Desperate Desire

by Flora Kidd

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ retorted Blythe. ‘Ask him when you see him again this afternoon.’

  ‘I tried to get out of going, but Isaac insisted I go—said he wouldn’t go if I wouldn’t,’ sighed Lenore.

  ‘Why don’t you want to go?’

  ‘I don’t want to see Adam again, of course. Oh, Blythe, I’m afraid of him—really afraid,’ she whispered.

  ‘Afraid he might come on strong again and you won’t be able to resist?’ guessed Blythe shrewdly.

  ‘Yes, that’s it exactly,’ admitted Lenore.

  ‘Then you’ll just have to make sure you don’t find yourself alone with him for longer than half an hour, won’t you,’ replied Blythe dryly. ‘Stay close to Isaac. I guess he’ll be delighted to protect you.’

  ‘It isn’t funny!’ flared Lenore.

  ‘No, I suppose it isn’t. But feeling the way you do, I can’t understand why you turned down his proposal.’

  ‘I don’t want to be married just because I seem to be . . . available,’ retorted Lenore. ‘I ... I want to be married for . . . for love.’

  ‘Don’t we all?’ sighed Blythe. ‘But how often does that happen? See you later.’

  There was a smell of newly-mown grass in the air when Lenore stepped out of Isaac’s car at four o’clock that afternoon, and Albert Smith was riding round the big lawn beside the house on a small grass-cutting tractor. Beyond the edge of the green slope the bay glittered with afternoon sunlight, islands seeming to float on its surface, and in the distance the hills were misty purple against the sun-bright blue of the sky.

  ‘Beautiful. Beautiful!’ exclaimed Isaac, clapping his hands in delight.

  The house was in mellow mood, windows winking with light, clapboard gleaming softly. The front door was open and Lenore led the way into the hallway. From the doorway on the right led the way into the hall. From the living room came the sound of voices. She went over to the doorway and stepped into the room. Adam was standing by the piano. Two people were with him, a woman and a man. The woman, who was casually dressed in brown slacks, a white blouse and a brown tweed short jacket with a brightly coloured scarf tied around her neck, had a thin elfin face and a lot of curly brown hair. She noticed Lenore and said something to Adam. He swung round to face the door.

  ‘Adam.’ Lenore stepped forward nervously. Wearing a thin sweater and dark blue jeans, he seemed bigger and tougher than ever and the dark glasses gave his lightly suntanned face a sort of supercilious expression. ‘Isaac Goldstein is here with Jack Kenata and Willa Caplan,’ she went on as coolly as she could. ‘May they come in and look at the room?’

  He stiffened at the sound of her voice and frowned and she thought for a moment that he wasn’t going to answer her. Then he said coldly, ‘Of course they can come in. That’s why they’ve come, isn’t it, to look at the room?’

  But his manner changed miraculously as soon as she introduced Isaac. No longer frigidly stiff, he shook the violinist’s hand warmly, and he was just as welcoming towards Jack and Willa. Then he introduced the other two people.

  The woman was Valerie Brown, who was a producer of programmes for the local public broadcasting network, and the young man was Jim Lorway who would film the concert.

  ‘Now please feel free to look around and to discuss with Val and Jim what it is you want to do,’ Adam added. ‘And if there’s anything you want to ask me you’ll find me outside on the terrace.’

  Smoothly polite, coolly autocratic, he was very different from the Adam she knew, thought Lenore, as she watched him leave the room through one of the long open windows. And he had ignored her. She might as well have not been there.

  She hardly heard what Isaac was saying to the two from the TV network. The urge to follow Adam from the room was too strong, and she gave in to it, excusing herself and walking across to the open window, pretending she didn’t know that they had all turned to watch her leave the room.

  Adam was at the far end of the terrace and seemed to be staring at the view of green land sloping down to blue water, distant islands and hills, and although the heels of her sandals clicked on the stone flags of the terrace and he must have heard her approaching him, he didn’t turn towards her.

  ‘Adam,’ she said when she was close to him.

  ‘Why have you come?’ he snapped the words at her and bone showed white at the comer of his jaw as he gritted his teeth.

