Nikos came to stand beside her, surveying the wastes of water, the wrecked and sodden countryside. In the distance a small flotilla of boats cut through the flood, heading towards the village. ‘I suppose there must have been casualties,’ he said.
‘Yes.’ She was sombre. ‘Not everyone can have been as lucky as we were.‘
He turned her to face him. Kissed her. ‘Are,’ he said. ‘As lucky as we are. In every possible way. So don’t let’s waste what the gods have bestowed. Go and check on Bert. Then hurry back. I have plans for the afternoon.’
They saw no one for twenty-four hours, except for the occasional small boat in the distance. The wind died a little at last though it remained bitterly cold. Gradually, very gradually, the waters started to recede. Cut off as they were they might have been alone in the world, and they delighted in it. It seemed to Cathy that the bizarre situation in which they found themselves served only to stimulate their need for each other. She found herself living each minute, each hour with an intensity that drove from her mind all thoughts of past or of future; the moment was all, and in this strange small kingdom of theirs, lapped and isolated by the floods that had devastated others’ lives, they were safe. As they made love, and talked, as they dreamed by the fire and made love again it was for those few precious hours as if the hostile world, that would — rightly she knew — condemn and revile their love no longer existed. Soon enough he would leave. Soon enough she would be alone. Soon enough she would have to face the enormity of what she had done. The long, tender night she spent in his arms, listening to the wind and the lapping of the waters, touching him, being touched, loving him, being loved; storing memories for the empty future. For no amount of self-deception could entirely defeat logic, or conscience. She knew, even as he mused and played the game of imagining there could be a life they could somehow share together, that she must send him away. But not yet. Not just yet. Moment by moment she hoarded her happiness, as a miser hoards his gold; the silk of his skin, the smile in his eyes as he looked at her, the murmured words in the darkness, all of these things were her treasures, her defence against cold reality.
Until, that was, the moment that she stood at the bedroom window looking out into the bleak February afternoon and saw a boat approaching, a boat that did not, as others had, veer away from their small island, but chugged steadily and inexorably towards it. And from which, when it had safely beached by the garden gate stepped the tall, handsome, absolutely unmistakable figure of her son, Adam.
‘God Almighty!’ For a moment shock paralysed her; then she flew to the bed, shook the long-limbed, naked, slumbering figure that lay upon it. ‘Nikos! Nikos, wake up! It’s Adam! Nikos!’
He mumbled and turned, reaching for her. ‘No! Nikos - wake up!’ Frantically she tore herself from his grasp, began dragging her clothes on. ‘Nikos, please —!’
At last her urgency reached him. He sat up, sleepily. ‘What? What’s the matter?’
‘It’s Adam. Nikos — please — wake up — Adam’s here!’
He stared at her for a moment longer before rolling from the bed and reaching for his trousers. ‘Jesus Christ.’
She had pulled on jumper and slacks and was thrusting her feet into her shoes. She reached for a brush, dragged it through her wild hair. ‘I’ll go down. I’ll keep him talking. You stay up here for a minute or two.’ She fled to the door and down the stairs. As she went into the sitting room there was a crisp rap on the door. She glanced around. The room was neat and tidy. The fire was almost out. She ran to it and threw a couple of logs on it, opened the kitchen door. The remains of lunch, clearly for two, stood upon the table. The faintest chance of keeping Nikos hidden faded. The knock came again. She took a deep breath, pulled back the curtain, opened the door. ‘Who on earth — Adam! Adam, darling! What are you doing here?’
Her son stood grinning, a young man in fisherman’s jersey and heavy waterproof trousers behind him. ‘The Seventh Cavalry, Ma’am,’ he said, ‘or I suppose to be more accurate The Seventh Company of Lifeboats. Rescuing fair maidens and elderly ladies our speciality. I managed to get through to the village. They told me you were still here. I found Jerry here and persuaded him to bring me to check you were OK.’ He kissed her cheek lightly. ‘See how I worry about you?’
‘I’m fine. As you see. Absolutely fine. But come in — come in.’
Adam and his silent companion followed her into the room. Her son shook a finger at her. ‘You shouldn’t have stayed, you know. It’s a bit extreme, even for you, under the circumstances.’
