will still be unhappy about your job, about your students, about your
painting. You'll take it out on me again, sooner or later. And I can't
take that risk. I have to take care of myself, Waite. I've stuck by you
as long as I could, but I can't do it any more. I've asked you to get
help and you refused. I'm sorry, but I just can't take any more.'
She wished she could ignore the despair in his eyes, the helpless way
he ran his hand over his forehead.
'I'll promise everything will change. I promise.'
She shook her head. 'You've said it before, and it only got worse.
You resent it when I sell a painting. You don't like my work and
you're always criticising me. I can't live with that. My self-respect
and my ego are not up to that kind of treatment. You scare me with
your anger and your depressions.'
'It wasn't always like that! We had good times! I keep thinking about
the good times. I keep thinking about holding you again, loving you .
. .'
'Don't, Waite, please don't.' Tears came to her eyes. Why was it so
painful to remember? Why was there still this deep aching longing to
have back what they once had? How long would it take before she
would be free of it all?
'If you loved me .. .'
And suddenly something snapped in her and the words echoed in her
mind. If you loved me ... if you loved me .. . Her hands clenched into
fists with anger. It rose in her like a hot ball of fire.
' I loved you! Oh, don't give me that, Waite! I did love you! I loved
you more than you'll ever know! Why do you think I stuck it out with
you for such a long time? Why do you think I didn't walk out on you
earlier? Well, I had to save myself, Waite. I was drowning. And
when you hit me, something died in me. I've never felt so humiliated
and degraded in my life! Nobody hits me, Waite. Nobody!'
'I don't think you ever loved me,' he said bitterly.
She went wild with fury. She was trembling on her legs with the
force of it. 'How dare you say that? After all I went through with
you!' A sob broke in her throat. 'Get out! Just get out I'
He didn't move. 'Tell me you don't love me anymore.'
In the silence she could hear the beat of her own heart.
'I don't love you any more,' she whispered.
But he didn't leave. Not the next day or the day after that. He did not
come to see her anymore, but she knew he was there in the house. He
took long walks all over the island. He lay on the beach and acquired
a tan. He looked beautiful, except for his face which was old and sad.
She could not stand it any longer. His presence dragged at her spirits.
She would watch him from her window and her heart ached.
Justin came to see her every day now, saying little, just looking at the
progress of her paintings, and looking at her.
Checking up on me, she thought wryly. Making sure I'm still in one
piece.
'What's going on?' he asked one day.
'Nothing.'
'You look like hell. He looks like hell.'
'I'm sorry if it disturbs your sense of aesthetics.'
His eyebrows rose in faint surprise. 'Well, this is another side of you.
Lady Sarcastic. Why is he still here?'
'I have no idea.'
He straightened. 'All right, I think it's time somebody took action.' He
made for the door.
'What are you going to do?'
'I'm going to get rid of him.'
'I thought you said it wasn't any of your business.'
He turned and looked at her. There was a tense catch at the corners of
his mouth. 'I'm making it my business.'
'Why?'
'Do you have to ask?' And with that he leaped down the stairs.
The next morning Waite was gone. It was the second man Justin had
sent off the island because of her.
The relief that followed Waite's departure was incredible. She felt
free again. Free to go out at any time without fear of running into
him. Free to paint again. Suddenly she could eat again. At night she
slept soundly and she woke up in the mornings feeling ready for the
day.
But Justin had stopped coming to her house again and she saw little
of him. At night his light was on until all hours and she knew he was
finishing his book.
It was time to go home.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THERE seemed to be no reason to stay any longer. Even on this small
island she'd found no peace. She'd go back home and move to
another town. Maybe New Orleans, where her sister Stefanie lived.
At least now she knew she could not go back to her own apartment,
back to the college. She'd have to start over somewhere else.
She'd find another job. Drown herself in work. Start a new life. New
friends. No emotional ties.
First she had to finish both the paintings. She still owed one to Justin.
It had been days since she'd last spoken to him. He was busy
finishing his book, but that wasn't the only reason, she was sure.
He was at his desk when she knocked on the open door.
He looked up from his typewriter. 'Come in.'
'I've decided to leave too,' she declared without preamble.
'Where will you go?'
'I'll stay with my sister and her brood for a while. Her baby is due
soon and I imagine she can use some help.'
'You're not going back to Pennsylvania?'
'Only for a couple of days to pack up.'
'I see.' He looked down on the pile of typewritten pages, his thoughts
obviously elsewhere. There was a slight pause. 'When will you
leave?'
'In a few days. Friday, or Saturday.' She was standing near the door,
leaning against the wall. He came to his feet and gestured at a chair.
