by Claire McNab
For myself, everything was very low-key. I felt no compulsion for confrontation, but had decided to be open if anyone asked me directly. No one did, although every now and then I caught Steve looking at me speculatively, and there were a few awkward moments when I inadvertently intruded upon hushed conversations that were obviously about me or Tony.
And there was the problem of my parents.
"Are you going to tell them?" Tony asked.
"Sooner or later — preferably later."
His smile was sympathetic. "They'll cope. And if they don't — I guarantee they'll come round eventually."
I thought of my mother's cold rigidity, my father's self-righteousness, and a spurt of anger toughened my resolve. "Actually," I said caustically, "I was thinking of telling them when I go down to Canberra at Christmas time. It would be my present to them..."
One afternoon after work I sat with Sharon in a cramped coffee shop watching people hurry home. She was meeting her husband for dinner and a show, and had an hour to kill. As I didn't have any reason to rush back to my empty house, I was happy to keep her company.
We chatted about this and that, and then Sharon brought up the subject of Tony being gay. She was so warmly supportive of him and contemptuous of some of our colleagues' reactions that I decided to speak out.
I said, "Sharon, I suppose you've heard I'm gay, too?"
She grinned at me. "That must have been quite a scene in Sir Frederick's office."
"It was." I toyed with my spoon. "I suppose there's been a certain amount of gossip..."
"Sure there has, but it'll die down."
"Do you think coming out will affect Tony's career — and mine?"
She ran her hands through her mane of red hair. "Possibly — even probably. There'll always be someone who has a problem with anyone different, but if you ask me, I think you've done the right thing. When it's out in the open, no one can run a whispering campaign, or undermine you to the boss."
"You know about Steve?"
Her tone was scornful. "Slippery little bastard, isn't he? But he's made a major miscalculation this time. I gather Sir Frederick tore strips off him."
"He'll survive."
Sharon nodded agreement. "Of course he will. His type always does. But it's nice to see it blow up in his face, just this once."
The next day was bright and sunny. I strayed from my desk to stand at a window and gaze out over the Royal Botanic Gardens, as though the cool green of vegetation would soothe my dark thoughts. First thing that morning Sir Frederick had told me that neither Steve nor I would get the Asian position. It had gone to an outsider. I'd wanted something to be a goal in my life, something to hope for, and that job had been the focus of my attention.
Jackie Luff broke into my thoughts. "Sir Frederick wants to see you, Alex." When I didn't respond immediately, she added righteously, "Right now."
Since the scene in his office, there had been a hint of awkwardness in Sir Frederick's manner towards me. He gestured for me to sit down. "I've just had a call from Lee Paynter. She's flying to Sydney next week. As you know, her company's first Australian tour is at the end of the month. I don't understand why she finds it necessary to come out here. Is there a problem I don't know about?"
"No. Everything's going smoothly. Did she give a reason?"
"Said something about overseeing the tour, but that's not credible. She'd send an off-sider to do that. I'm concerned there is a problem, and she's not telling me what it is, so I'd like you to clear your appointments and be available for the whole time she's here."
I was shocked. "I'm supposed to fly to Perth —"
"Someone else can go. This is more important. I've asked Jackie to book her into the Regent — she particularly asked for the same hotel — and I'd like you to meet her at the airport. Jackie'll have the flight details for you."
I wanted to feel happy at the thought of seeing her again, but I'd fought to attain a fragile equilibrium, and I was fearful that she would not only destroy it, but by the time she left I'd be worse off than before.
Sir Frederick had been watching me. He said, "There's a difficulty?"
"Of course not," I said.
Lee's flight came in Friday morning. I hardly slept, and was early at the airport. I saw her before she saw me. Time telescoped: nothing had changed. She moved with self-assured, brisk impatience; I loved her with the same intensity.
In my imagination I'd rehearsed this meeting a hundred times and I had myself well-schooled in my role. I would protect myself, take my cues from her, be guided by her response.
