Microsoft Word - rooted sorrow.doc

by Amanda Cameron

  A new determination flooded her with energy, and she took a quick look in the mirror. All right, she couldn't cope with Pia's voluptuous beauty, but she wasn't bad-looking in her own gamin way. She flicked a brush through her short black hair and added a fresh touch of pink lipstick to match her dress. Then she took a deep breath and went out through the flat to the balcony.

  Pia was lying in the sun-Iounger beside Keir. She was wearing a pants suit of cream silk and she had discarded the jacket to reveal a low-cut top in emerald green that clung like a second skin to her full breasts. The bronze hair fell in shining waves across her neck and as Libby appeared she lifted red-tipped fingers to push it away from the slender column.

  She glanced up at Libby and her delicate brows came together in a frown of annoyance.

  'You have been a long time with the coffee,' she complained. 'And where is it? Don't tell me you forgot. '

  'No, I didn't forget.' Libby looked back steadily, and then took one of the sun-chairs. 'I didn't make any.

  We'd had our breakfast.'

  'You didn't make any?' Pia's eyes flashed dangerously. 'Keir, is this the way you greet your guests?'

  'Not normally,' he answered pleasantly, 'but then Libby is my guest too. Not a maid, as you took her to be.' He had taken the opportunity to dress quickly in dark blue shorts and shirt, Libby noticed, and even at that moment couldn't help her eyes lingering on the fine hairs that covered his well-muscled thighs. But she could learn nothing from his face; he seemed to have withdrawn into his own private world and watched the two girls with enigmatic eyes.

  'Your guest?' Pia looked disconcerted. 'A relative, perhaps?' She smiled charmingly at Libby. 'Forgive me, but how was I to know? Keir has never mentioned any female relatives to me.'

  'No, I'm not a relative. Just-just an old friend.' Libby felt herself colour as she answered. What else could she say? She wasn't Keir's fiancée any more she couldn't even describe herself as his girl friend. 'I-heard about his accident and came out to see if I could do anything,' she hurried on. That was more or less the truth, anyway.

  'Oh yes, the accident. Keir, you still have not told me about that. What happened to you, caro? And can you really not remember?'

  Keir shrugged. 'I don't know what happened, Pia.

  Apparently I was water-skiing and something went wrong. I gave my head a bang and woke up in hospital, but I don't remember anything of it. I just have to believe what other people tell me.'

  'But that is terrible.' Pia gazed at him with wide amethyst eyes. 'To forget, so. The accident-well, it is no bad thing to forget that. But the other things-how much is it you have forgotten, caro mio? Tell me what you remember. '

  'Nothing of the past two years,' Keir told her, and the violet eyes widened with shock. 'The last memory I have is of being in England-with Libby. ' His voice had been harsh, but it softened as he added: 'I'm afraid I don't remember you at all, Pia. As far as I'm concerned, I've met you for the first time this morning. '

  There was a long silence. Pia stared at Keir's face, her eyes searching as if trying to drill through to the truth. Her face was pale and Libby felt a flash of unexpected sympathy. But it vanished when she saw the vicious glance that the other girl flicked at her before she spoke.

  'And you?' she asked softly, but with an unpleasant edge to her tone. 'Are you too forgotten, after that last memory? Is that why you are here, to persuade Keir that all was well between you?'

  'No, it's not-I had no idea--' Libby stopped abruptly. Did Pia know about her and Keir? Had he confided in her, told her about their quarrel? Her face burned at the thought and she turned away quickly.

  'You had no idea?' Pia pursued relentlessly. 'No idea of what? Of his accident? Of his amnesia? So why did you come, tell me that, flying to his side when you had not been near him for so long? Just what did you hope to gain?'

  Keir intervened, his voice cold. 'Libby came because I wrote and asked her to come.' He didn't add that he had subsequently forgotten doing so, and Libby threw him a grateful glance. But Pia was even less pleased by his answer.

  She did not show it to Keir, however. Giving Libby a glance of dislike that he couldn't see, she leaned over and laid her fingertips on Keir's bare arm.

