Charlotte Lamb

by Charlotte Lamb

  When Luc clapped his hands she almost jumped out of her skin. He was standing in front of the class now. 'Time to break!' he told them all cheerfully. 'I don't know about you but I'm starving, and I happen to know it's a very good lunch today: my wife is serving local crabs stuffed with peppers and herbs, and there's a gorgeous crab gumbo...'

  'What's a gumbo?' asked the dark girl next to Nadine, and Luc grinned at her.

  'Something between a thick soup and a stew. Quite hot, made with a lot of garlic and hot peppers, and spices and herbs. I love it, but it can be an acquired taste. If you like curry, you'll probably like gumbo. And I expect my wife will have made peas and rice, that's usually on the menu. It's one of the most famous Jamaican dishes, but my wife grew up there, so she likes to cook it. There'll be a selection of salads for the less adventurous among you, and the vegetarians have their own menu, too. But take my advice, try one of our local dishes. I can guarantee you'll love them.'

  Nadine went back to her room before lunch, tense as she unlocked the door, half expecting to find Sean there waiting for her. The suite was empty, though, and immaculate; the maids had cleaned it and there was no sign of Sean or his luggage. Even his toothbrush had vanished from the bathroom.

  She should have felt relieved, much happier. But she didn't. She felt faintly depressed instead. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, grimacing at her pallor and the dullness of her eyes. She was tired, that was all! Her sudden depression had nothing to do with Sean. Nothing at all.

  She still continued to brood over him as she washed and changed out of her shorts and top, put on a brief yellow tunic dress. Had he left the hotel, or left the island altogether? Had he found somewhere else to stay?

  She brushed her hair out, put on a light foundation cream, a touch of lipstick, before going down to the long terrace which ran behind the hotel. Tables were set out there, under a bamboo roof, through which the sunlight filtered, leaving a slatted pattern of shadow.

  She seemed to be the last one down; all her fellow students were seated already and Nadine looked around for a free chair.

  Luc beckoned. 'We've kept a place for you here, Nadine! Next to your husband.'

  She froze, seeing the all too familiar bronzed face* meeting Sean's mocking blue eyes. So he hadn't left either the island or the hotel! Had he been able to get a room in the hotel? And if so, what on earth had he told Luc Haines? What excuse had he given for not sharing her room? Or was he still planning to share it? Well, he could think again if he was! She was not sharing a bed with him again. She would rather take the next plane back to England.

  'Here you are,' he insisted, getting up and holding back the chair next to his own. 'Sit down, Nadine. I can recommend the crab salad, it's the best crab I've ever eaten, and the salad is positively inspired.'

  With everyone watching her she had no option. She sat down, but gave Sean a bitter look from under her lowered lashes. If he thought he had her beaten he was going to find out just how wrong he was!

  He caught her hidden glance and his mouth twitched. He leaned over to pour wine into her glass, and she was intensely aware of the brush of his lean body.

  'You look as if you need a drink, darling! You'll like this—a Californian Chardonnay; a nice, crisp white, very refreshing on a hot day like this!'

  Nadine snatched up the menu and read it, trembling with a mixture of rage and nerves. She ordered plain grilled fish with salad, and Luc Haines shook his head at her.

  'You can eat that anywhere! You mustn't be scared to try something new, Nadine, must she, Sean?'

  'She always has been!' Sean shrugged, and Luc gave her a wry look.

  'Remember what I was saying to you in class this morning! If you want to learn to paint you've got to be brave, take risks; and that goes for life, too. Now, why don't you have the crab gumbo to start with?'

  Infuriated, she said, 'Oh, OK, I'll try the crab gumbo, but then I'll have plain grilled fish, please!'

  The waiter grinned at Luc and vanished to the kitchen. Nadine drank some of the white wine. Sean was right: it was refreshing. She watched him sideways; he was eating stuffed crab neatly, with enjoyment.

  Luc's voice made her jump. 'Naughty Nadine,' he said wickedly. 'Now we know why you didn't want to tell us anything about yourself. Trying to be incognito, weren't you? Well, we forgive you— it must be quite a trial being the wife of such a famous man. I'm afraid the secret was out as soon as Sean met my wife this morning. She's a big film buff and a big fan of his films; she could hardly speak when she saw Sean walking across Reception this morning.'

