Ecstasy

by Gwynne Forster

  “I didn’t realize we’d be sitting together. To where do you think I’ll disappear while this plane is in the air?” She appreciated his interest, but she had never tolerated well anyone’s attempt to control her. “It’s either the lavatory, the cockpit, or out the window. Which do you think I’ll choose?” She bit her lip, surprised at her waspishness. Mason stood, rested his hand on the back of his seat and looked at her, his face impassive.

  “You don’t want me to sit with you?”

  “Did I say that?”

  “Well, let’s get it straight this minute. Do you or don’t you?”

  She’d boxed herself in, and she didn’t doubt that he’d let her take her medicine.

  “A gentleman doesn’t press his advantage. Besides, I’m not so cruel that I’d want you to stand all the way to Singapore.”

  “Who says I would?”

  “Mason, would you please not make an international crisis out of this, and sit back down?” In his unwavering gaze, she glimpsed a semblance of pain, fleeting though it was. She held out her hand to him.

  “If you’re sure,” he said, seating himself.

  “I’m sure.”

  His mouth softened to reveal glistening white teeth. “I may hold your hand.”

  With a flash of insight, she knew that his glibness covered the pain she’d seen in him, and she prepared herself to indulge him.

  “Okay, if you want to hold my hand.”

  “I may put my head on your shoulder and go to sleep.”

  “I guess I can handle that.”

  “I’ve been known to snore.”

  “Not too loudly, I hope.”

  “Like a buzz saw.”

  She produced the grimace she knew he hoped to see. “I’ve heard worse.”

  “I’ll definitely kiss you.”

  She yanked on the hand he’d rested on the back of his seat.

  “Will you please stop trying to bug me?” She found that she loved teasing him. She knew he could take it, that his self-discipline was well-known among his medical peers. A dark shudder passed through her. What if he learned that she’d had him investigated before she took the tour? He’d have two counts on which to cross her off as a scheming woman, and her plans would go for naught, elusive like her dreams.

  * * *

  They dined in companionable silence, causing Mason to marvel at their ability to commune without speaking. Jeannetta didn’t babble as many people did when conversation lulled, and it was one of her many admirable traits. Silence didn’t make her nervous. He savored the fine cognac, inhaling deeply before rolling a sip on his tongue.

  “When we get to Singapore,” he advised, “don’t go anywhere alone. We’ll only be there six hours before we’ll have to board the ship. I’ve arranged for a bus to take us on a two-hour sightseeing tour, with brief stops in Chinatown, the Botanical Gardens, Colonial Singapore and Jurong Bird Park where handlers train birds to sing. If there’s time, we’ll drive past the Raffles hotel complex. Please stay with the group.” He watched her from the corner of his left eye. If his guess was right, the lady would get her dander up. He couldn’t help smiling when she turned fully to him and took a deep breath.

  “Yes, sir! Anything else, sir?”

  “You’re not taking me seriously,” he said in an offhand manner, smiling inwardly and pretending not to know he’d riled her.

  “And a good thing, too. I don’t speak that way to my students but, of course, they’re all over eighteen.”

  He laughed. Nothing pleased him more than the company of a lovely, laid-back, witty woman. He put a couple of pillows on his shoulder. “Lean over here,” he whispered.

  She hesitated, as though questioning the pleasure she’d get from it.

  “Come on,” he urged, his voice warm and sugary, as he slid an arm around her shoulder and waited for her to resist. When she didn’t, he flipped back the armrest that had separated them, pulled her close and rested his head on her shoulder. No reaction. He let his fingers dance beneath her chin until she could no longer resist and began to laugh uncontrollably. Then he reached down for their blankets, covered them both and felt her curl into him. He hadn’t thought she’d get so cozy in the presence of their companions, but he hadn’t noticed the lowered lights either.

  In those circumstances, a man’s options were severely limited. She huddled closer, and he had to struggle to suppress the fire that raged in his blood. His pulse pitched into a gallop when her breathing accelerated. The scent of warm woman began to tantalize his nostrils, and he’d have given a day’s income to jog five miles in thirty-two-degree weather. He couldn’t tell whether she knew her effect on him right then, and he wasn’t about to ask her. She’d caught him on the blind side sometime during the last few days, and he’d as soon she didn’t know how vulnerable he’d gotten. When had he begun to need her? He didn’t know anything about her, but he wanted her, and didn’t want another man near her. She sighed deeply and buried her face in the curve of his neck. If only he could get out of there. He rested his head on the back of the seat and counted sheep, but his passion didn’t cool. He imagined himself eating sauerkraut, which he hated, but that didn’t lessen the discomfort in his groin, or the pounding of his pulse. A waste of time, he decided, and wrapped his arms around her. What the hell! It wasn’t the first time he’d done without, but he couldn’t remember having previously enjoyed it.

  * * *

  Let him think her asleep, that she didn’t realize the intimacy she’d created between them. She tried to ignore her nagging conscience and its caution that she’d pay dearly for every kiss, each caress, for every minute in his arms. But, even as a young girl, she had dreamed of a man’s holding her as though she were precious, his morning sun and evening breeze; she couldn’t help savoring this dream come true with a man who in so short a time had wedged himself deep into her heart. She knew she’d eventually have to face the inevitable, that moment when he knew everything and walked away from her. And there was no denying that, if he accused her of dishonesty, she would deserve it; she hadn’t led him on, but her attempts to discourage him had been so haphazard that he’d probably seen no reason to take them seriously.

