by Croft, Pippa
‘This certainly gives a new meaning to the crashing waves …’ Alexander says.
‘Why do they always show that in movies? What the hell has it got to do with having sex?’
‘All that relentless pounding and the waves of pleasure? I can’t imagine.’
‘Alexander?’
The next morning, my shout from the terrace is snatched away by the wind but Alexander has already seen me anyway, and waves back from the beach. He’s wearing only shorts and trainers and has obviously been for a run, which must be a sign that he’s on the mend. The sky is a glorious blue and I don’t think I’ve ever seen the sun so bright, like a supernatural hand suddenly decided to clean the skylight and let the sunshine in. Yet I’m still cold, despite having pulled on one of Alexander’s sweaters. It’s definitely what Helen calls ‘bracing’ out here.
He starts to jog again and then is gone, but half a minute later I hear the front door open and walk into the sitting room to meet him.
Oh, wow! His torso glistens with sweat and his hair is tousled and windswept.
‘You got up here fast.’
‘There are some steps at the side of the kitchen.’ He kisses me. ‘We can explore after breakfast if you like.’
‘I’d love to.’
After he’s showered, he joins me in the kitchen, where I’ve laid out the rest of the fresh fruit and set the coffee machine to work. Alexander fries some bacon and makes a towering sandwich while I make do with the fruit and toast. After he’s polished off the sandwich, he rubs his hands together and says, ‘Ready for a walk?’
‘Love to.’
Access to the beach is via steep steps hacked into the cliff face and the moment we turn our faces to the sea, the cool breeze hits our faces. Apart from another couple and a dog, we have the beach to ourselves. Gulls scatter and take off in squawking flight as we run towards them. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him this relaxed, since I’ve felt this relaxed. It was a good idea to escape the claustrophobic intensity of Oxford for a few days and kick back.
We walk hand in hand towards the surf, past a dog paddling shoulder-deep in a rock pool, bright-green weed trailing from his coat. His owners shout at him and the corners of Alexander’s mouth tilt in amusement. ‘He’ll stink after he’s been in there,’ he says.
I watch the dog race across the sand towards the couple before showering them in seawater. Alexander laughs as we skirt the line of breaking surf.
‘Do you wish you’d brought Benny?’ I ask, noting the pleasure light up his face.
‘In some ways, yes; but I’d have had to go back to Falconbury to fetch him, and we wouldn’t be able to go inside some of the galleries with him.’
‘True. You mentioned sleeping with a dog the last time you were here. Was it Benny?’
‘No, that was one of our previous Labs, Hamish. He was an old chap by then and it turned out to be his last summer.’
‘I still miss Buddy. Maybe we should have gotten another schnauzer after him, but I was almost done at Brown and planning to go away again for my master’s so there didn’t seem much point.’
We seem to have drifted closer together and I find my hand in Alexander’s when we stop just where the breaking waves lap the sand.
Alexander shades his eyes. ‘Tide’s going out.’
‘Or coming in?’
‘Definitely out. I know this place like the back of my hand.’
‘You said you haven’t been here often since your mother died. I guess there are a lot of memories here for you?’
‘Yes and no. Mum used to bring us – Emma was tiny then – most school holidays. My father was away a lot, naturally, on some tour of duty or other, so she’d decamp down here with us, sometimes with another military wife and her children. It looks very different from when I last saw it.’
‘I love the interiors. Are those your mother’s watercolours in our room?’
‘Yes. She loved Spindrift, for all kinds of reasons.’
Thick woolly clouds chase across the sky. ‘It is beautiful here. I’ve brought my sketchpad.’
Alexander casts me a stern look. ‘I sincerely hope you’re not going to draw me again.’
‘Why not? I might do my first nude.’
‘You’ll have to catch me first.’
He races off and, briefly, I play the game, chasing after him, the wet sand sucking at my feet and sapping my strength. I’m not unfit – my jogging and dancing see to that – but I soon realize that the game is purely for Alexander’s benefit so I stop to catch my breath.
