Crescendo

by Charlotte Lamb

  Closing her eyes, she listened to the sea and gradually fell asleep, but it was a restless sleep. The moonlight lay upon her lids and filled her inner eye with dreams. She dreamt she was flying, floating, oddly weightless and free, the wind in her long hair.

  Then she stood in a room and stared through the moonlight at a bed. Gideon sat up from a sleep- tossed sheet. It slid off him and she saw his shoulders bare, gleaming smoothly in the pale light. She floated over a floor she never touched and knelt on the bed, her eyes on his body. He wasn't speak­ing or moving. The heavy lids were way back from his eyes and they were gleaming like dark wells, watching her. She sank back on her heels, putting out a hand. It gently touched his shoulder, felt the roundness of the shoulderbone, fingered along the collarbone as though she were playing the piano.

  Gideon's hand moved then, reaching up to play with the loose silvery hair which blew in a cool wind.

  They touched each other in a silence which was free of emotion. Gideon drew her down on the bed and she sighed. All their movements had a sensual delicacy which in the dream was like a slow-motion film, each caress precise and studied, with the con­sciousness of an action often repeated.

  His mouth moved on hers and she began to tremble, her hands holding the black head. Gideon suddenly rolled on top of her, pressing her down into the bed.

  There was an ache inside her body, a burning dissolving sweetness which was also pain. Gideon lay on her, breathing hoarsely now, so that the roughly drawn sound of his intake of air filled her ears. His mouth touched her throat. He kissed her shoulders quickly, hurriedly, each touch of his mouth moving onward, downward until his face was buried between her breasts, then he was moving against her restlessly, his hands sliding down her body.

  She opened her eyes as though her lids were heavy. Gideon's head lifted and his eyes were blind in the moonlight although his eyes were open. The pres­sure of desire seemed to be forcing itself against the inside of her skull, fountaining into her head from deep within her body.

  They were neither of them saying a word. Their limbs moved in naked smoothness, clinging. Marina ran her hands down his long, smooth back and felt the tension of his muscles tighten, then Gideon gave a wild, harsh moan and they were melting, their arms around each other, their faces cheek to cheek, their breathing sharp and agonised with pleasure.

  She revolved in waves of passion, hearing his cries like echoes of her own, questioning nothing, un­afraid and unsurprised. The release came like drowning. She sank, slackening, a long sigh on her lips, and Gideon lay on her, shaking. It seemed a long time before either of them moved again.

  Then she was floating again, her arms around his neck. He kissed her gently and laid her down. The dream folded like a flower at nightfall.

  When she woke up the dream came back into her mind at once, sharp as a thorn, and her face flowered in hot colour. She put her hands over her eyes, shamed and horrified. She had never had such a dream in her life. Through her fingers she saw the dolls staring bolt-eyed at her. Disapproving, prim, they sat with turned-up toes in the morning sun­light.

  'It didn't happen,' she said to them crossly. 'Can I help my dreams?'

  What were dreams? The adventures of the sub­conscious when it was freed by sleep? During the day the conscious mind kept tight hold of the body, reining it like a troublesome horse, but in sleep it lost its dominance and the subconscious poured from its hiding place like smoke, like a genie from a bottle.

  'Stop staring at me!' Marina said to the dolls, and

  jumped out of bed. Her skin this morning felt cool and alive. She was aware of a relaxation of some tension. Dressed, she went downstairs and Gideon was reading over a cup of coffee, his black head bent. He looked round, smiling casually, and she felt her face colour at the sight of him, but there was no answering consciousness in his features. If he knew! she thought, trying to make herself as calm as he was, somehow smiling back at him. 'I heard Mr Grandison moving half an hour ago,' he said. 'I took him some coffee, but he isn't coming down. He feels tired.'

  She looked worried. 'He isn't ill?'

  Gideon glanced at her. 'He's in his seventies It f can't be expected he'll leap around like a spring lamb.'

  She gave a little sigh. 'Don't!' Grandie was her whole life. She could not bear to think of him as being old.

