Читать книгу Echoes in the Dark - Gayle Wilson - Страница 10

Caroline awoke suddenly in the cloying darkness and sat upright in the tangled sheets. A nightmare. It had been so long. The stresses of the day, she supposed. She took a deep breath and found she could smell, almost taste, the salt, the flowers from the garden below, the heat of the sun leaving the tiles beneath her windows.

It had been a mistake to leave them open. She was gathering the energy to climb out of the clinging sheets and close them when she heard it again. The sound that had dragged her, panting and shivering, from a too-sound sleep. The faint mewling cry of a newborn. She had heard babies cry through the years, and none of them ever sounded like this. So lost. So sick. As the last echo died, she buried her face in her hands. Not again, she prayed. Not again, dear God. Please, not now.

She waited, hoping, and after so many long dark minutes that she had begun once more to breathe, deep shuddering breaths of relief, the wail whispered again. Not through the open windows, but from the hall outside her room.

She had the door open before the sound had stopped, but in the darkness of the long hall she had no idea of its direction. Here there was no echo to guide her. It had stopped as soon as she opened the door, not fading into the blackness, but cut off.

She cried out against the unfairness of it. Realizing where she was, she pressed both hands against her mouth, attempting to suppress the racking sobs that always left her exhausted, incapable of any rational thought. Not again, she begged, feeling the blackness of her fear close around her.

“Caroline,” the voice spoke softly beside her, “what’s wrong? Why are you crying? What’s happened?”

She tried to regain control, to answer his concern, but she was too far into the panic the dream always caused.

Finally hard masculine arms enclosed her, offering the timeless comfort of human closeness that penetrates even the deepest hysteria, and she leaned into the warmth, the alive solidness of his chest. She let him rock her gently until the sobbing eased. Until the blackness retreated again to a manageable distance. She could smell the cologne he used and, underlying that, the scent of his body, warm and hard against her cheek. That evidence of life and sanity overwhelmed her with gratitude, so that she rubbed her face against the smoothness of his chest, turned her head to savor the reality of muscle and skin.

She was aware of the deep breath he took, and then he turned her face up to his and touched her trembling lips with his own. She wanted that touch. Her mouth opened automatically under the invasion of his tongue. She was surprised at the depth of her desire. She of the frozen emotions, the frigid indifference, wanted the lips that were moving over hers so skillfully, evoking memories that made her knees weaken and her hands clutch his shoulders.

He broke the contact, lifting his head, trying to see her face in the moon-touched darkness of the hallway. “What’s wrong?” he asked again, gathering her close.

She swallowed against the dryness. “A nightmare,” she whispered.

“That must have been one hell of a nightmare,” he said, smiling. “Not that I’m not grateful. Do you have these often?”

She was aware of the sexual teasing, the gentle invitation cloaked in the question, but she shook her head, still held safely against his body. “Not in such a long time. I thought they were gone. It’s been so long.”

They both were aware of the trembling despair of the last phrase, and his arms tightened comfortingly.

“You’re just tired—a long flight and then a bunch of strangers, maybe some of us stranger than others,” he teased gently. “Just tired.”

She began to breathe against the rhythmic caress of his hands moving soothingly over her back. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she had been asleep, still dazed from her exhaustion.

There was no sound now in the hallway. No sound from her open door but the boom of the surf against the rocks. His brother had been right. It was becoming a familiar background, as comforting as the hands against her spine. She was enfolded in its sound as Andre was enfolding her in his arms, arms that felt hard enough to protect her from any nightmare.

Embarrassed, she moved finally out of their circle, and he let her go. There was enough light now to see the smile he directed at her. She touched his face, unable to express the gratitude she felt.

“I’m all right. I promise. It was just a bad dream.”

“It’s almost dawn. Do you want me to stay with you?”

“Why were you up?” she whispered.

“I’m going to Marie Galante. To the distilleries. I told you we make our living here producing rum. That’s my domain in the many provinces of the family businesses. Julien runs everything else, but this is mine. I usually leave at daybreak and come home midafternoon. Suzanne told you how we operate in the tropics. The heat makes everything else impossible. But if you want me to stay—”

“Of course not,” she denied, pushing the tangled waves of her hair back from her face. “I’m fine. Really. And you’re probably right. Just too much happening at one time, too much excitement. My life is usually very dull. I hope you won’t tell Suzanne. I’d hate for her to think she’s employed some kind of neurotic.”