She greeted me with a smile, but we didn't touch. I asked inconsequential questions about her flight while we walked to my car; she replied in kind. It was as though we had consulted and decided that we'd treat each other with cordial professional consideration and no reference would be made to anything personal.
As I drove her to the Regent we continued our light conversation. I was so keenly aware of her that I had to force myself to concentrate on the traffic, but I was confident she had no idea how I felt.
The stage lost a great actor, Alex, when you went into travel.
My sardonic thoughts were some protection — but not much. Why couldn't I say, casually, "Have you come back because you've found you can't live without me, after all?"
But that couldn't be true. There was nothing to indicate that anything had changed and Lee was probably here because of some hidden agenda that did not involve me.
As we arrived at the hotel, she said, "Tony told me about the fireworks with Sir Frederick."
I looked at her sharply. "Did he?"
Her smile was friendly, understanding. "From everything you've said before, I realize it's quite a step for you to take."
"It's something I had to do — and I feel fine about it."
She nodded. I wanted to say something more, to tell her that now I could understand the sense of freedom she'd spoken of in her own life, but she changed the subject.
"I'm going to freshen up and then come to the A.P.P. office. I've an appointment with Sir Frederick and then I'd like to see you to discuss the Tasmanian wilderness tours you faxed me details on."
I was looking at her hands and trying not to remember what she'd done to me with them. I nodded absently.
"Alex, I'd like to ask a favor."
That got my full attention. "Of course."
"Frankly, I need a break. Tomorrow's Saturday, and I wonder if it would be possible for us to do something — perhaps a cruise on the harbor..."
"I've friends who've got a yacht. Trish and Suzie. They've already asked me to go sailing with them tomorrow, and I'm to ring them tonight to say if I can. Would you like to come too?"
Lee, decisive as ever, said, "Yes."
When I picked Lee up from her hotel on Saturday morning the weather was gorgeous. The harbor was sparkling postcard blue, the sky innocent of anything but a few streaks of high cloud, the air warm, but with a breeze giving a slight bite to it.
We chatted, laughed, made trivial conversation as I drove across metallic splendor of the Sydney Harbour Bridge towards Mosman. Trish and Suzie's yacht was moored at Balmoral Beach, and we were to meet at the boatshed at ten o'clock.
During a moment when neither of us was trying to fill the silence, I glanced at her. She wore jeans, a plain white T-shirt and black canvas shoes. The strong lines of her face were achingly familiar and I could vividly remember the texture of her blonde hair, the planes of her back, the taut muscles under the smooth skin.
I can't bear it...
It was as though we had never made love, never known the intimate secrets of each other's bodies.
She was treating me as a dear friend, and I didn't dare question her on the depth of what she felt for me now — the potential for hurt was too great. I could cope with the situation as long as I kept playing my role. I knew exactly what to do — had a lifetime of practice — Lee's actions and reactions controlled my script. All I had to do was respond to
cues. It was simple, safe and guaranteed to make life easier for everyone concerned.
By the time we arrived at the southern end of Balmoral Beach I had developed reservations about the weather. Trish and Suzie were waiting by their station wagon, a huge mound of essential sailing items — principally food and drink — at their feet.
I smiled at them affectionately. Trish has a soft Canadian accent and silver-gray hair. Her brash good humor and irresponsible curiosity often lead her to ask comparative strangers astonishingly personal questions which for some reason most people answer willingly.
Suzie is more reserved, at least at first meeting. She reminds me of a sleek pedigreed cat — slim, contained and meditative.
Their reactions to Lee amused me. Trish, compulsively sociable, greeted her with the enthusiasm of a games show host. Suzie raised a speculative eyebrow, flashed me a look of approval, and gave Lee a warm "Hi."
The introductions over, I took the opportunity to voice my concern about the weather. "It looks like it might be a bit rough..."
