Читать книгу Eclipse - Lynne Pemberton - Страница 8

‘Do you mind terribly Serena, my darling? Charlie’s such an old chum, I’d hate to miss his stag night.’

Nicholas’s laugh had a definite lecherous undertone, and Serena groaned inwardly, imagining her husband and his best friend drunk and disorderly, in some sleazy Miami bar. But she answered brightly.

‘You know I don’t mind.’

They were sitting at a breakfast table positioned on the very edge of the terrace. This spot was shaded by the overhanging branches of a frangipani tree, yet still afforded expansive views of the sparkling waters of the Blue Lagoon.

‘Fancy, the old rogue decides to up and marry an American model; just like that, completely out of the blue.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Only met her two weeks ago. God would I love to be a fly on the wall when he takes her home to Atherton Hall to meet the in-laws. They had him lined up for The Hon. Arabella Seymour.’

Oh, not that awful Arabella with the buck teeth and acne?’ asked Serena.

Nicholas nodded, laughing. ‘That’s the one.’

‘Well then, I’m pleased he’s upped and found this American girl. The best of luck to him,’ said Serena, whilst throwing a few crumbs towards a cheeky Doctorbird intent on joining them for breakfast.

Nicholas changed the subject. ‘I thought, since we’re going home in a couple of days, it doesn’t make much sense coming back here.’

Serena, dressed in a simple batik sarong, idly sipped at her orange juice. ‘I shall stay and pack up the house, Nicholas,’ she said in a firm voice. She could sense his disappointment, and knew she would have to tread carefully.

‘But I rather thought you might like to come to Miami with me’ … He paused, then added hopefully, ‘You could do some shopping.’

Her forehead furrowed, dark eyebrows almost meeting above her straight nose. ‘I’ve got lots to do here. I promised to go and see Thomas at Frenchman’s Cove. He’s got some mail for me to take back to England, and there are some outstanding bills to pay. Et cetera, et cetera,’ she sighed.

A playful smile lifted the corners of her mouth. ‘Anyway, what would I do whilst you’re out on the town all night with Charlie and co?’

He glanced at her over the rim of his coffee cup and noted the obstinate glint that flashed through her eyes. It left him in no doubt that if he forced her to accompany him, she would probably be a bloody nuisance and ruin his entire evening.

‘You’re quite right. You can pack up the house and sort the staff out, whilst I get thoroughly smashed with Charlie boy.’

‘Well, just make sure you behave yourself with all those girls on the loose over there.’ Serena chided him, playfully.

‘Steady on darling. I’d never do anything like that. There’s no other woman in the world that could take your place. You know that.’

‘Yes Nicky; but I also know the old West Indian proverb that says “A hot iron will cool in any old dirty water”.’

Nicholas shook his head in mock disapproval.

Serena awoke at six the following morning. Wherever she was in the world, or however tired, she always awoke at the same time.

Nicholas joked about travelling with a beautiful and efficient alarm clock. She had never bothered to explain that the habit had started at the age of seven. After a week at boarding school, she had trained herself to wake early. It had become a ritual, her own space; one solitary hour of peace and privacy before the first bell and the ensuing mayhem.

She was about to slip out of bed for her routine early-morning swim when she felt Nicholas stir, his arms reaching out to encircle her waist. She tried unsuccessfully to wriggle free.

‘Stay with me,’ he whispered into the side of her neck.

She could smell his hot breath, an unsavoury mixture of spicy West Indian pepper sauce and cigarette smoke. The combination was mildly nauseating.

Pulling her closer, hands gripping her hips, he thrust his erect penis into the cleft of her buttocks.

Serena groaned inwardly, and felt like screaming.

‘Nicky please, not now. Later. After I’ve had a swim.’ She tried to make her voice sound promising, at the same time squeezing her thighs together as she felt the tip of his penis pushing, insisting.

He heard the sharp intake of her breath as his fingers struggled to prise her open from behind.

