by Неизвестный
'Trish...’ he began, softly, caressingly, as if he meant to get round her.
She stopped him with a glance, unable to bear any silkentongued excuses. ‘You are a rat, Adam Foster? Her temper suddenly snapped and she picked up the hairbrush and hurled it at him. He ducked. Beside herself with shame and fear for the future, she leapt up and followed it with a hand mirror which smashed against the door behind him. ‘Get out!’ she screamed, too angry to aim straight. Furious with that failure too, she spat, ‘Out!’
Her hand was on her favourite seal ornament. Leaping forward, he snapped his fingers firmly around her wrist and she was saved from hurling it wildly across the bedroom.
‘Calm down!’ he ordered sharply.
‘Why?’ Her sapphire eyes flashed with anger.
‘Because this isn’t helping,’ he said in exasperation. ‘We need to talk-'
‘No,’ she said lirmly. ‘I know what you were doing and why. You intended to seduce me. It would have been a brief interlude in your life, nothing more. But for me——’
‘Yes?’ he asked abruptly.
‘Oh, don’t flatter yourself!’ she scathed. ‘I’m talking about the consequences, not the impact of your technique!
Don’t you see, Adam, how many lives might be damagedyours, mine, Louise’s, Tim’s, Gran’s...? You’ve been totally irresponsible—-and yes, so have I; I admit my guilt. God knows how terrible I feel!’ she cried. ‘I wish to God that I’d never met you!’
Slivers of pain flickered across his eyes and she supposed he must be insulted that she was so comprehensively rejecting his lovemaking. There was a long, tense silence. He made no move to comfort her but stood as if paralysed by her remark.
After a while he turned and walked out, with none of his usual vigour, but more like a sick and weary man with no joy left in life.
She listened to every sound he made, picturing him as he stripped off his wet clothes and selected fresh ones, packed, went downstairs and made coffee...and left the house. Her eyes squeezed shut with the pain in her heart. By taking what she’d wanted without stopping to think, she’d given away her own self-respect. lt was justice of a sort. She deserved to be hurt. There was no excuse for what they’d done. Never had been, never would be. And to make sure she remembered her mistake for a long time, the skill of Adam’s lovemaking would stay with her always, torturing her unbearably. She bit her lip. She knew that Tim would never caress her like that. Or create such a joyous turmoil in her heart, mind and body that she’d find herself acting instinctively without a thought for the consequences. Adam belonged to someone else. She would think of him——his smile and his tender, passionate affection-—and it would torment her beyond all her worst nightmares. She clenched her teeth together till her jaw hurt, knowing that soon he would be gone. Back to Louise.
Unable to bear the mess she’d made of her life, she consoled herself with the fact that pregnancy after one night was pretty unlikely and she’d only have her guilt to worry about. Burden enough, she thought, gazing sightlessly out to the bay.
It was too early for the boat. Without knowing where he was going, Adam dumped his luggage by the gate and began to walk. Fast and furious. Releasing all the ruthlessly suppressed anger with himself and muddled, conflicting emotions. Past enticing beaches with sand so white it hurt his eyes, along narrow cliff paths above wicked-looking rocks, on and on over the springy turf till the breath began to feel painful in his lungs.
He paused on a dramatic headland overlooking a wide bay, waiting for his heartbeat to subside to its normal rate. Giant rollers roared towards him on the incoming tide, smashing against hidden rocks beneath the water and sending up fountains of white spray. This must be Hell Bay. Very appropriate, he thought, awed by the elementary forces on display. His fists clenched. He’d blown it. He’d been unbelievably stupid. So much for clearing the field for his relationship with Louise!
Arrogantly, he’d imagined his iron control would get him over any little twinges of latent desire. Instead... He scowled at the turbulent sea which roared and thundered in a spectacular display of raw power. That was it. You didn’t fool with natural forces. They had a nasty habit of showing you how puny you were in comparison. Some things, like the tide, you couldn’t stop.