She regretted the word as soon as she’d uttered it. She didn’t know why she’d used it, hated the sound of it between them, but he only laughed.

“Everybody’s neurotic about something. Comparatively, I think nightmares rank fairly low. Stop worrying. Why don’t you try to sleep? There’s still a half hour or so of darkness. You’ll feel better if you lie down and relax.”

She smiled and nodded, although in the dimness of the hall she doubted he saw the gesture. “I think you’re right. And thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he said softly. Finally he turned and walked away.

She stood a moment longer until the silence drove her back to the open doorway of her room. The windows were still open, and the lightening gloom of the tropical false dawn drew her to stand beside them and look out. She knew she couldn’t go back to sleep. She knew that instead she would lie listening for the sounds that would signal the past had once again overtaken her, so she stood, blocking all thought, simply watching the gathering light.

She saw someone enter the garden and thought at first it was Andre, but the body was wrong, the chest too deep, the shoulders too broad for Andre’s tall leanness.

As he moved toward the pool, she saw that he wore only a pair of black bathing trunks that fitted his narrow waist and hips like a second skin. She had always hated the European styling, but somehow it was right for him, outlining the tight muscles of his buttocks and emphasizing his masculinity, the almost concave stomach, the strong thighs. She felt like a voyeur, but she watched, unable to move from the windows as he walked without hesitation to the edge of the pool and dived into the dark depths. There was none of the uncertainty he had shown in his movements last night.

He swam a long time, until the sun touched the sky into real dawn, and she wondered how he could know that. He pulled himself from the edge of the pool and used the towel he had flung down beside it to dry his hair and his face. She realized suddenly that he wasn’t wearing the dark glasses. She wanted desperately to see the color of his eyes, but the light was too faint and the distance too great.

He looped the towel around his neck, moving again with the quick, sure stride back across the tile of the garden and into the open doors. She swallowed, wondering about the emotion that churned her stomach and tightened painfully against her temples. She rested her head against the louvers of the windows and felt, but didn’t understand, hot tears gather and begin to trace down her cheeks.

* * *

SHE AND SUZANNE WORKED a long time from the seemingly endless list of names and addresses. The dictation was rapid and spotty, her employer trusting Caroline to fill in suitable expressions of gratitude for kindnesses that Suzanne enumerated in the beginning of each letter. They worked until lunch, which they ate alone. She hadn’t expected Andre to return, but she wondered about Julien and found herself listening for him, looking at the doorway throughout the meal.

They ate this time in the small breakfast room because of the midday heat. She didn’t ask, and Suzanne offered no explanation for her brother’s failure to join them, chatting instead about the tourist attractions that she insisted Caroline wouldn’t want to miss, the dinner party for a few old friends on Monday night and the fact that tonight was the servants’ night out.

“They go back to attend Mass in the morning. I’ve tried to get Julien to build a chapel and get a priest. I swear it would be worth it not to have to worry about Saturday night supper and Sunday’s meals. I’m afraid they’re never much. The cook leaves salads, and we snack. Julien cooks sometimes if the mood strikes him, but not me. I hate to cook.”

Suzanne was curled again in the comfortable chair that, like those around the patio table, was more armchair than dining chair. No wonder meals stretched pleasantly long after everyone had finished eating. They were sipping iced coffee, and because of the afternoon sunlight and Suzanne’s laughing voice, she had lost most of the tension of the dawn, relaxing again in the undemanding companionship her employer offered.

“Julien?” She questioned the last comment in surprise and watched the telltale realization break across the heart-shaped face before her.

“He does it very well,” his sister said finally, with a decidedly Gallic shrug.

“I’m sure he does. He seems to do everything well. I saw him swimming this morning.” She thought that perhaps Suzanne’s open nature would lead her to give some background about her brother, but for once, Suzanne didn’t answer. She drank her coffee instead, and when she looked up, it was to find the green eyes waiting.

“You haven’t asked. It’s all right. Everyone does. Some people even have nerve enough to ask him, and he tells them.”

