'But it's still your child,' Libby said, and he nodded. 'Oh yes. It's still my child.'
They stood silently, close together, for a few moments. Libby saw without really registering the reflections in the dark water, the lights across the harbour. A romantic scene-a scene many couples must have watched as they stood here before going to bed. Honeymoon couples, couples long-married; couples whose lives were uncomplicated, who had every right to be here together, who could let the romance sweep them away to a world beyond the stars.
'So what happens now?' she asked. 'I can't stay with you, Keir. You're not asking me to do that, are you?'
He slid his arm around her, holding her tightly against him, and she shivered.
'No, I'm not asking you to do that. It would go against all your instincts, all your principles, and no good could come of that.' He made a small, rueful noise, almost a chuckle. 'Blast it, it goes against mine too!
But one day-' his arm tightened again '-one day things may come right. Do I have the right to ask you to wait, Libby? I'm not sure that I do.'
Libby moved helplessly in his arms. 'I don't know, Keir. How can things possibly come right? Pia's Italian-she'll never agree to a divorce. And you can't possibly marry her with the intention of asking her to. And the baby-you can't desert it now, how could you later? No, Keir-we can't live on that hope, it would be wrong.' She turned impulsively. 'Let me go, Keir,' she begged, her face against his chest. 'Let me go and forget me-it's the only way.'
There was a long silence as they clung together. Then Keir, his voice ragged with emotion, muttered: 'If I do that, will you stop loving me? I could bear it if I knew that somewhere you loved me.'
'I'll always love you. I'll never stop now.'
He heaved a great sigh; then, reluctantly, he released her. Libby stood still, slender and pale against the window, watching him almost unbelievingly as he walked to the door. She wanted to run after him, to throw her arms around him, to beg him to stay, to hold her, to give her one last kiss. But she knew that even Keir's iron self-control could only stand so much; no more. She bit her lip hard and watched without moving or speaking as he unlocked the door, gave her one last burning glance, and walked out.
Then she flung herself on the bed and let the tears of loss and grief fall as they would.
There was no sunshine when Libby woke next morning. The sky was grey with lumpy clouds, their darkness accentuated by the few glimpses of blue sky between them. She remembered that this was the beginning of the rainy season and that the weather had, in fact, been unusually settled for October. It looked as if it were about to break now.
Well, that was appropriate enough. It wasn't the only thing to break-her heart felt as if it were in smithereens, a shattered pile of fragments. Too many ever to be mended as one clean break might have been.
Feeling that the entire colour had gone out of life, Libby dressed, drank some coffee and got ready for the drive to the airport. Jeremy had arranged to collect her in good time, and she had a moment's panic, wondering if Keir might come in his place. Oh no, please not, she prayed it had been bad enough last night, she just didn't have the strength to part from him if he came this morning. But to her relief, when she went down to the foyer it was Jeremy who waited there, his bulky body and shaggy beard reassuringly familiar, his brown eyes kind and concerned.
Libby gave him her bags and turned to the desk to pay her bill. She had to wait a few minutes as other guests were attended to; then there was only one before her, a tall, slim man with dark hair and a small, pointed beard, and while he was talking to the receptionist she got out her money and passport.
'Yes, that is right,' the man was saying, and the familiarity of his accent made her look up suddenly.
'Raffaello Volturno. I booked in yesterday. I don't know how long I shall be staying.'
Libby watched him, puzzling a little over the accent why should it sound familiar to her? Then another receptionist arrived and she shrugged-why should it matter to her anyway? Didn't she have more to worry about on this grey overcast morning than the accent of a stranger she was never going to see again?
Jeremy came in just as she left the desk, and they went out to the car together. Poor little battered, Beat-up Bertie, Libby thought with affection. How long would it be before it fell apart, just as her own life had fallen apart? But she shook herself then self pity wasn't going to help at all. Somehow, during the flight back home, she had to pull herself together think what she was going to do next. Because telling Keir she loved him, feeling secure at last in his love for her, hadn't solved any of her practical problems. She still had to decide how to spend the rest of her life.
'Well, this is it,' Jeremy said as they arrived at the airport and he parked the car. 'Your last chance to look on Malta. I'm afraid it's been rather a strain, this visit. You haven't got much out of it, really, have you?'
'Not a lot,' Libby agreed, trying to smile. Only that I know Keir loves me, she thought sadly. Only that I know it can never come right. She laid her hand on Jeremy's arm. 'I have made a friend,' she said quietly.
'And friends are always worth making. '
'Well, maybe that's some compensation,' he said lightly, but his eyes were grave. 'Libby-we'll keep in touch, won't we?'
Libby hesitated. Would it be a good idea? Did she really want news of Keir coming through his closest friend, a man who would presumably continue to ac-company him on his travels, know him better than anyone? Then she caught Jeremy's anxious glance and reproached herself. Jeremy had made it quite clear that he could feel more than ordinary friendship for her-he had helped her nevertheless, putting his own feelings second-how could she tell him she didn't want to keep in touch with him? 'Of course we will,'
she said warmly. 'And thanks for everything, Jeremy. It would all have been much worse if you hadn't been here.'