As a result, he’d hurt Trish. He thought of her distressand then, painfully, of her uninhibited responses a few hours earlier. Well, he’d got a result. She clearly despised him and wanted nothing more to do with him. It was the conclusive rejection he’d originally sought. Such was fate. You got what you wanted——when you’d ceased to want it. His face darkened. If she became pregnant he’d never forgive himself. If only. .. No! Never look back. Never regret. He’d made it a rule not to agonise over the past. Damn Trish and her intense feelings!
Fuming, he continued his walk, unable to remain still. This was where emotions got you. Out on a limb, making mistakes, hurting people.
He could deal with this-and any consequences, should they arise. In the meantime, in all decency he owed it to Louise to discuss their relationship. He’d sort out his life, put it on an even keel again.
The westerly wind blew his hair back and buffeted him hard as if it wanted to throw him off balance. If it did but know, he’d already tumbled headlong. He inhaled deeply. The air smelled sweet and clean and was filled with bird cries. Climbing a small hill, he leant his back against a stone marker. Tresco quay seemed very close. Five minutes by boat. It wouldn’t be long before he was there. . .and then on his way to Louise.
In a habitual gesture, his fingers pressed against his temples. It seemed that his headache had returned.
‘Where’s that nice man gone?'
Trish switched off the electric cleaner and put on a cheerful face for her grandmother. ‘Couldn’t stand the frantic pace of life!’ she joked brightly. ‘Caught the boat this morning.'
‘I saw him from Betty’s house, up on Watch Hill. He looked grim. Had a row?’
‘He’s got problems at work,’ Trish said shortly, a lump coming into her throat.
‘He’ll be back.’ Unaware of Trish’s frown, her grandmother sat herself down, grinning broadly, and turned on the television. ‘My favourite chat show! Lovely. A nice cup of tea and a scone would go nicely.’
Trish pulled herself together, kissed the top of her grandmother’s head and went to forage in the kitchen. The next few weeks were busy. And then she had a can-celled booking which meant that both double rooms were empty for a while. Her grandmother suggested she ask Petra to stay, but Trish’s two rather plaintive messages on Petra’s answering machine were never returned—and suddenly Trish had enough on her plate to cope with. A female guest had arrived, one who was unusually full of demands. By the time Trish had moved the furniture in accordance with Mrs Varsher’s instructions, taken orders for newspapers, magazines and paperbacks, dealt with offending hairs in the basin—extraordinary! Lucy was superfussy!—and returned all the newspapers because, apparently, they were the wrong ones, Trish was in a flat spin.
‘Another week before she goes!’ she groaned, checking the calendar. And then she froze, seeing the dates and the special marks each month...
She was late. And she was always as regular as clockwork. The figures blurred before her eyes. Feeling faint, she sat down suddenly in a kitchen chair. She was alarmingly overdue. She took a deep breath and told herself that she couldn’t be pregnant-—not so easily...so soon! Her hand strayed to her flat stomach. She didn’t feel any different. Probably nerves, then, or the fact that she kept bursting into tears... Hell. She’d been snapping at her grandmother, who’d asked her if she was incubating an excess of hormones. Trish grew pale, her eyes huge in her shocked face as the realisation sank in. She was carrying Adam’s baby, she knew it!
‘Feel all right, dear?’ enquired her grandmother, pausing by the open garden door. ‘You look all peculiar.'
‘Bit dizzy-'
‘Now, what would have caused that?’
Trish stared guiltily a
t her grandmothers sweet, concerned face. She couldn’t tell her. Quickly she dropped her head so her hair concealed her shame. ‘I’ve been rushing about like a whirlwind after Mrs Varsher,’ she said lamely. She felt her grandrnothefs comforting hand clasp hers, a soothing stroke on her forehead.
‘Don’t worry,.my duck,’ said her grandmother lovingly.
‘Stop flapping about. Everything will be all right, you’ll see.’
Trish pressed her face against the familiar floral pinny, feeling like a child again, being comforted for the loss of her pet rabbit. Dear Gran. She was always there, always loving. ’
When she lifted her head, a rueful smile on her lips, she was startled to see that her grandmother’s gaze seemed to be fixed on the calendar. Trish tensed up, but apparently the old lady hadn’t noticed anything suspicious because she gave Trish a hug and said, ‘You young girls! Think you invented trouble! We’ll get over this. We always do, always will. How about a nice cup of tea?’