'Sit down.' He lowered himself in a chair across from her. 'You know,
Linden, that I'm not going to let you disappear from my life.'
She swallowed. 'Justin, this is not a good time for me. I need to get
myself together .. .'
'I know. I understand.' He paused. 'I have a proposition. Let's meet in
New York three months from today.'
She nodded. 'All right.'
'Good.' He leaned back in his chair. 'And now something else. I want
to buy one of your paintings.'
'You don't need to. I owe you one. You can have whichever one you
like—the Chinese temple or the bird-kites.'
'If you don't mind parting with them, I'd like them both. I'll pay you
for one.'
'Why do you want them both?'
'Because I like them. Because I've seen you paint them, because
they're yours.'
'You may get yourself some inferior work on your walls.' She
couldn't hide the bitterness in her voice and Justin gave her a sharp
look.
'I'm not bothered what the so-called experts say, Linden. No one
needs to tell me what I like or don't like. I'm quite capable of
deciding that for myself. Besides, I'm not exactly the first one to buy
your work.'
'No.'
'Waite obviously has problems, and they have nothing to do with
you. His opinion is only his opinion and nothing more. It does not
change what you really are, what you know yourself to be, unless you
>
let it.'
'I know. But sometimes it's hard not to be affected by someone's
opinions.' She attempted a smile. 'I'd like you to have my paintings.'
'Thank you. Are you sure you don't want to keep the temple? You did
say it wasn't for sale.'
'It wasn't. It isn't. I'll give it to you in return for Christmas on Penang.
A good time like that isn't for sale either.'
There was warmth in his eyes and she looked down on her hands. 'I
should have stayed with you that night,' she said softly.
'No,' he said slowly, 'no you shouldn't have.' He stood up and came to
her chair, reaching for her. 'Come, let me hold you for a while.'
She stood in his arms, her face against his shoulder.
'No matter how much I've wanted you all this time,' he said quietly,
'I'm glad now that we haven't slept together.'
She raised her face in surprise. 'Why?'
He gave a funny half-smile. 'At least now I know that to you it means
more than just a good time.'
She said nothing to that.
'At first I had no patience for your grieving for a man who hit you
and treated you badly. But I know now that what you give you do not
give easily and it's harder to give up and it hurts more. And whatever
you may give me in the future I will value more.'
She didn't know what to reply, but she _felt warm with gratitude and
wonder, and other feelings yet too delicate to name. He lifted her face
and kissed her and she responded without restraint. Then he released
her abruptly and turned away.
'I'm sorry,' she said, 'I didn't mean to . . .'
'But you do, you know, every time.' He gave her a rueful little smile.
'That's why I keep away from you.'
'I think I'd better go then.'
'Have some coffee first. That should be safe enough. Just don't kiss
me anymore.'
'You started it.'
'I did. I should know better. Come on, help me in the kitchen.'
He put water on the gas ring to boil. 'What are you going to do with
your house?'
'Oh, yes, I wanted to talk to you about that. I think I want to sell it.'
'Are you sure?'
'I can't keep it up very well all the way from the States. And I don't
know when I'll have the money again to come out here.'
'Would you like me to sell it for you?'
'Would you?'
He smiled. 'I would.'
But it was not so easy to leave after all. It was Thursday evening and
everything had been taken care of. She was packed except for the
clothes she had on and the ones she'd wear in the morning. The fridge
was empty and turned off, the food eaten or given away to Nazirah.
She'd refused Justin's offer of dinner and had eaten in the village one
last time— mee goreng from Mak Long Teh's cart. Now the only
thing left to do was to say goodbye to Justin.
He was waiting with a bottle of wine. The atmosphere was strained
and they talked about practicalities while they drank it. Did she have
something warm to wear? he asked. Yes, she said, she had a jacket,
and besides, her friend Liz would meet her at the airport with her
winter coat. Were all her papers in order—tickets, passport.. .
She would stay with Liz while she packed up her apartment and put
her belongings in storage for the time being. Then she'd drive to New
Orleans.
She was drinking her wine too quickly, aware of his eyes that were
looking at her all the time. Her hand trembled. She hated saying
goodbye. She dreaded the moment she'd have to get up, say the final
words, and leave.
Not wanting to prolong the awkwardness she'd not wanted Justin to
take her to Penang in his boat. Instead she'd made arrangements with
an old fisherman to ferry her across.
Justin was sitting next to her and touched her hair. It was the first
time this evening he had touched her.
'Why are you so nervous?' he asked.
She swung her hair back over her shoulders and attempted a smile. 'I
hate saying goodbye. I'm scared. I don't know what I'm doing
anymore.' Maybe I don't really want to leave you.
