Antigua Kiss (35 page)

'Did he seem disturbed at the thought of not seeing them again?'

'No, not at all. It appears that Elijah's children had already suggested to him that his parents might be with God. They're a religious family.

John went to church with them last Sunday. I see no harm in it occasionally, unless you object?'

She shook her head.

'We don't want him brainwashed,' he continued, 'but he needs to grow up with some understanding of the things which are important to other people, including all the major religions. As Joshua Liebman put it: "Tolerance is the positive and cordial effort to understand another's beliefs, practices, and habits without necessarily sharing or accepting them." I think we might make that our guideline with John .

. . and with our other children.'

'I agree. It's a very good guideline.'

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him her news, but some instinct made her refrain; a feeling that it might be better to hug her secret to herself for a little longer.

So when Ash came towards her with two glasses, and put one of them into her hand with the question, 'What shall we drink to?' she did not say, 'To the baby I'm expecting,' but, 'To John's future. You were right when you said there was a better life for him here. For him and me—thanks to you, Ash.'

His shrewd dark eyes searched her face for a moment before he touched his glass to hers, and said, 'For all three of us.'

Before they sat down to dine they had finished the bottle of champagne. With the meal they drank another, and because she was in her own home, alone with her husband, Christie didn't prevent him from refilling her glass as she would have done after one or two glassfuls at a dinner party. Indeed she was scarcely aware of what she was eating and drinking. It could have been flat beer and cold porridge and she would have enjoyed it just as much.

His presence, the sound of his voice, the movements of his hands as he peeled a pear to eat with the cheese; these things filled her consciousness to the exclusion of everything else.

She felt like a bride on her wedding night. On their real wedding night, she had not expected him to make love to her. Tonight she felt sure that, as soon as they had drunk their coffee, he would take her to bed immediately. This time she could hardly wait to be there; to have those long fingers undressing her, stroking her skin.

It was the combination of excitement and rather more wine than she was used to which made her change her earlier decision not to mention the baby yet. Suddenly she couldn't keep it to herself any longer.

'I — I have a surprise for you, Ash.'

'A present? Where is it?' he asked, looking at her as if she were a present which, very soon, he was going to enjoy unwrapping.

'No, not a present. Some news. Do you remember telling Emily you wanted to emulate Hugo in having a large family? I ... I shall be emulating her before the end of the year.'

With his glass halfway to his lips, Ash set it down on the table. There was a long pause before he said, 'Are you telling me that you're pregnant?'

She nodded. 'I felt a bit queasy once or twice in Barbados, so I had a test. It was positive.'

His mouth thinned. His whole face hardened.

'I see,' he said, in a cold tone. 'So that's what brought you back, is it?'

'No, it wasn't ... it wasn't,' she protested. 'I had made the decision before I knew about the baby. Truly I had. You must believe that.'

He pushed back his chair and stood up. 'Only a fool would believe it.

You came back because you had to.'

'I didn't... I swear it. . . where are you going?'— this as he strode towards the door.

'To the harbour. I'll sleep on the boat tonight.'

A moment later he had gone.

It was a miserable night. In the morning Christie overslept. She emerged from the bedroom to find John and Ash at breakfast on a sunny part of the main verandah.

Her husband rose when she joined them, and drew out a chair for her.

She saw that he appeared to have eaten his usual substantial morning meal. But there was no warmth in his eyes as they returned her anxious upward gaze. She could tell he was still fiercely angry with her, an anger probably exacerbated by the frustration of the surge of desire he had felt for her the day before.

Presently he left the table, saying as he did so, 'When you've finished breakfast, I'd like to have a word with you in my study.'

'Is Uncle Ash cross?' asked John, when they were alone.

'I shouldn't think so,' Christie said, with forced lightness. 'Who could be cross on such a beautiful morning?'

'He was cross while you were away. He was like a bear with a sore head,' her nephew informed her.

