The Wall (4 page)

the recording now, the studio could sue. They could ruin you

financially.'

'What if they've already ruined me—if I've already ruined myself?'

she had asked, unable to keep the bitterness inside.

Barry watched her closely, then reached into his pocket to draw out a

small pillbox. He opened it up and held it out to her. 'Here, take one

of these, love. It'll make you feel better, and then you can crash

tonight. Go on, it won't hurt you.'

Tired beyond naming, depressed, discouraged and disheartened, Sara

had stared at the little pillbox in Barry's hand. In her mind's eye she

could see her own hand reaching out to accept what he was offering.

She wanted to take that pill. She had always known that a good deal

of Barry's nervous energy had come from pills in the past, but she

had never questioned his personal lifestyle and he had never given

her reason to fire him, for he knew his job and performed like a pure

professional. She had never had any personal experience with drugs;

she had always relied on her own stamina and strength.

This was what had scared her so badly, scared her into running half a

continent to southern Michigan. In that one moment, she had realised

just how badly she was damaging herself with her ambition and

drive. She had always been determined before to keep her body free

from drugs, never to develop a reliance on any type of drug. She had

wanted to make her success totally on her own.

At that moment Sara realised how she had used herself. In an effort

to cut an average of four albums a year and to stay at the top of the

popular charts, she had sacrificed her time, energy and eventually, in

the end, her self-respect. She became marketable, squelching any

desire she might have felt inside to break out of the stereotype and

adopt a quieter, more relaxed style of music. She had assumed an

outrageous style of dress, had gone to the parties with the rich and the

well- known, and had been so caught up in her own whirlwind, her

personal crazy merry-go-round, that she hadn't realised just exactly

when she had left her own personality behind.

The one moment, staring at a little white pill, had brought her to her

senses after eight long, climbing, striving years. Sara Bertelli was a

smashing success. Sara Carmichael was tired, and a little ashamed,

and totally alone.

She would have to reach out to someone, before it became too late.

Thinking of this made her think of the light promise she had made to

a virtual stranger that morning on the beach. She moved, with a

sudden eager urgency, and took her new carton of cigarettes along

with the several packs that were scattered throughout the cabin and

threw them all into the cold and empty fireplace. She struck a match,

watched the little flame take the end of the cardboard box and

stepped back to watch the cigarettes burn away. The aromatic smell

filled the room and she sniffed appreciatively. Still, she couldn't

regret her actions, and a peace that was beginning to become familiar

to her took her mind like a wave washing gently on a beach, and a

slight smile curved her lips.

The cigarettes fell to ashes in the fireplace.

SARA decided early in the evening to take another walk. She told

herself that she merely wanted to get a shot of her sand castle in the

sunset as she went about gathering up her camera bag and a sweater,

but she knew that she wasn't being entirely truthful. There was a

deeper reason, but she didn't try to dig into it. She wasn't sure that she

wanted to know; it was just that suddenly the cabin seemed too small

and too empty.

She swung the bag to her shoulder and headed down the path after

locking her back door and slipping the key into her front jeans

pocket. The path was already becoming familiar to her, and she

watched for little landmarks along the way. There just ahead was a

small tree that had four big bumps on its trunk, and just ahead of that

was the oak tree that looked as if it had been split in two by lightning

several years ago. It was still alive, and ivy tangled all over it, half

hiding the scar. An elm tree to the left, a group of more oaks, and a

funny little hitch in the path caused by several tangled tree roots, and

then sand. A turn to the left and a patch of blue and a blaze of gold

and orange from the setting sun, and she stopped to take a picture of

the vivid scene before moving on.

As she climbed up the rise to reach the beach beyond, she finally

admitted to herself that she had some hopes of seeing that man Greg

again. For some strange reason she wanted to tell him that she burned

her cigarettes. For some strange reason she hoped to make his sombre

dark face smile. This admission was uncomfortable to her. She knew

that now she had admitted this to herself she was going to have

problems acting normally in front of him if she did run into him.

She slid down the other side of the rise, inwardly disappointed to find

the sandy expanse empty. Attempting to shrug this away, she briskly

took off to the sand castle, only to find it half mauled by big paw

prints. Not half as disappointed at this as she was by the sight of the

empty beach, Sara studied the remaining erect wall thoughtfully and

decided that the ruins would look wonderful when sighted and

aligned up with the setting sun. She immediately stretched out in the

sand and shot the dark crumbling shape against the blazing orange

orb with the haze of surrounding red, and felt well pleased.

A panting sound came to her ears and the gallop of muted feet. Thus

warned, Sara attempted to roll over with the intent of rising to her

feet, not wanting to be caught in such a vulnerable position. Before

she could attempt to gain even her knees, a large dark shape walloped

down on top of her stomach. There was a ferocious grin, a pink

lolling tongue and the gleam of wicked white teeth, the pricking of

interested ears, and Sara decided to remain lying down as she stared

into the bright dark eyes of a very heavy Dobermann Pinscher.

