'Just the one special one, perhaps.' Keir spoke almost indifferently, glancing up at the walls that towered on either side of them, but Libby gave him a quick glance. Surely he didn't think that was why she ...? But he wouldn't admit it if he did.
'No, not even a special one,' she answered lightly, and thought of Terry, who had wanted to be special.
And might have been, if she hadn't fallen in love with Keir first. Even now, he didn't really know ... She made up her mind that she must write to Terry as soon as possible, tell him there was no point in waiting for her.
Wasn't there? And why not? Because there really might be a future with Keir?
Or because there was no future for her with anyone else?
They walked back through the Silent City, their footsteps loud in the quiet streets. Not many people were about now and the tall buildings loomed towards the sky, making the narrow passages dark except where the moon was able to send its rays through the spreading roofs. Libby wondered what kind of people lived here now. There was a nunnery, she knew, where the nuns lived in such strict seclusion that the only men allowed in were the doctor and the whitewasher. An odd combination, and Libby thought it was strange that a whitewasher should be deemed so important.
What was it like to live in such a closed community, she wondered. What had the lives of the women been before they became nuns? Did they miss the company of men at all? Or were they glad to be done with the complications of relationships with the other sex? Were they relieved to have finished with the complexities of love, or did they sometimes long for something earthier than prayer?
Keir took her back across the dry moat to the car, and Libby got in. Rabat itself was quieter now, the shops closed at last and only a few people still in the streets. She sat without speaking as Keir drove along the twisting roads back to Zurrieq; and as they approached the village she felt her nervousness return. Had he accepted her ultimatum, or would he try yet again to persuade her? She was tinglingly aware that her defences were too weak to withstand another onslaught; and she was pretty sure that Keir knew it. Would he take advantage of the power he had over her, or would he respect her wish to go more slowly? If he were really sure of himself, she thought fatalistically, he'd do just that. Because he must know that he would win in the end.
She shifted restlessly in her seat as the car purred through the moonlit lanes, passing the rubble walls that lined every tiny, terraced field on the island. Didn't what Jeremy had told her this afternoon make any difference at all? Didn't it affect her feelings to know just what had been going on during those past two years?
'I suppose it was when we were in Rome that things began to get serious,' Jeremy had said, talking almost as if to himself as he stared out at the sea. 'Before that, there'd been women of course-Keir's not the man to go without women for long-but nothing serious, nothing that lasted. And then, while we were in Rome, he met this Contessa. I can't remember all her name-it was one of those long jobs that sound like the title of an opera but that didn't matter because he called her Pia, and so did I after a while. She was always around, you see; where Keir was, so was she. She lived in a palazzo in a quiet part of the city; a big, crumbling place, but magnificent inside. It wasn't long before she persuaded Keir to move in there, and--'
'You mean they lived together?' Libby broke in, and Jeremy looked round at her, startled. For a second he hesitated, evidently remembering that he hadn't intended telling her any of this, then he shrugged slightly and went on.
'I don't know that they actually lived together,' he said, frowning. 'Not in the sense you mean. I moved in too, and I certainly didn't "live" with the Contessa. But it was a huge place-you needed a map to find your way round it-and I never knew quite where the Contessa had her private rooms. I knew where Keir's were, of course, but they were quite a distance from mine.'
And it was easy enough to guess why, Libby thought.
The Contessa knew her way around her own palazzo well enough, and no doubt her own rooms were near enough to Keir's, with Jeremy kept at a respectable distance, too far away to hear any sounds that might be made in the night, A cold hand seemed to clutch at her heart as she thought of Keir and his Contessa, sharing the palazzo in Rome; making love amongst the decaying splendour to the sound of fountains in the courtyard and the sighing of the soft wind in the pines . . . She shook herself angrily. She had known Keir would have had other women during their separation. There had been no reason, no reason at all why he shouldn't-their engagement was off, all ties had been snapped. So why should she feel so hurt; and why so frightened?