  'It will be all right, caro,' she murmured softly. 'Everything will be all right now. I will help you to remember-you cannot forget what we had together, nobody could. And this little English miss can go home, there will be nothing for her to do here.'

  Keir lay very still. His eyes were shadowed and there was no way of guessing what his reaction was to Pia's caressing fingertips. But he had succumbed to her charm once-was there any reason why he shouldn't do so again?

  Libby looked up with relief as Jeremy came out on to the balcony, carrying a tray. The welcome scent of coffee floated through the air, and Libby smiled at him gratefully as he set the tray on the table and took the chair beside her. He poured out four mugs and handed them round.

  'At least someone has some manners,' Pia said pointedly as she accepted hers with another charming smile at Jeremy. 'It's good to see you again, Jeremy. Tell me about your trip to London, did it go well?

  And here on Malta-are you staying here in the flat?'

  'No, I've got a room at the other end of the village. I'd got settled in there before I organised this place, and they treat me pretty well so I decided to stay.' .

  'Ah.' A gleam of satisfaction showed in Pia's luminous eyes. 'So there will be plenty of room for me to stay, hm? And you-' she turned to Libby. '-when do you go back to England?'

  'I haven't decided yet,' Libby said shortly. 'And I am staying in the flat.' She caught Keir's sardonic eye and blushed. 'As long as Keir wants me, that is.'

  'Oh, but surely it is clear that he will not want you!' Pia moved a little closer to Keir and slid her hand down his arm so that their fingers interlocked. 'I am here now, and I can help him so much. I have been with him for quite a long time, you see, and I know all his recent life. Whereas you-' she shrugged, dismissing Libby's time with Keir as of no importance. 'I think it will be best if you go back quite soon,' she finished simply.

  Libby looked at her, lying there on the sun-Iounger, close to Keir, her arm linked with his. A sudden cold fear touched her heart: Was the Italian girl right? She was, after all, only saying what Libby herself had said earlier. She knew more about Keir than Libby could hope to. And what was the point in fighting when Keir himself might remember at any time?

  'Keir?' she said uncertainly. It was almost impossible to judge his reactions now. He had told Pia she was still a stranger to him. He had been reluctant to meet her, insisted that Libby still held his heart. Yet now-there he was, letting Pia touch him and caress him, looking for all the world as if he was enjoying it. As he probably was, Libby thought bitterly. What man wouldn't? Pia was a very attractive woman.

  Keir turned his head and looked at Libby, but his eyes were still veiled and she had no idea what he might be thinking. She felt helpless and angry. Why didn't he say something-give her some hint? But the silence stretched between them, and Pia made a tiny sound of triumph and lay back on her lounger, one arm raised above her head to accentuate the flowing lines of her body.

  Suddenly, Libby could stand it no longer. She jumped to her feet and ran back into the flat. Footsteps followed her, but she didn't pause to see who it was; she grabbed her bag and a cotton jacket and jerked open the door, slamming it behind her as she ignored the lift and stumbled down the stairs.

  So she might be acting irrationally, she thought as she came out into the blinding sunlight. Who wouldn't, when they had just been through a night and a morning such as she had just experienced? All she knew was that she had to get away-alone somewhere-where she could sort out her confused thoughts and decide just what it would be best to do next.

  Best for whom, she wondered dully as she reached the main square of the village and found a bus just about to leave. For Keir? Or for herself?

  One thing she did know-she wasn't
wasting any more feeling on Pia. That lady didn't need anyone's compassion. And she wouldn't have any trouble deciding what to do for the best, either. Pia knew very well what she wanted, and she had already made up her mind to get it.

  The bus rattled along the narrow roads, the noise of its engine almost drowned by the chattering of its passengers. Libby sat, hemmed in by a stout Maltese woman, gazing out of the window. She had had no idea where the bus was going and simply handed her money over to the driver as she boarded, nodding vaguely to his question and accepting her change without interest. Presumably he had taken a fare for the furthest point, and she would get off when everyone else did. '

  Not that it mattered. She was already beginning to regret her hasty flight from the flat-yet what else could she have done? Pia had shown all too clearly that she meant to oust Libby, and she was probably quite right in thinking she could. After all, Keir had lived with her, quite recently. It had probably been accepted between them that Pia should join him in Malta, and there really wasn't any reason why she should give way to a girl from Keir's past who had no claim whatsoever.

