by Margaret Way
“Nothing deader than a dead love, eh? What did you love about her anyway? I genuinely want to know. As I recall you were a heavy hitter when it came to Jason.”
He levelled a downward glance at her. “Our plan for a truce doesn’t seem to be working.”
“I take full responsibility for that. But bear with me for a minute. What did she do for you to break off the engagement? I know you did. Obviously it was serious. That’s my hunch. You’re not going to tell me?”
“You weren’t the only one up to your eyes in betrayal, Mallory.”
“I feel almost sorry for you.” She took his arm, leaning in to him a little.
“Let it go at that.” Her lovely perfume was making Blaine’s senses dance. He wanted to inhale it long into the night. They walked down the short flight of steps onto the broad sandy beach. They didn’t need the benefit of the street lights. There was a silvery moon and the glorious glitter of stars. “Selma entertained a visitor when I was away on a business trip,” he announced, abruptly.
“Don’t tell me.”
“I am telling you.”
“Who was he?” She couldn’t think of anyone who could measure up to Blaine.
“You just met him.”
“You’re kidding me!” Mallory voiced her astonishment. “You’re saying Selma, while engaged to you, had sex with that man? I wouldn’t get into bed with him under pain of death.”
He gave a brief laugh. “Selma can’t live without sex like she can’t live without a drink. She told me later it meant absolutely nothing. It was just sex as a basic need. Selma is a woman of appetites.”
“She looks it,” Mallory said. “Selma has a considerable sexual aura.”
“Anyone could see that.”
“I don’t have any such appetites, of course. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. Love must be a transcendent emotion, surely? Sex for sex’s sake doesn’t bring transcendence.”
“But it does bring quick thrills. Lust is the name of the game for a lot of people, Mallory. Lust for money. Lust for power. Lust for sex. Sex makes the world go ’round.”
“But Arnie is old enough to be her father. She seemed happy to be on his arm, yet he has a huge deficit in the looks department.”
“Not in the money department. Selma will always marry money. Arnie Youngberg is a very rich man and a smart crook. One must always take money into account. I had been thinking about breaking off the engagement before I went away on my Beijing trip. Then I decided to wait until I returned. It was a sheer fluke I found out about the love-in. Selma’s cleaning lady told my cleaning lady who told me en route out the door. She never did like Selma.”
“How can anyone overlook cleaning ladies, or hairdressers? They hear everything.”
“Selma might have hopes, but she’ll never get Genghis Khan to marry her. You had to see the way he was eyeing you. I felt like punching him. He has a harem in Hong Kong on the go. He’s notorious for it.”
Mallory stopped short of visualizing orgies. “How disgustingly gross.”
“What happened to that nice guy I met a few times? Your colleague, Norman, wasn’t it?”
“You know darn well it was Niall. He’s married now. Very happily, I’m pleased to say. I attended their wedding.” She bent to remove her evening sandals. “I can’t walk in these.”
Blaine took her heels, turned to find a convenient niche in the rock wall. “They’ll be safe there.”
They walked on. The white sand scrunched tenderly under Mallory’s feet. It was surprisingly cool once the sun was off it. The balmy sea breeze sent her long hair flowing back like a pennant.
“You look like a goddess,” Blaine murmured.
That gave her a jolt of surprise. “Goddesses had lots of problems.”
“Are you going to solve your problems?”
She stopped, gazing up at him. “I’m happy to tell you I’m looking forward, not back. Problems take a lot of working out.”
“You might find the solutions quicker if you didn’t wall yourself up.”
“Wall myself up? What do you think I am, an Egyptian mummy? What about the truce? I knew you weren’t up to it. I have a hundred good answers to your question, Blaine. Top of the list, safety, stability, being my own person. I would hate another man in my life to betray me like Jason did. We all know it happens with alarming frequency. I prize loyalty, honesty, integrity. I couldn’t cope with betrayal, let alone abandonment. Abandonment has coloured my whole life. I don’t want love that would hit too hard. I want the kind of love that would leave me free.”
