by Joy Wodhams
“No. Nothing.”
Another stewardess was moving down the gangway, reminding passengers to fasten their seatbelts. They were approaching Madeira.
The thrust of the brakes that slammed her stomach into her spine as they landed on one of the world's shortest runways, the wait for their baggage in the airport building and the hunt for a taxi outside all helped to divert her thoughts. It was too dark to see much on the journey until they reached Funchal but there the elegant buildings, the floodlit fountains and gardens and the bright promenade of Madeirans and holidaymakers along the broad main street raised her spirits. And then they were turning into the hotel grounds.
“Mr and Mrs Nicholson.” The words gave her a shock and she wandered away from the hotel desk to a display of local leatherware in a glass case. Gabriella Nicholson. Rod's wife.
There seemed to be some delay. She looked across the foyer and could tell from the rigidity of Rod's back and the way he gripped the counter that he was angry. Then he was striding towards her.
“Something's gone wrong,” he said. “Some stupid clerk has assumed that because we're Mr and Mrs Nicholson I couldn't possibly have meant it when I requested two rooms and has booked us into one!”
She stared at him, horror dawning. “But – they must have other rooms?”
He shook his head. “They haven't. Not for three days. They'll transfer one of us then but in the meantime -”
“You did this deliberately!”
“Oh, for God's sake, Gabriella! I'll show you the email when we get back. D'you really think I want to be stuck with you for twenty four hours a day?”
“Then what are we going to do?”
“This is one of the three best hotels in Funchal. They've contacted the other two but they're both full. I think it's too late to start phoning around all over the city and I for one am tired. I suggest we take it. At least it's got separate beds!”
Would it be unreasonable to insist? Yes, she thought wearily, it probably would.
At least it's spacious, she admitted, when the manager himself, full of apologies, had escorted them to the first floor room. And the beds were separated by a large heavily carved chest of drawers.
When the manager had gone Rod opened the French windows and stepped out on to the balcony. “Gabriella? Come here.”
She followed him out and gasped with delight. Before her eyes the lights of Madeira in their thousands formed a huge starry backcloth to the city of Funchal. They twinkled softly, with none of the harsh orange glow of English city lights.
“The island rises straight out of the sea,” said Rod. “Beautiful, isn't it?”
She nodded wordlessly. After a few moments she became aware that he was watching her.
“Gabriella,” he said. “We've both been under a lot of strain recently. I think we both need a break. Don't you think we could – just – let go and relax for a week? Be friends, in other words?”
She wanted to say yes. But she knew, more than he did, how difficult it would be.
“This is such a lovely place. It will be such a waste if we can't get any pleasure from it.”
She sighed. “You're right. I'll try.”
“Shake on it?” He took her hand in his large warm one and once again she was taken back to their first meeting.
They went downstairs and had a drink in one of the bars, where an elderly man played softly on a piano. Romantic songs from the 20s and 30s. Lover, As Time Goes By, You and the Night and the Music … Afterwards they walked through the gardens of the hotel down to the sea and watched the moon silver the horizon.
If this were a proper honeymoon, she thought, this place would be paradise.
In their bedroom again Rod became practical. “If you'd like to use the bathroom first and get changed I'll undress out here.” He grinned. “And don't worry, I did bring pyjamas.”
She escaped into the bathroom before the blush hit her cheeks.
Later when they lay in their separate beds she wondered if she should read the book she had brought with her or pretend to be asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
But Rod was yawning. “Goodnight, Gabriella,” he said and switched off his lamp.
“Goodnight, Rod,” she said, and switched off hers.
In the darkness she lay in the unfamiliar bed, as taut as a violin string, waiting, wondering, wide-eyed, until at last she heard the rhythm of Rod's breathing change to a sleep pattern. Then she too closed her eyes and slept.
In the morning they swam leisurely in the hotel pool, then watched the cruise liners berthing in the small harbour just below the lawns. They lunched al fresco on a vine-roofed terrace brilliant with the flowers that bloomed everywhere. The flame-coloured strelitzia, the most well known of Madeiran flowers, really did look like birds of paradise and she made a mental note to take some back for her mother.
“This fish is delicious,” she said. “Is it local?”
“Espada. Apparently it lives so deep in the ocean under such pressure that no one knows what it's really like. By the time it's brought to the surface its shape has changed completely. It's a vicious looking thing.”I
“It looks harmless enough on the place.”
He smiled. “Wait till you see it in the fish market. Black and shiny with teeth like a shark!”
Afterwards they walked down the hill to the city centre and she was enchanted by the flower sellers in their black caps, scarlet waistcoats and gaily striped skirts.
“There's a famous shoe shop somewhere here,” said Rod. “Marvellous leather boots and things. Lots of the cruise passengers make a beeline for it when they're in port. We'll go and buy something later in the week.”
“You've obviously been here before,” said Gabriella and was about to ask, “Did you bring Caroline?” when he forestalled her.
“I came with the family just after I left University.”