  His right arm tightened around her and, in spite of what her head told her, she slid an arm across his chest and accepted his affection. She wanted to raise her head, touch his lips with her own and taste the sweet agony that gripped her from head to toe every time she drank the burning passion of his kisses.

  “Jeannetta, do you know you’re caressing me? Do you?”

  She’d been so absorbed in the feel of him that his low guttural voice reached her ears as if from a great distance.

  “Do you?” He stilled her attempt to remove her fingers from the thatch of hair on his chest. “Answer me,” he urged, his voice low and thick.

  “I... Oh, Mason, I don’t know what I’m doing. We’re getting so close, and I know that nothing can come of it. I try to keep that in mind, but you’re so tempting.”

  He held her closer when she made a weak and irresolute attempt to move back to her own seat, and she realized that the man in him paid greater attention to her actions than to her words. Who could blame him?

  “You don’t have anything to fear from me. I’m free, solvent and thirty-seven, and I’m neither married nor engaged. So why can’t I hold you in my arms? You’re comfortable, aren’t you?”

  If only it were that simple.

  “This is moving too fast, Mason.”

  “Too fast?” he scoffed. “We’ve seen more of each other on this tour than we would have managed in six months if we’d been in New York and Pilgrim, unless...” He sat up and gazed down at her, his eyes sparkling with devilment in that way she loved. “Of course, we would have seen a lot, I mean a lot more of each other if you’d taken me for a roommate. You still can; I always p
ick up my socks and, as far as I know, I don’t snore.”

  She sat up abruptly, hitting her head on his chin, which he rubbed reflexively.

  “We’re getting kind of fanciful, aren’t we?”

  His hand stroked her back until she succumbed to temptation and moved back into his arms.

  “Not in my book. Tell me, are you an only child?”

  He hadn’t previously asked her personal questions and hadn’t given her a chance to ask him any. Maybe this was her chance.

  “I have an older sister who lives at our family home in Pilgrim.” He’d opened the gate. Maybe this was the time. “What about you? Sometimes I get the feeling that you’re a loner.”

  The muscles tensed in the arm that held her, and she sensed his caution, his withdrawal. “I have an older brother who’s like a father to me. He’s...well, he’s...a great guy.”

  She already knew that from the investigation, but maybe if she probed...

  “How did you decide to start a travel agency? And this tour...it must have been a huge financial risk.”

  His right hand stilled on her back and the other one covered her own and she knew he intended to take her hand away from his chest where, without thinking how it would appear to him, she’d teased his chest hair as though to coax him into answering her questions. She sat up.

  “You like me, as long as I don’t invade your privacy, and you’ll kiss me with all the urgency and deliberateness of a patriot missile going after a scud...until I get out of my place.” She knew that such tactics wouldn’t get her what she ultimately wanted, but she couldn’t help feeling hostile toward him. He had the power to heal, to sustain life, yet he chose to traipse around the world catering to people who had the means to indulge their selfish whims. Her back stiffened. “What made you choose this line of work?” She almost hoped he’d tell her that it wasn’t her business.

  He leaned back, ran his hand over his tight curls and breathed deeply.

  “I’m not used to answering direct questions about myself, and I’ve never liked asking them. You took this tour because you wanted to see the world. If I hadn’t had something similar in mind, I’d probably have chosen another line of work. Let’s get some sleep.”

  She closed her eyes to hide the pain she knew he’d see there. Bitterness churned inside of her, and she had to muster all her strength to hold back the tears. She’d thought she could face the future, no matter what happened, that she’d learn to accept her fate, but he was handing her a double dose of poison. She thought she could handle life without trees, snow-capped mountains and brilliant sunsets, but a future in which he had no part? Anger surged in her and she glanced up at him, expecting to see annoyance. But his face held no expression. In a flash of intuition, she saw that he cloaked his emotions behind his poker face, that his bland expression served as his shield, his defensive armor. Knowledge, someone had said, was power. She refused to allow him to dismiss her.

  She leaned toward him, her voice calm. “You’ve practically told me to shut up; are you planning to kiss me anymore?”

  He laughed, but she didn’t place much store by that; she’d learned that this was a man who never surprised himself, and she could only admire his self-discipline.

  “Well?” she insisted, but he was saved an answer when a flight attendant rushed to him.

  “Mr. Fenwick, Lydia Steward says she’s having chest pains, but we’re not quite halfway. Should we turn around or keep going?”

  He was on his feet in a flash, and Jeannetta knew that the physician had emerged, that it was Dr. Fenwick, and not the tour manager, who moved with such alacrity. She wanted to follow him, to see what he’d do, how he’d handle it. She longed to know how much of his secret he’d expose in such an emergency, but she dared not follow. She’d never forgive herself if she hampered his efforts to help the woman. After some time, he returned, outwardly calm.

  “Will she be alright?”