The silence stretched for the first time into discomfort between them. Finally Suzanne broke it, resignation and something else Caroline couldn’t identify coloring her voice.

“Julien lost his sight six years ago in an automobile accident in Monaco. He was very badly hurt, besides the blindness. His recovery took almost two years of rehabilitation. There are still lingering effects, although he makes sure that no one is aware of them. Whatever my brother suffers, he covers very well. He’s open about his blindness because that’s not something he can hide, but not the other. He’s a very private man, very closed. He wasn’t. He was...”

“Like Andre?” Caroline asked into the brittle pause.

“Andre?” She could hear the surprise in Suzanne’s voice at that thought. “I suppose he was in a lot of ways. He was athletic, really a daredevil. His leisure activities were all dangerous: racing—cars and boats, polo, flying, even skydiving. He was never hurt, never injured. He was too good, too quick. It’s so ironic that after all the years of those things, he was instead...destroyed in the way he was.”

“Destroyed?” Caroline questioned, rejecting the finality of that choice of words. “Surely not.”

“What he was,” Suzanne amended. “How he was. Funny. Clever. Passionate. Relaxed. Like Andre, but stronger. You always knew you could depend on Julien to have control. He was so sure of everything.” She took a deep breath, raising blue eyes to study Caroline’s face before she continued.

“He’s so different now. Contained and careful. I know he has to be because...” Her voice faded, and then she continued, almost thinking aloud now. “He hates to grope, to stumble, hates to look blind. He hates his blindness, but he never says that. He won’t express his anger and resentment. I always thought that if he would express it, say how he feels, it might ease. If he did, however, he’d have to blame her, and he’s not ready to deal with that.”

“I don’t understand. Blame who?” Caroline asked. She became aware of a growing tightness at her temples. She even put her hand up to rub against the beginning pain as she waited.

“Julien’s wife was driving. Drunk and angry at some imagined slight. I never met her. I was too occupied here with my own marriage, with Edouard’s illness, and Julien never brought her to the island. Andre says she was like a child, a spoiled brat when she didn’t get her way. God knows how Julien put up with her. Love is blind, I suppose.”

Suzanne stopped suddenly, raising stricken eyes. “I can’t believe I said that, but he was. Blind to her faults. She wrecked the car and walked away without a scratch and then walked away from him. She just left him to deal with all she’d done to him.”

When the words finally stopped beating inside her head, Caroline lowered her face against the coolness of her glass to fight the rising nausea. She didn’t understand why the story had upset her so. The images formed in her head by Suzanne’s words had pierced her, like the nightmares always did, and she was glad when Suzanne stood and dropped her napkin beside her plate.

“I can’t write another one of those damn notes. Let’s give it a rest. We’ll start again in the morning. I think I’ll ride in with Andre when he takes the staff back to Terre-de-Bas. Until then, I’m going to sleep. We should take lessons from the Spanish. They know how to deal with long, hot afternoons. Think you can entertain yourself for a few hours?”

“Of course. I’ll be fine. I may get some sun by the pool if that’s all right.”

“Be careful. You’ll burn before you know it.”

“I’ll use screen. I just feel so city white.”

“I know,” Suzanne said, smiling, “but I fight the urge. Sun hats and beach umbrellas for me. Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve discovered an age spot or two. Why don’t men get those? God, it’s so unfair.”

They laughed together, the tension suddenly evaporating, and then Suzanne climbed the long staircase to the upstairs rooms.

With Suzanne’s departure, the quietness of the house closed around her. She found herself wondering where he was. She shook off the thought and climbed the stairs herself to change into the pale pink swimsuit she had brought with her, another item on the lawyer’s precise list.

She looked down on the pool when she was dressed, feeling the inviting pull of the waters. Everything was going to be all right. She just needed to relax and fit in. Forget this morning. The nightmares would fade as they had before. She had simply been too tired, overstimulated.

She touched her lips, remembering the feel of Andre’s mouth against hers and, instead of the pleasure she had felt this morning, she remembered the familiar emptiness. The long years’ emptiness.

