Season of Shadows

by Yvonne Whittal

  A long, low whistle emanated from the lips of the man seated beside her as he studied her with renewed interest. 'Some men have all the luck!'

  Laura felt her cheeks grow pink and got to her feet. 'I have to go.'

  'Not yet.' Long, sensitive fingers curled about her wrist with surprising strength. 'Would you sit for me?'

  'Sit for you?' she asked blankly, her mind too full of her own disturbing thoughts to grasp what he was referring to.

  'I must do this portrait of you seated on the rocks,' he explained. 'I've done the preliminary sketches, but I'd like to do a more detailed portrait.'

  Laura shrank from the idea, and freed her wrist from the grip of his fingers. 'I'm sorry, but I—'

  'I shan't impose on too much of your time,' he interrupted persuasively, rising to his feet and looking incredibly tall because of his thinness. 'I have a studio in Cape Town, and my number is in the book.'

  'Mr Muir, I don't—'

  'Alex,' he corrected swiftly with that flashing, all-embracing smile which she was certain could charm a bee away from its honey at times. 'Everyone calls me Alex.'

  'Very well, then… Alex,' she relented, unable to suppress the answering smile that curved her lips. 'I'm afraid sitting for you is out of the question. I'm flattered, but—I don't think my husband would approve.'

  'Can't say that I blame him for being jealous and possessive where you're concerned,' Alex replied, jumping to the wrong conclusion, but she did not correct him, and he shrugged lightly. 'Oh, well, I'm returning to Cape Town tomorrow. If you should change your mind, give me a ring some time.'

  'I shan't change my mind.'

  'I shan't give up hoping,' he assured her as she climbed off the rocks and leapt on to the sand. She turned to glance back at him contemplatively, and he raised his hand in salute. 'So long, mermaid.'

  Mermaid. The word echoed through Laura's mind while she hurried across the soft golden sand towards the cottage, and she giggled suddenly, but it was a mirthless, faintly hysterical sound which she was forced to stifle when she entered the silent cottage to find Sally awake and dressed. 'Where have you been?' she demanded accusingly as she came down the passage towards Laura. 'I've been worried about you.'

  'I'm sorry,' Laura replied, instantly contrite. 'I took a walk down to the beach, and lost track of the time while I sat on the rocks watching the sun rise.'

  'I was worried,' Sally repeated, her eyes filling with sudden tears. 'I thought something had happened to you.'

  'Oh, Sally!' Laura drew the child against her and held her tightly, understanding her fears. 'I shan't go out like that again without telling you, and that's a promise.' Sally's arms tightened convulsively about her waist and, lowering her head until her cheek rested on the smooth, dark head, Laura whispered, 'Come with me to my room so that I can do something about my hair, then you can tell me what you would like to have for breakfast.'

  'Don't tie up your hair,' Sally said at once, drawing a little away from Laura to look up at her with serious brown eyes. 'You look soft and pretty with it hanging loose.'

  Laura was not sure at all that she wanted to look soft and pretty, but if it pleased Sally at that moment, she would leave her hair down, and, taking the child's hand in hers, she led the way into the kitchen.

  After breakfast that morning they tidied the cottage, went for a swim, and scoured the beach for non-existent shells. After lunch Laura drew the curtains and made herself comfortable on the spare bed in Sally's room, mainly to encourage the child to rest in the heat of the day, and later that afternoon they went down to the beach once more. Sally amused herself building sand-castles, and Laura finally became involved in her efforts, but the tide was coming in and, after the first wave demolished their carefully constructed castle, it turned into a hilarious game which had Sally rolling about helplessly each time a wave reduced her castles to untidy heaps of wet sand.

  When Sally eventually tired of the game, Laura sat back on her heels and observed her closely for a moment before asking, 'You're not unhappy, are you, Sally?'

  'Of course not,' Sally replied at once, a faraway look coming into her eyes. 'I miss Mummy and Daddy sometimes, but I'm happy staying with you and Uncle Anton.' She looked up at Laura suddenly, and sighed, 'I wish Uncle Anton were here with us now, don't you?'