  Gideon looked at her carefully. 'I don't think you need to fret. He's still very healthy. Apart from his " rheumatism he's sound for years. But pain is tiring, Marina, and he's in constant pain.'

  'I know.' She sat down and looked at him un­happily. 'It's so awful not being able to do anything - about it.'

  'You are doing something about it,' Gideon said gently. 'Just by being yourself. -Grandie is living through you. When he listens to you playing he's living again.'

  She knew that and was worried by it. Grandie hoped for too much from her. He burdened her with the pressure of his hope. He set her an im- possible standard. Nothing short of perfection, and Marina was afraid of failing him.

  Gideon was watching her. Their eyes met and she had a curious feeling that he could read her thoughts. It was not the first time she had felt that. He touched her hand briefly.

  'He's very proud of you. You've given his life new meaning.'

  His voice had a quiet authority. He sounded as if he knew exactly how Grandie felt, knew things she did not see how he could know.. He was a stranger to them, yet he spoke as one vested in authority. Marina frowned.

  'Tell me the truth, Gideon.'

  Her voice pleaded and he stared at her without a flicker of expression.

  'What do you mean?'

  She gestured with her pale hands. 'What is the truth? Have you and Grandie met before? I'm not stupid—I know there's something strange going on since you came.'

  He got up and looked at her searchingly. 'Marina, do you trust me?'

  Eyes widening, she stared into the hard dark face. There was the slightest pause. Then she said with a sigh, 'Yes.'

  She did trust him. How could she fail to do so when his eyes were so cool and steady, his mouth strong and firm? He was a man on whom one could trust, her instincts told her that.

  He smiled and his face held a warmth and charm which reached inside her and touched her heart. 'Then trust me now,' he said. 'No harm will ever conic to you and Grandie from me, I promise you.' Turning away, he said: 'I waited for you to come down, but I'm starving. What shall we have for breakfast?'

  They had freshly squeezed orange juice and scrambled eggs. Gideon did the scrambling while Marina made the toast. They worked together com­patibly, smiling at each other now and then, and she felt his tall lithe figure had been a part of her life for years.

  After breakfast she tidied the house, a piece of ribbon tying back her loose hair. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and Ruffy kept catching the turn-up of her jeans and worrying it between his teeth.

  'He wants a walk,' she said.

  Gideon came over to her and untied the ribbon, brushing out her hair over her shoulders. 'Then let's take him for one,' he said.

  Ruffy tore ahead over the cliff paths, barking, his tail wagging furiously. The gulls wheeled over his head and below him the sea lay in a milky calm, sunlight dancing on the water.

  When they had gone as far as Spanish Head they walked down through a copse heady with wild garlic, the thick strange scent of it unpleasant in such quantity. Old hornbeams twisted in weird shapes around them.

  'Wheelwrights used to use them,' said Gideon, tapping a bough with one long finger. 'They found the shapes useful. That's probably why they're dying out—nobody needs them any more.'

  Marina shivered. 'What a sad thought. Poor trees I'

  He gave her a wry little smile. 'We all have to be needed.'

  She looked away, her skin heating, remembering her dream when Gideon had said thickly, 'I need you.' Glancing at him through her lashes she saw a little gleam in the black eyes as he watched her. He could not imagine what she was thinking, but she coloured
even more, looking away.

  As she walked faster, as though to evade those memories, her hair caught on a gnarled finger of hornbeam, its contortions reminiscent of Grandie's twisted hands. She yelped, her hand going to her hair.

  'Stand still,' Gideon ordered.

  Marina stood docilely while he released her, then he turned her towards him. The shadows of the trees flickered over his face. He held her shoulders gently, smiling.

  , She was afraid to have him kiss her; she was ter­rified of what that kiss might reveal to him. Already her lips were burning in anticipation, the memory of those dream kisses swelling under her smooth skin.

  She swung hurriedly to escape, and his hands tightened, turning her back to him.