  The more she thought about it, the more hopeless her own position seemed to be. I wish I'd never come, Libby thought miserably as she stared out at the brown, terraced fields and the white farmhouses with their flat roofs spread with drying gourds. I wouldn't have realised then that I still love Keir-I could have gone on in my own way, making a new life, perhaps even getting married . . . None of that seemed possible now. Her safe, settled life had-been turned upside down and no other man would ever be able to satisfy her.

  The bus was climbing now. Libby looked around at the other occupants, mostly Maltese; dark-haired, with sallow brown skin and sloe eyes. The older women were all rather plump, but there were a few younger girls with slim figuf~ and attractive hairstyles. One or two of them had babies with them, bright-eyed and alert, and Libby smiled at one who was standing precariously on his mother's lap just in front, gazing back at her with unwinking eyes.

  She wondered if the bus driver had as much confidence as he should in his own driving-his cubicle had been decorated as a shrine, festooned with holy pictures and little statues. She had noticed this in several vehicles lorries, cars, buses, even motorcycles all had their images of the Virgin Mary and other saints perched on ledges or dangling from the roof. Just as many of them like the lorry she had seen when Jeremy had taken her to the Blue Grotto-had religious names. Though there were others that were rather more secular; she had seen one only yesterday with the name - Johnny Cash emblazoned on its side!

  The bus rumbled on, passing through several villages, and then stopped in Mosta. Most of the passengers got out here and Libby hesitated. The driver was still in his seat and hadn't stopped the engine, so she assumed that he was going on further. She wondered whether to get out anyway, but Mosta, bustling and noisy with traffic, didn't attract her in spite of the cathedral with its great dome that dominated the centre of the town, and she stayed in her seat.

  A few more people boarded the bus and it jerked into life, blustering through the streaming traffic to get out of the town. Libby looked out of the window, trying to force herself to take an interest; she hadn't been to this part of the island before, but the stark scenery passed before her eyes like a dull travel film and her mind went back again to the Oat in Zurrieq. It wouldn't matter where she was, she thought sadly; she could be looking at Niagara Falls and they would seem no more interesting. She just wasn't in the mood for sightseeing-she'd got on the bus as a means of escape, nothing more.

  What was happening, back there in Zurrieq? One thing was sure, Pia would be taking every advantage of her absence. And Keir, from the way he had behaved, would be letting her. Why shouldn't he? He knew Pia and loved her, even if he had forgotten it-and Libby knew all too well how frustration had been building up in him during the past few days. Was he going to pass up the opportunity of relieving that frustration with a woman who was plainly only too ready to co-operate? And who would, afterwards, be in triumphant and final possession of her prize?

  But Keir wasn't a prize, to be handed out on points.

  He had been unnaturally silent that morning, but that had been understandable. Once he had sorted things out in his own mind, the two women would have no choice but to accept his decision. But what would it be?

  Libby shivered and wrenched her mind away from the problem. Nothing she could do now would make any difference-she had probably lost any chance she might have by running away. It was better to think about something else-let her mind and emotions rest for a few hours. She might then return refreshed and more able to cope with whatever came next.

  The bus had climbed another hill and was now rumbling down towards the sea. Libby craned her neck, unable to escape a feeling of delight at the view-the prettiest she had so far seen on this rather austere island. Below them, and behind, lay St Paul's Bay, a cluster of buildings testifying to its popularity as a tourist centre. They had just run along the shore of the bay, looping around the blue waters, and people in bathing costumes had looked up from the sandy beach as they passed-the typical holiday scene, and for a moment Libby had wished she could join them. But she hadn't brought her bikini and in any case swimming and sunbathing weren't much fun alone. She had been glad when the bus began to ascend the hill out of the bay.