  'I wish it too,' Laura replied with a sincerity that came from a heart filled with a sudden longing to see Anton, to be near him, to touch him, and, suppressing a little sigh, she tugged playfully at Sally's hair. 'Let's have a quick swim before we return to the cottage to see to the dinner.'

  The water was cool against her sun-heated skin, and they swam about vigorously, joining hands occasionally to plunge into the waves, and emerging a few seconds later, coughing and spluttering with laughter.

  They surfaced on one such occasion and, when their laughter subsided, Sally wiped the water from her eyes and blinked, then she pointed towards the beach, and shrieked, 'Uncle Anton! It's Uncle Anton!'

  Laura swung round in disbelief, then her heart lurched in her breast, and her legs felt as if they had suddenly turned to jelly. The man walking tall and erect across the almost deserted beach towards the spot where they had left their towels was unmistakably Anton, and Sally, wild with excitement, was running through the shallow water and up the sandy beach towards him, her wet pigtails flapping behind her. Laura followed at a slower pace, drawing a horrified breath as, with a total disregard for Anton's immaculate grey suit, Sally flung her wet body against him and locked her arms about his waist.

  'Oh, to be a child!' she thought with sudden envy, but her envy turned to embarrassment when she realised that her appearance left much to be desired. Her hair hung in limp, wet strands about her face and shoulders, and Anton's keen glance wasted no time in roaming with systematic slowness down the length of her bikini-clad figure as she walked across the sand towards him with a fast beating heart.

  'Hello, Laura,' he said casually, his face expressionless now as he raised his glance from her tanned, shapely limbs to observe the heightened colour in her cheeks. 'Surprised to see me?'

  'Surprised isn't quite the word,' she replied in a remarkably controlled voice while she pulled on her beach robe and tied the belt firmly about her waist.

  His hard mouth curved cynically. 'Disappointed, then?'

  'Of course she's not disappointed,' Sally chimed in unexpectedly, and then, to Laura's mortification, she added, 'Aunty Laura has been wishing you were here just as much as I have. She said so this afternoon.'

  'Did she now?' Anton remarked softly, and Laura felt herself go redder still beneath his gaze.

  'You may kiss each other, if you like,' Sally announced, increasing Laura's embarrassment as she added with childish reassurance, 'I won't mind.'

  Laura wished at that moment that she could dig herself into the earth like a sand crab, never to come out again, but somehow she remained standing, her head held high, her cheeks flaming.

  'I think not, young Sally,' Anton observed with a wry smile. 'Laura is shy.'

  'You're not shy, are you, Aunty Laura?'

  Laura stared down into those questioning brown eyes and changed the subject firmly. 'I think it's time for us to get out of these wet things and into something warmer.'

  'You are shy,' Sally accused with a giggle when she noticed Laura's reddened cheeks. 'Mummy and Daddy were never shy. They were always kissing each other, and making love.'

  Laura groaned inwardly and placed her cool hands against her hot cheeks while she searched for something to say, but it was Anton who brought the conversation to an end by saying abruptly, 'I think it's time we stopped chattering and went inside as your aunt suggested. There's a chill in the air, so come on.'

  Laura showered and washed the sand out of her hair, and dried it thoroughly with her small electric drier before slipping into slacks and a warm cashmere sweater. Anton, too, had changed into something more comfortable, she noticed when she entered their bedroom. Green suede pants hugged his nar
row hips tightly and accentuated the long length of his muscular thighs, while the cream-coloured knitted sweater clung to his broad shoulders and complimented his tanned complexion. His presence in the room unnerved her considerably, but she tried not to show it as she sat down in front of the mirror to brush her hair vigorously.

  'Leave your hair down,' he said unexpectedly when she was about to twist it up into its customary knot, and when it fell down to her shoulders once more in a thick silky curtain, he came up behind her and pushed his fingers through it lightly. 'I like it this way,' he added, a faint smile hovering about his hard mouth.

  Their eyes met in the mirror, and she trembled when she felt his warm fingers brushing against her skin at the nape of her neck. The last time those hands had touched her, they had inflicted pain, she recalled, but it was a memory she did not want to dwell on.