Suzie said, "You're such a sook, Alex!" Trish, more positively, assured me it was a perfect day for sailing. I felt the boisterous breeze against my face, looked at the little whitecaps it was creating, and doubted. Perhaps there's a seafaring gene missing in me. I delight in swimming in the ocean, admiring its scenic qualities, flying over its vastness, but I don't enjoy sailing on its surface when the water seems to have an obstreperous life of its own.
Lee obviously didn't share my doubts. She padded along the sagging planking that led to a dilapidated jetty, leaping with celerity into the battered metal dinghy that was to take us out to the Water Nymph's mooring. I was much more hesitant, because the surge of the sea made the boat buck alarmingly.
"Oh, go on!" said Suzie, never one to show patience with landlubbers.
I knew my friend well. "Don't push me, Suzie. If you push me I'm going home."
Lee extended a hand, Suzie timed the motion of the launch and, as I knew she would, gave me a firm shove at the appropriate moment. Trish ignored us all and kept feeding supplies to the boy who seemed far too youthful to be responsible for our lives. He stood with spread feet, holding the handle of the outboard motor with one hand, while grabbing each item from Trish when the boat came close enough. I admired his balance and timing, although he hadn't bothered to conceal his weary contempt of my marine abilities.
The Water Nymph is, in calmer seas, a beautiful little yacht. At a pinch she can sleep six, and she has a compact galley and dining area. She's white and sleek and good-humored and it's fun to sit in the stern — I'm never allowed to help with the sails — as we scud over the harbor. But when it's what Trish and Suzie call "good sailing weather" the vessel seems to gain a wicked, reckless life of her own, and, as she heels to the wind, I always get the uneasy feeling that she'd pitch me overboard if she had the chance.
I know my apprehensions make me endow the yacht with personality, but nevertheless this morning I detected a certain audacious, headstrong motion in Water Nymph when we'd motored out of the mooring area and the sails were set.
Trish and Suzie had tried to teach me the correct jargon, but apart from terms like port, starboard, forward and aft, my lack of commitment to sailing meant I referred to "that rope there," instead of the traditional "that sheet or that halyard." Lee, however, seemed to be perfectly familiar with everything, so she and Suzie worked the sails as we tacked, throwing esoteric yachting terms around as they obeyed Trish's peremptory commands from her position on the tiller. As usual, I pulled my cap down to shade my eyes and stayed out of the way.
I had to admit it was exhilarating running before the wind and Sydney Harbour was at its dazzling best. We avoided — narrowly, I thought — being run down by the Manly Jetcat ferry and tacked our way to a sheltered mooring off Forty Baskets Beach for lunch.
Trish and Suzie had made nautical lunch into an artform, and today, no doubt in honor of Lee, they'd done even better than usual. We lolled in the sun, sipped wine, buttered crusty bread and selected items from a plethora of little containers — sliced avocado, artichoke hearts, pate, vine-leaf rolls, prawns, wedges of cheese, slices of prosciutto...
Our conversation was light, full of laughter. Trish had a store of hilarious anecdotes from teaching, Suzie a similar collection from management. Lee seemed content to relax and be entertained. Once I looked up and caught her looking at me reflectively, but when I raised my eyebrows she just smiled.
All day she had been warm, responsive towards me, just as a close friend would be. There was nothing more.
This may be the best you can get...
Listening to Lee's smoky laugh, I tried not to think of the past, or of the future.
In the afternoon we turned for home. To a landlubber like me, sailing seemed to consist of sudden flurries of activity, particularly when returning to a mooring. At this point I was always consigned to the cockpit, where I tried to keep out of the way of Trish on the tiller behind me, or Suzie leaping around on the top of the cabin bringing down the sails and then rushing forward with a boathook to pick up the mooring buoy as the yacht ran past it.
Today everything was progressing smoothly. Trish had started the motor, put it into gear, and was maneuvering skillfully between the moored vessels towards the yellow buoy marking their anchorage. Suzie and Lee had the mainsail down and were furling it on top of the boom.