  ‘Isaac insisted that I came with him to introduce him to you,’ she replied rather breathlessly. Being near to him again was causing that silly weakness to flow through her. She wanted to put her arms around him, lean against him. She wanted to feel his arms about her, his lips against her cheek, his fingers at her breast. Oh, how she wanted him! ‘Adam, why did you agree to let the group have the room?’ she rushed on, looking away from him at the view. It was safer to look that way than at him. Much safer. ‘I hope it wasn’t . . . well, I hope you’re not expecting me to change my mind and agree to marry you just because you’ve done this for them.’

  ‘I’m expecting nothing from you,’ he said in the same hard frostbitten tones. ‘Nothing at all. You’re the type that blows hot, then blows cold. One minute you’re offering everything you’ve got, the next you’re wanting back what you’ve given. You’re an Indian giver.’

  ‘I’m not!’ she flared. ‘Oh, how can you say that? How can you pass judgement on me like that when you hardly know me?’

  ‘I know enough!’ He almost spat the words at her. ‘And I don’t want to know any more.’ He drew a deep breath as if to assert control over himself and went on more quietly, ‘I offered the use of the room to Isaac Goldstein and his music group because I happen to have great respect for him as a person and a musician. I also think it’s a good thing for the community of Northport to have such a cultural event held here. My decision to let them use the room had nothing to do with you.’

  Silence, but not complete, for there was the sound of the tractor, the singing of birds, and from the room behind him the bitter-sweet music of a Chopin Nocturne being played on the piano by Jack Kanata. Lenore, hearing the romantic music, felt as if her heart was being squeezed.

  ‘Adam, I’m sorry,’ she began softly. ‘I.. .’

  ‘For turning down my proposal?’ he asked, turning on her, his lips taut and bitter. ‘Don’t be. You were right to refuse. I wasn’t normal when I made it. I was out of my mind, and I want you to forget it. I want you to consider it was never made. Okay?’

  Eyes wide and glistening suddenly with unshed tears, Lenore gazed up at the dark glasses that glared down at her, wishing not for the first time that she could see his eyes, gauge his real feelings from them. Surely he didn’t mean what he was saying? Surely he wasn’t as cruel as the savage set of his lips suggested?

  ‘But I don’t. . .’ she began, and he cut in sharply.

  ‘And don’t come here again—by yourself, I mean. Don’t ever come here unless you’re with someone. I don’t want you here by yourself. Stay away from me. Understand?’

  ‘But if Isaac and the group decide the room is suitable for the concert I’ll have to come again. You see, Isaac has asked me to perform with them at the concert,’ she retorted. ‘And I want to. I’m not going to back out now just because you don’t want me here.’

  ‘You won’t be alone if you’re with them, will you?’ Adam pointed out dryly, his lips twisting.

  ‘I guess I won’t.’ She couldn’t see the view any more, because her eyes had filled with, tears again. ‘Adam. . .’ she began, turning to him appealingly, but broke off and stepped back a pace when he swore viciously at her.

  ‘Don’t argue with me!’ he grated. ‘Don’t say any more. It’s over, done with. Forget it.’

  He stepped past her and strode away along the terrace. The piano had stopped, and Lenore could hear voices. Her few moments alone with him were over. The affair with him, that flare-up of white-hot passion, was over. Done with, he had said. Before her eyes the flowing green land and the glittering blue
sea blurred as she struggled to control an overwhelming desire to fling herself down on the ground and to sob and beat at the ground with her fists.

  ‘Isaac tells me it’s thanks to you that Adam has agreed to let the music ensemble perform in his house.’

  The voice was female and rather harsh; abrasive, the voice of a woman accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed. Valerie Baker. Lenore stiffened but didn’t turn immediately. She had to get rid of the teardrops that had spilled on to her cheeks first, stroking them away with a forefinger.

  ‘I was merely the go-between,’ she muttered, then turned and attempted a smile. ‘There usually has to be one,’ she added, ‘between two people who don’t know each other and have never met.’

  ‘How long have you known Adam?’ asked Valerie. Now that she was close Lenore could see that the other woman was older than herself, around thirty-five, about Adam’s age. ‘As far as I can remember he’s never spoken of you to me,’ Valerie continued, ‘and I’ve known him a long time.’