“Mightn’t you have to reach out a bit further to accomplish that? Ever spoken to another professional, maybe your Niall?”
“He’s Leila’s Niall, Blaine,” she reminded him sharply. “I handle my own grief. You know how it is. Grief shapes the psyche. What good would it do for a colleague to advise me to get on with my life, put the tragic past behind me? Besides, once one starts to talk, one invariably talks too much. No one understands me but me, Uncle Robert, and you. Maybe you understand me too well. The less anyone knows about me, the better. I don’t relish the fact you know my numerous flaws.”
“What flaws?” He scoffed.
“The ones you’ve noticed and go on to talk about. Always at the edge of my consciousness is the fear of getting in over my head. To become truly involved is to make oneself extremely vulnerable. I’ve guarded against it for most of my life. Even for so-called soul mates there are areas of adjustment.”
“So you’re saying it is one thing to crave the object of one’s desire and quite another to consider sharing one’s life with that person?”
“It’s elevating the risk. I’ve seen it happen. So have you. People move in together because they’re so much in love. Nothing matters but the two of them. They don’t want anyone else on earth. They want to dedicate their entire lives to one another. Love for eternity, then in no time at all, lo and behold, conflicts arise. Conflicts that ruin everything. Next thing you hear, the party’s over. They’ve split up. It was all a mistake. The initial feelings of love and wonderment have dwindled into dislike, even hate, boredom, leaving tremendous angst on both sides. Taking a chance on happiness is taking a chance on heartbreak. Powerful sexual attraction isn’t a good enough reason to get married, in my view. Passion falters with the familiar. It certainly falters when it moves into a domestic situation.”
“Only true love, and there is such a thing, won’t allow committed people to split apart. They find solutions to whatever problem comes up. My mother and father were very happy. They were both strong-minded people. Each had their say. They had their arguments, but together they found compromises. Besides, they had a head start. They came to one another deeply in love. Also, they had character, an absolute commitment to doing the right thing for the right reasons. Maybe it doesn’t always work out, but what’s life without risk? What’s life without love? In love we might be able to find the truth of ourselves.”
She gave a short laugh. “The truth has proved more than one person’s downfall. I’m thinking of a colleague who confessed a meaningless alcohol-driven one-night stand to her husband. Shock, horror, that instantly ended what had been hitherto a happy marriage. I could have told her that. Away to protect ourselves might well be to remember some secrets are better not aired.”
“So what secrets have you I don’t know about?”
“I’m going to leave you wondering.” She stared out to sea, visualizing in her head all the beautiful emerald cays and atolls not far offshore. “I have my work to keep me on track. I have a natural rapport with children, especially traumatized children in need of therapy. They trust me. My experiences allow me to tap into theirs. My work aside, I battle inner confusions. Why am I telling you this, when you already know?”
“Why do you so deeply resent the fact I do know you?”
She waved a hand. “One of my phobias, maybe? I feel I have no defence against you.”
“As far as I can see, your chosen l
ine of defence is to keep a gulf between us.”
“I guess that’s what it comes down to, Blaine. There are far worse things than being on one’s own.”
“Agreed, only loneliness is a terrible thing.”
“It’s not really about loneliness with me,” she said truthfully. “I can handle lonely. It doesn’t invade every part of me. I have my work, which becomes more and more rewarding. There’s a lot to be said for one’s freedom. My private life has been a kind of sanctuary. I’ve lived free of the pressure to mesh with a partner. There’s that old Irish saying, there’s always one who kisses and one who turns the cheek. Containment has allowed me to concentrate on my work. I don’t want upheaval in my life, Blaine. I don’t want to be dazzled.”
He made a sound of disbelief. “Mallory, you would have dozens of dazzled admirers swarming around.”
“Few I remember. None I dream about. No need to regard me with your amused, contemptuous eyes.” She knew she was deliberately provoking him.
“Stop talking nonsense.”