She shook her head mildly. ‘I didn’t know what the circumstances were, not until too late. And even if I had done there was Bert. He’s been really very unwell. I couldn’t leave him.’ The excuse echoed hollowly in her own ears.
‘Oh, come off it.’ Her son’s words were easy, and dismissive. ‘You can’t fool me. I know why you wouldn’t go.’
She looked at him, blinking, her heart in her mouth.
‘You wouldn’t leave your blessed Sandlings to the sea. You’d stand on the doorstep like Canute yelling at the waves before —’ he stopped.
The door to the stairs had opened, and Nikos stood there, hair ruffled, eyes sleepy. ‘Adam!’ he said, ‘Adam — what on earth are you doing here? I heard voices —’ Apologetically he turned to Cathy. ‘I’m sorry. I guess I must have dozed off.’ He turned back to Adam, self-deprecating and rueful. ‘We haven’t had much sleep these past couple of days.’
Cathy felt deep, guilty colour rise in her cheeks. She could not look at him.
Adam’s attention had been understandably distracted. He was staring at Nikos. ‘Never mind about me — what the hell are you doing here?’
‘Didn’t they tell you in the village?’ Cathy answered for him, very swiftly. ‘Nikos is the other reason I didn’t leave. With him to help me I felt perfectly safe. Come in the kitchen. It’s warmer in there.’ She led the way into the kitchen, cleared the table as they sat down and dumped the dishes in the sink. ‘I’ll make a cup of tea.’
Adam was still watching Nikos. ‘But — how did you get here? The whole of the coast is chaotic. It took me hours to get through.’
Nikos glanced at Cathy, a gleam of desperation in his eyes.
‘He was here when it happened,’ Cathy said, rapidly. She filled the kettle, set it on the stove. ‘He — heard that conditions were going to be bad and came to warn me. On Saturday night. He’d been staying with friends in — Ipswich, didn’t you say?’ she asked Nikos.
He nodded, dumbly.
‘Unfortunately he got here too late. By the time he arrived it would have been more dangerous to try to get ourselves and Bert out than to stay. Then by next morning — as you see — we were thoroughly cut off so there wasn’t a lot we could do anyway. By the time the coastguard came it was fairly obvious that the cottages were safe, so it seemed best not to leave. Nikos stayed to help me look after Bert and the house. He’s been a Godsend.’
Adam was looking puzzled. ‘How did you know?’ The question was addressed to Nikos.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘How did you know? That conditions were going to be that bad? There were no real warnings. Everyone’s outraged; there’ve been questions in Parliament. There were no warnings given, not of any significance, anyway, and not until far too late. The floods have caused huge damage. Half the east coast is under water and there are apparently hundreds of people dead or still missing —’
‘There were warnings of high tides,’ Cathy broke in, and Jerry, still silent, nodded.
‘But not of the kind of flooding that actually happened. It was a freak. No one was prepared. Did your friend in Ipswich have a crystal ball?’ Again the question, light-hearted enough, but demanding of an answer, was addressed to Nikos.
Nikos shook his head. ‘No, of course not. He just thought that there might be flooding, and that this part of the coast was vulnerable. Since I was so close I came to warn Cathy. To check that she was OK. That’s all. I’m su
re you’d have done the same.’
Adam shrugged, apparently satisfied. ‘I suppose so. And flooding there certainly was, and not just here. The Low Countries caught it too. It’s been absolutely devastating. Have you heard any of the news at all?’
Cathy shook her head. ‘The electricity went off Saturday afternoon. When the wind got up. I haven’t heard a newscast since.’
‘Just as well. It’s been pretty grim.’ Adam sat back in his chair, his hands behind his head. ‘And it’s not going to get any better for some time. They said in the village they’re working day and night to repair the breaches — there are more high tides due in a week — but they don’t know how long it will take. It’s no good, Ma — you’re going to have to pack up and come back to town with me.’
‘No,’ Cathy said. ‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Bert.’
He shook his head impatiently. ‘If he’s that bad he should be in hospital.’
‘From what you say the hospitals have got enough to deal with. The water’s going down. It’s inches lower than it was. I’ve stuck it out this long. I won’t give up now.’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake!’ Adam shook an exasperated head. ‘This isn’t some sort of competition! Supposing it happens again?’