She was glad she hadn't spoken. It would have spoiled the pleasant mood that had developed during the day.
Perhaps they were both on their best behaviour but she found herself enjoying Rod's company more and more. He was full of information on the places and people they saw and he had a sense of fun that complemented her own serious nature and enhanced her pleasure in the simple things they did together. At night there was no awkwardness. Rod respected her privacy so completely that the intimacy of their shared accommodation very quickly ceased to bother her. Neither of them even remembered that the manager had promised a transfer to separate rooms during the week.
It was on the third day that it all changed.
After an early breakfast they set off by taxi for the heights of the island. From there, carrying with them a picnic lunch, they planned to walk one of the levadas, the picturesque irrigation canals that ribboned down to the sea. The route Rod had chosen was a strenuous one and although they stopped frequently to admire the eyecatching panorama of lush green foliage spattered with the red roofed houses of the Madeirans, Gabriella was grateful when at last they returned to Funchal. She was exhausted and her head was beginning to swim.
“The best medicine for you, my girl, is a nice cool leisurely swim,” said Rod.
“Oh, Heaven!” she murmured.
Back at the hotel they changed into swimwear, collected towels and long drinks from the poolside bar and retired to the shade of two loungers under the trees.
“Wonderful,” she murmuredrowsily, relaxing her aching muscles one by one.
“Don't you want to swim first?”
“Not immediately. You go if you like.”
“I think I will.”
She watched through half closed eyes as he walked across to the pool. He walked like an animal, she thought suddenly. One of the big cats. That slow smooth stride and the way the muscles of his shoulders and back and hips and thighs all interacted. He dived into the pool and streaked down its length, using a fast crawl. Two girls stopped to watch and Gabriella felt a curious pang when she saw that one of them was tall and unusually sle
nder, with a mane of curling red hair. But it wasn't Sue Langdon, although there was a quite striking resemblance.
Rod swam half a dozen lengths then pulled himself out of the pool. The water ran from his thick black hair, from the gleaming copper of his tanned body, and the eyes of the two girls were glued on him as he strolled back to where Gabriella lay under the trees, picked up a towel and began to dry himself.
“The water's marvellous. You should go in.”
“I may not bother.” The two girls had brought their loungers closer to the trees and were laughing together, glancing frequently at Rod. The red haired girl, smiling across at him, said something to the other and Gabriella stiffened as he smiled lazily back. She rose sharply to her feet.
He caught her arm. “What's the matter?”
“I'm going inside.”
“Why? Aren't you well?”
“I'm perfectly well. Please let go of my arm.”
Instead he tightened his grip and pulled her down beside him. “Come on, I know that sour look, as if you've just swallowed a whole lemon. What have I done now?”
She knew she was about to ruin the companionable relationship they had both worked so hard to build up but she couldn't stop herself. “I thought it wouldn't be long before you reverted to type. Leopards never change their spots and lechers never stop leching, do they?”
His face hardened. “What exactly are you talking about, Gabriella?”
“I'm talking about the Sue Langdon look-alike over there. It's quite obvious that I'm in the way, so I'll do you a favour and disappear!” And wrenching her arm from his grip she marched blindly across the terrace.
In their room she flung herself down on her bed and gave herself up to tears. Would she spend the rest of her life like this, her emotions seesawing between cautious happiness and an agony that she couldn't understand? You couldn't change anyone, even she knew that. People might seem to change on the surface but underneath they always remained the same, with all their faults and flaws – and yet she had hoped – She wept some more until her eyes were leaden and swollen and her head felt as if someone had clamped an iron band around it.
The room was hot and airless. Something seemed to have gone wrong with the air conditioning. She dragged herself from the bed and opened the French windows. Despite herself she was drawn to the balcony to gaze down on Rod where he sat near the pool. She saw that the girls were now sitting beside him and the three were laughing together.
Slowly she moved back into the room and stood for a moment, uncertain what to do next. What do you do when you feel as if you want to die? You just go on, doing the ordinary things of life. You do whatever you're supposed to do next and then you do something else, until eventually you begin to feel a little better. Until the next time. She decided to take a shower.
She stripped off her bikini and stepped under the cool spray, tilting her face and letting the water play on her burning eyes. She stayed in the shower for a long time, soothed by the gentle pressure of the water on her tired body. When she got out, knowing that the heat of the room would soon evaporate the moisture on her skin, she didn't bother to dry herself but merely spread a towel across her bed and lay on it.
She wasn't aware that she had slept but when she opened her eyes she realised that several hours must have passed. The sun was low, sending a single shaft of rosy light across the bed and her sprawled body. Then she realised that Rod was in the room. He sat in a chair by the French window, his head silhouetted against the sun so that she could not see his face. She gasped and rolled over, wrapping the towel across her nakedness.
“How long have you been there?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters! If I'd known you were watching me -”
“You left the door unlocked and then you lay on the bed without a stitch of clothing. What exactly were you expecting, Gabriella?”
