Last Resort

by Susan Lewis

  It took no more than an hour to stroll around the island, which they did once or twice, stopping to splash about in the waves and roll laughing in the sand. They swam and snorkelled, captivated by the spectacular beauty of the coral reefs as they watched the brightly coloured fish darting through the crystalline water. Penny made her first attempt at water-skiing, with a diver from the hotel driving the boat so that David could be in the water with her. She was hopeless and made him laugh so much with the way her legs kept splaying, or the way she was suddenly yanked forward and dragged like a piece of jetsam through the water, that she pretended to drown just to shut him up. By the end of the day, though, she was cutting a path through the waves, perhaps not as expertly as he, but certainly more exultantly.

  They borrowed music from the hotel library and played it on the CD in their room while lying quietly in each other’s arms on the hammock outside as they listened to Bach or Sinatra or Mendeiros, Penny’s favourite. Sometimes they danced on the veranda, holding each other close as the sun melted like gold on the horizon and the shadows stole silently over them, as though to enclose them in their love.

  On what turned out to be their last evening there they took a speedboat from the hotel and David drove them over to the neighbouring island of Manamoc, where Madeleine, the young girl who took care of their casita, lived with her family. She’d invited them because Penny, unlike most of the other guests she served, had shown an interest in her. All the locals turned out for the small feast of freshly caught garoupa, fried plantain and succulent mangoes. They sat beneath the stars. Penny between David’s legs, watching the fishermen roast the fish while the women sang and passed around hand-thrown plates laden with food. They encouraged David and Penny to join in with the songs, but though they tried David was so woefully out of tune that even the locals couldn’t stop themselves giggling when Penny finally lost the struggle to keep a straight face. In the end a young boy stood up and began to sing in a voice that was sweeter than the coconuts and as melodious as the waves lapping the shore. It was so moving that Penny wasn’t the only one with tears on her cheeks when he had finished, even though she hadn’t understood the words. With a tightness of emotion in his own throat David wrapped her in his arms and the islanders smiled at them while nodding knowingly and happily to each other.

  ‘You know what Pamalican mean?’ Madeleine asked them as they were leaving. ‘Pamalican, the name of island where you stay?’

  ‘No,’ Penny said. ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘It mean the people keep returning to the island. So it mean you will come back.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Penny said, looking up at David.

  ‘We will,’ he said softly.

  The call from Stirling came at eleven the next morning. Penny was out, at the other end of the island, fixing a surprise for David. As much as she dreaded it herself, she knew how badly he wanted to dive, but he wouldn’t go without her. So she’d decided to pluck up the courage and was making the arrangements for that afternoon. But when she got back, one look at David’s face was enough to tell her that they wouldn’t be going.

  Holding back the terrible onslaught of nerves she walked over to him and they held each other tightly, as though taking strength from each other.

  ‘What did he say?’ she whispered.

  ‘Just that it’s time to go home.’

  ‘To France?’

  He nodded and Penny felt herself turn weak with relief. At least it wasn’t the States; not yet anyway.

  ‘Did he give you any idea what to expect?’

  ‘Not really. All he said was that my lawyers are flying over from the States in a couple of days.’

  ‘So you don’t know what kind of evidence she’s given yet?’

  ‘No, not yet.’

  They arrived back in Nice in the middle of a chilly, wet, yet brilliantly sunny, morning to be met by Pierre and Ruth, an ex-Starke editor Sylvia had sent down to keep an eye on things until Penny returned.

  To Pierre’s surprise, as they came through to the arrivals hall, both dressed in dreadful pink, yellow and green anoraks they must have picked up before boarding the plane in Manila, they were arguing. It seemed that Penny, having spoken to Ruth on the telephone while they were waiting for their connecting flight from Paris, had decided she was going to New York in four days’ time.

  ‘But there’s no need for you to go,’ David was protesting. ‘You can send someone else. You’ve been through a hell of an ordeal, for God’s sake . . .’