‘Open wide for me, Bunty. Please.’

There was no mistaking the urgent demand in his hushed voice; and she knew that if she resisted it would only excite him more.

Facing her back, Nicholas couldn’t see the expression of resignation on his young wife’s face as she dutifully opened her legs. With an anguished moan he entered her body.

‘Tell me Bunty, tell me please,’ he implored.

His voice, with its childish undertones, grated on her nerves. She knew exactly what he wanted to hear. It was always the same. Slightly sickened, Serena complied.

‘Nicholas has been a very, very naughty boy, and is going to have to be punished.’ She forced her voice to sound stern. ‘I’m going to have to …’

She didn’t finish the sentence. As soon as his thrusting quickened, his whole body shuddered and he shouted her name, before releasing his grip on her hips and rolling away to the other side of the bed.

He lay there on his back; his laboured panting the only sound in the room. After a few moments, he stretched one arm across the bed to stroke Serena’s shoulder gently.

‘That was wonderful,’ he whispered.

‘Not for me,’ she muttered lamely under her breath, and jumped out of bed.

‘What did you say, Serena?’ Nicholas lifted himself into a sitting position.

‘Same for me,’ she lied, from the darkness of the bathroom, where he couldn’t see her face or read her eyes.

‘I’m really looking forward to this evening, and seeing Charlie again,’ he shouted through the open door.

Not listening, she stepped into the sanctuary of the shower where the tepid water drowned his words and cooled her sticky flesh. Washing Nicholas’s semen off the inside of her thighs, she prayed, as she had for the last six months, for pregnancy. Serena desperately wanted the security of a Frazer-West heir; and a valid excuse not to make love to her husband, at least for a while.

Nicholas almost missed the one and only flight to Kingston later that day.

Halfway to the airport, he realized he’d forgotten his passport. Serena, who was driving, had to make a mad dash back to the house. By the time they eventually returned, the DC3 was fully loaded and about to take off.

Nicholas jumped out of the jeep, face flushed, looking for all the world like a very excited teenage boy on his first illicit trip out of school.

‘Have fun, and give Charlie my love,’ Serena called as he ran across the tarmac to board the tiny, six-seater plane.

He blew her a kiss before he climbed aboard and shouted back, ‘Take care. See you in London the day after tomorrow!’ His words were drowned in the roar of the propellers.

Serena watched the aircraft taxi down the short runway, and waved until it was out of sight. She then drove slowly and sedately to Coralita cottage, praying that Royole would be at home and alone.

The house looked different in daylight. Much smaller, yet less intimate. Perhaps it was one of those mystical houses that only came to life at night, or in dreams, Serena thought idly as she stepped up to the open front door. A fluffy, black and white cat yawned lazily, and looked her up and down out of eyes almost the same colour as Royole’s. She bent down to stroke it, but it moved off with a contemptuous flick of its bushy tail.

‘She only likes me,’ said Royole, appearing in front of Serena and pointing to the cat.

He was wearing a long, white cotton shirt which barely skimmed his knees. Thick fingers of dusty sunlight snaked across his body, and it was obvious that he was naked beneath the fine, translucent garment. The cat, on hearing his voice, stopped in her tracks and turned, prowling slowly back to where he stood.

She brushed her body against his bare legs. Stooping to pick her up, he patted her head and she nestled into his arms, a contented purring the only sound as he stroked her soft neck.

They both looked at the cat, then at each other simultaneously.

Serena could hear her own heart thundering in her ears. ‘Nicholas has gone to Miami,’ she blurted out. ‘I …’ she hesitated, ‘I came on the off chance that you might be here.’

She noticed for the first time that his eyes, the colour of wet ivy leaves, were also flecked with gold. She became aware of her own vulnerability, but knew she could not turn back now.

‘I wanted to see you, before I left Port Antonio.’

‘When do you leave?’ he asked.

‘Tomorrow night.’ Her voice was constricted, husky, barely more than a whisper.