  'Your wife is a honey,' Sean said. 'Lucky for us that she's a film buff, Nadine—she was able to give us a second room, next door to the suite...'

  Nadine tensed, turning a pair of glittering, angry eyes on him, and Sean gave her a sunny smile.

  'She was quite horrified when I explained how often I would have to make phone calls in the middle of the night, which usually meant waking you up too. This time difference is a nuisance, but in my business the telephone is a lifeline. And Clarrie Haines was good enough to get me this other room.'

  'One of our American guests is leaving tonight,' Luc told her cheerfully. 'Sean can have the room as soon as it has been cleaned. We'll get that done by eight. So you won't be kept awake tonight with Sean's international phone calls.'

  'Isn't that wonderful news, darling?' Sean asked softly.

  'Wonderful,' she said, smiling although her jaws were aching with the effort not to scream. How did he do it? He always got his own way somehow— that was what made him such a great film producer and director. Whenever he met an obstacle he managed to get over it, whatever the cost to himself and everyone around him.

  It was a relief when her crab gumbo arrived and she could turn her attention to the food. As Luc had promised, it was hot and spicy, and the crab was the best she had ever eaten. While she ate Luc and Sean talked and the other guests listened with obvious fascination.

  They weren't talking about films, though; they were involved in a long discussion about painters. Sean had a small collection of modern art: a Picasso sketch given to him by a French actor for his birthday years ago, a Lowry he had bought himself, a Beryl Cook painting of her usual plump ladies, this time playing tennis on a summer day, their white outfits dazzling against the dark green of bushes and trees.

  'Nadine gave me that,' Sean said, the flick of his eyes making her heart skip as she remembered the occasion. It had been Christmas Day four years ago; they had got up late and drunk buck's fizz while they opened their presents under the tree. She had given him the Beryl Cook picture: he had given her the most breathtaking emerald earrings.

  'Put them on now,' he had said huskily, and taken her back to bed to make love, still wearing them and only them.

  She knew he was remembering it too, and her cheeks burnt under his gaze.

  'This afternoon you must look round my studio,' Luc said with that wicked look she was beginning to recognise. He enjoyed coat-trailing, teasing, being provocative. 'Maybe you'll see something of mine you like. You can't have a good modern collection without one of mine!'

  'I already have two of your water-colours,' said Sean, and Luc looked genuinely surprised.

  'Really? Which? When did you buy them?'

  'I bought one of them at your London exhibition four years ago: a painting of a harbour, done on the island, here, I imagine. The other is a painting of a West Indian market which Nadine gave me years ago—that's my favourite, I love the blindingly bright colours. On a rainy grey morning in London they can lift my whole day.'

  Luc smiled with pleasure. 'Glad to hear it! I'd hate to live in London, I love the sun too much. I've often painted the market—it always gives me a good picture. I suppose painting and film making are very similar. We're both after the same thing.'

  Sean nodded. 'Couldn't agree more. In fact, we start with a story-board, of course: each little sketch one frame of the film, showing how the story will move along, what
it will look like.'

  'Fascinating,' Luc said. 'I'd love to come along some day and watch you working, or does it put you off to have visitors on the set?'

  'Not at all. Let me know in advance and I'll fix it for you.'

  'Thanks,' said Luc with warmth, caught Nadine's cool gaze and asked, 'Do you act, Nadine?'

  'No,' she said curtly and Sean made a wry face.

  'Ouch. That's a tender spot you touched, Luc. She wanted to act, but...'

  'But I can't!' she finished for him and stood up. She had finished her grilled fish, and everyone else was already eating a dessert, mostly local fruit. 'I don't want a dessert, I have things to do, excuse me.'

  She hurried back into the hotel to her room before Sean could catch up with her. After locking the door she changed into a swimsuit, tied a filmy beach-wrap around her, put a book and a Walkman with headphones into her beach-bag, and went off to the beach. There were no more classes that afternoon; everyone was free to do as they liked and what Nadine wanted to do was lie in the sun, listen to music and relax.