* * *

IN THE COOL SHADOWS of his office Julien heard the sounds from the pool. He knew it wasn’t Suzanne, so he walked to the window and listened to the movement of the waters. He knew by the sounds when she had stopped swimming, had walked up the steps at the shallow end and found one of the loungers. He even heard and identified the ritual of opening the lotion, the replacement of the bottle on the tile beside the chair.

He found himself imagining her fingers moving against her arms and legs, against her neck, her breasts. “She can’t hurt me,” he had told Suzanne, and in those images he knew that for the lie it was. He leaned, as she had, against the window and for the first time allowed himself, almost against his will, to remember.

* * *

“ARE YOU SURE you don’t mind if I leave you?” Suzanne questioned as she slipped her feet into her sandals. “Julien’s here, and we’ll be home before dinnertime, I promise. Knock on his office door if you need anything. He’s really a very nice man, doesn’t bite or anything.”

“I’ll be fine,” Caroline reassured. “I’m going to address the letters we got through this morning, so Andre can take them to mail tomorrow. Don’t worry.”

“I just need to pick up a few things and get out of the house. Unless you want to come with us?”

Caroline shook her head, knowing the invitation was only a polite afterthought. She had been hired to do a job, not to join in family outings.

* * *

SHE WORKED A COUPLE of hours in Suzanne’s small office and didn’t realize until she heard the rain how dark the sky had become. The coming storm was clearly visible from the long windows that looked out on to the patio. She was surprised to notice that all the furniture had been removed.

The flagstones stretched gray as the roiling clouds, and the wind pressed strongly enough against the long glass of the windows to rock them in the wooden frames. She thought briefly about the open boat and wondered if they would return now in time for dinner. She walked back to the office to finish sealing the last of the envelopes, wondering where she should leave them so Andre wouldn’t miss them. She wished she’d asked Suzanne.

By the time she reentered the living room, she had to turn on one of the lamps against the growing darkness of twilight and the storm. The wind and rain beat against the glass, and she watched a moment. She wasn’t afraid of storms. They were elemental and always made her feel strangely alive, turned on to the power they created.

She decided on a quick shower before dinner to wash the pool’s chlorine out of her hair. When she entered her bedroom, she opened one of the long windows, but the wind was too strong, blowing the rain in a fine mist over the carpet. She stood a moment, raising her face into the force of the storm, and then she closed the window and turned on the low light beside her bed.

* * *

JULIEN WAS STANDING by the sink in the kitchen when he heard the upstairs shower begin. He lowered his head and listened to the pounding of the wind and rain against the glass. He touched his watch to feel the time, and finally he walked to the box against the outside wall. His hand moved unerringly to open it and find the handle he sought. He pulled it, waiting before he walked back to the sink.

He concentrated against the growing noise of the gale, and he could still hear the water from upstairs rushing down through the pipes. He walked then to the clock above the doorway to touch the face. The slight vibration of the electric motor that drove the hands was still, and in spite of his determination, he found himself hurrying to the stairs, climbing too quickly to lean against her door.

He wondered again at his own motives, but since he had listened to Paul Dupre’s description, he had known that this moment would come. Finally he would confront her. There had been no doubt in his mind from the beginning that what would happen tonight was inevitable. He breathed deeply to calm his trembling fingers before he knocked.

She had stood a long time with her eyes closed under the hot spray of the shower, feeling it relax a tension she hadn’t even been aware of.

Enough, she urged herself mentally. This is something you’ve conquered. Enough.

The soft knock was an interruption, and she opened her eyes to blackness. She fumbled briefly for the controls of the shower and, in the sudden silence when the water stopped, she heard him call her name.

“Ms. Evans? Are you all right?”

She groped for her towel and dried her face and hair before she wrapped it sarong fashion to answer the repeated knock.

“I’m all right. I was in the shower. What happened to the lights?” she asked, adding unnecessarily, “The lights are out.”

“I know,” he said, his amusement at her explanation clear even through the barrier of the door. “I have a computer that talks. Suddenly it stopped talking to me, and I realized you must be in the dark. It’s the storm. We have our own generator, but this happens too often. I thought you might like to come downstairs.” He waited, and then he said into the silence, “If you’re afraid.”

The door opened suddenly, moving away from his fingers, and he could smell her. The same soap, the same shampoo, Kerri had always used. God, how could she know that? He closed his eyes behind the lenses of the dark glasses, but that didn’t stop the tightening of his groin, the painful engorging that even her smell, after all these years, could cause.

