Desperate Desire

by Flora Kidd

  ‘A happy ending?’ asked Lenore.

  ‘A happy ending. You will remember it while you play, please.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ she whispered, then asked quickly, ‘Isaac, you’ve been to Adam Jonson’s house this week, haven’t you?’

  ‘A couple of times. To plan with Valerie Baker the arrangement of the room for the concert, the best views for the camera and that sort of thing. Also to make sure the chairs were delivered there from the church hall. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Was Adam Jonson there? Did you see him?’ ‘The first time, yes. He had some advice to give us. But yesterday, no. He was not there, and Valerie was irritated because he had said he would be there. She asked Bertha Smith if he was at home, but the woman wouldn’t tell her anything.’

  ‘Do you know if he’s going to be at the concert tomorrow?’

  ‘No, I do not know that. But the Smiths will be there to open the house for us, and members of the Music and Arts Society will be on hand to direct people to their seats and to make sure no one wanders into the rest of the house. Ah, here is Jack, so we can get started. Now remember, Lenore, while you are playing you are a woman falling in love.’

  It wasn’t hard to remember, because she had fallen in love, and the music now seemed to tell the story of her affair with Adam right up to the middle of the last movement. Only the ending seemed beyond her reach, she thought sadly as she played the final few bars in unison with Isaac, because Adam had gone away and she would never see him again.

  After the rehearsal both Isaac and Jack complimented her on the improvement in her playing, and they made arrangements to drive over to the Jonson house on the afternoon of the next day to make sure the room was ready and to have a final rehearsal. Jack drove her back to the Inn, where she found Blythe in the kitchen preparing to serve dinner to the few guests and Josh Kyd sitting at the table by the window, watching Blythe as she moved about, an expression of adoration in his grey eyes.

  No happy ending for Blythe and him, either, Lenore thought as she went upstairs to her bedroom later. Oh, why was the path of true love never smooth? Why were there always obstacles in the way?

  In bed, sleepless and watching the moon slide from behind a cloud and shine directly through the bedroom window, she listened to the music of the Mozart trio beating through her mind, the viola gruff and growling, the clarinet plaintive and yearning. An ill-matched couple, Isaac had said, because musically speaking the instruments are so different from each other.

  She and Adam were ill-matched. That was why they had clashed from the moment they had met. He was rough and tough and liked living dangerously, going to countries tom by warfare, taking films of violence. She was highly strung, sensitive to the nth degree, closing her eyes to and turning her back on the violence in the world, escaping from reality in the beauty of music. She and Adam had nothing in common. Nothing.

  Then why this strong pull of attraction between them? Why was she in despair because he might die when undergoing an operation that he might not have had if she hadn’t goaded him? Where was he now? In an impersonal hospital room, under sedation perhaps, sleeping in preparation for the operation tomorrow.

  No. Tomorrow was a Sunday, and operations were rarely carried out on a Sunday. Only in the case of emergency. It would happen on Monday. Oh, God, if only she could find out when and where! No use asking Bertha Smith, but Albert might tell her. And once she knew she would go straight away to be there when the operation was done; to be there when Adam came out of the anaesthetic; to be there when—she forced herself to face up to the possibility again—when he died.

  She slept that night better than she had slept any night since he had told her to stay away from him. It was as if, having admitted that she loved him in spite of his difference from her and having decided what to do once she knew where he was, her mind relaxed at last. She woke refreshed next morning, and while she was dressing she re-read Herzel’s letter.

  ‘Now that I’ve been apart from you for a while I realise how much I miss you. I should have asked you to come with me, I can see that now. I need you, Lenore. Will you fly out here and join me? We could live here together without my family knowing. Please come. . . .’

  Lenore folded the letter up and pushed it back in the envelope, then stared out of the window at the morning sunlight slanting through the leaves of the trees. A bird was singing a repetitive tune. It seemed to her that it was Too late, Herzel, too late, Herzel. Opening the drawer in the table, she tossed Herzel’s letter into it. One day she would reply to it, but not now. She had too much on her mind. She had Adam on her mind.

