No More Lonely Nights (43 page)

Ignoring the handkerchief and his command, she asked again, “Why?” She shook her head as she spoke, still not believing that she had correctly understood. “You said you loved me. You tell me every day…”

Clay cradled his forehead in one hand and took a deep breath. Then he dropped his arm to the table with a thud that shook the silverware.

Out of the corner of her eye, Dominique saw the waiter approach and Clay wave him away. She picked up the handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, then crumpled the fine linen into a tight ball and raised her eyes to Clay’s.

“You said you loved me,” she repeated. Her voice, still choked with tears, was accusatory.

“I do.” Clay defended his betrayal. “I just…” He looked at the ceiling.

Dominique watched him intently, breathlessly waiting for him to continue. Waiting for him to offer her hope. Waiting for him to present an argument that she could counter with logic.

But when he finally met her eyes, she saw nothing there but sympathy. And when she looked at his mouth, it was tight with irritation.

Dominique’s face broke into a hot sweat. The room tilted crazily. She felt rubbery, about to collapse. She clutched the corners of the table hard—so hard that her knuckles turned white with the effort. She watched them protruding in a neat row that made her think of gravestones. Then, suddenly, she knew she had to escape. She jerked her chair backward and stood up. Grabbing her bag, she ran from the room. She scurried down the stairs as though she were fleeing an assassin. She bumped into a waiter and heard a crash, but kept running. People turned to stare. A face appeared in front of her, the mouth an O of surprise. Hands clutched at her, trying to stop her. Still she ran.

She burst out of the double doors that marked the restaurant’s entry. The Cadillac was there, right in front. Clay always tipped generously for just that privilege. She searched frantically in her purse for the extra key. She felt the cold metal and wrapped her palm around it as though it offered salvation.

Then she was in the car, the warm leather offering familiar comfort.

She turned the key and stepped on the gas. She drove, much too fast, through the narrow streets of the Garden District. She drove and drove, her mind too numb with shock to reason properly. Uptown, then downtown. As long as she kept driving, she didn’t have to confront the reality of what Clay had told her. She saw neighborhoods she’d never before seen. She got lost often, but kept driving until she found herself on familiar streets. Finally, when she noticed that she was almost out of gas, she turned toward home.

Clay was waiting for her in bed. She stopped on the threshold, stunned by the sight of him in so ordinary a situation. He threw back the sheets. “I was just about to call the police,” he said in an aggrieved voice. “I was worried sick!”

Her heart pounded with hope. He cared! He had changed his mind! Why else would he be in their bed?

“Clay,” she sighed with relief.

“Get to bed,” he ordered. “We have to catch an early flight tomorrow.”

Dominique went limp with relief. “We’re still going then?”

“Of course!” Clay said in an annoyed tone. He turned away from her and got back into the bed. “I wouldn’t disappoint everyone by canceling. And I’d appreciate it if you’d keep things to yourself until afterward. I don’t want to ruin Mother’s vacation.”

“Mother’s vacation?” Dominique repeated stupidly, her blood rising. Who gave a damn about that!

“There’s plenty of time to tell her when we get back,” Clay said with finality. He picked up a magazine from his nightstand.

The breath went out of Dominique. She fixed Clay with an incredulous stare. “You expect me to go on this trip and behave as though nothing has happened?” Her voice was shrill.

Clay looked at her coldly and replied in a low voice, “First of all, don’t shout. You’ll wake the whole house. Second, I don’t see any option.” He paused and looked thoughtful, as though trying to muster his most persuasive argument. “You don’t want to ruin Gabrielle’s holiday, do you?”

Gabrielle mustn’t know! She would be shattered. And there would be the humiliation of explaining to Susie and her parents. It was unthinkable to back out now! But to go on the trip with Clay, to share his bed as though nothing were amiss, that seemed equally abhorrent. How was she supposed to behave with him? How was she supposed to undress in front of him? Sleep in the same bed? Unless… unless there was still some hope of changing his mind. Maybe what was bothering him had nothing to do with her really. Maybe it was something at work or maybe he was simply depressed. A change of scene might do him good, make him see things through new eyes. Dominique’s heart beat faster at the thought. It was possible that he would change his mind. After all, a man didn’t just walk away from his family without a second thought.