Royole dropped the cat. It landed with an indignant shriek, before racing off past Serena.

He didn’t speak; just opened his arms wide, and she fell slowly into them. She found the pungent smell of musk overwhelming, an alien smell, yet strangely enough she felt totally at home. She nuzzled close to his neck. It was slightly prickly, and very warm.

‘You didn’t shave today,’ she whispered.

‘No,’ he shook his head. ‘Does it bother you?’

‘It depends,’ murmured Serena.

He held her at arm’s length, then touched the tip of her nose with his forefinger, tracing the line of her full mouth. She noticed his fingers were long and tapered, and the lines on his palm shone white.

‘You’re very beautiful, Serena.’ He nodded emphatically, as if confirming his statement.

‘That first time I saw you, the night of the storm, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.’

Serena blushed profusely and lowered her eyes. She was used to compliments from men, but this man was different. She registered that the hand he held out to her was unusually cool.

As if reading her thoughts he said, ‘Cold hands, warm heart.’

‘Not always,’ Serena responded, thinking of the many cold hands she had touched with cold hearts to match.

He raised his thick eyebrows, and lowered his voice. ‘A cynic, so young.’

‘No, just a realist,’ she replied, a smile crossing her face.

Suddenly she did look very young, yet there was something in her expression that he couldn’t quite fathom; a mixture of maturity and innocence. He found it very stimulating. Dropping his head to one side, he squeezed her hand gently.

‘Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?’

The change in her facial expression answered the question for him long before she spoke, ‘I want to be with you, Royole. In fact I’ve thought about little else since I first set eyes on you, but we haven’t got a lot of time.’

‘Well, in that case let’s make the most of what little we have.’

He laughed and she protested with a squeal as he gathered her into his arms, as easily as he’d picked up the cat earlier, and carried her to his bedroom. He laid her on top of his unmade bed. Her eyes roamed around the room. Its floor-to-ceiling shutters were flung open to the late afternoon sun, allowing pale streamers of soft, golden light to dapple the interior. The dull thud of the sea could be heard below the house, and the slow swish of an old paddle fan gently stirred a flimsy mosquito curtain, loosely draped above the low bed.

‘This certainly won’t deter any little pests,’ Serena commented, poking her finger through a hole in the net curtain.

‘They never attack me,’ Royole smiled, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. ‘My mother always teased me when I was a child; telling me that mosquitoes only liked naughty boys and, if I was very good at night and went to bed when she told me, I would never get bitten.’ He shrugged. ‘I never did.’

‘What? Get bitten or go to bed when you were told?’

He winked; instantly reminding Serena of a film star, she tried to remember his name, a second later it came to her.

‘You look like Sidney Poitier,’ she said.

He held up his hand. ‘Please don’t tell me that, I’ve heard it so many times. In fact when I was living in the States, I was constantly asked for my autograph.’

‘I bet you loved it,’ she teased.

He grinned, and shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I must admit I was flattered.’

They both smiled, and their eyes locked for a brief yet potent moment. Serena clasped her hands together to stop them shaking, while a hundred questions raced through her mind. What compulsion had brought her to this house, and into the arms of this man, a virtual stranger?

‘Are you OK?’ Royole’s question interrupted her reverie.

‘I’m fine,’ she said, ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because you’ve suddenly gone very pale, and you look distracted.’

She flinched as he placed his hands on her shoulders.

‘What is it, Serena?’ He searched her ashen face.

Serena, usually bolstered with confidence, found herself struggling to articulate. She sat up swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, and she took a deep breath, ‘To be totally honest, I’m scared. I feel so out of control.’

She searched for the right words as he sat down next to her.

‘I suppose it’s because you’re so different, Royole. You’re from another world, so far from mine.’ With a shaking hand she stroked his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw. ‘Yet, strangely enough, I feel as if I’ve known you all my life.’

‘You’re right Serena, we are different, and not only in skin colour. But surely mutual attraction transcends all that stuff. Forget about who we are and where we come from, just enjoy being together. Don’t worry about the consequences.’