Jeremy muttered something she couldn't catch, then looked up as her flight was announced. With a quick movement, he bent his head. As the crowd surged around them on the way to the flight gate, he kissed her; then he let her go and, half-blinded by sudden tears, she picked up her bags and stumbled away.
When she had found her seat at last and looked out for her last glimpse of the strange, historic island where an essential part of her own life had been played out, she could see the little car, Beat-up Bertie, standing on the hot tarmac. Jeremy was standing beside it, his beard a shadow in the sun that had just flickered out for a moment before the rain began. And beside him stood someone else: a man who was tall and lean, whose hair glinted like newly-ripened corn, whose dark blue eyes, even at this distance, seemed to look straight into hers.
He couldn't really see her. But Libby lifted her hand all the same, laid her lips on it and then held it against the window. Nobody could deny her that gesture of love; it would after all, be the last one she ever made.
CHAPTER NINE
IT was a good deal colder on Dartmoor than in Malta, Libby thought as she wrapped herself in an old sheepskin jacket and went downstairs. Claire was in the hall, buttoning the twins into their winter coats, and she looked up with a smile as her sister stopped beside them.
'Are you sure you don't mind taking them out?' she asked. 'It really isn't a very nice afternoon, but they ought to have some exercise and they love the Meadows. Or were you thinking of going on to the moor?'
'Moor, moor!' the twins chanted, and Libby gave them a rueful glance. _
'Doesn't seem as if I have much choice, does it? I hope it won't be too cold for them up there.'
'Well, they can get out of the pushchair and run about a bit. Make it easier for you to push, too.' She strapped the little boys firmly into their double pushchair. 'Now, be good, and Auntie Libby might show you some ponies. Don't stay out too long, Libby. It really is raw out and I don't want you all down with colds. Not with Christmas just round the corner.'
'We won't be too long,' Libby promised and steered the unwieldy vehicle through the door. Outside, she shivered; there reall
y was a cold wind and she looked to make sure that both twins had mittens on. The sooner they got up the hill to the gate which led on to the moor, the better, she thought, then they could get out and run around to keep themselves warm.
There was a small group of wild ponies grazing near the gate. They moved off as Libby came through, but the mere sight of them was enough for the twins, who clamored to be let out of the chair and, once unstrapped, scurried after the animals, chuckling with delight. Libby followed slowly, her mind drifting away as it still did, even though she did her best to stop it. Where was Keir now, she wondered? And what was he doing? She supposed that he and Pia must be married now; the Contessa wouldn't have -
wanted any more delay than necessary, and there would have been no reason for Keir to wait either.
Perhaps they had left Malta, gone back to Italy. She supposed that Jeremy would write and tell her one-day.
Libby wrenched her mind away from Malta, trying to aim her thoughts at her own future. She had given up her job on the magazine, although she was aware that the editor would always be willing to welcome her back and, even if there were no vacancy there, she could find a place on one of the other magazines published by the same house. But did she want to go back to that life? Wouldn't it be better to make a complete change-find a different kind of job somewhere else, abroad even, start absolutely fresh? Only in that way, she thought, would she be able to sweep her mind and emotions clear of Keir-as much as that was possible, anyway.
In any case, she couldn't impose on Claire and Simon much longer. Welcoming though they had been, they must want their house to themselves again. Libby knew that Clair had been grateful for her help with the twins, who were real handfuls at the toddler stage, but really she was able to cope quite well on her own, and had plenty of friends with children of their own who were always ready to help out.
Perhaps she should go and stay with her mother, who had moved into Plymouth to be nearer her own friends; Mrs. Marsh had never really liked Dartmoor. But even as the idea crossed her mind, Libby dismissed it. It wasn't fair, she knew, to blame her mother for a perfectly natural reaction to Dr. Marsh's death, but she couldn't forget the effect it had had on her, the way she had sent Keir away. If that hadn't happened, she and Keir might-almost certainly would-be together now.
The ponies had galloped out of sight now and the two small, duffle-coated figures scampered back to her, wanting the ball that Libby had brought in her coat pocket. She took it out and threw it, and off they ran again. Really, Claire had been very lucky to have twins, she thought, watching them with affection. They might be more work, but they were real companions to each other, playmates who never had to part. If they never found anyone else, they would always have each other. She' sighed enviously, and then shook herself. Self-pity again! It really was time she took herself in hand.
When she got back to the house, ready for a cup of tea by the log fire that Claire kept burning all day, she had made up her mind that she must do something definite about the future. No more putting it off, she told herself firmly. It was time to start sitting up and taking notice again. She had promised to stay with Claire and Simon until after Christmas but, although they had assured her that she was welcome for as long as she liked after that, she was determined to leave at the beginning of January. Something would turn up before then-and, whatever it was, she'd take it. Go where the wind blows, she thought, shivering a little as she stood outside the door folding up the pushchair. Making plans hasn't worked leave it to fate instead.
