Читать книгу The Lost Sister - Laura Elliot - Страница 10

Lauren Moran awakens to the whirr of freshly ground coffee beans. She hears her husband’s step on the stairs and imagines what he will see when he enters their bedroom: her black hair spilling over the pillows, the sultry welcome in her eyes, her voluptuous mouth. Aware that her lips are taut, she clenches her face, holds for a count of ten, then relaxes. A new day is beginning. The day of departure.

Steve hesitates at the door, a light tap, and, without waiting for her response, enters. A tray with coffee and crisp, flaky croissants, lime marmalade and whorls of butter, slender as wood shavings, is placed before her. The centrepiece is a long-stemmed rose in a delicate cut-glass vase. No thorns are visible and the scent is lost behind the aroma of coffee.

‘You spoil me.’ She smiles at him and lazily rises.

‘Always,’ he replies. His movements are deft, almost delicate, as he pours coffee for two and butters croissants. The thin straps of her nightdress slip from her shoulders when she leans forward to accept the cup from him. He touches the satiny fabric, lifts one strap back into place and leaves the other resting against her arm. The creamy shade emphasises her tanned skin, draws his eyes to the deep plunge of lace at her breasts.

When breakfast is over, she clips the rose to her hair and clicks her fingers like a Spanish dancer. They feint on the bed, this way and that. He likes games, an initial resistance, which he can masterfully overcome. He is still strong and muscular, his lovemaking as vigorous, if not as regular as in the early years of their marriage. Viagra, Lauren suspects, but, if that is the case, he will never admit it and she will never ask.

Afterwards, she lies quietly by his side while he, his breath slowing back to normal, caresses her cheek. His touch is gentle yet she feels the calluses rasp against her skin as each stroke finishes and begins again. His nails are manicured weekly, his hands nourished with moisturising oils, but the scars he earned from his years on the building sites can never be removed.

‘Everything packed?’ he asks.

‘All organised,’ she replies.

‘Passport?’

‘In my handbag.’ Her Gucci handbag rests against the opposite wall, along with her three red leather suitcases and her matching overnight case.

‘Tickets, schedule?’

‘Stop worrying about me, Steve.’ She eases away from him, allows his hand to glide from her cheek to her breasts, then fall into the empty space she leaves behind. Her nightdress ripples as she slides her legs to the floor. Each movement is a slow separation yet she makes it seem like a lingering embrace. She sits at the dressing table and nods towards her luggage.

‘Rebecca will go crazy when she sees what I’ve packed.’

Only one piece of luggage. Rebecca’s email had been specific. Anything more will cramp their living conditions. She has studied the dimensions of the camper and knows exactly where everything will fit. The six-berth is her idea, a compromise between backpacking, which is all Julie can afford, and the five-star hotel accommodation Lauren had expected.

Lauren is convinced that Rebecca, even if she were not the first-born of the four Lambert sisters, would automatically have risen in the pecking order and assumed that right. Unable to understand any form of indecisiveness, she makes everything sound effortless–flights, accommodation, itinerary; all the planning and discussion condensed on the email, which Lauren received yesterday and wilfully ignored.

Steve slides her pillow under his cheek and breathes into the indentation where her head rested. The rose lies discarded and crushed on the floor.

‘I’m sorry I won’t have an opportunity to see you wearing your wardrobe,’ he says.

‘When I come home, I’ll put on a special fashion show for you.’

‘I’ll look forward to it.’

She gathers her hair in both hands and secures it in a topknot. ‘We’d better get moving—’

‘What’s the rush, princess? We won’t see each other for a month.’ An astute man, and attuned to her thoughts, he has sensed her impatience.

‘You’ll be so busy you won’t have time to miss me.’

He shakes his head and rises, enters the ensuite. While he showers, she opens one of her suitcases and folds in another dress. A good Girl Guide must be prepared for all eventualities.

After the shock of Cathy’s initial phone call subsided, Steve planned a month-long tour of the South Island. He has been to New Zealand before, with his first wife, and knows the sights they should see. Luxury hotels, car hire, lake cruises and helicopter flights were booked in advance. They intended using Havenswalk as their base for the last ten days of the tour, with Cathy’s wedding providing the highlight of the trip. But Steve was forced to change his plans when the start-up date for a shopping complex, which he hoped would officially open before Christmas, was postponed until March. Trouble with acquiring new tenants, he explained. Worried about the slow-down in the property market, he phoned Cathy to discuss the situation. Lauren later discovered he suggested that she postpone her wedding until later in the year when he would be free to travel.