‘Lovely,’ Trish said, feeling calmer. Of course everything would be all right. Secretively she placed her hand on her stomach, unsure whether she wanted to be pregnant or not. ‘No-make that coffee,’ she said suddenly, finding she’d gone off the idea of tea.
After a few days, she took a pregnancy test. It confirmed her suspicions. She was carrying Adam’s baby. She didn’t know what to do--but she had to see Tim, for sure. Edgily she plunged her hands into the sink and began tackling the washing—up. `
‘Ah. There you are!’
The small, exquisite figure of Mrs Varsher had materialised in the kitchen doorway. Her lovely face was set in discontented lines. Trish wiped her hands and smiled politely, wondering what was wrong now.
‘What can I do for you, Mrs Varsher?’ she asked, concealing her dread. This woman would find a speck of dirt in the Sahara desert!
‘The mattress is stained,' the woman said. ‘I want it changed. I’m not happy with your standards of hygiene at all.’
‘I don’t understand it!’ Trish said in bewilderment, following the woman upstairs. ‘It’s checked after every visitor. There was nothing wrong after the last single occupant—’
‘Well, there is now! Look! It’s disgusting!’
She was right. An unidentifiable stain had spread across the centre. Trish felt dreadful. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Mrs Varsher!’ she said unhappily. ‘I’ll deal with it now.’
It took her a while to heave the mattress out, scrub it and leave it in the sun to dry, then put her own mattress on the guest bed. By the time she’d finished, picked masses of flowers for Mrs Varsher’s room by way of an apology and washed up both her own breakfast dishes and her grandmother’s, Trish felt she deserved a good walk and a few moments to herself. Feeling frazzled, she left the delighted Lucy in charge of the rest of the cleaning and set off. Up on Watch Hill, with the stone marker sheltering her from the wind, she idly watched the helicopter heading for the helipad by the Abbey Gardens on Tresco. Then, moodily churning over the revelations she’d soon be making to all and sundry, she walked to the post office to collect Mrs Varsher’s papers.
The Faldare was already making its way across the channel to Bryher. Remembering with a pang the time it had brought Adam to her, she hurried on to the cliffs above Hangman Island.
Sitting there with the wind ruffling her hair and the sun warm on her face and body, she wondered if he had told Louise about his temporary lapse, or if he’d assuaged his conscience with the aid of champagne, a romantic dinner and a dozen red roses.
Today, without fail, she’d ring Tim. It wasn’t fair to keep him in the dark about her feelings, but she wondered how he’d react. He must know what she’d done, yet she shrank from hurting him. Several times she’d picked up the phone and chickened out.
Once she’d seen Tim, she’d need to confirm her pregnancy and tell her grandmother. But not Adam. Poor little baby, she thought sadly. If only things were different—if Adam weren’t engaged, if they’d been planning marriagehe’d be overjoyed then, to know she was carrying his child. It would have bonded them together. Instead... She would bring up her baby alone. Another child without a father. Trish blamed herself, her quick emotions, the ease with which she’d fallen into Adam’s arms, like a ripe plum.
With the skirts of her cornflower-blue sundress spread around her, she nestled against her favourite lichen-covered rock and took off her ancient plimsolls so that she could feel the thick tussocks of sea pinks beneath her feet. Wistfully, she stared up at the sky. Here she had everything in the world she could want to possess. . .other than the man she loved.
Suddenly her beloved Bryher wasn’t enough. Her heart had been stolen away and she couldn’t feel the same passion for the island any more. London and its gridlocked streets with Adam-—however flawed he might be—seemed preferable to Bryher without him. It was an extraordinary moment of truth for her.
Everything she had valued so highly was suddenly meaningless. The whole focus of her world had shifted. She. would willingly give up her home, her lifestyle and her lifelong friends for Adam’s true love.