The decision seemed to help her and she felt better during the next few days as she got caught up in the whirl of Christmas preparations. Puddings, cakes, mince pies-Claire seemed to be preparing for an army and was glad of Libby's help, either in the kitchen or in keeping the twins amused. At the end of the week, however, with most of the baking done, she looked at her younger sister with a rueful smile. -
'Poor Libby! I've been working you to death, and you came here for a rest! Tell you what; you can have the rest of the day off! Isn't that generous of me?'
'Unpaid, of course,' Libby smiled. 'You don't need to worry, Claire, I've enjoyed it. It's been a complete change for me, and that's what I needed. Resting gives me too much time-to think.'
Claire eyed her sister. Libby had said little about what had happened on Malta, apart from the bare facts, but these had been enough to enable Claire to guess the heartache the younger girl had suffered. Libby knew, however, that Claire would never probe. One day, when she was ready, she would tell her the whole story, but until then her secrets were her own.
'Well, why don't you go out for the day?' Claire suggested now. 'It's a nice day for once, and the twins are going to a birthday party this afternoon. Quite honestly I should rather enjoy being quite alone in the house!'
'Oh well, if you put it like that ... ' Smiling, Libby went to fetch her coat. It really was a nice day, she thought, cold but bright. She would enjoy a day on the moor, walking in the crisp air without the hampering presence of a pushchair. And Claire always had liked a certain amount of solitude-something she didn't get much of these days.
She dressed warmly, in slacks and thick pullover, with an anorak on top. Claire had suggested she take the car-it would be nice to have a real day out-and she hesitated for a moment about where to go. She knew in her heart where she wanted to go, but she wasn't' at all sure it would be wise. Would it lay her ghosts-or would it resuscitate them?
It seemed that it was beyond her control anyway, for the car turned on to the moor as if driven by some other agency, and she found herself along the road that she had followed with Keir once-in another life, it seemed. Bemused, detached, she watched the miles roll under her wheels, the granite tors rise on either side, the valleys grow deeper as the hills soared higher. And then she was at the top of the last rise, looking down on the river that gleamed in the sunshine, the two rivers that came together to make one-the moor's own river, the Dart, winding its way down to the sea.
Every year the Dart takes a heart. The saying came into her mind unbidden and she knew that it referred really to the danger that the river could present when swollen and swift with rain. But had her own heart ever really been hers, she wondered as she locked the car and I walked out of the car park and along the turbulent stream. She had given it to Keir, and he had kept it. And his last memory of her had been just here, by the river, where they had lain together in a hollow filled with scented heather and she had begged him to make love to her ...
The heather was dead now, dark and crackling under her feet, and the bracken was brown and withered.
She walked along the bank, watching the water as it tumbled over the granite rocks, some of them smoothed 'and glistening from centuries of constant washing, others standing higher, their tops fuzzed with green moss. A dipper fluttered ahead as if teasing her, small and dark like a white-breasted robin, and then disappeared under the water. It popped out a few yards further on and stood on a rock, eyeing her and flirting its jaunty tail. You don't have any worries, she thought. You just have to find enough food each day, raise a family each year and nobody demands any more of you. Lucky little bird!
She and Keir had seen a kingfisher along here once, she remembered. They had frozen, hand in hand, watching its brilliant progress along the bank, and had held their breath as it dived into the water and came up with a small fish struggling in its beak. A good omen, they'd thought it. How wrong you could be!
Pia's pregnancy would be obvious now, the child moving inside her. Libby laid her own hand over her stomach, wondering what it must be like to know that a new life was beginning in there. If only it could be her child-hers and Keir's. The longing gripped at her heart and she stopped, sudden tears misting her eyes. It had been a mistake to come here, she told herself fiercely. But she couldn't turn back now.
A hollow opened up at her feet, and she looked down into it. Surely this was where she had lain with Keir
... It wasn't easy to tell, but she was
certain she remembered that rock-and that particular clump of trees on the opposite bank. Almost automatically, she dropped into it and lay down. She had come so far, she might as well complete her memories. Kill or cure, she thought ironically. It would either lay her ghosts or convince her that they would never be laid.
Small white puffs of cloud raced across the blue sky above, but here in the hollow it was sheltered from the breeze and almost warm. Libby lay with her hands behind her head, staring up until she was dizzy, letting her memories wash over her. Perhaps this was the best way after all. She had been fighting them for so long; maybe after this they would give her some peace.
She closed her eyes. It would be so easy to persuade herself that she was here with Keir again; so easy to imagine his body warm against hers, his lips cool on her mouth ... She parted her lips, turning slightly as if to nestle closer; and when a pair of lips did indeed touch hers, she responded to the fire that scorched along her veins as if she had been expecting it all along.
'Libby ... Libby.. .' Keir's voice said, rough with desire.
Libby's eyes flew open. The warmth she had imagined was real-the kiss was actually tangible on her lips-the arms that enclosed her were strong and hard, and not the figments of her imagination.
'Keir!' she gasped, and the world swam.
'It's all right,' he murmured. 'Don't look so shattered-it really is me, you're not seeing things.' He laid his lips on hers as if to prove it, and Libby found her arms encircling him, her hands moving over his body in a kind of wonder. How could he be here? Had she conjured him up through the sheer strength of her longing? Or was it merely a dream, a dream from which she would wake with an even greater sense of loss?
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