Because this one was serious, a voice whispered in her head. Because he might still be in love with his Contessa. 'How-how long ago was this?' she asked through a dry throat.
Jeremy sighed. 'I wish I'd never started to tell you. I don't even know how I did. But since I've said so much-well, it started about nine or ten months ago.' 'And finished?'
'That's just it,' Jeremy said miserably. 'I can't tell you when it finished. I don't even know· for sure that it has.'
Libby stared at him. 'You-you mean this affair could still be going on? But you've been with Keir all that time. Surely you've some idea-surely you know when he last saw her.' .
'Not absolutely, no. You see, I left Keir in Italy and went to London for about three or four weeks-that was, let's see, just over three months ago. Then I came directly to Malta and got this flat organised before Keir joined me. All I know is that Pia hasn't been to Malta’s far as I know. But that could mean anything-or nothing.'
'But what about his accident? Wouldn't she have come then? Did anyone let her know?'
'No-I was the only one who could have done that, and I didn't know where to contact her. I didn't even know if I should-Keir could have broken with her, not want to see her. He doesn't always confide in me, you know. Why should he? I'm just his researcher-'
'And his friend,' Libby interrupted swiftly.
'Yes, I like to think so. But that doesn't mean he's got to tell me all the details of his private life. Anyway, I had no address for Pia, all I knew was that she had intended closing the palazzo for a few months and going away. I didn't know where--I assumed to be with Keir until he came here alone. I never asked him, and he never told me where she was going or why. And then when I realised he didn't remember-well, it was difficult to know what to do. I just thought it was best to let things ride, and he seemed to agree with me, that was until you arrived on the scene.'
'And he remembers nothing about her?' Libby said wonderingly.
'Nothing. She belongs entirely to the blank patch in his life.'
Libby heaved a sigh. How complicated it all was!
There was no way of knowing what the situation had been between Keir and Pia before his accident.
Only Pia knew, and nobody knew where she was.
'I think he must have broken with her, you know,' Jeremy was saying anxiously. 'Or she would have come, surely. Even if she hadn't heard about his accident, she would have been here by now.'
'Yes, I suppose so.' But Libby didn't feel at all sure.
There were a hundred reasons why Pia might not have come to Keir yet. And not all of them meant a break -up in the affair.
There was no point in worrying about it, she knew.
But until she could be sure that Pia no longer took first place in Keir's heart, she could not abandon herself to his love as he so urgently wanted her to. The Contessa would always stand between them until she could be certain, one way or the other.
And at the present rate of progress that might be never.
They arrived at the flat in silence and Libby followed Keir inside, her heart quaking. But he did not seem inclined to touch her again, or even to speak. He walked over to the big window and stood with his back to the room, staring out into the darkness.
Libby had a sudden searing vision of what this situation must be like for him. The past weeks must have been a long passage of bewilderment, first of all knowing nothing at a
ll, a mind as fresh as that of a baby; then the slow awakening of the reflexes, the things that had been known for so long that they were indelibly imprinted on the brain-language, recognition of all the things needed for survival. And the realisation that there ought to be more even than this, that there were names he ought to be able to remember, including his own, faces that he should know.
It must have been like a nightmare. And the more he remembered, the more nightmarish it would become-because as he remembered more he would become increasingly aware of the things he couldn't remember. Libby shuddered. It was almost too horrible to think about.
And then he had remembered her. Remembered their love, the happiness they had shared. No wonder he had written her that letter, begging her to come to him-even if, later, he had forgotten doing it, even if he had realised the bleak truth that too much time had passed for their relationship to have remained the same; that something must have gone wrong in the time between his last clear memory and now.
But Libby had answered his letter. She had come to him. And nothing was the same. Or-no, that wasn't true. The passion, the desire, that flared between them was the same, it was stronger than ever. But the happy, loving companionship that had been such a valuable part of their relationship-that had gone.
Gone, perhaps, for ever-how could she tell? All she knew was that at that moment she felt an overwhelming pity for the lonely man who stood quite still, his back to her, staring out into the darkness of the Maltese night.