  'What made you change your mind about coming, here?' she risked questioning him.

  He smiled again that cold, cynical smile she hated so much. 'I managed to get things done sooner than I expected.'

  In the harsh light above the mirror his face looked drawn, and she saw for the first time the lines of fatigue beneath his eyes, and the deeper lines running from nose to jaw.

  Compassion stirred within her breast, filling her with a tenderness she had never expected to feel for this hard, often cruel man, and she said with impulsive concern, 'You look tired.'

  His hands left her hair, and his expression hardened, making her realise her mistake as he demanded, 'Is that another way of telling me I'm old?'

  'Don't be silly,' she retorted angrily, rising to her feet and swinging round to face him. 'Don't always search for hidden meanings in everything I say.'

  'A woman seldom says exactly what she means.'

  'Don't judge me by the standards of the women you've known, Anton,' she snapped back at him.

  A brief, stormy silence followed, then his lips curled in a sneer that made her wince inwardly. 'Do you consider yourself to be unique?'

  'No,' she shook her head and swallowed nervously. 'Not unique, just… different.'

  'Different?' Those hard eyes raked her mercilessly from head to foot. 'No, Laura, you're no different from any other woman I've known. You're all liars and cheats, and a man who places his trust in a woman is a fool.'

  'I'm not a liar, and I'm not a cheat, and I—' Indignation choked her. 'I consider your remarks insulting!'

  'I wasn't insulting you, I was merely stating the bare facts,' he insisted, but she had heard enough and made for the door. He was there before she could reach it, kicking it shut with his foot and leaning his weight against it. 'Where do you think you're going?'

  'Anywhere where I don't have to see you, or speak to you,' she retorted, her eyes blazing up at him in hurt and anger.

  'Do you find the truth unpalatable?'

  'Does it give you pleasure to make me pay for all the times you have had your faith destroyed in a woman?' she counter-questioned furiously, wishing she could strike him, but knowing that she would be the one to suffer afterwards.

  'Did you know that your eyes are a deep sapphire blue when you're angry?'

  Momentarily floored as she was by his remark, .her reflexes were sluggish, and his hands were biting into her waist, drawing her against him before she could do anything to prevent it. Her palms were flat against his hard chest as she leaned away from him and hissed, 'Let me go, do you hear?'

  'Not until you've welcomed me as a dutiful wife should,' he announced, unperturbed by her efforts to escape.

  With one arm like a steel band about her waist, his free hand grasped a handful of her hair, and her head was forced back so that her neck was arched painfully. For a brief moment their glances were locked in silent battle, then his mouth descended on her with an unexpected yet familiar sensuality against which she had no defence prepared. Her resistance took a tumble, and she gave herself up to the soaring tide of emotion that swept through her as she felt his warm hands against her skin beneath her sweater. His fingers explored her breasts through the fine lace of her bra, and the sweet ecstasy of his touch made her senses swim in surrender. She had the satisfaction of feeling his heartbeat quicken beneath her hand, and then she was released to stand swaying with the force of her emotions.

  'Just as well we waited till now,' he mocked her without mercy as he stepped away from the door. 'That was not the sort of welcome a child should witness, was it?'

  Laura drew a shuddering breath as she fought to control herself, then she spat out angrily, 'You're insufferable!'

  She wrenched open the door and stormed down the passage into the kitchen. She hated him with every breath in her body, she told herself fiercely, mentally strangling that persistent little voice which dared to contradict her at that moment.

  Laura's anger had subsided considerably by the time they sat down to dinner that evening, but she was quite content for Sally to dominate the conversation, for it gave Laura the opportunity to observe Anton without him noticing.

  That air of masculine virility which always surrounded him seldom made her notice the increasing number of silver threads in his dark hair, but she saw them now, and her throat ached suddenly. He did look tired, she thought, and silently she echoed Gina's sentiments that he drove himself too hard. Physically he must be one of the fittest men she had ever known, but the demands he made upon himself were sometimes frightening to observe.