Only she didn’t stop. “If I’m not doing so well in the marriage stakes, what about you? I accept Selma is far too risky a deal. But there are plenty more fish in the sea. There’s—”
“Do please stop, Mallory,” he warned, holding up a palm.
“With your looks, your superb self-confidence, and all your money you could easily—”
She didn’t get any further. Blaine pulled her hard up against him, bent his dark head, and kissed her full on the mouth. Kissed her breathless. Kissed her to a standstill.
When he finally released her she had to clutch at the lapels of his jacket for support. A giddiness had overcome her. She was a dozen and more breaths short of finding her voice. “Bloody hell, Blaine,” she gasped, when she did. “That’s breaking all the rules.”
Her heart was hammering. Her blood was racing. Blaine could break her into tiny pieces if she let him. There was something simultaneously frightening and exciting about that.
“It doesn’t matter. It was worth it,” Blaine declared in a hard, cool voice.
“Oh, fine. Fine. Fine. The kiss was a reprimand then?”
“If you wish to see it like that.”
The arrogance of him! “So what are we supposed to do we do now?”
“Well, we have three options,” he said. “We could walk on without talking. We could enjoy the stars. Or I could take you home. Your pick.”
He sounded so scornful she let out a long shaky sigh. “No other solution but to go home. I’m not going to complicate my life allowing you to kiss me when you get tipped over the edge.”
“Just tell me one thing,” he asked, suavely. “Did you enjoy it?”
“I was completely indifferent,” she said with icy disdain.
He laughed. “Now there’s a lie if ever I’ve heard one.”
“God forgive me. You can’t stop, can you?”
“I say it the way I see it, Mallory. That’s who I am.”
“Then it’s time to go home.” She wasn’t about to tell him she had never felt such an exquisite sensation as his mouth on hers. That would be letting the genie right out of the bottle. She turned and began to walk quickly back to the safety of the street, only he caught her up, one arm capturing her around her waist.
She swung into him, excruciatingly aware of his body against hers. “You forced me to choose and I did.”
“Only I think I gained the advantage.” There was a challenging note in his voice. “All right, we go home. But before I do, I’m going to be a perfect cad and kiss you again.”
She looked up at him, eyes blazing. “Where’s the satisfaction in that?”
“Mallory, I can safely say one hell of a lot. I should have done it years ago.”
“Really! And when was that?” she asked, aggressively. “Before the two of us got ourselves engaged?”
“Yes, if I’d got lucky.” His hand was at her back, moving sinuously down her spine.
“This is definitely a mistake. We’re no courting couple.”
“I’m still going to do it.”
“Go right ahead,” she invited. “What a daredevil!” She couldn’t run away. She had to stand within his arms and endure more wild, glorious moments. She made a token attempt to resist—resistance was obligatory—only he locked her up against him, not taking the kiss by force because somehow her head was thrown back, her eyes were closed, and her lips were parted.
* * *
They never spoke a word on the journey home, though Mallory kept observing him out of the corner of her eye. He was a consummate kisser. Her body still trembled. Her ears still buzzed. She continued to feel the pressure of his mouth on hers. She’d had protection in words. There was no protection against his kisses. She didn’t regret her wayward moments. Not then. She had the strong feeling, not ever.
They arrived back at the house to find it ablaze with lights. “Robert hasn’t gone to bed?” Blaine was the first to speak.
The sound of his voice unlocked hers. “That’s a bit odd! The house is lit up like a ship at sea. What time is it?” Anxiety had kicked in. “I told him not to wait up.”
“Let’s check it out,” said Blaine, suddenly as anxious as she.
Although all the lights were on, the energy inside the house seemed to be running on empty. Neither of them spoke; both shared identical pangs of alarm. Mallory even had the extraordinary illusion she heard her mother’s voice say her name very quietly: “Mallory!”
Blaine had moved ahead of her, convinced something was very wrong. In the living room, he found Robert James still sitting in his favourite wing-backed armchair, his dark silver-streaked head dipped onto his shoulder, his handsome face sheared of all life, of all expression. The slim volume he had been reading had slipped face down on the carpet. It was a leather-bound book of Shelley’s poems.