‘Hey, I can’t compete with special-forces training!’
He doubles back towards me, breathing hard. ‘Neither could I at the moment.’
‘But you are feeling much better? I know you’ve been running again, as well as doing the physio. How’s the arm?’
‘On the mend, though it’ll be a while before it will be passed fit for the kind of duties I’d like to undertake. But …’ He shoves his hands in his jeans. ‘I need to be fit to return to my unit.’
‘Do you know where they’ll send you?’ I ask, keeping my voice light because I don’t want to get into any heavy discussions when we’re having such a lovely time.
‘Wherever they’re deployed. Wherever I’m needed. I can’t leave until I’ve served out my commission.’
He takes a step closer to me and my skin prickles when I recognize the wicked gleam in his eye.
‘What?’ I say, wary now.
He moves like lightning and although I try to dodge him, he’s grabbed me and swept me up over his good shoulder. Momentarily surprise robs me of speech, but then I find my voice. ‘Alexander! Put me down!’
I’m jolted up and down as he carries me towards the waves. ‘Jesus, no!’ I shout.
Laughing, he walks straight into ocean, with me holding on to his sweater for grim death.
‘No!’
Cold spray hits my face and the waves crash against his thighs. Any moment now I’m going to be swamped. I splutter, ‘Don’t you dare do this, you bastard. Arghhhh!’
My scream is choked off by the shock of hitting the water. Seawater shoots up my nose and stings my eyes, and I’m pinned to the sand by the breakers. It’s not deep but the surf rolls me over until I pop up, gasping for air. My knees scrape pebbles, and I scrabble to drag myself upright, bracing myself as another wave hits my back.
‘You bastard!’ I shout to Alexander, who’s standing in the surf, soaked to the crotch, laughing at me.
He wades towards me and I think he’s going to reach out his hand for me but I don’t care. Before he can grab me, I lunge forward, toppling him backwards into the sea.
‘Arghh!’
The momentum overbalances me but I don’t care. I was soaked and frozen anyway and now I’m wading out on to the beach while Alexander struggles to his feet in the surf. It’s then I have a stab of panic as I realize that he could have damaged his arm but if he had the strength to lift me up, then he must be fine. I am angry, so angry that he dumped me in an icy ocean to prove some kind of point about how strong he is.
‘What the hell did you do that for?’
I stand yards away as he walks, dripping, from the sea. My teeth chatter. ‘Me? What did you do it for?’
He grins. ‘Because I wanted to see you wet and furious.’
‘Because you wanted to prove how strong you are. I’m going back to the house.’
‘Lauren, wait. I’m sorry. It was a stupid thing to do. You’re right to be pissed off!’
I hold up my hand, the middle finger extended, and stomp up the beach as best I can in sodden clothes.
He soon catches me up, and stands in the doorway to the bedroom, watching while I peel my off dripping T-shirt.
‘Much as I’ve enjoy the sight of you in a wet T-shirt, let me give you a hand.’
I glare at him. ‘Don’t touch me.’
He’s holding his arm but I’m unmoved.
‘Where’s your sense of humour?’
‘It’s not freezing. It’s around eleven degrees this time of year. That’s warm.’
I snatch up a towel and wrap it around me.
He folds his arms. ‘Don’t bother with the towel on my account.’
I knot the towel and sit on the bed. ‘I’m cold and by the way, you’re dripping all over the new carpet.’
He looks down, curses at the dark stain on the rug and walks into the bathroom, leaving the door open. He peels off his sweatshirt and tugs his jeans and boxers down in one. The sight of his butt, dripping wet and a little ruddy with the cold, does annoyingly rude things to me. After tossing his wet stuff in the bath on top of mine, he turns around. Judging by the cheeky smile on his face, he knows his impromptu striptease has had an effect on me.
Rubbing his chest with a towel, he walks into the bedroom. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, assuming a contrite expression.
‘No, you’re not.’