Dominique was beyond pride—all she could think of was how to hold Clay. If she was loving and gay, if he had a wonderful time, wasn’t it possible that he would want to stay? That he would realize that he was making a terrible mistake? Suddenly, Dominique felt giddy with hope. She would be extra nice to her mother-in-law. She would make sure that everyone got along. She would see that things went smoothly. She wouldn’t nag or complain. She would do all that Clay asked. Anything to make him change his mind.

DOMINIQUE shook the sand out of her espadrilles and set them neatly on the tile patio, then opened the French door and entered the hotel room. It was decorated in soothing tones of white and sea blue, so airy that it remained cool even in the heat of midday. Despite her troubles, Dominique couldn’t help but feel a sense of sheer physical well-being. It seemed as though she were suspended in an unreal place and time where everything was perfect. The sun was turning her a lovely bronze. She enjoyed long walks each day on the pristine white sand, and swims in an ocean as clear and warm as a swimming pool. When she avoided thinking about the future, she was almost happy.

Clay seemed happy, too. He was solicitous of everyone’s enjoyment. He generously handed out quarters to Gabrielle and Susie so that they could buy Cokes. He hired a driver to take Solange and Lenore sightseeing. He carefully arranged the beach umbrella over Dominique each morning before he departed for the tennis court. At noon, he reappeared showered and changed to take everyone to lunch, then spent the rest of the day with his family.

Dominique slid out of her bathing suit and headed to the shower. She was to meet Clay at half past noon for lunch—her first lunch alone with him since their arrival seven days before. The mothers and the girls had wanted one last shopping excursion to the neighboring island of St. Thomas before they had to depart.

Dominique sighed as she thought of going home. Back to reality. Then what? She couldn’t believe that Clay would move out. He had seemed so content in the past week. Dominique had carefully refrained from asking about his plans. A superstitious part of her believed that if she didn’t speak of his leaving, he wouldn’t. And it seemed to be working. Not once had Clay discussed the subject. Maybe he had changed his mind. Maybe his announcement prior to their vacation had been an effort to jolt Dominique into… into what? Being more attentive? She furrowed her brow as she considered this. It was true that her volunteer work sometimes cut into their free time. Did he resent that? Did he want her to be more seductive? Sex was more frequent lately, but it was the comfortable, unsurprising sex of a long-married couple. Until this week.

Dominique turned on the shower and let the water cool her sun-heated skin. She soaped herself absentmindedly as she thought of the past few days. Clay had been… different. She had expected him to be distant and impatient. She had expected their time alone to be stilted and uncomfortable. She had not expected him to touch her. Instead he made love to her almost every day. She had struggled with herself over whether to refuse him. Why should she permit him relations that he said he no longer wanted? And yet… what better way to bring him closer, to show her love? Each touch of his hand on her body seemed to reaffirm that they belonged to each other. Each shuddering sigh from him, each emptying of his seed into her, made Dominique feel she had a claim on him.

Knowing that she might lose Clay, Dominique looked at him with new eyes. Suddenly he seemed more desirable than he had since their courtship. He didn’t share many thoughts with Dominique, and that elusiveness added perversely to his attraction.

Despite Dominique’s suppressed anger and hurt, their lovemaking was more intense and creative than it had ever been. Clay touched her in new ways.

Now, as Dominique rubbed herself dry with a fluffy white bath towel, she blushed to remember their lovemaking in the torpor of the previous afternoon. The sun had filtered through the slats in the windows as the overhead fan cooled their bodies. They had been salty from the ocean. Without bothering to shower, they had tumbled on the bed, Clay hard even before he removed his bathing suit. He had kissed her breasts as he always did, then, to her surprise, had moved his head lower and lower until his mouth was at the very center of her.