‘Why are you so angry?’ he demanded when Lauren, furious, yet not surprised, at his audacity, challenged him. ‘She waited over fifteen years to contact you. What difference will another few months make?’

‘He hasn’t changed,’ said Cathy when Lauren contacted her to apologise. ‘Thankfully, I have. My wedding takes place as arranged. I want you there, Lauren. But if you don’t feel capable of travelling without Steve, I understand.’

Stung by Cathy’s assumption, Lauren decided to take the trip on her own. Rebecca, then later, Julie, agreed to accompany her. Instead of travelling in luxury, they will do so in a camper van. Rebecca calls it ‘a motor home’, which makes it sound spacious, almost luxurious. Lauren suspects Steve was closer to the truth when he referred to it as a sardine can.

He used this comparison one night when he invited her sisters out for a meal and offered to pay their hotel costs, car hire and sightseeing trips.

‘You girls could do with a little pampering in your lives,’ he said, a remark that immediately raised her sisters’ hackles. Steve has acquired many skills in his life but handling the Lambert sisters is not among them.

‘We girls are quite capable of doing our own pampering,’ Rebecca replied, while Julie, whose idea of a manicure was a few strokes with an emery board and a cocktail stick for the cuticles, nodded vigorously in agreement.

‘There’s nothing wrong with a little luxury now and again,’ Steve retorted. ‘Wait till you’re cooped up like sardines in a tin can, especially in that heat. I’ve told Lauren to call me immediately if conditions become unbearable.’ Even if he had not made the comment, their answer would have been the same. They always resisted his generosity, claimed it it patronised them. They had never understood Lauren’s reasons for marrying him and those reasons were no longer relevant.

Lauren watches him in the dressing table mirror as he slips on his shirt. Recently, he has gained weight but he is a tall, blocky man and it adds an extra layer of authority to his appearance. He stands behind her and fixes his tie, his hands automatically forming a Windsor knot, his eyes watching.

‘You’re relieved I can’t go with you.’ His abrupt tone startles her.

‘Stop talking nonsense, Steve. We planned this trip together, remember? I’d no intention of travelling in a camper van. We’ll probably end up bored out of our minds and not speaking to each other for most of the trip. I can’t think of anything I have in common with my sisters any more.’

‘Thankfully, you never had anything in common with them, princess.’ His tie is knotted, his suit buttoned. He has a business meeting to attend after he leaves her at the airport. He bends down until his gaze is level with her own. ‘What’s going on behind those lovely green eyes? Some day I’ll figure it out. Then, perhaps, I’ll begin to know you.’

‘You’re such a foolish man.’ She turns her head towards him. Her laughter is light and easily silenced with a kiss. He opens his briefcase and removes a small gift-wrapped package.

‘A farewell present.’

Jewellery, she thinks, and wonders what has stretched his imagination on this occasion.

‘State of the art,’ he adds when she lifts out a silver, slim-line mobile phone from the wrappings.

‘But I already have one—’

‘State of the art,’ he repeats. ‘It will work from anywhere in the world.’ He demonstrates its various applications. She smiles as he shows off this latest toy and promises to ring him every day they are apart.

After he leaves the room, she switches on the bath taps and pulls on an exfoliation glove. She sinks into the scented water and scrubs her skin until she tingles all over. On her neck there is an angry weal, a bruise on her breast, red and tender. When does a love bite become a wound, she wonders. A caress become a pain so sharp that she had gasped at his touch? Could what took place between them just now be called ‘making love’? She will not sleep by his side for a month yet she went through the familiar choreography of passion without once losing herself in him or responding to his desire, which, she suspects, is fuelled by resentment that she is leaving without him. A month on her own without a safety net to catch her if she falls. She shivers and rises from the bath. The last dress she packed was the wrong one. Too heavy for the summer that is taking place in New Zealand.

Steve is wrong when he says he does not know her. He knows her better than she knows herself. Perhaps that was why he bit so deeply into her neck. Keeping a part of her behind.