  “More than likely, provided she takes her medicine and follows her doctor’s advice, but if she has another incident like that one, I’m sending her back to Spokane.”

  “What happened?” she asked, hoping that he’d respond with a physician’s language and manners.

  He paused for a while as though gathering his thoughts. “She had a bad case of indigestion, or something similar. I could use a few hours’ sleep. How about you?”

  She settled in her seat, disappointed.

  “Sure. Every living thing has to sleep.” If she sounded bitter, she didn’t care. She wished she had never heard of him, that she hadn’t taken his tour and that she didn’t love him to the depths of her soul.

  The big business-class seat had wide armrests and a slanted prop on which to rest her feet, but she didn’t think she’d ever been more uncomfortable. She tossed about, shifted from one position to another and prayed for the sleep that would take her out of her thoughts. After nearly an hour of it, she felt his strong arm gather her close and fold her to him. He rested her head on his shoulder and drew the blanket across her.

  “Now, perhaps we can both get some rest.”

  She slid her right arm across his chest and cherished the moment.

  * * *

  Mason awoke to the smell of strong coffee and Jeannetta’s soft breathing. He glanced down at the delicate brown fingers that clutched the breast pocket of his shirt and covered them with his hand. He had a sense of well-being, of having the world by the tail, and he knew it came from the feel of her stirring in his arms as he awoke.

  “Coffee? Orange juice?” the flight attendant asked him. He ordered coffee, remembered Lydia Steward and wanted to check on her, but controlled his urge. He had thought he’d laid to rest the physician in him, but now he wasn’t so sure. He’d brought along a medical bag, complete with a stethoscope, that he was glad he hadn’t had to use. Finally, unable to resist any longer, he swallowed the last of his coffee, woke Jeannetta, got his toiletries and started back toward the lavatories. Lydia’s smiling face reminded him of the feeling of accomplishment he’d always gotten when a grateful patient thanked him, a feeling he realized he’d missed. He paused beside Lydia, and her smiles and words of profuse thanks humbled him, making him want to get away from her, from all of them. Away from the charade he’d carried on for the last three years. He glanced up the aisle toward his seat, where Jeannetta stood, looking directly at him. Perhaps she’s getting a much-needed stretch, he mused but, somehow, he didn’t believe that.

  He returned to his seat, shaved and refreshed, to find Jeannetta dictating into her recorder a description of the plane, the appearance of the flight attendants, the clouds, even the wagons from which the attendants served food and drinks. He couldn’t figure out why a writer didn’t take photographs of her surroundings, and that bothered him. He cleared his throat and, as he’d expected, she put away the recorder.

  “You said you write fiction. Is this a story about travel?”

  She hesitated before answering. “No. I’d thought I’d work on it during this tour, but the mood hasn’t been right. I can’t get into the man’s character.”

  “What kind of man is he? You hinted that I’m not your model and, since I’m not a writer, you don’t lose anything by telling me.”

  Their breakfast arrived, and he thought she’d take advantage of it to change the subject, but she didn’t.

  “He isn’t the main protagonist, though he’s central to the theme, and this isn’t the story I had in mind when I left home. This is a troubled man who can’t come to terms with his feelings, who believes that his strength lies in his ability to stand alone, to need no one, but whose true problem is his inability to give of himself. My problem is that I can’t get a handle on his character, how he deals with people, with his surroundings, his adversities.”

  She talked on, but his ears roared with the hollow echo of his insides. He o
pened his eyes to shut out the portrait of himself in his white coat, his stethoscope dangling from his pocket as he walked off of that hospital ward for the last time. Cool dampness matted the hairs at his wrist, and he thought he’d strangle from the saliva in his mouth as he opened it to speak.

  “How does it end?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve just begun to lay it out in my mind, to see how he looks and to understand him.”

  He forced himself not to cover his ears. Maybe she wasn’t talking about him, but her words rattled around in his mind all the same.

  “No, I don’t know the end,” she went on, “but I expect he’ll have his moment of truth.”

  He sat forward and turned so that he could see her face.

  “I’ve never met anyone who seemed more composed, more at peace, than you, but some kind of aura around you denies it. In these four weeks, you’ve come to mean something to me and, from what I’ve learned about you, I welcome that, but you’re mysterious. You’ve got a...a...a quality that’s unsettling. I can’t help wondering why you’re on this tour. Oh, I know you want to see the world. But why now?”

  She lifted her glass to take a sip of orange juice and tilted it before it reached her mouth. He stared at her and at the juice on her egg and in her lap. She’d done the same thing on the train, only then it had been water.

  “Good Heavens! I’ve gotten to be such an oink-oink. You’d think I could enjoy breakfast with a charming man without getting nervous and spilling everything.”

  He reached overhead and rang for the flight attendant.

  “It’s alright, Jeannetta. That can happen to anybody.” He didn’t believe it. She had tried to distract him, but he hadn’t been taken in by her patter. Jeannetta didn’t babble; she talked when she had something to say.

  Their flight attendant cleaned her dress with club soda and, to his amazement, Jeannetta joked, “Mr. Fenwick didn’t enforce his rule against babies on the tour.”