  She threw a look up at his face. His eyes were narrowed in a cool speculation, watching her in­tently. He bent his head and kissed her with de­manding intensity, his hands holding her close.

  Marina felt an answering hunger. She kissed him back with an eagerness she could not hide and as he

  lifted his head his face had a satisfaction which in­furiated her.

  'Don't fight me, Marina,' he whispered, a smile curving his mouth. 'Relax.'

  'You mustn't,' she muttered, pulling away.

  'Why mustn't I?'

  She threw a bewildered look at him. 'I've only known you for two days.'

  'Two days, two years ... does it matter?'

  'Of course it does!'

  'Why?' he asked softly.

  She sought for an answer and could not find one. Huskily, she said. 'I'm eighteen. How old are you?'

  His face altered. 'Thirty-seven,' he said, and there was a hard ring to his voice. She saw she had touched on something to which he was sensitive. His eyes were restless now, a frown etched between them.

  'Twice my age,' she said quietly.

  He stared at her, and there was tautness in the set of his mouth. 'Does that bother you?' 'Doesn't it bother you?' She saw it did. He could not hide it. His eyes were very dark and angry.

  'Are you married?' she asked huskily, because could a man as attractive as Gideon have reached his age without marrying?

  There was a silence. Gideon looked at her with a spot of dark red burning on each cheek. After a moment, he said, 'No,' and she knew he had lied. It was in his eyes.

  'No?' she asked very quietly, letting her scorn­ful stare tell him she knew he was lying.

  He moved, his face restless. Again he paused and

  at last he lifted his shoulders in a half-angry shrug. 'Not now.'

  'But you were?'

  He nodded curtly, about to turn away, but she had to know the whole truth. It had only been a dream last light, but it had revealed to her how deeply he had penetrated her subconscious.

  'Is she alive? I mean, are you divorced or ...'

  'Separated,' he said harshly with a black frown, and Marina felt her spirits dive into a depression. That woman, she thought. Was that her? It would explain everything. His anger, his coldness, the woman's distress and passion. Did he still love her beneath that frown of his?

  Gideon was staring at her and she could see the disturbed emotion in the glittering black eyes. He put out his hand to touch her cheek, stroking down the smooth flushed curve of it tenderly. 'Forget it,' he said huskily. 'It doesn't affect you and me. Be­lieve me, Marina, I would die rather than hurt you.'

  He moved closer and his eyes moved down to her mouth with that look in his face, a look which deepened to a burning intensity as he came closer.

  'No,' she said, moving back hastily. 'Don't!'

  'I must,' he said thickly. 'You know I must.' His arms Came round her and wouldn't let her go. She heard him breathing in her hair, his chest wrenched by emotion, his lungs hoarsely drawing air and expelling it at a pace which sounded frantic.

  'Marina,' he murmured with his lips against her ear. 'Oh, Marina!' His mouth pushed down her cheek and found her mouth. After a short struggle she surrendered to his possession of it with a little groan.

  They stood in the shadows embracing closely, kissing each other so deeply that she felt she was being absorbed into his bloodstream and he into hers.

  He let her go reluctantly, his eyes passionate. Ruffy was barking somewhere and Gideon grim­aced. 'We'd better see what he's up to,' he said. There was a smile on his face as they walked out of the copse. He was holding her hand, swinging it.

  Ruffy was leaping around the vicar like a der­vish, his short white legs agile. For some reason he found the dog collar offensive. Grandie said it was because dogs are conservative by nature and do not like any departure from what they consider to be the norm. Whenever Ruffy saw the vicar he barked at him angrily, although the unfortunate man was both kind and friendly.

  'Oh dear,' he said now, smiling at them. 'Ruffy will get me one day, I'm afraid.'

  'Try putting your hand over your collar,' Gideon advised.

  The vicar looked puzzled but obeyed and Ruffy sank back in satisfaction on his haunches, his pink tongue lolling in a pant of cheerful relaxation.