  ‘But I’m OK now,’ she retorted, taking his hand as they followed Pierre and Ruth out through the revolving doors. ‘And there are a lot of things I need to do in New York that are all important for the future of Nuance, as well as the interview with Luke Pleasance, which was set up before I went. So, I’m going.’

  ‘Ruth, speak to her,’ David pleaded in exasperation. ‘Tell her, you’ve got everything in hand here, Marielle can do the interview and she should take some time to recuperate before she—’

  ‘Don’t get involved, Ruth,’ Penny interrupted, winking at the older woman as they walked across the road to the car park. Then, stopping between two giant tubs of cacti, she slid her hands inside his coat and gazed plaintively up into his eyes. ‘Humour me,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’

  ‘But, sweetheart . . .’

  ‘No, no buts. You’re leaving again tomorrow and I—’

  ‘Only for Marseille. I’ll be back tomorrow night, Sunday morning at the latest.’

  ‘Then you can come to New York with me,’ she said.

  Sighing, he dropped his forehead on to hers. He wasn’t sure yet why his lawyers were flying into Marseille rather than Nice, though Stirling had said it was something to do with all the flights into Nice being booked up. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘But we’re going straight home now. I want you to get some rest, because as lovely as you are with your tan you look just about all in.’

  ‘Kiss me,’ she said, holding her mouth up to his.

  Pulling her closer, as though to shield her from the cold, he put his lips softly over hers.

  ‘And you will come to New York?’ she said.

  He nodded, catching himself before saying, ‘If I can.’

  ‘I’ve sent someone over to the villa to put the heating on,’ Ruth told them as they got into the back of Pierre’s car. ‘I’ll courier over the flat plans and all the other things you asked for when I get back to the office. I didn’t want to send them when there was no one there to receive them.’

  As David turned to glare at her Penny grinned and glared back. ‘It’s OK, I won’t do anything today,’ she assured him. ‘I’ll do it tomorrow when you’ve gone.’ In truth she knew she wouldn’t be able to do it today, for apart from the terrible nerves she was already suffering about his meeting with the lawyers the next day, which would prevent any kind of concentration, she could already feel the debilitating effects of jet lag starting to claim her.

  As they sped along the autoroute towards Cannes she laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. It was hard to believe that little more than two weeks had passed since she’d gone. So much had happened in that time it felt more like a year. Christmas was now less than a month away and she prayed silently and desperately that they would be able to spend it together. Inside she was so pent up with fear that the effort of trying to keep herself together was exhausting her. But she had to go to New York, she had to make herself go on – for his sake as well as her own. Pressing herself in closer to him, she put an arm around his waist and turned her face into his neck. She felt his hand come up to stroke her hair, and as he and Pierre talked about Nuance the mellifluous sound of his voice lulled her into a state of semiconsciousness.

  He woke her when they got to the villa and when she saw it her eyes shone with tears of relief and happiness. After Ruth and Pierre had gone, they strolled on to the terrace and gazed out at the wonderful blue of the Mediterranean and the glistening, snow-capped peaks of the Alps. Penny’s heart swelled. Th
ere really was no more beautiful sight in the world. The air was crisp, spiked through with sunlight and frost, and as she looked up at the clustered red roofs of the village above them she felt her heart catch when she saw the sparkle of Christmas lights framing the church tower. Crossing her fingers, she said a silent prayer that they would be together; then, feeling his eyes on her, she turned back, to find him smiling.

  ‘Welcome home,’ he whispered; then, laughing, he pulled her into his arms.

  ‘How about,’ he said when they turned back into the kitchen, ‘we take a nice long bath, then get ourselves into bed?’

  ‘Sounds like a good idea to me,’ she answered, looking around at the familiar pots and copper pans hanging on the nobbly stone walls. Smiling, she recalled the time they had eaten pizza at the table beneath the hanging herb rack, but when she turned to him to remind him her heart contracted at the look of devastation in his eyes.

  ‘David?’ she said. ‘David, what is it? There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there? Stirling said something when you called him from Paris . . . David, please, you’ve got to—’

  ‘Hey,’ he laughed, cupping her face in his hand. ‘There’s nothing. I told you what he told me – just that I have to go to Marseille tomorrow.’