‘I should think that’s very unlikely.’ Cathy’s panic had subsided. Suddenly she found herself thinking clearly and coolly. Composedly she poured the tea and handed the cups round. ‘As you say it seems to have been some kind of freak. The likelihood it will happen again must be very slight.’ She looked at Jerry, smiled her most beguiling smile. ‘I could do with some supplies. Would you be able to fetch some for me?’
‘Ma!’
‘Adam, I shall be perfectly all right. It was very good of you indeed to come out to find me. I do appreciate it. But I’m fine, and I shall stay. If you wish I’ll promise that if there is the slightest danger of the floods rising again, I’ll leave. As things stand it would be silly. Bert isn’t well, though he is a bit improved. Everything I own is here, my work is here. I suppose you could say my life is here. I don’t want to abandon it.’
‘I still think —’
‘No.’ She was gentle but obstinate. ‘I’m staying. Now that’s settled. Still,’ she glanced at Nikos and away, ‘I think you should take Nikos back with you. He ought to have left before.’
‘No,’ Nikos said, quickly, ‘I’m sure Adam would agree. I don’t think you should be left here alone. If I go you should come too.’
‘I can’t. You know I can’t.’
Adam cast resigned eyes to the ceiling. ‘Give up, old boy,’ he said. ‘My mother is the most stubborn animal this side of a mule. You won’t move her.’
‘Then I’ll stay.’
‘No,’ Cathy said. ‘There’s no need.’
Only she guessed that the colour that rose in his thin, dark face was bred of anger. She held his eyes. ‘Please, Nikos. The danger is past. You should go. There’s the business to manage. And Miss Hooper to find.’ She turned back to Adam. ‘Mr Bentley said that Canvey was badly hit?’
‘Completely under water. Everyone evacuated. Forty or so dead.’
‘Oh, Lord — that’s dreadful! Nikos — you must go and make some enquiries. She lived alone, didn’t she?’
He nodded. His eyes, hooded beneath his lashes, were fierce as a hawk’s.
She would not meet them. ‘Well then — you really must get back to town and see what’s going on. You’ll need to report to Leon when he gets back. Now —’ she stood up ‘— if you don’t mind I’m just going to pop next door to check on the patient. After that, since Jerry has been kind enough to say he’ll replenish my supplies tomorrow then I can offer you the last of the eggs and bacon if you’d like.’ She reached for her coat.
Nikos stood up. ‘I’ll come with you,’ he said, his voice brooking no protest. ‘To say goodbye to Bert.’
Outside he caught her arm angrily. ‘Why? Why? Why are you sending me away?’
‘Because there’s no possible justification for your staying. Because sooner or later there’s the chance, if you did, that someone will add two and two together and make four.’ At Bert’s door, protected from the wind, she turned to face him. ‘Because we’ve had our time together, my love.’ She reached to touch his face, feather-light, before she let her hand drop to her side. Inexpressible sadness held her mute for a moment. ‘Whatever happens Adam mustn’t suspect anything. And you really should check that Miss Hooper is all right. We have no choice. You must go.’
‘No!’ The word was agonised.
She leaned to him for a moment, her arms about him, her head bowed to his shoulder. He crushed her to him.
‘Nikos —’
‘I can’t! I won’t! You love me. You know you do. You said you do —’
‘Nikos, stop it!’ She pulled away from him. ‘I said other things too. I said it couldn’t last. I said we must never, never do this again —’
‘You didn’t mean it. You couldn’t have meant it!’ He caught her arms, not noticing how she flinched at the force of his grip. ‘Cathy, come away with me. Anywhere. Anywhere! I have a little money —’
‘Nikos, don’t be silly. You know it’s impossible.’
‘It wouldn’t be. Not if you loved me the way you say you do —’
She tilted her head back, suddenly tired. ‘Nikos — contrary to popular belief love doesn’t conquer all.’
‘Don’t be so bloody cynical.’ He was close to tears.
‘I’m not being cynical. I’m being realistic.’
He let her go so suddenly she stumbled back against the door. ‘Realistic?’ his voice was bitter. ‘Is that what you call it? You don’t mean by any chance “Thanks, but no thanks and goodbye?”’
‘Nikos!’
