After a suitable pause, he asked, ‘What about nowadays relationship-wise?’
She smiled wryly. ‘Pretty dud, relationship-wise. No broken heart though.’
It was true. She’d always had a system of pretending she was OK about everything, until finally she’d regained her shaky equilibrium and genuinely was fine, more or less. She said jokily, ‘So, go on, Inspector, what’s your next question?’
‘OK, Claire, so did you come here to (A) further your brilliant career? Or (B) to get away from a man? Or (C) to get closer to a man?’
She grinned. ‘Well, A of course, with a bit of B on the side.’
‘Ah. So tell me about him, this unlucky bloke you ran away from.’
‘I didn’t run away exactly, and he’s not an unlucky bloke. God, why are we starting on this personal stuff?’
‘But go on, tell me, is it really over? Perhaps he’ll chase after you.’
‘No, he won’t. Definitely. Thank God.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
For a macho-looking bloke, Drew managed to sound caring and thoughtful. Quite a feat.
‘Because I am. One knows these things.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘So you’ve moved on?’
‘Yes, moved on, literally.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘Now, enough. Please can we talk about the weather, or our jobs or something?’
‘OK, OK, I was just checking things out.’
She smiled again. ‘You don’t seem to realize that the appropriate opening questions from the expat community are “How are you settling in, Claire?” Or “How do you find the heat?” or “Have you been out East before?” or “Have you joined the British Club?”’
‘How about “Let me show you my Javanese etchings”?’
‘No, no one’s asked that, though there was a young British naval officer over there who invited me on board his visiting ship to see the torpedoes. As he looked about eighteen, I declined.’
He laughed. ‘So tell me about your brilliant career instead then, Claire.’
‘No, it’s your turn to be interrogated. Tell me about yours, seriously, I mean.’
‘OK, seriously, if you insist. I’m an Agricultural Adviser – under the auspices of the Australian Overseas Aid programme.’
‘Aid to the Third World, development and all that?’
‘Yes, you know, when rich countries give money and expertise to poor countries so that they can develop into something more like us.’ He grinned.
‘Not too like us, I hope. But what do you do exactly? D’you hand out money for tractors or something? Or are you one of those saints who rush in and help starving people?’
‘I’m not involved in emergency aid, not directly. In this part of the world, we try to help people to help themselves. I deal with large projects like irrigation works and small ones like helping peasant farmers make better use of their resources. I’m a farmer myself, you see. Or used to be.’
‘I must say you don’t look or sound much like my idea of an Australian farmer.’
‘What were you expecting? A bloke with corks round his hat?’
Claire was embarrassed. ‘No, but . . .’
He broadened his accent. ‘We Ozzies are a very sensitive and refoiyned people. You mustn’t upset our delicate souls. Don’t forget we brought the world opera singers, conductors, painters, writers – Joan Sutherland, Charles Mackerras, Sidney Nolan, Patrick White, not to mention Germaine, Dame Edna and Kylie.’
She laughed. ‘I know, I didn’t mean . . .’
‘You were just bowled over by my sophisticated chat?’
‘Yes, that’s what it must have been.’ She smiled up at him. ‘Come on, this conversation keeps getting out of hand, let’s talk about something safe like the view.’
‘I’m very happy with the view in front of me,’ he said.
They were silent for a moment – she felt a sense of expectation in the air. Another couple came on to the balcony talking in loud voices. Drew took a step forward and touched her hand. ‘Too many people here,’ he said quietly. ‘Let’s go somewhere else, a bar, restaurant, whatever.’
‘Now? Well, I’d like to, but I’ve only just arrived at the party. It’d be rude to leave so soon. Deborah might think I’m not enjoying myself.’
‘She won’t mind. You’re a free agent, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, of course, but . . .’
A hand tapped her shoulder and an oily voice boomed in her ear. ‘Claire love, so sorry not to have been here when you arrived, but I’ve brought a little surprise for you.’
Tugging her by the arm, Johnny pulled her round and led her forcibly away from the balcony into the room. She looked back at Drew, but he shrugged and turned to stare at the night sky.