  She tried to take it easy that day to keep her thoughts turned away from the concert. During the morning she helped Blythe prepare the usual Sunday brunch and also helped to wait on tables. Then she helped Blythe clear away dishes and when that was done she sat out in the garden to enjoy the sunshine. Later she changed into the simple navy blue and white crepe-de-chine dress that she had chosen to wear for the concert, swept her hair up and pinned it in a knot on top of her head, made up her face and wearing her coat of thin grey ultra-suede, she carried her clarinet case downstairs and sat in the lounge until Isaac called for her. Blythe, who was catering the reception to be held at the house after the concert, would come later with Carrie, the regular waitress and, of course, Josh Kyd.

  The late afternoon sunshine was golden, the distant hills were misty blue, the sea was a soft smooth violet, when Isaac’s car approached the Jonson house. Albert Smith let them in. Neatly dressed in a navy blue suit and white shirt, he was almost unrecognisable as the person who had driven Lenore home early one morning more than a month ago.

  Lenore let Isaac and Rose go ahead of her into the room where the concert would be held, and as soon as they were out of earshot she turned back to Albert, who was closing the front door.

  ‘Is Adam . . . I mean Mr Jonson . . . all right?’ she asked in a hoarse whisper.

  Albert turned and looked down at her, his brow wrinkling in puzzlement.

  ‘Sure he’s all right, ma’am,’ he drawled. ‘Why shouldn’t he be?’

  ‘He . . . well, someone told me he was going away to ... to hospital, and I wondered if he’d gone yet.’

  Albert’s twinkling blue eyes narrowed and he scratched the back of his head with a thumbnail.

  ‘Now who would be telling you that?’ he said— evasively, so Lenore thought.

  ‘It doesn’t matter who told me. Has he gone yet?’

  ‘Well, he ain’t here,’ replied Albert.

  ‘So where is he?’ demanded Lenore with a touch of impatience.

  ‘I dunno, ma’am. Are you playing in the concert tonight?’

  ‘Yes, I am. Oh, Albert, please tell me where Adam is!’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to do that, ma’am,’ he replied stiffly. ‘Adam wouldn’t like it if I did. Now excuse me. I have to help Bertha set out the wine-glasses on trays.’

  ‘Oh, damn,’ muttered Lenore to his retreating back, and she stamped her foot on the floor, but he didn’t look round or stop. He went right on along the passage to the kitchen.

  Glancing to her left, she saw that the door of the room where she had slept with Adam was open. She went over and looked in. The room had changed. It was no longer furnished as a bedroom; it was a study, with a big carved desk, bookcases and comfortable chairs. Against one wall there was a long table covered with a white cloth. In the centre of the table was an arrangement of spring flowers; purple and yellow flags, pale narcissi and scarlet tulips. This would be where the reception took place, and it was no longer needed as a bedroom for Adam because he wasn’t around any more. He’d gone. But where had he gone?

  For the next couple of hours Lenore had no time to wonder about Adam’s whereabouts and how she could find out where he was, because she was too busy with the last rehearsal before the concert and then having a quick sandwich dinner provided by Bertha. The concert was to start at seven-thirty, and at about six-thirty Jim Lorway and another cam
eraman arrived with their equipment. Valerie Baker wasn’t with them.

  ‘We don’t know where she is,’ explained Jim. ‘I’ve been calling her apartment all day, but no answer. She hasn’t been at the studios either. But I guess we can manage without her. We did before she ever came to the network, so we will again.’

  She’s with Adam, I know she is, thought Lenore, and felt a sickening surge of jealousy. They've gone away together. They’ve gone back to New York. She’s talked him out of having the operation and persuaded him to leave Northport. Oh, why am I wasting my time thinking about him? He made it very clear that he didn’t want me once she came back into his life. Why don’t I do what he told me to do? Forget him.