“Robert?” Blaine very gently touched his friend’s shoulder, knowing Robert was not going to answer. Then or ever.
“No, oh no!” Behind him, Mallory’s beautiful face was wracked by grief. “He’s not here, is he?”
“No, Mallory.”
“I knew it. Oh, God, Blaine. Grief is everywhere. We don’t have to go in search of it. It finds us.”
Looking down at his dear friend’s still, empty face, Blaine thought it wrong for anyone to claim the dead looked like they had simply fallen asleep. They didn’t. Whatever made the person, the essence, the soul, the life’s star, was gone. Life did not go on forever. There was the finishing line. If man carried a soul within him, Robert James’s soul had fled.
His throat constricted, he looked back at Mallory. She was standing stricken, her hands clasped together as though in prayer. “He’s gone. But gone where? Gone like my mother. She spoke to me tonight. Maybe they’re together. Together at last. That’s what he wanted so badly.”
Chapter Five
Nigel James made a supreme effort to clear his commitments. He took a flight north to attend his brother’s funeral. He was accompanied by a fellow academic and acolyte, a woman called Rachael Hoffman, his current lover (probably short term like all the others) who had, needless to say, nothing of his genius. A questionable redhead, Rachael was a tall, angular woman with an interesting face and fine grey eyes.
Rachael was such a nice woman, Mallory felt like going ahead and warning her. It seemed too cruel to let Rachael discover for herself what sort of man her father was.
It was Blaine who offered expert advice. “Rachael has to find out for herself, Mallory. She’s a mature woman. People rarely welcome advice. Fact of life.”
For the moment Nigel James was firmly ensconced on his throne. Mallory didn’t have the slightest doubt if her father were to offer Rachael marriage, the gifted Rachael would be expected to give up her much valued professorial position so she would always be on hand for him, ready and willing to genuflect at his comings and goings. As it transpired, marriage was not to be offered. Rachael had a lucky break.
* * *
/> The entire town turned out for the funeral service. Mourners filled the small church. Those who couldn’t get in stood outside on the grounds before all moved en masse to the graveside. Mallory had barely registered the service. She had sat in the front pew with her father and Blaine, but it was Blaine who had taken her hand and held it throughout. She had clung to him, everything a blur. All their differences, so petty to her now, were set aside. Blaine was her pillar of strength that terrible day, never her father, who lacked all warmth.
As a close family friend, Blaine had delivered a moving eulogy with touches of humour to shine a light on the man who had been Robert James. Mallory had spoken as well, able through long years of practice to keep her tears at bay. Her father had declined curtly to say a few words. He hadn’t shed a tear, either.
“Your father isn’t taking the sad news as hard as he might,” Dot offered as a quiet aside, aghast at Mallory’s handsome father’s detached demeanour. So like his brother and so utterly unalike.
“Life’s finite, Mallory,” was Nigel’s gritty comment. “We’re all dying.”
Was that supposed to make her feel better? After the burial, the mayor of the town, who had had a real fondness for Robert James, gave Mallory a tight hug. His wife followed suit. It was another brilliantly fine day, too hot to be out for any length of time in the sun, yet the mourners stood uncomplainingly. Robert had been a much loved man. A man who had quietly helped a great many townspeople while trying in vain to remain anonymous.
Mallory had gathered from the garden a sheaf of her uncle’s favourite roses. Robert had managed to grow certain varieties of roses successfully despite the tropical conditions. Golden Tiger was an exceptional yellow rose that could not only survive a hot climate but loved the heat. She stood above the grave, throwing not the traditional handful of clay onto the coffin, but the sheaf of dazzling yellow roses. Her voice when she spoke was clear and steady.
“‘To live in hearts we leave behind/Is not to die.’ Vale, my beloved Uncle Robert.”
Many mourners were openly crying. Mallory did not. As always she would only allow her frozen tears to thaw when she was alone. At least a half a dozen people approached her afterwards to say that her uncle was a saint.