Johnny patted her hand. ‘A little bird told me that far from being a bride of oriental art you have an ulterior motive for coming to Maising and here he is.’
Howard stood there, tall and solid. ‘Claire, it’s so very super to see you again.’
He leant forward and kissed her cheek. ‘You can do better than that. Give her a big hug, old man,’ urged Johnny.
Clumsily Howard did as he was told. Claire pushed him away, laughing in what she hoped was a relaxed manner. Oh God, what now? She turned towards the balcony door for a moment and saw Drew standing there with a sardonic expression on his face. ‘Let’s have a little drinkie to celebrate your reunion, you sweethearts,’ said Johnny. He put his arms around them.
‘Do leave us alone, Johnny. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do,’ said Howard, smiling happily. He gazed at Claire in wonderment, as if he could hardly believe she was really standing in front of him.
‘Of course, of course,’ said Johnny. ‘Cupid’s done his stuff. Here, go into the study. It’s got the best air con in the flat. I’ll see no one comes in. Take this bottle of champers to smooth the way.’ He leered as he left, closing the door behind him.
‘Wow, well, it really is terrific that you came to Maising,’ said Howard. He put the champagne bottle down on the red leather desktop and then picked it up again. ‘Oh dear, Johnny didn’t give us any glasses. I’ll just get ’em. Don’t go, don’t run away, will you, Claire?’
He rushed out, leaving her standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. It seemed a long time before he returned. She noticed a photograph of Deborah in bridal attire standing under an arch of roses. How slim and glamorous she looked in those days. Hearing the door open, she quickly put the frame down.
‘Couldn’t find any clean champers glasses so we’ll have to use these tumblers. You don’t mind, do you?’ He poured the champagne so quickly that it bubbled over. Wiping the table with a large handkerchief, he almost spilt the drinks again as he turned to hand her the brimming glass.
‘Cheers, Claire. It really is terrific to see you,’ he repeated yet again. She smiled and sipped her champagne.
He said, ‘How about a belated toast? Let’s drink to our reunion.’
She took a step back and said light-heartedly, ‘Sure. Good to see you.’
‘So what are you doing in Maising?’ He looked puzzled, yet hopeful.
‘I came here to work for Vandenberg.’
‘Oh?’
He sounded disappointed so Claire rattled on. ‘Just luck, really. I wanted a change of scene and here I am.’
‘Wonderful.’ Howard smiled more confidently. ‘Let’s go out to dinner to celebrate your arrival. Johnny hopes to join us later when the guests have gone.’
As they left the party, she looked around for Drew, but he had disappeared. Just as well. That kind of man, above all, was the type she was determined to avoid in future, attractive but haunted and not to be trusted one inch.
Suddenly she realized Howard was asking where she wanted to eat. ‘Oh, anywhere, I leave all decisions to you, Howard.’
Three
Claire had admired Howard’s decisiveness when she first met him, just as she acknowledged his other strengths: he was a single, straight man, ga
infully employed, a few years older than herself – crucial qualities, her more practical girlfriends would say. The older the woman, the rarer such uncomplicated, unencumbered men became, or so was the prevailing wisdom.
Claire hadn’t quite come around to that way of thinking because she wasn’t looking for a new relationship, let alone a husband. Despite the dreaded biological clock, she didn’t consider herself on the shelf. What modern woman did? Completely un-PC to think that way. In fact, when she first met Howard she was still involved with Leo, though the relationship was fragile.
She’d gone alone to stay the weekend in a big, cold house in Hampshire for a young cousin’s eighteenth birthday. A nightmare party. She felt like Mrs Methuselah and only old men with false teeth or spotty youths seemed to want to dance with her. But then Howard, another guest, strode across the dance floor like a knight in shining armour and saved the evening. He explained his aunt was a neighbour, an old friend of the family, whatever, and he too felt out of his depths. They saved each other.