The accident happened because of an insignificant piece of equipment — a little metal device with a lever to engage its set of metal teeth. Appropriately, it's called a rope jammer, because that's what it does.
One moment I was standing in the cockpit enjoying the bustle around me, the next moment the pain exploded in my head, a shattering burst of white light that faded to darkness. Then, confusingly, although I could see and feel nothing, I could hear, faintly, as though at a great distance, voices, one of them saying my name.
"Alex!"
Close by I heard a groan. When I realized the voice was mine, swamping, throbbing waves of pain filled my head.
Slowly I became aware of other things: my face pressed against something soft, my hip on a hard floor, arms holding me tightly.
"Alex, darling."
My eyes were squeezed tight against the pain, but of greater importance was the knowledge of who held me, who said my name. It was Lee's heart thudding next to my cheek, Lee's arms holding me.
I tried to open my eyes, succeeded in letting a narrow crack of dazzling light speared into my brain, shut them again.
Lee's voice was a soft whisper against my cheek. "Alex. I know you're awake. Open your eyes."
I put a hand to my aching head, expecting warm blood, but there was nothing but my hair. I was on the floor of the cockpit, and so was Lee. She held me close against her, head bent over me, so that I could feel the brush of her breath on my face.
"I'm sorry I hurt you."
"What happened?"
"The boom fell on you," said Suzie helpfully.
Lee's arms tightened. "Alex, it was my fault."
I snuggled a little deeper into her breast. "Deliberate? You wanted to murder me?"
Trish sounded relieved. "If she's making jokes she's all right."
Suzie, who has a passion for detail, explained what had happened as we waited for the boat to pick us up from the mooring. "You were standing in the cockpit directly under the boom that supports the bottom of the mainsail. As Lee and I got the sail down and began to fold it along the boom, Lee accidentally kicked the rope jammer holding the topping lift. With it released, the boom dropped like a brick on top of your head. Simple.
Lee kept her arm around me, and when we reached the jetty she said, "I'm taking you to a doctor."
"I'm okay. I've just got a headache."
Lee said to Trish and Suzie, "You'll know the nearest medical center. I'll follow you in Alex's car."
I allowed myself to be put in the passenger seat of my own car, but I protested as Lee got behind the wheel. "Lee, we driv
e on the opposite side of the road to you."
"I'll be careful. Besides, this is an emergency — you might decide to sue me."
Even smiling made my head throb more. I shut my eyes. "The only way I'll sue you, Lee, is if you damage my car."
The doctor, a young Asian woman with gentle hands, had examined me and left me lying in the cubicle while she reported her findings to my little entourage.
They were on the other side of the flimsy partition and I could hear them talking. Suzie was saying, "So there's no fracture, just a slight concussion and someone has to keep an eye on her for twelve hours. Right, we'll take her home with us."
"No."
"Lee, we've got a spare room, and Trish and I can take it in turns to check she's all right."
"No. Alex's coming with me."
I opened my eyes. Raising my voice, I said, "I'll go with Lee... just to prevent an argument."
My car was nearby: Lee had parked in a Medical Staff Only area.
"Where are we going?" I asked as she turned the ignition key.
"To my hotel."
After a while, she said, "You know I didn't need to return to Australia. I used the tour as an excuse."
"Right."
"I had to come back to see you again."
I found I was holding my breath.
"Alex?"
"Yes."
"I needed to convince myself that I could live without you..."
When I didn't reply, she said wryly, "You have me at a disadvantage."
I jerked my head around to look at her, sending pain searing behind my eyes. "I have you at a disadvantage?"
"I don't know if you still love me, Alex. From the moment we met at the airport yesterday I realized that I want to be with you. But you've been so cool, so controlled..."
I closed my eyes. The uncertainty in her voice filled me with tenderness, and I smiled, but my voice showed only polite inquiry. "So I had to be knocked out before you'd be driven to say anything?"