But she must, for her own safety.
'You're going to your sister. You're going to relax. Paint. Enjoy New
Orleans. And in three months minus four days you'll come to New
York.'
He's given her the name and address of his agent, who would know
where to contact him.
'Where will you be?'
He shrugged. 'Who knows? In a hotel, an apartment. I don't know. I'll
have to see what the housing situation looks like when I get there.'
'Maybe you'll be in California working on the screenplay.'
He laughed. 'I don't believe it will develop that fast, if at all. Anyway,
if I'm not in New York, I'll let you know.'
Her throat dry, her knees trembling, she stood up.
'All right, I'll see you then, wherever you may be. I'd better go now.
I.. .'
The rest of her words were silenced by his mouth. He kissed her
fiercely and she clung to him with a sudden wave of overwhelming
emotion. He pulled her shirt loose and slipped his hands under it,
spreading them against her bare back.
'Linden,' he whispered, 'let me touch you. I want to see you one more
time.' He drew back a little and, looking into her eyes, he slowly
unbuttoned the blouse and slipped it off her shoulders.
She stood very still, the blood pounding in her head, feeling the
gentle touch of his hands on her breast. His hands moved up, sliding
slowly along her neck and jaw to her mouth, tracing a finger along
her lower lip. 'You're beautiful,' he said softly. There was love and
desire in his eyes, and something else—sadness maybe.
His hands were moving, touching, caressing her everywhere and all
the while he kept looking at her and the tension became palpable in
the room.
She put her hands on his chest, feeling the fabric of his shirt under
her fingers and she began to work the buttons through their holes
until she could put her hands on the bare brown skin underneath.
Under her fingers she noticed the heavy beating of his heart. They
came together again, mouths clinging and he led her to the couch and
she lowered herself, closing her eyes. He leaned over her, his mouth
on her breast, and her face was in his hair and she smelled the clean
warm scent of it.
Three months she'd been on Pelangi—three months of hearing his
voice, seeing him smile and, seeing the muscled beauty of his brown
body. But she had not consciously wanted to see him because her
mind had been too full of another man, too full of pain. Now she was
in his arms, touching and kissing, knowing he wanted her, knowing
she wanted him too. And suddenly there was the terrible fear of loss,
and a need, a longing for something .. . something to hold on to,
something precious.
'Justin?' she whispered.
His body grew still and he drew back a little to look at her face.
'Yes?' His voice was oddly husky, and when he moved the hair away
from his forehead, she noticed a slight tremble.
Feeling an infinite tenderness, she put he
r arms around him and drew
him close again. 'Let's make love.' The words came softly, yet easily,
reaching beyond the safe and secure, but she knew no doubt.
His arms tightened around her convulsively. 'I love you,' he said.
They went into the bedroom, taking only a candle, and in the
shadowy light they took off their clothes. She felt a thrill of
excitement at the sight of his naked body in front of her. He was
looking at her too, his eyes taking in every part of her, but she felt no
unease now, only a heady delight. He reached out to her. She moved
towards him. Again they touched each other, sliding hands in gentle
exploration along smooth skin and soft curves and hard muscles. Her
body sang and every nerve ending quivered. There , was a rush of
powerful emotion, like falling water, rushing, rushing downward,
unstoppable. She thought of the waterfalls, of standing naked in the
sun, laughing, of the joy she had felt.
'You're smiling,' he whispered.
'You make me feel so good.'
His mouth quirked. 'I've only just got started.'
He kissed her deeply, his hands more urgent now, and her senses
reeled. He was doing wonderful things to her body. The tension built
till breaking point and desire was like an exquisite pain. Then
suddenly there was no waiting any longer. A desperate urgency fired
their lovemaking and swept them away to glorious, mutual
fulfilment.
Her eyes closed, her heart beating at a frantic pace, she lay still in his
arms. She could feel the rapid beating of his heart against her cheek.
She wanted to lie there for ever, her face against his chest, their legs
entwined, feeling the warmth of him, his strength and tenderness.
His hand was on her head, stroking her softly. 'Don't move,' he
whispered.
In the morning she awoke finding him beside her, awake and
watching her. A smile played around his mouth and she felt faint
colour come to her cheeks. His smile broadened.
'Don't tell me you know how to blush.'
'How long have you been watching me?'
'A while.'
She knew from the way he looked at her that he wanted to make love
again, but he made no attempt in that direction. 'Are you hungry?' he
asked prosaically.
She shook her head. 'No.'
'I'll make us an omelette anyway. You need to eat before you go. You
can't travel on an empty stomach.'
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