She frowned, absorbed by the fantasy. Of course she could never leave her grandmother——who was welded to the island by blood and sweat! Then reality surfaced and her mouth grew sullen. Why was she worrying about such things? She’d never be asked to make the choice. Sad and feeling highly emotional, she struggled to overcome the vacuum which had replaced her heart. It would take time to get over him, she told herself. Early days yet. And she had another person to consider. Her baby. In a gesture which was becoming frequent, she placed her hand where she imagined it must be.
A miracle, she thought sentimentally, smiling for the first time since Adam had left. Perhaps, she mused, ever the optimist, a kind of happiness could come of this. And she began to feel the stirrings of love for the tiny creature grow—
ing an her body.
In the meantime, she had to put the washing on, do a batch of baking and mend a fence before lunch!
Trish hurried back over Shipman Head and arrived flushed and panting. A distracted Lucy met her at the back door.
'P-p-p-!'
Calming herself, Trish took the agitated girl’s hands.
‘Relax,’ she said gently. And, remembering Adam, said,
‘Try taking a few deep breaths.’
Lucy gestured to the kitchen excitedly, inhaled, and said,
‘It’s your f-f—f—f—’
Then Trish heard her grandmothefs voice, ringing out with its usual blunt clarity.
‘ ...relieved you’re here! She’s been moping about something awful!’
Trish clutched Lucy in delight. ‘Petra‘? My friend? Oh, Lucy, that’s wonderful!’
‘l d-d——’
But Trish had hugged the girl and slipped past her, calling happily, ‘Petra! l’m here!’
And skidded to a breathless halt.
Not Petra. Adam.
Her bewildered gaze swivelled to her grandmother. Who appeared to be wearing her best hat, the straw one with a huge brim and half of Covent Garden encircling the crown. The one she wore for weddings.
‘Why...? What...?’ stumbled Trish, going brick-red.
‘Lucy came to tell me he’d turned up,’ her grandmother said from somewhere beneath the bouncing cherries and blowsy blooms. ‘What a surprise!’ she said with a suspicious lack of sincerity. Trish stiffened. Surely her grandmother wouldn’t have engineered Adam’s return? ‘More like a shock,’ she said waspishly.
‘There I was,’ said her grandmother, in tones of amazement, ‘in the middle of trying on my--’
‘Gran,’ she blurted out faintly, before Adam knew the purpose of the hat. She couldn’t think what to say. ‘I thought it must be Petra,' was all she could come up with.
‘Better than that,’ said her grandmother. ‘I’ve booked him in for ten days.’ She waved a wad of notes at Trish.
‘Should be long enough,’ she said ciyptically. Trish faced the wary Adam, keeping a rein on her tem
per for her grandmothers sake-—and for that of her own dignity. ‘You were taking a chance coming here without checking,' she said coolly. ‘I might have been full upthen you’d have been stuck for somewhere to sleep.'
‘I don’t think so,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sure your grandmother would have found me a spare bed.’
Judging by the knowing looks he and her grandmother exchanged, he was right. Trish seethed at his arrogance and knew she couldn’t stand living in the same building as him. He’d have to go. Once she got hirn on his own, she’d really let rip! '
‘Time we made ourselves scarce,’ said her incorrigible grandmother.
‘I’ll see you later, Lucy,’ Adam murmured, to Trish’s astonishment.
Behind her, the girl gasped noisily and said, ‘R-r—right!’
Trish turned, amazed. Lucy was beaming at him, her face pink with adoration and pleasure. And Adam... A sharp little knife stabbed in Trish’s chest. Only once before had she seen him quite so unguarded, so gentle and vulnerable. They’d been making love at the time.
‘Lucy will be making your bed up,’ she said tightly, then realised she’d sabotaged her own intentions of turfing Adam out!
‘She’s done it. Everything’s ready for him,’ her grandmother said. ‘You can’t begrudge Lucy this opportunity. Adam’s going to teach her how to use a computer! Proper lessons! How about that?’
Trish took a deep breath, cast a quick glance at Lucy’s rapt face and knew she couldn’t spoil the girl’s delight. But when she met Adam’s impenetrable gaze she made sure he knew that she was aware of his sly manoeuvring.