He studies me for a moment. ‘OK, I’m not. I just couldn’t help myself and it did achieve one aim.’
‘Making me furious with you?’
‘Getting you naked, wet and cold. I bet your nipples are hard as little beach pebbles under that towel.’
I hold up a warning finger. ‘You’re not going to find out, Hunt.’
‘You think?’ He mimics my accent.
‘I am going to throw something at you in a minute,’ I say, but my resolve begins to crumble at the sight of a naked, wet Alexander advancing on me.
He stops, hands on hips, erection out like a flagpole. ‘Go ahead but you know you still want me. Besides, we’re trained to know that sharing body heat is the best way of combating hypothermia.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘No, it’s true.’ He reaches for the knot on my towel and pulls it open. I let it fall, even though I am still so pissed at him, I could … and now I’m standing toe to toe with him, my breasts pressed against his damp chest, my fingers curling around those magnificent and still damp glutes. His erection nudges my stomach and his mouth is on mine.
‘You taste of salt …’ I say when our lips part.
He licks his lips and smiles. ‘Ditto.’
We climb on to the bed and his fingers are on me and inside me, caressing me until I’m ready, desperate, teetering on the edge … And he lies over me and enters me, all the time looking into my eyes until I close mine and let my orgasm roll through me and over me and under me. I’m a mass of pure physical feeling. I feel him come inside me and then we’re both lying side by side. The window is open and it’s cold again and the sea is relentless, on and on.
After my unscheduled ‘dip’ this morning – and the sex that followed – we spent the day in St Ives, visiting the Tate and the Barbara Hepworth Sculpture Garden. The little fishing town is a work of art in itself, with its higgledy-piggledy streets and clotted-cream sand. It’s also true what they say about the ‘pure’ quality of the light there, and the moment we arrived I could see why it has inspired generations of artists. We had lunch overlooking the surfing beach, came home to bed and then walked over the cliffs for drinks in the next bay.
Our planned barbecue dinner on the beach sounded very romantic, but in the end we ate in the house and came down to the sands to have ‘dessert’ while the sun goes down.
‘I’m surprised you haven’t gone for the tinder and flint method, just to impress me,’ I say as he sets fire to the driftwood pile in the centre of a rock circle with a match.
He shoots me a look and drops more matches into the fire, blowing on it and sheltering it with his hands until it starts to burn.
Once it’s alight, I hold out my hands to the flames, grateful for the warmth of Alexander’s Puffa jacket. The sleeves are rolled back, of course, but my funnel coat wasn’t enough, despite the warmth from the fire.
He hasn’t shaved today and the fledgling growth of stubble suits him. I never thought I’d see him toasting marshmallows; I never thought I’d see him so relaxed, so at ease with his surroundings. He hands me a skewer threaded with marshmallows – my idea.
He squats by the fire while we toast them, and the glow of the embers lights his face with a pink glow. I waft mine in the breeze to cool them and then we take the soft sweets from the skewers with mouths and fingers. The sweet smell of the marshmallows blends with the smoky tang of the driftwood fire.
Alexander pulls a hip flask from the pocket of his Barbour and offers it to me.
The alcohol leaves a hot, bittersweet trail in my mouth and throat as it slips down. ‘Mmm, nice. What is it?’
He smiles. ‘Armagnac. Good?’
I sip some more. ‘Uh-huh.’
We sit by the fire, drinking, while we watch the waves rolling up the beach and the sun setting. By now, the combination of Armagnac, the fire and the coat have given me an inner glow to match my outer one.
‘It’s truly beautiful here.’
‘I’m glad you like it.’ He picks up the skewer and draws circles in the sand, not meeting my eyes. ‘We stayed here the last summer, you know, my mother, Emma and me. When we got back to Falconbury at the end of the summer holidays, my mother had to take me back to school. I didn’t want to go, of course. I had to start a new form and I’d been in a bit of trouble before the holidays …’
‘I can’t believe that.’