  The hotel's beach was private, and, when she arrived, empty. The blue Caribbean waters tumbled on to the silvery sands with a restful murmur, the sun was high and hot, the horizon shimmered. Nadine moved one of the hotel's loungers under the shade of a large striped umbrella, set her bag down on a low plastic table beside her and sat down, her head on her bent knees, staring at the sea, listening to gulls crying overhead, watching some black and white waders moving along the beach, their long, curved beaks digging deep into the fine sand.

  She gave a sigh, and untied her beach-wrap, stood up and hung it carefully from the ribs of the umbrella so that it gently blew to and fro over her, like a lace curtain in the faint breeze coming off the sea. Sitting down again, she got a bottle of suntan lotion from her bag and began to use it on her legs.

  'Need some help?'

  The cool voice made her jump. She almost dropped the bottle of lotion as her head swung to face Sean.

  He was practically naked, just wearing black sunglasses with mirror lenses which reflected the sun back at the sky, and black silky briefs which deepened his golden tan and made his long legs look even longer. Nadine looked away, swallowing, a pulse beating hard in her throat.

  'Did you have to come down here? Why can't you leave me alone? I wanted a couple of hours' peace, and you're going to ruin the whole afternoon.' She put the cap back on to the bottle of lotion. Sean reached for it. 'Leave it alone!' said Nadine furiously, but he pulled it out of her hand and unscrewed the cap again.

  'I'll do your back—turn over.'

  'No.' Her face was mutinous. He was beginning to make her really angry: arriving out of the blue, wrecking her holiday, refusing to leave, and now coming down here and destroying the blissful silence of the golden afternoon.

  Sean put the bottle down on the sand and knelt beside her on the lounger, his bare legs brushing hers. She gave a gasp of shock.

  'Don't you touch me!'

  He looked down at her through those shielding lenses and she wished she could see his eyes. 'You don't want to get sunburn and that sun is very hot.' He poured glistening oil into his palm and Nadine's mouth went dry.

  'I can put it on myself!' She tried to sit up and he pushed her back with one peremptory hand, and with the other began to smooth the oil into her bare shoulders, his fingers sensitive, cool, following her bone-structure, the roundness before her arm began, the line from there to her neck, sliding down into the hollows between bones, up along her throat.

  Nadine felt boneless, weak; she watched him from under her lashes, intensely aware of everything around them, the sound of the sea, the cry of the seabirds, the burning blue of the afternoon sky. Sean slid the straps of her swimsuit down and an alarm bell went off in her head.

  'Stop that!' she bit out, struggled to get up and found herself inches away from him, their bodies so close you couldn't get a hand between them, his face unreadable, the mirrored glasses flashing in the sunlight, the hard, passionate mouth parted- smiling or sighing?

  'You're still the sexiest woman I've ever met,' he whispered, and suddenly bent his head and kissed her naked breast.

  Nadine almost fainted. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't move; she closed her eyes and felt the soft touch of his mouth with an intensity that made her shake.

  Sean's arms went round her, his head lifted abruptly, and his mouth took hers with a burning demand that made her head spin. His body pushed against hers until she fell back and he fell with her, kissing her fiercely, hungrily, lying on top of her, their legs twining, naked bodies sensually restless as they moved against each other. Nadine wanted him so badly that she forgot everything else, all her reasons for being angry with him, for distrusting him. There was only one thing on her mind, on both their minds.

  Until she heard the voices. They broke into her yielding mood, tore up the sun and silence of the afternoon.

  Stiffening, she broke off the kiss, pushed Sean away and he sat up, flushed and breathing thickly, staring away from her, across the silver sands, towards the hotel gardens. Some other guests were wandering down to the beach, under the palm trees, talking and laughing.

  Nadine sat up, pushed the straps of her swimsuit back into place, straightened her tumbled chestnut hair.

  'Go away and leave me alone!' she hissed at Sean, who looked back at her, his mouth twisting in sardonic comprehension of her changed mood.

  He didn't bother to answer; just stood up, raking back his hair, moved another lounger under the shade of the umbrella next to her and spread his towel over it before lying down, the dark glasses still firmly in place on his nose above that arrogant mouth.