  He looked up unexpectedly and, caught in the act of staring, her face became suffused with colour. For several disturbing seconds she could not look away, but when he raised his eyebrows enquiringly, she hastily lowered her lashes and stacked their plates into the sink.

  'When are you going to have a baby, Aunty Laura?' Sally demanded some minutes later, and Laura almost choked on a mouthful of hot coffee.

  'Yes, Laura,' Anton added fuel to the fire, 'when are you going to have a baby?'

  'I haven't given it a thought,' she admitted with a calmness she was far from experiencing as a hot wave of colour swept upwards from her throat into her face.

  'Is it important that we have a baby?' Anton wanted to know, his amused attention directed at Sally.

  'Most people have babies when they get married,' Sally announced, her eyes alight with excitement. 'Just think how much fun it will be! I could take it for walks in the garden, and I could help look after it when you go out.' She glanced anxiously at Laura. 'You will let me help you with the baby, won't you?'

  'Of course she will,' Anton answered for Laura, clearly enjoying her discomfiture.

  'You're both forgetting something,' Laura began tritely. 'I'm not going to have a baby.' She crossed her fingers under the table and looked everywhere but at Anton as she added decisively, 'Not yet, anyway.'

  Anton observed her intently, but said nothing, and Sally looked positively crestfallen for a time until her agile mind leapt to a different topic of conversation. Laura breathed an inward sigh of relief, but the incident had unnerved her considerably.

  Her marriage to Anton had not come about for the usual reasons, and although they were married in every sense of the word, the possibility of having a child had somehow never occurred to her. For a woman of her age she should have had more sense, she admonished herself, but then she could not blame only herself for their thoughtless behaviour.

  Later that evening, when Sally was tucked up in bed, Laura went out for a breath of fresh air and found Anton leaning against the wooden rail on the verandah. He looked peculiarly lonely standing there in the darkness, and she experienced an inexplicable desire to rush out and fling her arms about him in a comforting, protective manner. The feeling was so strong that she hesitated on the doorstep, giving herself time to control herself, and to suppress her feelings before she joined him.

  She almost laughed out loud at her naiveté a few minutes later when she sat quietly beside him on the wooden bench, smoking the cigarette he had offered her. Anton would never need to turn to anyone, least of all herself, for comfort o
r protection of any kind. He was a self-contained man, she thought a little cynically, and he was fully capable of shaping his own destiny, as well as that of others.

  She had found it peaceful on other occasions to sit there in the darkness with only the sound of the surf to disturb the silence, but tonight was different. She was conscious of Anton there beside her; conscious of a muscular thigh almost touching her own, and conscious, too, of his brooding surveillance.

  He brought the silence to an end abruptly, and shattered her fragile composure by asking, 'Does the thought that you might have my child disgust you?'

  'No, of course it doesn't,' she said at once, surprised and faintly irritated that he should wish to continue the discussion on this particularly disturbing subject. 'It's just that I'd never given it a thought before.'

  'You should have,' he mocked her. 'We haven't exactly been doing anything to prevent it, have we?'

  'N-no, I suppose not,' Laura was forced to admit, her cheeks stinging with embarrassment as she put out her cigarette and clenched her hands tightly in her lap. 'Do you particularly want children?'

  'Not particularly, but I think it might be nice to have a son; someone who could take over from me when I'm no longer there.' He leaned towards her, his arm along the backrest behind her, and his thigh warm and hard against her own as he brought his lips close to her ear. 'Will you have a son for me, Laura?'

  Laura felt curiously winded, and it was several seconds before she could speak. 'Children are supposed to be born out of two people's love for each other.'

  'Love!' Anton snorted in disgust, the controlled violence in his voice making her flinch noticeably. 'My God, that word has been used so often it stinks of deceit!'

  He had risen to his feet to stand with his hands clenching the wooden rail, and she followed him there with the overwhelming desire to shake sense into him. 'Anton, you can't—'

  'Replace the word "love" with "sex", then you'll be nearer the truth,' he interrupted ruthlessly.

  'No!'

  At her cry of denial he swung round to face her, and even in the darkness she could feel his eyes boring into her. 'Define love for me.'