  'Good heavens,' said the vicar, smiling. 'That was clever of you, Gideon.' His eyes touched on their linked hands and he looked at Marina with a smile. 'You're looking well, Marina. I'm very glad, very glad indeed.'

  With a friendly nod he walked on and she looked at Gideon with a troubled frown. 'How did he know your name?'

  Gideon looked coolly at her. 'Mrs Robinson?' he suggested.

  Her brow cleared. 'Who else?'

  They both laughed. On their way through the village, Mrs Dudeck put her head out of her door and said: 'I've got that dress ready to be fitted, Marina. Have you got time now? I could get on with it tonight then.'

  Gideon smiled at them both. 'I'll take Ruffy back to the cottage. You have your fitting, Marina.'

  'If you're sure,' she said doubtfully.

  'I won't lose my way,' he said.

  Mrs Dudeck laughed. 'Of course he won't.'

  Her eye met Gideon's black glance and she stopped laughing and grew sober. Gideon walked away and Ruffy looked after him, ears pricked. Gideon gave a little whistle. Ruffy moved, paused and looked at Marina. 'Off you go,' she nodded. Ruffy grinned and tore after Gideon.

  The fitting did not take long. Mrs Dudeck moved around with a mouth full of pins and talked through them without swallowing one. Her small sitting- room was crowded with ornaments including a garden gnome who sat on the top of the television with a cross, bored face.

  She had no garden, only a short expanse of yard which she had had paved in multi-coloured stone tiles. 'My patio,' she called it, and liked to eat out there in the summer. It gave her the excuse for a long-running war with the neighbourhood cats. Each time she saw one crossing her precious patio she ran out screeching with flapping arms.

  Her husband, Mr Dudeck, was an enormous man twice her size and was petrified of her. He had a deep rumbling voice and was as gentle as a lamb.

  Mrs Dudeck bullied him in a high thin voice. They had no children, which was just as well since con­trolling Mr Dudeck took all his wife's energies.

  'Dudeck will bring it up tomorrow,' she promised as Marina left. Mr Dudeck drove the baker's van which toured all the local villages. Slow-moving, slow-thinking, he enjoyed his job which kept him out in the open air and out from under Mrs Dudeck's feet. Marina always found it comical to see the great broad-shouldered man in the crowded little sitting-room, like an elephant in a china shop. He looked so uneasy, afraid that his elbow would dislodge one of his wife's beloved figures or his feet make one of the small mats crumple underfoot, but his face would shine with pride as his wife showed Marina her latest purchase. He eyed the brightly glazed little figures with delight. On the beauty of the ornaments he and his wife were at one, al­though Mr Dudeck was never allowed to touch one.

  Marina walked quickly back to the cottage by a short cut and came in through the kitchen door. As she opened it she heard the piano. She knew it was not a recording; Marina was too familiar with the individual sound of her own
piano to believe that. Her ears were very keen.

  She stood outside the music room, frowning, in­credulous. It couldn't be Grandie—that was im­possible. Once he might have coaxed the keys to give forth this miraculous delicate sound, but that was long past, sunk in the depth of memory.

  She had not come through the front door so she had not seen if there was a strange car parked out­side.

  They must have a visitor, she thought, racking her brains to recall a name to match this wonder­ful musical achievement. Someone from London, an old pupil of Grandie's—before his hands became quite useless he had had some pupils for a few years and all of them had gone on to become famous. Grandie only took the really promising ones.

  She pushed open the music room door and froze on the threshold. Everything tore and rent inside her head. The room went dark and she saw figures moving through the darkness, but she was lost in it herself, soundlessly screaming, with parted lips which were bloodless and a face which was taut and stiff with pain.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  IN the moments when she stood there Marina felt the merciful curtain come dragging down and she winced in the bitter light of what she now remem­bered.

  The girl of eighteen she had imagined herself to be was dissolving like a fading dream. It was a woman who stared at Gideon as he tried to take her into his arms.

  She fought away from him, giving deep little groans, as though she were someone drowning who