  Nadine hesitated between ignoring him and leaving, going back to the hotel. But that would be running away; Sean had already won their last little skirmish, and she wasn't going to let him win every battle, however much it cost her.

  She lay down, hunted for her own sunglasses, put them on. She got out her Walkman, dropped in a tape of her current favourite group and opened her paperback book.

  She was reading a new detective story by one of her favourite authors: it was hard to concentrate, though; the turns and twists of the plot seemed to make little sense, and she couldn't remember who all the characters were because her mind was preoccupied with other things. With Sean. With her own weak, stupid feelings for him. She kept remembering the last months of their marriage: the loneliness and bitterness she had felt. He'd so rarely been there, and when he was all they did was quarrel. She'd known he was seeing Fenella Nash, he had talked about her all the time, to everyone: friends, the Press, people he worked with. He'd been obsessed with her. He thought Fenella was the find of the century: the camera loved her, she was beautiful, she could act almost without moving a muscle. One flicker of her long black lashes and she conveyed oceans of meaning, Sean had said, smiling, and Nadine had listened, sick with jealousy.

  And whenever they were alone he was edgy and irritable, picking rows over nothing, seeming eager to get away from her again. Their marriage had been in trouble long before they finally split apart, and whatever Sean might say now it had been because of him and Fenella, not because he was jealous over Jamie. She had been working with Jamie for years. Sean had never liked him much, and admittedly he had often said he wished she wouldn't work with Jamie so often, but then Sean didn't want her to work at all. He wanted her to give up modelling, he didn't see why she wanted to have a career when she was his wife—that should be enough for her. He wanted her to have his baby, start a family.

  She had wanted children. One day. But she knew that once she had a baby her body would change drastically, even after the birth, even if she lost all the weight she had necessarily gained during pregnancy. Her breasts would be fuller, less firm, her stomach not so flat, she was terrified of getting stretch marks, of not being able to recover her elasticity, the suppleness and muscle-tone she had. She had seen it happen to other girls in her profession and it spelt the end for them.
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  She was getting quite old for modelling, anyway: once you were in your twenties you were on the slow slide from the top. There were always young girls coming up to get the best jobs. She had wanted to have a few more years before she had to stop but Sean wouldn't listen when she explained; he seemed to resent her career too much.

  Maybe that had been the real cause of their broken marriage? she thought bleakly, closing her eyes. Maybe Fenella and Jamie had only been the excuses they used for having quarrels which were really about something else entirely. A sigh wrenched her. What was the point of this endless searching for reasons? Why keep going over the past? Their marriage was finished. She ought to be getting on with her life.

  Their marriage, maybe, she thought grimly. But not, she had to face now, the way she felt about Sean. That wasn't finished. She wasn't over him. She wished to God she were. The sexual chemistry exploded between them every time he was near her. She felt it even now, when they were lying side by side on this beach, not even looking at each other let alone touching; not even alone, come to that.

  There were quite a few people on the beach now; she heard them vaguely through the insistent beat of her music. There was a party of young people, not students from her class, but obviously staying in the hotel. They were bronzed and fit: she watched them running down the sand, splashing into the blue Caribbean, chucking a beach-ball high into the air from one to the other. As she watched them they became aware of her, openly staring at her curved, very female figure in the clinging jade-green swimsuit, and Nadine quickly looked away, pretended to be unaware of them.

  Sean didn't, however. She picked up tension from him; he was watching the other men, his face hard, forbidding, set in silent antagonism. That was how he had always reacted when other men stared at her. He meant to scare them off—and usually did.

  He did now. The tanned youngsters turned away hurriedly, and she saw them swimming out to a raft which was tethered in the sea just off the beach. Nadine almost laughed. If she hadn't been so irritated she would have done. She didn't blame them. Any sane person would run away from Sean when he looked like that. He had an air of threat, of danger: it was the brooding look in those blue eyes, the muscled power of that lean body. Even lying on a lounger on the beach he disturbed, the way a black panther disturbed when it stretched out in the sun, apparently at rest but always tensely waiting to make its kill.