'I don't know who you heard say that, but it's not at all polite, and probably not true either,' she told him reprovingly. 'If Uncle Ash did speak sternly to someone, I'm sure they deserved it. Perhaps they hadn't done something he'd asked them to do. If you've finished you may get down, pet. I'll be busy for a while, but not for long.'

'Then will you read to me?'

She nodded, inwardly bracing herself for the confrontation in the study. Ash's manner, which even the child had noticed, made her very nervous.

Since she had been bidden to go there, she did not tap on the door of his study but turned the handle and walked in to find him sitting behind his desk, more grim-faced than ever.

As she entered, he rose.

'Sit down, Christie.'

But he remained on his feet, his hands thrust into the pockets of his white shorts. He was wearing a brick-red cotton shirt, the long sleeves neatly rolled up to the swell of his well-developed biceps. He looked very clean and fit, and overwhelmingly attractive.

He said briskly, 'I've decided that from now on our marriage will be on the terms you wanted in the first place. You can stay in the room you've been occupying. I'll have my things moved to one of the other bedrooms.'

For a moment or two she felt stunned.

'Y-you can't mean it, Ash. It's not fair. I don't want those terms any more. I—I want to be fully your wife.'

'I'm afraid that's no longer possible,' was his arctic rejoinder.

'Although, as you've frequently demonstrated, a woman can submit to a man's embraces as a duty rather than a pleasure, a man can't simulate passion for a woman he no longer desires. Even if I could accommodate you as dutifully as you used to fulfil your obligations, I doubt if you'd find it enjoyable. Perfunctory sex is a poor sport, and a pretence of enthusiasm for reasons of expediency isn't much better.'

'But it wasn't expediency which brought me back. I missed you ... I missed you very much. I think you missed me. You kissed me as though you had. If those people hadn't been here, you would have made love to me at once.'

If the desk hadn't been between them she would have jumped up and flung herself into his arms, testing the truth of his claim to have lost his desire for her with the eager pressure of her body.

But the desk was a barricade which made such a gesture impossible.

Ash would have time to fend her off before her bare arms round his neck and the feel of her breasts against his chest revived the hot, impatient passion which had flared between them the day before.

'Perhaps. And regretted it later, no doubt—as I've usually regretted forcing some sort of response from you. But not any more.'

'You mean we . . . we're never going to share a room again?' she asked incredulously.

Ash took his time answering that; and the fact that he paused gave her a modicum of comfort before someone knocked at the door and, with his immediate, 'Come in', he avoided replying to her question.

As the day passed Christie tried to convince herself that he would be sure to change his mind; and she blamed herself much more than him for this temporary impasse. It had been the height of stupidity to blurt out the news of the baby so soon after her return. She should have kept it to herself until she had been back some time, and their marriage had re-established itself on a better footing than before.

However, as the rest of that slow week dragged past, Ash seemed to grow more and more distant. She begun to wonder uneasily if he
had
meant that icy ultimatum. Or perhaps it was only that he was unusually busy with preparations for Sailing Week. She hoped so.

The prospect of reverting to the loveless existence she had led before she met him did not bear thinking about.

Sailing Week began with the inter-island race from Des Hayes, Gaudeloupe, to English Harbour. That night there were dinner parties at The Admiral's Inn, several other hostelries and the Catamaran and Antigua Yacht Clubs.

The main events of the next day were a Fishing and Workboat Race, a welcome party at the Yacht Club, and a special Sailing Week Dinner held in four places at once to fit in all the people who wished to attend it.

On the third day came the First Yacht Race, with Ash, Patrick and Joss all taking part, and the women watching the start from high up on Shirley Heights.

The Heights took their name from Major-General Sir Thomas Shirley, a Governor of the Leeward Islands in the late eighteenth century. At that time Antigua had been an important sugar island with, because of its flatness, more arable land than many islands.

While Britain was at war with France, it had to be well defended from French invasion, and Shirley Heights had once been covered with extensive fortifications.