He turned from her in despair. ‘You don’t love me,’ he said.
‘That isn’t true.’
‘Then let me stay!’
She shook her head. ‘It would look — odd. Can’t you see that?’
‘I don’t give a damn how odd it might look!’
‘Then you should,’ she said, quietly. ‘Nikos — have you any idea — have you given it the slightest thought? — how your father might react if he suspected there were anything going on between us?’
He stared at her in miserable defiance. Suddenly he looked very young.
‘He’d kill us both,’ Cathy said, very quietly. ‘You know it.’
‘Now you’re being melodramatic.’
‘Am I?’
He said nothing.
‘I suppose,’ she added, ‘that it could be said he’d have every right to.’
‘No.’
‘I’m his wife. You are his son. His much-loved son.’
‘Both of whom come second to his bloody business.’
‘Nevertheless -’
‘Nevertheless nothing!’ He would not let her finish. When she tried to turn from him to the door he caught her wrist. ‘Oh, no. Look at me. Will you look at me?’ He waited until her eyes met his. ‘Tell me you don’t love me. Tell me you don’t want me. Tell me that the past days haven’t been the most wonderful experience of your life.’ His grip tightened. ‘Tell me!’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t. You know I can’t.’
‘Tell me you love him and not me. Tell me you wish it hadn’t happened.’
Cathy opened her mouth to speak, shut it again, shaking her head.
‘Then let me stay!’
‘No.’
He let go of her. Stepped back. ‘All right,’ he said, his voice shaking, ‘l’ll go. But don’t you try to tell me you love me. Not ever again. I’ll never believe it. Never!’ He turned and left her. At the corner of the house he turned back. ‘I love you,’ he said, harshly, his young face savage, ‘I’ll always love you. I hope you can live with that. I’ll have to,’ and he was gone.
Cathy closed her eyes for a moment, steeling herself against the sudden welling of tears. She leaned
against the door in the swirling, salt-laden wind, her head bowed. She had known from the start that it could only end in pain. She just had not been prepared for the depth of that pain. It was several full minutes before she straightened, took a breath and put her hand to the latch of the door.
*
Nikos, silent and coldly polite, left with Adam a couple of hours later. Watching him Cathy was torn between love and fury She could not bear it that they should part in such a manner, with no private word, no chance to heal the rift between them; yet, too, his inability to hide his feelings, his refusal, it seemed, even to try, was so dangerous that it strung her nerves almost to breaking point. She made eggs and bacon for Adam and Jerry, plied them with questions about the floods, tried to keep Adam’s attention from Nikos’ black mood. In the end when the time came for them to leave it was almost a relief; but only until the little boat, in which Nikos sat rigid, looking ahead, refusing to turn, refusing to wave, chugged away, the sound of its engine dying, Adam’s one last cheerful wave the last thing she saw before the little craft disappeared into the late afternoon dusk. She stood at the bedroom window, strain- ing her eyes after it. The house was very quiet. She had never known it feel so empty. She had never in her life felt so alone. Miserably she turned from the window and walked to the bed; sat on it, staring straight ahead.
He had gone. It was finished. It had to be finished.
‘But it hurts,’ she said, softly, aloud, into the silence. ‘Oh, God, it hurts!’
The memories — so recent, so warm, more real than the present — were all about her. Almost she expected to see him walking across the room to her, almost she expected to hear his voice, his laughter.
The silence echoed, mocking in her ears.
The fire was dead in the grate, the room was chill. She felt suddenly, overwhelmingly tired and cold to the bone. It was as if all warmth, all feeling, had drained from her. As if the essence of herself had been drawn like a will o’ the wisp across the grey waters behind the little craft that had taken Nikos from her.
She reached for a pillow. It was the one on which Nikos’ head had rested. She hugged it to her, let herself fall sideways on to the bed, the pillow clutched to her, eyes wide and looking into space. She lay for a very long time in the darkening room, trying not to think, trying not to feel, trying to convince herself that the world had not ended. And in the end, practical as always, she had to concede that it had not; not for other people anyway. A thump on the wall that adjoined with the next cottage told her that her much improved patient considered, quite justifiably, that it was time for supper. Stiff and shivering with cold she hauled herself off the bed and went downstairs to the kitchen.
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