Silently, Libby turned and left the room.
The next few days passed slowly. Keir and Libby treated each other with a wary politeness that seemed to stretch Libby's nerves to a thin tautness that must surely give way. She wanted desperately to break through the barrier Keir seemed to have erected around himself, but each time she tried he looked at her with a remote, mocking glance that had her scarlet with confusion. Make up your mind; he seemed to be saying, one-way or the other. You can't have it both ways. Either you love me and we go ahead from there, or we remain strangers. It can't be both.
Libby wanted to tell him that she didn't want to be strangers, but she knew that if she did he would want more than she could give at the moment. So she would retreat behind her own barrier, polite but distant, and wonder miserably when the nightmare would end.
It was this barrier that had prevented her from approaching him on the night of their visit to Medina. "She had stood there, looking at his rigid back with a yearning hunger, longing to go to him, throw her arms around him, draw his head down to her breast. But it would only have made things worse. His passion, so near the surface that it was almost violence, would have overwhelmed them both. And if he had realised that it was pity that had brought her to him, it would have been replaced by anger.
Libby wondered several times why she didn't simply pack up and go home. There seemed to be so little point in her staying. But somehow, she could not bring herself to leave Keir; deep down she still had the feeling that he needed her. At any moment, he might remember those lost years and she would know the truth. She could not go back to London while everything was still so undecided.
In spite of the tension between them, Libby found herself unexpectedly enjoying herself as Keir took her around the island, showing her the historical sites and explaining their place in the island's culture. Acting as his assistant, helping him to make notes and sort them into some kind of order in the evenings, Libby felt at least that she was being of some help. And she enjoyed the times when Jeremy joined them and told them about his own researches. The book was beginning to take shape under their discussions and Libby was beginning to feel a proprietorial interest in it.
It was on the fourth night, as Jeremy left and Libby began to tidy up the papers that they had strewn all over the room, that Keir came back and she felt a change in the atmosphere; an electricity almost like that of an impending thunderstorm. Slowly, she straightened and met his eyes.
Keir was standing at the door, lounging against the wall, but his body was about as relaxed as a tiger's when it scents its prey. His eyes, dark as the night outside, seemed to be nailing Libby to the floor; she had a feeling that if she tried to move her muscles wouldn't obey her. Even her chest felt tight and her gasp was stifled as her heart lurched violently against her ribs.
'Keir?' she breathed, but the sound was almost inaudible, and when he lifted himself from the wall and moved towards her she found herself mesmerized, unable either to move or to speak.
Keir's advance seemed almost to be in slow motion, but he finally reached her and took her arms in strong fingers, holding her with a firmness that would, with only a slight increase in pressure, become cruelty. Libby stared up at him, soft lips parted slightly as she begged him mutely to let her go; but if he understood the message of her frightened eyes, he ignored it.
Libby closed her eyes, knowing that there was nothing she could do to prevent the inevitable conclusion.
Keir had waited long enough; she should have known that this would happen if she stayed here alone with him in his flat, knowing how he felt. It was her own fault. And she tilted her face towards his, closed her eyes and let her lips part in acceptance as she waited for his kiss.
But Keir's mouth did not touch hers. Instead, there was a long silence; and Libby opened her eyes to find him staring down at her with an expression she couldn't interpret.
'Keir?' she repeated uncomfortably. 'Keir, what is it?' A sudden panic hit her. 'Have-have you remembered?'
'About you and me? No-no more than I had before.' With an abrupt movement he dropped his hands and turned away from her. 'I wish I had! Then perhaps I'd be free-free of this torment, not knowing what the situation really is between us, not knowing what went wrong. All I do know is that I love you-I'd swear that that's true and nothing I remember will change it. And I'm just as certain that you love me. But there's this damned barrier between us, and nothing I do will break it down.'