“I wasn't – I -”
“One of the waiters? Surely not!” He rose swiftly and then he was standing over her and she flinched at the anger in his voice. “What the hell are you trying to do to me, Gabriella?
“N-nothing. I -”
“You don't know what you want, do you? You can't wait to get out of this marriage yet you hate it when I notice another woman or you see one take an interest in me. You can't bear the nasty man to touch you, yet you lie here naked on your bed waiting for him. Well, perhaps you don't know what you want, Gabriella, but I think I do!”
And in one swift movement he had ripped the towel from her and pinioned her to the bed. She fought him as his mouth sought hers, biting at his lips, clawing at the hard muscles of his shoulders, but she knew that if this was what he wanted she couldn't stop him. She smelled the male smell of him, felt the heat of his skin, the weight of his body and the hard length of him, and suddenly it was what she wanted too. Her mouth softened and her lips parted beneath his. When his hands left her breasts and moved down her body, parting her thighs, she experienced a sensual delight so strong that she shuddered involuntarily.
He raised his head. “Do you want me to stop?” he whispered.
She couldn't bring herself to speak but her eyes must have given him his answer. His mouth came down on hers and, slowly at first, then faster as her passion mounted, he took her with him to a world she had only guessed at.
CHAPTER TEN
When she was dressed she sat out on the balcony, glad of the velvet darkness that was illuminated only softly by the twinkling curtain of lights. She was aware that Rod had come out of the shower and was opening drawers and cupboards. Would he go back into the shower room to dress, as he had done on previous days? No, he had obviously decided there was no further need for privacy. Neither of them had anything left to hide. Her cheeks warmed as she recalled how completely she had abandoned herself to him.
What did he think of her now? They had made love in silence and afterwards he had been almost excessively polite, so polite that – she gave a little laugh that was half sob – she had almost expected him to thank her for the privilege.
“Are you ready?” he asked and she rose obediently. “I've booked a table at a very good fish restaurant outside Funchal,” he was saying but she hardly heard him, conscious only of the touch of his fingers on her bare shoulders as he helped her on with her jacket.
Outside the restaurant's minibus waited. Two other couples from the hotel had booked tables and she was glad when conversation started up between the four of them and Rod, leaving her free to her own confused thoughts.
The restaurant was unpretentious but it had a high reputation amongst locals and tourists alike. The building was approached by a roughly made rocky road and jutted out over the sea, and the fish had been caught that day. With the other guests she went to look at the catch and choose her own fish. Each was so large that in England she would have expected it to feed two or three people, and when her choice was cooked and served she knew that, magnificent as it was, she couldn't possibly eat it.
“I'm sorry,” she told Rod. “I'm afraid you've wasted your money.”
“Not at all,” he said politely and she toyed with a few flakes and watched in silence as he despatched the huge fish on his plate with apparent relish. He hasn't lost his appetite, she thought with resentment.
“More wine?” he asked.
“Thank you.” She found it hard to meet his eyes and impossible to chat with the ease they had developed over the past few days. That's gone for good, she thought, and wondered what would take its place and whether he would try to make love to her again, and if he did, would she be able to fight him. Unbidden images rollercoasted through her mind and an incredible wave of desire shook her so that she dropped her fork and had to snatch up the menu to hide her face. But it mustn't happen again, she vowed. It must never happen again.
“I thought we might visit a vineyard tomorrow,” he said calmly, “and then go on to the Botanical Gardens. What d'you think?”
“It sounds very interesting.” She kne
w she sounded stiff and awkward, and marvelled that he could appear so unmoved by what had happened. Obviously it meant little to him, but then she was far from being the first woman in his life – and certainly wouldn't be the last.
“I don't think you're enjoying this, are you? Would you like to go?”
She hesitated. She wanted to leave. On the other hand the night was still young. If they went back to the hotel now - “Don't we have to wait for the minibus?”
“They'll take us back whenever we're ready.” The corner of his mouth turned down in a half smile of amusement. “Don't worry, I won't sweep you straight up to the bedroom. There are plenty of interesting things to do in Funchal. First.”
She bent hurriedly to rummage in her handbag, hoping he had not seen the telltale scarlet in her cheeks.
“Handkerchief?” he asked.
“I'm – looking for aspirin,” she muttered. “I've got a headache.”
“Hmm. Headaches already!”
They stopped at a piano bar where Gabriella drank more wine. At this rate, she warned herself, she would be an alcoholic before she got back to England, but it was still only eleven when they returned to the hotel. A trio of musicians played on the terrace and several couples were dancing.
“Shall we watch for a while?” she asked, snatching at the opportunity to delay going up to the bedroom.
“If you wish.”
In a corner of the terrace, whose vine-latticed roof was strung with coloured lights, they found an empty table. From the gardens the heavy scent of bougainvillea drifted towards them and the lively disco style music was infectious. As her fingers tapped out the rhythm she thought that in other circumstances she would have enjoyed the atmosphere of romance and anticipation.
“Another drink?” asked Rod.
“I think I've had too many already.”
“In that case, let's dance.”