Dominique had been shocked at first. What had come over him? Why was he only now doing something he had not even done in the happy first days of their marriage? At first, she was terribly self-conscious. Would he enjoy it? Should she stop him? But with an expertise Dominique would not have thought he possessed, he lulled her into acceptance, then excitement. She abandoned herself to him, throwing her head back on the cool pillow and accepting his offering. Why not? She wanted it. She wanted to take it from him. She wanted him to exert himself solely for her pleasure. He owed her that.

She let him melt into her. Let him tantalize her, bring her to the brink of orgasm, then retreat to delay the final moment. Never had he shown such finesse, such sensitivity for what she was feeling. Never had his timing been so perfect. Finally, when she thought she could bear the suspense no longer, when she was drowning in sensation, he brought her to a climax more resonant than she had ever experienced.

“Clay!” she gasped.

It took a long time for the tingling waves of pleasure to recede. When they did, Dominique was limp, drained of energy. She lay with her eyes closed. Clay, his head on the pillow next to hers, gently caressed her. Guilty for her selfish pleasure, Dominique pulled Clay closer, a signal that he should move on top of her, though she would have been as content to simply go to sleep. But Clay was moving inside her, no longer able to wait. Dominique wrapped her arms around her husband, overcome with bittersweet emotion. It wasn’t possible that he could make love to her this way if he intended to leave. It was clear that he loved her, wasn’t it?

As Dominique remembered the moment, she realized she was crying. She, who cried so rarely, had cried often in the past week. Impatiently, she turned on the water in the wash basin and splashed her face. She had to meet Clay in half an hour, but it would be better if she went to the lobby now. It wasn’t good for her to be alone in the room.

She wended her way down a flagstone path through tropical foliage to the main building—or “great house,” as it was called in colonial tradition. Dominique knew there were many other guests at the hotel, but the only sounds she heard were the gentle rolling of the surf and the clicking of palm fronds as the breeze passed by. They were peaceful sounds and they acted as a balm to Dominique’s troubled emotions.

An entirely different mood was evoked by the great house. The lobby, open to the breeze on two sides, was furnished in the English style, with heavy mahogany furniture. Even the two telephone booths, which stood at the far end of the room near the entrance to the restaurant, were mahogany paneled enclosures. Usually there were several men waiting in line to use them, for the guest rooms had no telephones.

Dominique glanced at her wristwatch. Still twenty minutes until Clay was due. She glanced around at the various furniture groupings in the room, deciding where to sit. Most were for six or eight guests and were already occupied. Only the plump chintz sofa near the phone booth was meant for two.

The sleeve and brass buttons of a navy blazer emerged from one of the booths, whose occupant had left the mahogany door open. However, no other anxious businessmen hovered nearby waiting for a chance to call their offices, so Dominique wandered over to the little sofa and sat down.

“I know it’s a bad connection.” The voice, muffled and distorted by the mahogany walls, was barely intelligible. “I’ll try to talk louder, but this phone booth is stifling and I don’t want to shut the door.”

Dominique discreetly ignored the conversation. She leaned forward and picked up a magazine from the coffee table. It was one of those expensive English journals with thick, glossy pages and vivid photographs of country manors.

“I miss you, too, darling. I’ve been going crazy. I can’t wait to get back!” The disembodied voice floated out to Dominique.

She put down the magazine. With a quizzical expression, she looked at the phone booth. A cold jab of fear: Was that Clay? Hard to tell through the partition. Maybe she was imagining the resemblance. She hesitated. Should she look? If it wasn’t Clay, she would be terribly embarrassed. She stood. Indecisive, she stared at the mahogany wall of the phone booth. What if she just wandered by and pretended she was going to the next booth? She started to move forward, then she heard the voice again.

“Of course we don’t! The room has two beds. I told you, all that’s over between us! I only went through with this because I didn’t want to disappoint my mother and Gabrielle. As soon as we get home, I’m moving in with you.”

Dominique was rooted to the spot, stupefied. She turned a sickly pale yellow. Cold sweat erupted on her face, but she felt unbearably, suffocatingly hot. She took two jerky steps. Blindly, she reached forward. The cool mahogany was under her fingers. She braced her palms against the wall for support and leaned against it, willing herself to take a breath.

“I love you, too,” she heard Clay say tenderly. So tenderly. Just as he had once spoken to her.