Most of these were in ruins now. Earthquakes, erosion, and the ruthless vegetation of the tropics had demolished all but a few empty buildings and arches.

But for the large crowd of tourists who watched the race start from The Lookout, nearly five hundred feet above sea level, it was easy to see why this had been an important bastion.

Even with Ros to explain it to her, and sharing Miranda's field glasses, Christie found it hard to make sense of the seeming confusion of yachts moving counter to each other on the blue sea far below. It wasn't really a muddle, merely different classes beginning the races at different times, the others told her.

Yet even as the wife of a leading contender she could not help dividing her attention between the movements of the yachts, the people around them, and the distant view of Guadeloupe, forty miles to the south, Montserrat twelve miles closer in the south-west, and Redonda Rock to the west. Perhaps the race would be more riveting when she was a qualified yachtswoman—if Ash still intended to teach her some of his skills. Perhaps he didn't, not now. She felt suddenly hot, weary of the buzz of many languages going on around her, and uncomfortable sitting on the ground. She longed for a cool, quiet room filled with dim green light, and Ash lying still in her arms after making love to her.

That night, with him and the others, she attended a dinner dance at Halcyon Cove. Two more lively race days followed, and when it came to the day when the Yacht Club held windsurfer and rubber boat races, and a tug-of-war and a riotous beer- drinking contest, she began to appreciate the full meaning of those
I Survived Sailing Week
tee-shirts.

On the night of the fourth big race, she went to a shipwreck party on Curtain Bluff beach, and the next day the Antigua Distillery gave a party with free rum punches at the dockyard.

Christie went, but she drank only fruit juice. Ash and his crew were doing brilliantly, she was told. It seemed certain that
Sunbird Two
would again win the Lord Nelson Cup.

Apart from an incisive warning, expressed at the outset of the week, that she should take care not to tire herself, her husband had had very little direct conversation with her.

Neither Ros nor Miranda, with a woman's swift response to undercurrents, seemed aware of anything amiss. Christie knew this from several remarks they made which would have been incredibly tactless had they sensed a rift between the Lambards.

She had not mentioned the baby to them. She wished it were still her secret, known only to Ian and whoever had done the test for her.

On the last day of Sailing Week—which had now been in progress for nine days—Christie saw and enjoyed the hilarious Non-Mariners Race in which all the "vessels" competing had to have cost not more than one hundred EC dollars, and must never have been in the water before.

The race, with a Le Mans start, was from the South Quay to a line off The Admiral's Inn. According to the rules, piracy and sabotage were forbidden, and as well as a prize for the first vessel to reach the finishing line, there were prizes for the most original craft and the one with the largest crew.

It was an event which caused most of the onlookers to become helpless with laughter and, for a short time, she forgot her unhappiness and was convulsed with amusement like everyone else.

About four in the afternoon, Beat the Retreat was performed by the band of the Royal Antigua Police Force. Afterwards, leaving Ash at the dockyard, Christie drove home to rest until it was time to dress for the Ball. It did not begin until ten o'clock, but they were going to have drinks with the Alleyns in their apartment beforehand.

Tired by the strenuous pace of the week, as soon as she reached Heron's Sound, she went to bed, setting her alarm clock to wake her after ninety minutes.

As on the rare occasions when she had had a nap during the day, she had always woken feeling groggy, it did not surprise her to do so on this occasion. She felt sure it would wear off presently.

She had bathed and made up, but was still in her blue cotton dressing-gown, when she heard Ash come heme. Knowing it would not take him more than half an hour to shower, shave and change, she put on her dress and went to the drawing-room to wait for him.

Still feeling oddly below par, she decided to have a drink to perk her up. The doctor had said that spirits, which she almost never drank anyway, were inadvisable, but a moderate consumption of wine could do no harm.

Having poured herself a glass of sherry, she sat down to drink it. The beautiful aquamarine room never ceased to give her intense visual pleasure, and she concentrated on that and ignored her continuing malaise.