Though handsome in a solid, sandy-haired sort of way and obviously a good man, at first she decided he wasn’t really her type. She didn’t mind the big chin, it was more his old-fashioned Woosteresque vocabulary that seemed a little odd. ‘Golly, what a strange lot the uncouth youth of today are’ or ‘Jolly good show’. Sometimes he sounded more like eighty than forty, though maybe he was just being ironic. When he expounded on his expat lifestyle, she was amused. She could just picture him as a colonial officer dispensing justice to the locals in a jungle clearing. However, it turned out he worked for an international bank – a respectable solvent one, he assured her – on some island out east and was in England on leave. So it was just a brief but not romantic encounter, she thought.
But Howard obviously had other ideas. In an extremely gentlemanly manner, without so much as a kiss on the cheek, he made it clear he was smitten. He was very keen to see her again. No harm in accepting his invitation to lunch in a pub and then, the following weekend, a picnic in Kew Gardens.
Howard talked a great deal in the pub, but Claire liked to listen, and she was genuinely professionally interested in south-east Asia and its art. He seemed surprised she had even heard of the area and chatted happily on, while gazing at her in obvious admiration. She noted he had good manners, opening doors left, right and centre. And she gave him brownie points for being kind to his frail old aunt when they called on her.
A week after they met, as they wandered along the grassy avenues among the daffodils and ancient trees at Kew, Howard obviously had something on his mind. He steered her towards the elegant Japanese pavilion, but Claire said she was tired and did he mind if they went home now. As they turned towards the gate, Howard opened and shut his mouth several times. They walked on.
Amused, she suspected he was about to suggest a wicked weekend in Brighton, which she thought she would turn down.
But, tugging her by the arm, he blurted out, ‘Actually, I was planning to ask you to marry me.’
She assumed it was a weird kind of joke. Smiling, she said, ‘It’s a bit old-fashioned. You’ve only met me wearing a long frock or trousers or jeans. You can’t ask people to marry you when you haven’t seen their ankles. I mean, I might have legs like tree trunks for all you know.’
‘That sort of thing doesn’t matter a damn. Why – have you got bad legs?’ he asked as an afterthought.
She grinned. ‘No, they’re OK, quite good in fact . . . But that’s not the point – you don’t know anything about me.’
He shook his head. ‘It’s a question of instinct.’
‘Honestly, Howard, life isn’t that simple.’
‘Why not? Seems perfectly simple to me.’
‘As I said, you don’t know me.’
‘I know enough to know you are the right person. So is it yes or no? I want to take you back to Maising with me, you see.’
She shook her head wonderingly. He was serious. Hesitantly, she began, ‘Howard, I’m very honoured and touched by what you say, but I can’t make a decision about something as important as this just like that, on the spot. I have a job, a flat, another person in my life.’
It appeared that he’d been so busy with his own concerns, he hadn’t thought of hers. His eyes widened in shock. ‘What sort of a person?’
She shrugged. ‘A bad-news person mostly.’
‘So there’s hope for me? Claire, I love you, I need you to decide,’ he said earnestly.
‘But, as I said, I don’t know you.’ She mustn’t hurt his feelings.
He continued doggedly. ‘I haven’t time for anything else, that’s the thing. I have to go back to Maising next week when my leave ends.’
‘Oh, I see, that’s difficult.’
A group of chatty middle-aged ladies wandered across the lawn towards them.
‘So is it yes or no then?’ asked Howard urgently.
The whole scenario – colonial chap from jungle seeks instant English bride – now reminded her of a Somerset Maugham novel.
She wasn’t used to being stuck on a pedestal and adored, but after Leo’s rough and casual behaviour she found a bit of worship and generosity of spirit soothing to her fragile ego. It was difficult not to be flattered, but of course she couldn’t take off with a strange man she hardly knew. Very gently, she told him so.
*
Once back in Maising, Howard wrote numerous emails apologizing for rushing her and describing the wonderful luxurious life out East: sun, sand and sea (photos of beach attached). Sometimes Claire replied, in brief friendly terms. Then she heard about the job with Jean-Louis just when her relationship with Leo hit the rocks. Seemed like Fate with a capital F had intervened. She made a sudden wild decision. Chuck Leo, chuck England and seize the day. It probably wouldn’t work out with Howard, but he, knight in shining armour again, had inspired her to act.