  At seven the audience began to arrive, sweeping up the driveway in all sizes and kinds of cars. Low in the western sky the sun lingered, a golden ball hovering above purple hills etched against duck-egg blue sky. The air was warm and soft, heady with the scent of lilacs and the tang of the sea. In the hallway of the old house the panelled walls glowed softly welcoming the strangers who had come, and soon the long wide room with the green velvet curtains and rosewood piano was full of the sound of voices.

  ‘Is he here?’ In the room that was now a study where the reception would be held Blythe was counting the wine-glasses that Bertha Smith had so carefully arranged on trays.

  ‘Is who here?’ asked Lenore, who had gone into the room to have a few words with her sister before the concert began.

  ‘Adam Jonson, of course. I’d like to meet him.’

  ‘No, he isn’t. He’s gone away. I think he’s gone away with her.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Valerie Baker—you know, the producer of the programme. She was the Woman you used to see in the village in the winter. She used to live here with Adam.’

  ‘Really?’ Blythe’s dark eyes were round with surprise. Then she noticed the droop of Lenore’s lips, the anguished look in the amber-coloured eyes. ‘Too bad,’ she commented. ‘Too bad he isn’t here—to hear you play, I mean. It was the least he could do.’

  ‘I think so too,’ muttered Lenore.

  The concert started promptly. His face glowing rosily under the bright beams of the TV lamps, his short white summer jacket gleaming, Isaac introduced the Brahms quartet and then sat down to play. The sounds of two violins, a viola and a cello, sometimes strident and discordant, sometimes in beautiful harmony, sometimes in unison as they ‘talked’ together, filled the room. The audience sat still and silent. Outside the long windows shadows crept across the lawn as the sun set behind distant hills. Twilight lingered violet-grey, then darkness came. The only lights in the room were the blazing TV lights directed towards the musicians and the lights hanging above them. The rest of the room was in shadow.

  The Brahms quartet ended triumphantly, every bow lifting off at the same time. There was a moment’s silence and then the applause began. The four musicians bowed and then, carrying their instruments, walked out of the room through the open doorway into the hall. The clapping continued, so they walked back to take another bow.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Isaac asked Lenore, who had been sitting in the hallway listening to the quartet and waiting for her turn.

  ‘Yes, I am. But don’t you and Jack want a drink or something before playing again?’ she asked. ‘You both look very hot.’

  ‘It’s the TV lights,’ said Jack, mopping his face with a large white handkerchief. ‘Even with the windows open it’s hot in there.’

  ‘I’m glad it’s a fine night and we can have them open,’ said Isaac. ‘I think a little iced water would be good to drink.’

  Blythe brought them glasses of water. They drank, settled their bow ties, made sure they had the right music and with Lenore leading the way returned to the room, where they were greeted with more applause.

  The music began, and as the viola stated the main theme Lenore remembered what Isaac had told her the day before and imagined it was Adam snarling and swearing at her when she had collided with him on Bay Street. She raised her clarinet to her lips and the sound came out clear and rounded, repeating the same tune warmly, with emotion.

  All through the first movement and again through the second she imagined she was arguing with and cajoling Adam; playing as if he were in the room. Then came the pause between the second and last movement, and she remembered what Isaac had said about the happy ending and wondered how she could make the music sound happy when she knew there was no hope of a happy ending for herself and Adam.

  She looked into the shadowed audience, at the gleam of faces. Over heads she looked to the back of the room—and felt shock flicker through her. From the far back of the room her glance swerved sideways to one of the long open windows. A man was standing just inside the window. A tall man wearing dark glasses.

  ‘Lenore, ready?’ Isaac whispered, and she realised she had missed his signal to start playing. Collecting her wits about her, she nodded and lifted her clarinet. The reed pressed against her lower lip, and she blew softly. Adam was there by the window. He hadn’t gone away. He was there listening to her. The notes came out rounded, golden, mellow.

  Twice when she had a rest she glanced cautiously towards the window and stared for a moment at the shadowy figure, and was reassured that she wasn’t imagining that he was there, yet when the music ended on its happy note of unison and the applause swelled and flowed around her, she looked again and he had gone.