  Now it was running down the other side and as St Paul’s Bay disappeared a view of Mellieha Bay unfolded in front of them. Below stretched a valley more fertile than any Libby had seen so far, filled with lush vegetation; on the ridge stood the town of Mellieha and the sea twinkled beyond it like a bolt of shot silk, blue and glittering.

  Well, if the bus went any further than this it could go without her, Libby decided. This was where she could roam in peace, enjoying the quiet, able to think. Later, she would have to return to the flat-but by then, with any luck, she would be more in command of herself, more able to cope with Pia's hostility. And with Keir whatever mood he would be in by then.

  This might well turn out to be her last day on Malta, she thought sadly. It would be a pity to leave without enjoying at least some of it.

  Mellieha turned out to be just what Libby needed-a colourful but uncrowded little town, its main street corkscrewing down the hill. There were several interesting shops, and she stood entranced at the door of a bakery, watching the men take fresh loaves from the old ovens that went back like miniature caves into the thick rocky walls, replacing them with puffs of dough from the women working at the side.

  Libby bought a loaf, unable to resist the appetizing smell, and found some cheese to go with it. She wandered on around the town, explored the parish church, which seemed to be relatively new, and then discovered the original parish church, the Sanctuary of Our Lady. This was much more interesting; inside was an even older church, hewn from rock like a cave and decorated with murals. Libby looked at them, wondering just how old they were. That one of the Virgin and Child-was it the one Keir had told her was attributed to St Luke, who was supposed to have painted it when he was shipwrecked with St Paul? The attribution was wrong, Keir had said, but the mural was nevertheless very old. How far back this island's history went! She felt a pang that she would not be able to stay and see Keir's researches through. The character of Malta had caught at her imagination just as it had his, and she badly wanted to stay with him, a partner in his work, a partner in his whole life.

  Oh Keir, Keir, she thought miserably if only we could turn the clock back. Back to that day on Dartmoor when we were so happy. If only I hadn't turned against you, if only I hadn't been so unfair, letting my mother's bitterness influence me against you. We could have been married by now, here together. And there would have been no lost years; no Pia.

  She wandered into the tiny vestry and looked at the paintings and the offerings made by the many people who had made pilgrimages to the little church. Had their wishes been granted, she wondered. She hoped so. There was certainly an atmosphere of great peace in this ancient place.
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  Outside, the sun was dazzling. Libby looked around for somewhere to sit and eat her lunch, and caught her breath in astonishment.

  Jeremy, his brown beard almost gold in the sunlight, his eyes twinkling with good humour and comfort, was sitting on a low wall as if waiting for her. And by the way he got up and came over, without the slightest surprise in his expression, which was just what he had been doing.

  'Jeremy?' Libby said on a questioning note. 'Whatever are you doing here?'

  'Looking for you, of course.' His voice was brisk and he smiled down at her. 'Hope you don't mind, Libby I'll go away if you'd rather be on your own. But I was a bit worried when you dashed out like that, and I saw which bus you'd caught, so I thought I'd mooch around for a bit to see if I could find you. Saw you going into the sanctuary and waited till you came out. Just say if you'd rather I went,' he added quietly,

  'No-no, I don't want you to go.' Libby looked up at him and felt suddenly what a very nice man he was, what was called a tower of strength. You could rest against that broad body and know that no harm would come to you, she thought, and wished that it could be Jeremy she had fallen in love with. But things were never that simple. She smiled at him and saw the relief in his eyes. He'd been really worried, she realised, and felt a warmth that somebody on this island cared about her.

  'I've got some fresh bread,' she said, 'and some cheese. Too much for me to eat. Will you share it?'

  'Thought you'd never ask!' Jeremy grinned. 'And I've got a bottle of wine in my car, so what more could we want? Let's drive down to the shore, shall we?'

  They walked back to Jeremy's car and drove down the hill, past Mellieha Bay where little knots of people were sunbathing and swimming, and found a quiet spot near the Gozo ferry, where they could take their food down to the rocks and sit hidden from the road, watching the waves foam on the shore.