through Libby's heart. Surely he wasn't going to give up too easily! And then she chided herself for being inconsistent-did she want Keir to keep his promise, or didn't she?
Keir was walking slowly along the road now, and Libby fell into step beside him. For a few minutes neither of them spoke; then, just as Libby was about to speak; Keir's voice sounded, harsh and blank.
'I suppose you've been pretty busy during the past two years. Got on well with the job? Lots of boy-friends?' 'Yes, the job's going quite well,' Libby said quietly. 'And no, not many boy-friends.'
Microsoft Word - rooted sorrow.doc Page 8