He lifted a strand of her hair and looped it around her ear.

‘You make it sound so simple,’ she sighed.

‘But that’s just what it is. What’s more natural than a man and a woman who want to make love to each other.’

He then knelt in front of her, and she watched him intently, her eyes never leaving his face, as he untied the thin straps of her canvas sandals. They slipped easily off her feet. He raised her left foot and tenderly licked each of her toes in turn, before gently nibbling her heel.

‘That tickles,’ she squealed.

Stopping at once, he stood up and gently placed both of her feet back on the bed, then lifted the hem of her cotton shift dress. It came off in one fluid movement. She was naked underneath.

His eyes slowly travelled the full length and breadth of her body.

He adored the way her hair, a shower of gold, tumbled off her shoulders and fanned across her small, firm breasts tipped with pale pink nipples. He could feel his own response as he focused on her golden triangle of pubic hair.

‘I’m almost afraid to touch,’ he murmured, staring at her in undisguised awe.

Observing his face, Serena was struck by his obvious sensitivity; so unlike the hunger she had seen on the faces of other men.

He stroked the inside of her thigh, delighting in the warm, soft feel of her skin; finally allowing his fingertips to continue their highly sensuous journey across her flat stomach, between her breasts and on to the nape of her neck. He pulled her head forward, then traced her mouth with his warm tongue.

She bit his lower lip. ‘I want to eat you.’

‘You can, with pleasure,’ he said, and stood up.

Loosening the buttons at the front of his shirt, he pushed it over his shoulders and let it float down his back and on to the floor.

‘Stay as you are please, Royole, don’t move.’ Her tone was urgent.

He did as she asked.

Silently she stared at him for several minutes, before whispering, ‘You’ve got the most beautiful body I’ve ever seen.’

Right then she knew, with absolute certainty, that she would never forget that moment for the rest of her life. Having acknowledged this, she stroked his hairless chest and taut stomach; her fingers at last teasing the coarse hair curling across his groin.

Royole basked silently in his pleasure, until a loud sigh escaped his lips as she took his erect penis in both her hands. She marvelled at the size. It was very hot, and the skin was as smooth as velvet. He continued to stand very still in front of her, for what seemed an age.

‘You can move now. Come on Royole, what are you waiting for …’

He touched her hair and a slow smile entered her face, it was both inviting and teasing. He joined her on the bed, biting the side of her ear.

‘Tell me what you like, Serena.’

She felt a blush infusing her face. Nicholas had never asked her, nor had the few boyfriends she’d known before him. How could she tell Royole, a virtual stranger, her sexual preferences?

‘Tell me Serena,’ he urged, ‘I can’t give you pleasure unless I know.’

Bending her head, she whispered into his ear.

‘I would love to,’ he said in a hoarse voice.

Her blush deepened as he lowered his head and gently opened her legs.

They made love until the sun, a perfect dark orange orb, had descended from the blue mountains into a darkening horizon and the lengthening shadows of dusk slowly turned to evening.

The hour before nightfall found them sitting on the terrace, naked and wrapped in each other’s arms; they sipped Royole’s specially made planters’ punch, and watched the tangerine glow of sunset finally fade.

Eventually, Serena broke the silence. ‘I really wish I could paint. I would so love to capture this particular sunset; or, better still, your beautiful face.’

She sighed, pecked the end of his nose, and continued. ‘I can’t remember ever feeling quite this content.’

A cool breeze had begun to drift across the terrace.

‘Are you cold?’ he asked, pulling her closer.

‘No, I feel better than I’ve felt in my entire life.’ Lifting his free hand, she kissed the inside of his palm; it tasted of lime. ‘I don’t ever want to go back to London, or for that matter back to England. I want to stay here with you.’

When he didn’t reply, she continued unperturbed, in a calm, clear voice. ‘I mean it. I know now that I love you. Given the chance, I’d be with you for as long as you wanted me.’