He gives a wry smile. ‘I’d been caught smoking and drinking cider with some other boys in the attics. Lucky I wasn’t expelled, but the head told me I was on “licence” and that the staff would be watching me closely. So I was pissed off at having to go back, and upset at my father going away on a tour again and, though I’d never have admitted it, I was going to miss Mum and Emma like fuck. So I …’ He prods at the sand with the skewer, pushing it down until it almost disappears. ‘I took out my frustration on Emma, teasing her until she started to cry. Mum kept telling me to shut up and then she turned round and shouted at us. That’s when she lost control of the car.’
He looks at me. ‘It was my fault; Dad was right.’
‘You were thirteen. You were just a boy.’
‘I was old enough to know better.’ He pulls out the skewer and tosses it on the sand. ‘So you see why I have mixed feelings about this place. I haven’t been here since my undergraduate days. We came after Finals to have a party and before you ask, I’ve never brought Valentina.’
‘I wasn’t going to ask. I already guessed this isn’t really her scene. Too cold.’ I smile.
‘True, but I never gave her the choice either. I don’t think she even knows it exists.’
‘I’m glad I do. Thanks for inviting me.’
Thinking over his ‘confession’, I warm my hands over the embers. ‘This is like being kids again. Daddy built a fire sometimes, when he had a few days to visit us at the beach house, though it was often just me and my mother and a few schoolfriends, or maybe one or other of the grandparents. When I was at Brown, we rented a house on Rhode Island for the spring break one year.’
‘We?’ he asks.
‘Some of the girls in my sorority house.’
He breaks into a grin that I can scent means trouble. ‘That sounds … interesting. It is true about the hazing rituals? Is it all enforced nudity and paddling each other like in the movies?’
I roll my eyes. ‘What kind of movies have you been watching?’
‘One or two. We got hold of them in the sixth form at school, but I’m deeply disappointed that it’s all a myth.’ He pulls a sad face.
‘I wouldn’t say it was all a myth …’
He brightens. ‘Tell me more.’
My cheeks warm at the memory of my hazing ceremony, when I ended up naked in a fountain. ‘Actually, our sorority did own a paddle, but only for a joke.’
‘That sounds worse than my school – or a lot better.’
I shake my head. ‘Now I know you’re kidding. They haven’t done that kind of thing for years at British scho
ols, and I’d have thought the enforced nakedness and harsh treatment were more in your line of work.’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘You want to discuss it?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘That sort of thing turns you on, does it?’ he jokes.
I can’t tell whether it’s the fire, or the brandy or the teasing that’s making my cheeks burn.
He tuts. ‘I think I’d better get you back to bed for a debriefing, Ms Cusack.’
‘Ha, ha. If you’re thinking of going into comedy, Mr Hunt, I’d advise you to think again!’
He gets up and throws sand over the fire. ‘Oh, what I’ve got in mind for you isn’t funny … Come on – bed.’
Just before dawn, I’m woken by what I thought was a storm … and it is, but there’re no thunderclaps and lightning. This storm is raging inside Alexander’s mind. I kneel on the bed next to him, ready to move in case he lashes out at me again.
‘Alexander, it’s OK. You’re safe. You’re here.’
He’s quieter now, and his lips are moving but there’s no sound. Gradually, his cries have subsided, but the frown etched on his brow and the silently moving lips show the pain he’s going through. I keep my distance, wanting to wake him, but still wary. He opens his eyes and looks at me, but I’m not sure if he’s fully conscious. My body is as taut as a wire because it was in a semi-coherent moment such as this that he grabbed my wrist so hard my eyes watered.
Slowly, I reach out and touch his bare chest. ‘Alexander. Are you awake?’
‘Yes,’ he says groggily.
‘Do you know where you are?’
‘Sorry,’ he says. Since most of his words are about guilt when he’s having one of these terrible dreams, I’m not reassured by his answer.
‘What are you sorry for?’
‘Making a fool of myself again. Have I hurt you?’ He winces when he pushes himself up the pillows, but at least I know he’s properly awake.