*
Howard, too, was sure that Fate had intervened. Here, miraculously, was Claire in person on the island – the most wonderful woman in the world, the one he’d been waiting for all his life. She was so suitable in every way (so beautiful, so kind, so intelligent) and he was taking her out to dinner. It must mean something. Johnny Case seemed to think it did. He must have deliberately invited them both to the party. He was a good friend, old Johnny.
Howard experienced yet another large pang of guilt about the night he’d spent with his good friend’s wife.
Four
‘Marvellous party, darling.’ Johnny rolled off his wife’s comfortable body and moved to his side of the bed. After a snuffle or two, he began to snore gently.
Deborah lay awake, staring at the patterns of dark and light on the ceiling. Headlamps from passing cars illuminated one corner and then all was momentarily dark again. It was weeks since they had made love and tonight’s efforts had not made her any happier. Johnny had been drinking heavily at the party. These days he only seemed to want her when he was smashed. Perhaps no man would desire her now that she was so overweight.
She wriggled out of bed and crept across the room. Gently shutting the bathroom door behind her, she switched on the light and stared at herself in the mirror tiles that Johnny had installed behind the bath. They reflected a tall young woman with classic Mediterranean features that she had inherited from her grandmother: wide eyes, full lips and high cheekbones.
Deborah did not care for her own style of looks. Her colouring was striking enough in England and the States, but here, where every woman had long dark hair, hers wasn’t special any more. The Maising were small and neat. Deborah felt like an untidy elephant beside them.
She took off her nightdress and stared at her heavy breasts and generous thighs. She sighed. If she weren’t feeding Jojo, she wouldn’t even have those big tits to compensate for the rest of the flab. At least the kids love me, she thought. Tears came into her eyes. After parading around the party doing her goddam perfect-hostess act, she was too exhausted to sleep. She wandered through into the chaotic sitting room. Pima had
cleared some of the debris but had been sent home before the late-stayers left. Deborah picked up a tray and mechanically began to collect the dirty glasses and brimming ashtrays.
She thought about her neighbour. Claire was delicately pretty, blonde – so damn thin. And she was a great person. Unfortunately.
Until tonight, Deborah had held the notion that Howard was in love with her, but too gentlemanly to say so. The thought of this secret passion she inspired had consoled her a little through the vagaries of Johnny’s behaviour – her husband had been brought up in south-east Asia and liked to go to massage bars. She had tried to be sophisticated about the whole thing. She was a diplomat’s daughter and had travelled all around the world. She knew that people had different customs in different countries. But Johnny’s I-only-go-for-the-massage routine was pretty hard to believe. During Deborah’s second pregnancy, he had promised to give up the massage bars, but he often went out alone, allegedly on business. She found his behaviour unnatural and suspicious. If they made love more often, married life might be OK, she thought, like it was in those first sexy infatuated times. But Johnny just didn’t seem to want her much now, even when she wasn’t pregnant. Not being wanted was hard to bear.
Then there was the drinking. It was during one of Johnny’s binges last year that Deborah had been pushed into an act of vengeance. In a wild and unpremeditated fling, she had spent the night with Howard. She had known and liked him for a couple of years. He was the sort of man who took trouble with children. He’d play with Sam at the beach and even listen to what he said. Howard would pay attention to her too, in his gallant, old-fashioned and apparently harmless manner.
A faithful woman at heart, Deborah normally stopped at the flirting stage. But at the Selby’s Bank beach house there had been a party. Johnny, roaring drunk and abusive, left without Deborah, announcing that he was going to the Paradise Club. She’d stayed at the party, dancing with Howard, drinking far too much, and finally walking with Howard to the far end of beach. Despite the alcohol, Howard’s love-making had been thorough, efficient, and extremely satisfactory. There’d been such tenderness between them that she thought, half-anxious, half-happy, they might be going to fall in love. But the next day he had avoided her, and the next, until finally he had come furtively round to say that she was a wonderful woman, but he was terribly, terribly sorry to have, well, done it with a friend’s wife. She wouldn’t tell Johnny, would she? He hadn’t meant such a thing to happen and she could rest assured that it would never happen again. He had avoided being alone with her ever since.
Tropical Connections Page 3