“I’m not afraid,” she said. “I like storms, but I would like to come downstairs. If you’ll wait while I get dressed.”

“Of course,” he said. He wondered if she could hear the tightness in his voice. “Do you need any help?” he asked seriously, and heard her laugh.

“I’ve been dressing myself a long time. I think I can manage.”

“So had I,” he said softly, a rebuke against her amusement. When he spoke again, he had lightened the darkness. “But if you get it wrong, I certainly won’t notice.”

This time he smiled when she laughed. She closed the door, and he smiled again in satisfaction and leaned against the wall to wait.

It wasn’t long before the door reopened. He could hear the movement of whatever she wore against her body, could smell her fragrance. For the first time, he was uncertain about what he had planned to do, so she was forced to stand in the open doorway waiting. He could hear her breathing, and finally he spoke.

“There’s a proverb for situations like this,” he said.

“But you’re not, surely, going to say it,” she answered, her voice calm and unembarrassed. He was surprised to feel her fingers close around his upper arm. He pressed them against his side and wondered if he could do this, if he still wanted to. He guided her, without speaking, to the stairs and loosened her fingers from around his arm to place her left hand on the railing. He was surprised when she touched him once more, gripping his sleeve.

“Don’t,” she said into the darkness. He could hear, for the first time, unease in her voice. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m right here. I just thought the railing might be easier. I have you.”

She moved down the stairs beside him, but he felt the deep breath she took when they reached the bottom.

“I don’t think I could do that,” she said softly. He didn’t respond, didn’t want to form an answer, because he understood. He hadn’t thought he could, either. He had—out of necessity and because he had had no choice.

“Are you hungry?” he asked instead.

“Shouldn’t we wait for the others? Suzanne said they’d be back.”

“I don’t think that now, with the storm, they’ll try it. Maybe later if it clears, but not with that going on.”

They listened to the force pushing against the house, the movement of the long panes of glass between them and the wind.

“Then, yes,” she said, “I’m hungry.”

He led her to the kitchen. With each step she relaxed into his guidance, surer now with following his movements. He didn’t hesitate, and she felt again a kind of admiration for his cleverness in conquering the dark world he’d been forced into.

She was gently deposited on a tall stool near the island that she knew dominated the center of the modern kitchen.

“Let’s see what’s here.”

She heard him open the refrigerator and begin removing lids and placing containers on the counter.

“I just thought,” he said suddenly. She heard him open a drawer and the brush of his fingers over the contents. She couldn’t tell what he was doing, until the flare of the match allowed her to watch him light by touch the wick of the candle he’d found. The soft glow moved out against the darkness. She took a deep breath when he turned to bring the candle and its holder to the island.

“That’s better,” he said, as if the light were for him also. She smiled at the satisfaction in his voice.

“Much better,” she agreed. “Dinner by candlelight.”

When he moved back to the counter to fix whatever he’d found for their supper, she carried the candle and her stool across the narrow space that separated them. He stopped what he was doing when he became aware of her nearness.

“I want to watch,” she said, “or help, if you like.”

He carefully cut the long loaf he’d found in the pantry into two halves with a knife that moved easily against the bread.

“I think it’s safer if you watch. I like doing this, but I’d hate to miss and ruin our dinner. Your fingers are safer in your lap, Ms. Evans,” he said, and she could see the quick slant of his smile in the candlelight. His rejection of her offer didn’t slow the preparations his hands were making.

“Caroline,” she corrected and watched the sudden stillness of his fingers.

“Caroline,” he repeated before he went back to the sandwich. She lapsed into silence, enjoying the swift dexterity of his hands against the items he’d placed on the counter.

When it was finished, he used the knife to cut the sandwich into two equal parts, which he lifted onto the plates. She carried them to the island and sat on one of the stools.

His fingers found the neck of one of the bottles that rested in the wine rack above her head, and she watched as he carried it to the counter and poured two glasses. When he held hers out to her, she took it. He found the stool with one hand and pulled it to the island, and she moved one of the plates in front of him. She watched him sip the burgundy, but she sat hers down untouched beside her plate. Even the smell would nauseate her.