  ‘Then why were you looking like that?’

  ‘Because,’ he smiled, ‘I’m so god-damned afraid of losing you.’

  Still looking suspiciously into his eyes, she started slowly to shake her head. ‘You won’t ever do that,’ she told him. ‘I swear, no matter what happens, you’ll never do that.’

  When they woke up the following morning they made love sleepily, eyes closed, bodies entwined as the dreamy, unhurried magic of a shared orgasm floated between them. A while later he kissed her briefly on the nose, then got up from the bed. She looked up at him and they both smiled in an effort to disguise their nerves.

  While he showered she lay where she was, staring out at the pale oppressiveness of the sky and feeling, irrationally, that if she didn’t move then maybe the day wouldn’t have to begin.

  ‘Would you like some breakfast before you leave?’ she said when he came back into the room, a towel draped around his waist as he rubbed his hair with another. It was the first time he had shown any modesty in front of her and just this small display of it twisted her heart with unease.

  ‘That’d be nice,’ he answered.

  Finding her robe she went downstairs to the kitchen. It was cold and everything was so still, so encased in silence, that it was as though any sound at all might cause the very air to splinter like glass. She searched the cupboards but there was no milk, no bread, not even any coffee. Then, having found a packet of jasmine tea, she put the kettle on to boil. As she poured the water into the pot she heard him come in behind her. Taking a breath, she turned to face him, and when she saw him the breath was expelled on a current of laughter.

  ‘You look terrible,’ she told him. ‘Don’t you have any other clothes here?’

  He shook his head forlornly.

  ‘Then take them off and I’ll press them for you,’ she said.

  ‘It’s OK, I can do it,’ he said with a laugh, unbuttoning the wrinkled shirt that Pierre had brought over from his apartment the day before.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ she said.

  Grinning, he tossed it to her. ‘You could be starting something for yourself here,’ he warned.

  ‘Don’t count on it,’ she responded archly, going into the laundry room to set up the iron.

  She wanted to scream, to cry out in fury at the sheer madness of what they were facing. The not knowing was unbearable, but to know, to find out what was going to happen, maybe that would be even worse. She looked down at the stark whiteness of his shirt and as she smoothed the hot iron over the front it was as though she was spreading the heat of foreboding in her heart. Hearing him coming towards her, she looked up and, as he lifted a hand to sweep the hair from her face, she flinched.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, half frowning, half laughing. ‘What is this? Did you think I was going to hit you?’

  She smiled; then, handing him his shirt, she planted a kiss on his mouth.

  ‘That’s better,’ he murmured, holding her chin in his hand and pulling her back to him.

  As he kissed her again she could feel herself starting to shake, but, forcing a laugh, she said, ‘I’m sorry there’s no breakfast. Just tea.’

  ‘Tea’s fine,’ he told her, laying his trousers on the ironing board and putting both arms around her. ‘It’s going to be all right,’ he said gently. ‘I promise you.’

  Holding back what she really wanted to say, she forced another smile and nodded. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘But I’ll be glad when today’s over.’

  ‘That makes two of us,’ he grimaced. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned back to the kitchen. ‘So where’s this tea?’ he said in a poor attempt at enthusiasm.

  The sound of the buzzer announcing Pierre’s arrival at the gates came too soon for them both. They were sitting facing each other across the table and as he got up to go and get his coat Penny dropped her head in her hands, twisting her fingers brutally through her hair in a vain attempt to stop herself crying. Hearing him coming back down the stairs, she quickly wiped away the tears and lifted her head.

  ‘Oh God, David!’ she laughed and sobbed as he stood there in his pink, yellow and green anorak. ‘You can’t wear that.’

  ‘I can’t?’ he said, looking down at it in surprise. Then, bringing his eyes back to hers, he gave her such a roguish grin that she just broke down and cried.

  ‘That bad, huh?’ he said, making her laugh. ‘I guess I’d better take it off, then.’