  ‘How long?’ asked Lenore. A new feeling was surging up in her; an ugly feeling that had a sour taste to it. Jealousy of this cool self-confident woman who had known Adam a long time?

  ‘Oh, about ten years. We started our careers in television at the same network about the same time.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t know. I’ve only known him since I came here about two or three weeks ago, I guess. I’m not sure. We met by accident. Have you visited him here before? I mean, did you know he’d come to live here?’ asked Lenore.

  ‘Sure I knew he was living here.’ Valerie laughed a little and her eyes, which were catlike, hazel-yellow shot with green sparks and slanted upward at the outer comers, sparkled. ‘I lived with him here for a few weeks before Christmas.’

  ‘Oh, then you’re the woman who. . .’ Lenore began, realised she was about to be indiscreet and stopped.

  ‘The woman who what?’ demanded Valerie sharply, her amusement fading, her eyes narrowing and becoming even more catlike. ‘Adam has said something about me to you?’

  ‘No. My sister . . . she owns the Northport Inn . . . told me that there was a woman living here for a while. She used to see you in the village. Then you went away, she said,’ replied Lenore vaguely, remembering vividly Albert Smith’s caustic remarks about Valerie and how she had come to leave. A bitch, he had called her, and there had been a dust-up between Adam and Valerie, so the woman had left.

  ‘I didn’t go far,’ replied Valerie, with a wry twist to her lips. ‘When I heard he’d been badly hurt and blinded I gave up my job in New York to come and be with Adam,’ she went on in a low voice. ‘I did my best to help him get over the frustration that being half blind caused, but he wouldn’t let me help. He’s so damned proud.’ She sighed heavily and her thin face took on a sad expression. ‘We used to be close, he and I,’ she confessed, ‘very close. Whenever he was home . . . that is in New York . . . between assignments, we would get together, and I kind of hoped that one day our relationship would become permanent. I came here to be with him, but it didn’t work out quite the way I hoped.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I managed to get a job with the local public television network, and naturally when I heard there was a possibility of producing a programme in Adam’s house I jumped at the chance of coming here again and seeing him.’ Valerie sighed again. ‘And maybe, just maybe he’ll ask me to come back and live with him again.’

  ‘Yes, maybe,’ agreed Lenore. She was beginning to feel all tight inside, like an overstrung violin or guitar. Any moment now a string would break. Was the return of Valerie the reason Adam wanted her to forget his proposal of marriage? Was he glad Valerie had come back into his life? And was that why he didn’t want her to come to the house any more? ‘Is it all arranged, then? Have you fixed up with Isaac and Jack about the filming of the concert?’ she asked, wrenching her thoughts away from personal feelings.

  ‘No, not yet. But we’re going to meet again, tomorrow, at Isaac’s house. You see, I have this great idea that we do more than one concert. A series of four, I thought, each one to be filmed during the summer months in this house and then shown on TV in the fall and winter months. What do you think?’ Valerie was suddenly the TV producer, crisp and determined, knowing what she wanted and how to go about achieving it.

  ‘Sounds great. Isaac will be pleased,’ said Lenore. She glanced at her watch. She had a sudden urge to run away, to get as far away as she could from Adam’s house and this woman who had once been Adam’s mistress and who wanted to be Adam’s wife. ‘I must go and find Isaac. It’s time we were going back to Northport,’ she murmured. ‘Excuse me.’ She began to walk towards one of the open windows of the living room.

  ‘I guess I’ll be seeing you again,’ said Valerie, following her, ‘at rehearsals for the concert. Isaac has agreed to let me come to some of them to get an idea of how you’ll all look when you’re playing. And then I’ll want to do interviews with the players that will be shown during the intermission of the concert. You know the sort of thing—where you learned to play your instrument, your professional life to date, what your plans are for the future.’

  ‘Oh, but I’ll only be appearing for this first concert,’ said Lenore as they entered the living room.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. I’d still like to interview you,’ replied Valerie. ‘Why won’t you be here for the summer?’

  Lenore glanced around the room. Adam was sitting in his favourite winged chair. Isaac and Jack were sitting on the sofa facing him and Willa was crouched on a footstool. They had been listening while Isaac talked, but he stopped when she and Valerie approached.