  The concert was an unqualified success, there was no doubt of that. Three times Lenore and the others had to take a bow, and afterwards in the reception they all received many handshakes and congratulations from the members of the audience who stayed for the reception. And all the time Lenore kept watching the doorway for Adam to appear. But he didn’t come.

  He must be somewhere in the house. If only she could leave the party and go in search of him! But she couldn’t leave, not while Albert and Bertha were there making sure no one strayed upstairs or into the back of the house. She had to stay and drink wine and nibble at cheese and make polite conversation with people she didn’t know.

  It was after ten when the last member of the audience left and the musicians were able to leave too. Lenore declined the offer of a drive with Isaac, saying that she was going home with Blythe, but as she was going to get into Blythe’s car she looked back at the house. Light still streamed out from the hallway through the open front door. It also glowed warm and yellow from a window on the second floor.

  ‘Blythe, come here,’ she whispered, and walked away from the car. Blythe followed her until they were out of earshot of Josh and Carrie, who were already in the car. ‘Look,’ Lenore pointed to the second-floor window. ‘Adam is up there—I know he is. I saw him at the concert. He was standing by one of the windows. He’s up there now, and I’m going to see him.’

  ‘You want me to wait for you?’ asked Blythe calmly.

  ‘No, don’t wait. You go home. But don’t worry if I’m not back tonight, will you?’

  ‘You’re going to stay the night with him?’

  ‘Yes, if ... if it turns out that way I’m going to stay the night with him,’ replied Lenore, and walking as quietly as she could, she went up the steps and into the house.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  AS SOON as she stepped into the hallway Lenore heard voices, Bertha and Albert grumbling to one another as they came along the passage from the kitchen on their way to the front door. Quickly she stepped into the darkened room to the left, the study room, and stood behind the open door.

  Voices and footsteps drew nearer. The light in the hallway was switched off. Someone closed the door of the study, and if it hadn’t been for the moonlight trickling through the window she would have been engulfed in darkness. The front door was shut, then footsteps clumped down the steps. After a few minutes came the roar of Albert’s truck starting up. The sound of it receded as it lumbered off down the driveway. In a few moments all was quiet.

  Moving cautiously, Lenore groped her way to the do
or, found the knob, turned it and pulled open the door. The hallway was dark, but she soon found the light switch. Up the stairs she went, her heart thumping with excitement. She reached the dark upper hallway. Under a door on the right and at the front of the house was a thin line of yellow light. She went straight towards it, tapped lightly on the panels of the door and opened it without waiting to be invited in.

  Light streamed across the wide bed, gleaming on the green and gold of the quilt. Adam was standing beside the bed with his back to her. He was dressed only in dark blue pyjama trousers and the skin of his broad back shone pale gold in the lamplight. He was turning down the bed covers and he seemed not to have heard her.

  ‘Adam,’ she said, and he stiffened all over, dropping the bedclothes, his head jerking back.

  One crisp colourful oath and he swung around to face her. He was without his glasses and his slate-blue eyes were wide and staring at something over her head.

  ‘God, are you here again?’ he snarled. ‘I thought I told you to stay away from me!’

  ‘Yes, you did. And I did stay away ... but when I heard that you’re going away soon to hospital I had to come and see you again. I had to,’ she whispered—and suddenly it happened. The love she felt for him burst out and flowed through her and she let it flow out of her, warm and strong, as resistless as the tide coming from the deep places of the sea, urging her towards him, her hands outstretched, reaching out to touch him.

  In three strides she was close to him, her hands on his chest sliding up over the scarred skin to his shoulders, lifting to the nape of his neck.

  ‘Oh, Adam, I was so glad when I saw you standing by the window at the concert,’ she whispered. ‘I thought you’d gone away, you see. I thought we’d never meet again.’ Overcome by her emotions, she pressed her lips against the pulsing hollow at the base of his throat and licked his salty skin.