The sea was calm. There was no sound save the ever-present chirping of the tree frogs and crickets, mingled with a faint rustling from the thick leaves of the Mussaenda trees overhanging the terrace.

After a few moments Royole spoke. ‘I would love you to stay here with me, Serena, but I think we both realize it’s not possible. Like you said earlier, we’re different, from different worlds; and just as I would never fit into yours, nor would you fit into mine.’

‘I’m not asking you to fit into mine, Royole. But why can’t I fit into yours? It’s happened before; we’re not unique.’

She looked like a trusting child, and he felt his chest tighten.

‘I’ve got plans and dreams. The Caribbean is changing; I want to be part of that change. There’s so much to achieve, such a lot I want to do. This is the dawn of a new era in tourism, and there are fortunes to be made. I intend to make mine, but at the moment I’ve got very little money, and nothing to offer you.’ He paused. Then, eyes darkening, he added. ‘Not even time.’

Serena blinked back tears, she looked up as a wispy cloud flitted across the full moon. Half of her was pleased that at least he hadn’t mentioned Caron, but as the soft white lunar light touched her face, in a choked voice she said, ‘Money isn’t everything, Royole.’

He sighed deeply. ‘I’m aware of that but it’s easy for you to say that when you’ve never been without it. You’re very young, Serena, and if you don’t mind me saying, just a little naïve.’

She stemmed any further conversation by covering his mouth with short, wet kisses, murmuring between them. ‘Shut up Royole, and make love to me again. Time is running out.’

The following morning Serena awoke to the soft pattering of rain on the wooden roof. She made no sound as she slid out of bed. Not finding her dress close to hand, she quickly slipped on Royole’s cotton shirt, tiptoed out of the room, and left the house barefoot.

Her jeep was parked under a huge frangipani tree. Its abundant leaves, heavy with rain, were drooping over the bonnet. Starting the engine as quietly as she could, she moved off slowly down the drive, allowing herself one last glance at Coralita cottage. Now that it was shrouded in ominous, grey clouds, she couldn’t help thinking how desolate and sad it seemed.

Not looking where she was going, Serena drove off the track. She cursed the jeep as its wheels spun dangerously in the sodden earth, then ground to a halt. ‘Shit! That’s all I need.’

She could only ram her foot hard on the accelerator, imploring the vehicle to move. ‘Come on, get going. I beg you.’

Her prayers were answered a moment later; the jeep budged an inch and then suddenly shot forward, out of the mud.

Within five minutes she was on the A4 road leading to Blue Lagoon. And by the time she pulled into the drive of Mango Bay the rain had stopped, but the sky was still dark and foreboding. The house looked different this morning; or was it simply that she felt different? Serena wasn’t sure.

Wandering around the elegant rooms, she realized for the first time how much there was of Nicholas and his family in Mango Bay, and how little of herself. She wondered why it had never occurred to her before today. Frazer-West family paintings adorned the walls; and a vast array of exquisite collectibles, all chosen by Nicholas’s mother, covered several antique tables. Even the fabrics had come from his cousin’s country estate.

She had to shower and pack but first she hid Royole’s shirt in a drawer at the bottom of her dressing table; consoling herself as she did so, that it would be an excuse to meet him again when she returned to Jamaica in the winter.

She stepped out on to the small terrace leading from her bedroom. A chink of bright blue punctured the otherwise gloomy sky as the sun tried hard to poke through. Memories of the last few hours flooded her mind; memories to be stored, and savoured through the long, boring nights ahead with Nicholas.

Serena had never experienced such lovemaking; so erotic and yet so tender. She even blushed as she thought of her own uninhibited passion. Mr Royole Fergusson had certainly left an indelible mark. She desperately wanted to see him again and, whilst she showered, her mind was occupied with schemes of how she could come back to Port Antonio without Nicholas.