  ‘I won’t be here because after the first concert I’ll be leaving Northport,’ Lenore announced loudly and clearly for Adam’s benefit. ‘I’m hoping to go to Caracas, in Venezuela. I’ve been auditioned for a job in an orchestra out there.’ She looked across at Isaac. ‘Isaac, please can we go now? I promised Blythe I’d be back at the Inn at six to help her.’

  ‘It’s time we were on our way too, Val,’ said Jim Lorway, appearing in the doorway from the hallway. ‘I was just looking for you.’

  ‘You go on without me, Jim,’ Valerie replied, lingering by Adam. She touched his shoulder. ‘Adam and I are old friends and I’d like to stay and talk with him.’

  Adam stood up suddenly so that her hand was shaken off his shoulder.

  ‘It’s been a great pleasure meeting you, Isaac,’ he said, shaking hands with the violinist. ‘And you too.’ He shook hands with Jack and Willa, then turned to Lenore. ‘Goodbye,’ he said coolly and firmly, but he didn’t offer his hand to her.

  ‘Goodbye,’ she whispered, and turning away from him she led the others from the room into the hallway, leaving him alone with Valerie Baker.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘LETTER for you!’ Blythe sang out as she walked into Lenore’s bedroom at the Inn one morning ten days later. Lenore was sitting at the small writing desk in front of the window, but she wasn’t writing. She was cleaning her clarinet in preparation for the last rehearsal before the concert, which would take place at the Jonson house on the evening of the next day, the first day of June.

  ‘Oh, great! I hope it’s about that audition for the orchestra in Caracas,’ said Lenore as she drew the fluffy cleaning brush that was attached to a long cord through the core of the clarinet.

  ‘It isn’t. It’s from Israel. From Herzel Rubin, in fact,’ said Blythe, putting the letter down on the table. ‘Have you been writing to him?’

  ‘I sent a letter to him just before I came here, to let him know where to write if he wanted to,’ replied Lenore, glancing up rather defensively. ‘After all, we’re still friends, Herzel and I.’

  ‘Oh, sure,’ mocked Blythe, sitting down on the edge of the bed. ‘Going to open it and read it?’

  ‘While you’re here?’

  ‘Right. I want to know what it’s like living in Jerusalem.’

  ‘He’s not in Jerusalem. He’s in Tel Aviv,’ retorted Lenor
e, slitting open the envelope. ‘Are you sure there wasn’t anything else in the mail for me?’

  ‘Sure I’m sure. You’re really anxious about getting another job, aren’t you?’

  ‘Of course I am. I can’t stay here for ever, sponging on you.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be sponging if you stayed, you’d better believe it,’ retorted Blythe. ‘I’d make you work if you stayed. It’s going to be a busy summer, from the look of the bookings I’ve got so far, and I’m going to have to hire extra help if you leave. Why don’t you stay at least until the end of August? Now that you’re a member of the music ensemble you have plenty of opportunity to play, so you don’t need to be in an orchestra. I’d have thought, knowing you, that you’d prefer being in an ensemble to being in an orchestra. It’s more free, a much more personal expression.’ ‘You’re right, it is. And I love it. But I have to eat,’ argued Lenore, pulling the thick wad of folded flimsy airmail paper from the envelope. It looked as if Herzel had written a book!

  ‘I’ve told you, you can work here and eat,’ retorted Blythe.

  ‘For the summer, you said. You wouldn’t want me here in the winter when you’re not so busy. You couldn’t afford me.’

  ‘Sure I could. I have to employ someone to help me since I keep the Inn open all winter. Why not my own sister?’

  ‘No,’ Lenore shook her head. ‘It’s good of you, Blythe, and don’t think I don’t appreciate your offer. But I couldn’t stay here. I have to go— soon, too. Next week if possible.’

  Lenore opened the letter to the first page. Blythe continued to sit on the bed watching Lenore’s face as she read, the amused lift of the finely-plucked slanting dark eyebrows, the twitch of the full passionate lips. After a while she said, ‘So what does he say?’

  ‘He likes being there. Likes the climate, likes working in the orchestra, being with his own people, living in a kibbutz,’ answered Lenore. Paper rustled as she turned to the third page, and her eyebrows slanted down in a frown as she read. ‘Heavens!’ she exclaimed. ‘He wants me to go out there!’