Libby watched him, her eyes wide with distress. Keir was pacing the room now, his face thin and shadowed, his eyes haunted. More than ever, she wanted to go to him, take him in her arms, love him-but again, she knew that he wouldn't accept her love now until everything was clear between them.
Somehow or other we've changed places, she thought dully. But it was her heart that was talking now, not her head. In her mind, she knew that caution was still the best way. And it was her caution that had built this barrier that kept Keir away from her.
Libby sank into a chair and buried her face in her hands. Was there no way out of this impasse? No way they could find out the truth?
'Wouldn't it be better to talk about it?' she asked, her voice ragged. 'You don't have to go through life not knowing-not when others can tell you. Keir, wouldn't it be better for me to tell you about the way our engagement ended? Wouldn't it be better for Jeremy to tell you what he knows about the time you've forgotten?' And what I know too, she added silently. 'You're like a man in a dark room, refusing to have the light put on. It's crazy-it's driving you crazy.'
'You've got it wrong, Libby,' Keir said heavily. 'I'm not like a man in a darkened room. I'm like a blind man-no amount of lights switched on are going to make any difference to me. Try explaining light to a man who was born blind-he can't believe you because he can't have any idea what it's like. And I won't be able to believe what you say, because to me it's nothing to do with my life. Or, I might believe you, in my mind, but I won't be able to feel its truth. Can you understand that?'
Libby nodded hopelessly. 'So there's nothing anyone can-do?'
'Nothing. The doctors say my memory will probably return, given time. And then again, it may not. Those two years might have been wiped out for ever.' He whipped round; fixing those brilliant eyes on her with a look that seemed to burn through to her heart. 'So why do we have to let them matter, Libby? As far as I'm concerned, that quarrel never happened. Can't you think that way, too?'
They were off again, going round the same old circle.
Libby rubbed her face with a weary gesture. Then, slowly, she rose to her feet and faced him.
'All right, Keir,' she said quietly. 'We'll try it your way. We'll forget that there have been two years between that afternoon on Dartmoor and tonight. Let's pick up again from where we left off.' She stood before him, her arms at her sides, looking curiously vulnerable. 'You're right, Keir-I do still love you. And I want you-just as I wanted you that afternoon. So what are you waiting for?'
Keir stared at her, his face disbelieving, incredulous.
Then, like the sun breaking through cloud, a look of pure joy lit the gaunt features and the years dropped away as he gathered Libby into his arms. Her heart leapt as she felt the impact of their bodies, and then she was swung up from the floor, her feet inches from the ground, as he carried her swiftly through to his own bedroom. He laid her on the bed and stood looking down at her, eyes smouldering, and a faint tremor running through his body.
'You're sure?' he muttered huskily, and Libby nodded.
Slowly, tenderly, Keir began to undress her. It didn't take long to unbutton her loose sundress and slip off the lacy bra and panties that were all she wore underneath it, but he lingered over every sensuous movement, and Libby moved with his hands, softly and languorously. And then she was naked, lying on the deep red coverlet, her body smooth and slender and tanned to a soft golden brown against the rich colour.
'I've dreamed of this,' Keir said huskily. 'And you're just the way I dreamed . . . Libby, you don't know what I've been going through, what hell I've been in . . .'
His own undressing was much swifter, the clothes dropped carelessly to the floor, and then he was beside her on the bed, his skin deliciously cool against hers, the friction of the golden hairs that covered his chest intoxicatingly abrasive against her satin-smooth breasts. She felt his legs tangle with hers, their length curling around her thighs and calves, toes caressing her ankles with a sensuality that took her by surprise. At the same time his hands were exploring every curve, bringing to life sensations she half knew of, but had never experienced in her waking hours. And just as she felt that there was too much to cope with, that she must beg him to let at least a part of her body have a little peace, he completed the sweet torment by laying his mouth firmly on hers, so that all she was conscious of was the thundering of her heart, the singing of her blood and the knowledge that this was what her body had been waiting for, hungering for, and this was why no other man had ever been able to awaken her.
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