  She walked with him to the door, then, turning in his arms, looked up into his eyes.

  ‘I’ll call you later,’ he said softly, touching his lips lightly to hers.

  She nodded; then, letting him go, she stood back as he opened the door. Pierre was waiting in the Saab. David got into the driver’s seat, circled the car round and drove off towards the gates. When he got there he hooted the horn and Penny, realizing he must have forgotten the remote control, leaned back inside the front door to push the release button.

  As his car disappeared from view tears were spilling from her eyes. It was as though her whole body was straining to run after him. She didn’t want to voice it, she didn’t even want to think it, but she had a horrible, terrible premonition that this was the last time she would ever see him.

  Closing the door she sat down on the bottom stair and burying her face in her knees she sobbed as though her heart would break. Panic was welling up inside her, as though to drown her in the terrible truth that he wouldn’t be coming back. She tried to calm herself with reminders of how she was always plagued by morbid thoughts and paranoia after a long flight, but it didn’t work. She just couldn’t get it out of her mind that this was all they were going to have together, that the kiss he had just given her would be the last.

  Dizziness and fatigue coasted sluggishly through her as she pulled herself to her feet. She knew she should go back to bed, but she just couldn’t face it. So she stood where she was, her whole body racked with sobs as she stared down at the ridiculous anorak he had left on the stairs.

  At last, in the faint hope of distracting herself, she walked into the kitchen. She saw the two empty cups on the table and the open door of the laundry room and, covering her face with her hands, she sank to her knees and wept uncontrollably. How was she ever going to keep things going without David when the mere thought of him not being there was making her fall apart like this?

  Then suddenly she tensed and, lifting her head, she turned to look at the front door. Someone was calling her name.

  ‘David?’ she whispered hoarsely. She leapt to her feet, ran to the door and tore it open.

  ‘David!’ she cried.

  ‘You weren’t expecting anyone else, were you?’ he said drolly. Then his eyes softened with concern as he saw her distress.


  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, dashing a hand across her cheeks. ‘I know I’m being foolish, but I suppose everything’s just catching up with me.’ She looked past him to the forecourt. ‘Where’s your car?’

  ‘At the gates. I came back to bring you this,’ he said, pulling a greasy paper bag from behind his back.

  ‘Oh God, I think I’m going to cry again,’ she choked when she saw the croissant. ‘How did you get in?’

  ‘I climbed the gates,’ he told her, lifting her face up to his. ‘Now, are you going to open them for me so I can get out again?’

  She shook her head. ‘I want to watch you climb.’

  He laughed. ‘Out of luck,’ he said, reaching behind her to press the button. ‘Now, you go get yourself some sleep and I’ll call you later. OK?’

  When he’d gone, Penny carried the croissant into the kitchen and sat down. What an idiot she had made of herself! To think she was never going to see him again and in a matter of minutes he had already come back.

  At the other end of the drive, as he got back into his car, David looked at Pierre. ‘She hadn’t had any breakfast,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t leave her without any breakfast.’

  Pierre smiled weakly. ‘She’ll survive, David,’ he said. ‘It’s time to start thinking about yourself now.’

  ‘I know,’ he said bleakly, staring down at the wheel. He sighed, then put the key back in the ignition and started up the engine.

  Two and a half hours later they arrived at the Sophitel just outside Marseille airport. After giving their names at the front desk they took the lift to the second floor and walked down the long, featureless corridor to the conference room they had been allocated. The door was already ajar.

  Pushing it open David walked in, Pierre right behind him. Sitting around the table were Stirling, three dark-suited lawyers, who had flown in the night before, and, as he’d known she would be, Gabriella.

  Gabriella’s obsidian black eyes were glittering with triumph as she watched her husband sit down on the edge of the bed. They were alone in her room, having just left the meeting that had gone on all day, the meeting that had so ruthlessly hammered home to David the impossibility of his situation. But it wasn’t over yet, they still had a long way to go, and with all the trump cards in her hand Gabriella knew she couldn’t fail to get what she wanted. She knew, too, precisely how she was going to play each card.