The remainder of the morning was spent on last-minute chores, her mind so preoccupied with thoughts of Royole that she almost forgot to collect Thomas Laynes’ mail from Frenchman’s Cove, and to cancel the weekly delivery of fresh eggs and vegetables.

Her flight was scheduled to leave Port Antonio for Kingston at four-thirty, and at twenty-five minutes past three she was ready, dressed in black cotton slacks and a short-sleeved shirt, a woollen sweater draped over her arm. The butler was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs.

‘Go long, Lady Frazer-West. Don’t you worry none bout de house. I can look after every ting.’ Joseph accompanied this assurance by puffing out his chest, grinning from ear to ear; looking as if he couldn’t wait to be left in charge.

She handed him the leather grip she’d packed – thinking how much she’d love to be a fly on the wall, to see exactly what Joseph would get up to after she’d left.

‘I’m sure you can, Joseph. And you know to contact Thomas at Frenchman’s Cove if anything goes wrong.’

‘What go wrong in Port Antonio, mistress? Nothin’.’ Then he added for good measure, ‘Nothin’ at all.’

They arrived at Ken Jones Airport just as a small island-hopper cut through thick cloud to make a bumpy landing, before taxiing to a halt only a few feet from the terminal.

Jumping out of the jeep, Serena said, ‘I’ll be fine now Joseph, you can go.’ She smiled and, in a firm voice, went on, ‘No drinking; and if I hear of you driving the jeep, there’ll be trouble. Do you understand?’

He dropped his head. ‘Ah don drink de rum no more, mistress.’ This time his voice had lost its jaunty confidence.

She knew he was lying, but didn’t have the heart to pursue the issue. ‘Goodbye then. Thank you for everything. Take good care of yourself and take care of the house.’

The butler waved enthusiastically, before driving out of the airport. Serena watched the jeep until it disappeared from view. She then turned and walked to the far corner of the small terminal, where immigration was located.

Her ears pricked as she heard her name and she recognized his voice instantly, it was unmistakable.

Her stomach turned a sickly somersault as she turned to face Royole. He was dressed in white shorts and a faded powder-blue shirt; and he carried a bundle in his left hand.

‘This is your dress and shoes.’ He handed her a small package, tied with string.

Their hands met for a split second, yet he made no attempt to bridge the few feet that separated them. Nor did she.

‘I couldn’t let you go without saying goodbye, Serena.’

‘Oh Royole, I’ll be coming back to Port Antonio in a few months’ time; it doesn’t have to be goodbye for ever.’ Glancing over her shoulder, towards the plane, she saw a solitary passenger about to board.

‘I don’t know where I’ll be in few months’ time though.’ He then fished in the back pocket of his shorts and pulled an envelope out, which he thrust into her hand. ‘This is my sister’s address in America, she forwards all my mail, so if you ever feel like writing, or need to contact me for anything at all …’

The co-pilot approached them. ‘Lady Frazer-West; if you’d like to board the plane now, please. We’re ready for takeoff.’

‘Yes,’ she nodded, ‘I’ll be there in a moment.’ A nerve twitched in the corner of her eye, and she suddenly found herself chewing her bottom lip; nervous reactions that she thought she’d got rid of years ago.

Royole was looking her straight in the eye. ‘Safe journey and take care, Lady Serena. Try to think of me sometimes.’

He smiled. A smile bright enough to light up a whole room she thought, and longed to touch him.

She forced her voice to sound light and frivolous. ‘Yes, I will think about you, Mr Fergusson.’ She winked, ‘If I can find the time.’

He shrugged and took a step towards her, beginning to open his arms. ‘By the way, I do want you to know that yesterday was one of the best days of my life … so far.’

Serena stepped back. She doubted she could stay in control if he kissed her. ‘It was pretty good for me, too,’ she managed to say, biting hard on her lip to stop it quivering.

He was about to say something else, when she held up her hand. ‘Don’t ask me why, Royole Fergusson, but I’m sure we will meet again.’ Then, without any backward glance, Serena ran towards the plane.