She murmured gently, 'What a big boy you are! Sweetheart, good

puppy. Are you always so friendly? I hope this is being friendly—I'd

hate to see you unfriendly! Such a pretty puppy! Will you let me

scratch your ears? Hmm?' Thus adjured, the large, extremely heavy

monster sniffed inquiringly. Sara put up a very slow and careful

hand, trying not to think of the sharp teeth just in front of her face,

and gently scratched behind the dog's ear.

She was rewarded with a wag from the dog's stump of a tail and an

appreciative whine. Feeling a little braver and very foolish, she tried

stroking the sleek black head while still murmuring sweet

nonsensical phrases to the grinning brute. The dog heaved a gusty

sigh, put his nose to her shirt to blow noisily, and rolled over to his

side, which sent him falling off of her chest. She was extremely

grateful at this and managed to sit up in time to avoid having sand

thrown on her face by the dog's sudden scrabbling about as he

scratched his back ecstatically on the sand. This was watched with

some amusement, then Sara whirled about with a start as a deep

voice sounded behind her. The dog shook himself energetically and

pranced over to the man to sit in front of him with an air of

expectation.

'I see you've managed to run into Beowulf,' Greg commented mildly,

taking in the clinging sand on her sweater and the indentations in the

sand underneath her crouching body.

Feeling at a loss and quite overwhelmed by his unexpected

appearance, Sara climbed to her feet slowly, brushing herself off as

she murmured, 'Beowulf is quite a distinguished name, and so

appropriate. Is he always so boisterous?'

'Invariably. I once entertained the hope that he would settle down

when he reached adulthood, but was doomed to disappointment. He

didn't get milder, only larger.' Even standing she seemed to have

forgotten just how big the man was, and she stared up at him, unable

to dispel a feeling of shyness. Greg looked as powerful as the

heaving, panting, grinning brute at his feet. She jumped when he

moved to her, saying, 'Here, let me brush off your back for you. Did

he hurt you?'

'No,' she replied with a hint of self-mockery, 'only scared me a bit.

Had I known that he was such a friendly dog, I wouldn't have been so

ridiculously frightened. It's just when he sat on my chest and showed

me those long white teeth that I -'

'Beowulf is not, I might warn, always so friendly,' he interrupted

mildly as he took care to brush off her jeans too, holding her in place

with one large hand to her shoulder for support. She felt like a little

girl being administered to by her father. 'He had a romp this way in

the afternoon, and I took care that he sniffed around at the sand castle

to get used to your scent. If you'd come on to the beach and he hadn't

been familiarised with you, he might have attacked.'

Sara swallowed hard. 'Oh.' His hand was brushing off the back of her

thighs and she wriggled. 'I think that's good enough, thank you.

Will—do you think Beowulf might bite me now?' This last was asked

in a slightly anxious tone as she shot an apprehensive glance at the

black, silent dog who panted calmly as he sat not five feet away.

Greg raised his head to look briefly at the dog. 'I don't think so,' he

said casually. 'He didn't bite you before.'

'You don't
think
so?' she returned sarcastically. 'By the way, did I

ever thank you for your generous offer to let me roam your beach

freely, unaware of the dog?'

A soft chuckle sounded at this, and Greg clicked his hand at Beowulf

imperatively, at which the dog immediately heaved up and advanced

on the two with the most amiable of ambles.

Sara backed up sharply at this and a long hard arm snaked out to

curve around her waist and pull her up short. She started to lean

against it, then to wriggle protestingly as the dog came closer. 'Stop

that, for heaven's sake!' Greg told her impatiently, looking down at

her large eyes and apprehensive look. Then his own face softened

slightly, although she was too busy noticing the dog to see it, and his

voice softened too. 'Don't you see that he won't hurt you if he knows

I approve of you and show you friendliness? Hold still and let him

get close.'

She tried to stand calmly at this reasonable tone of voice, but couldn't

help leaning back on his arm a bit as Greg moved to the dog and

started to talk quietly to the beast, patting him on the head and

motioning for him to come up to Sara. She stiffened as the great head

lowered to her legs and feet to sniff in a totally friendly manner, and

she held her breath. Beowulf snuffled about, raised his head, and

wagged his stump slightly. At this, Greg told her with amusement in

his voice, 'Pet him now, he won't bite. And you can let out your

breath now, too.'

She expelled gustily, annoyed with his perception, and held out a

tentative hand to the dog. A pink tongue lolloped her forefinger. She

patted the dark head with a little more confidence and was rewarded

with a happy push of the head against her legs and an adoring ogle

from those velvet eyes. 'I think he likes me,' she said, delighted.

'Of course he does,' was the calm reply. She looked up as Greg told

her, 'I told him he could.'

'Do you mean to tell me he's a guard dog who attacks anyone not

strictly acquainted with his master?' she asked incredulously.

'Something like that,' he replied shortly. Looking down at her spilled

camera bag, he asked her, 'Did you manage to get a picture of the

castle ruins before Beowulf mauled you?'

'Yes. That's why I was down on the sand,' she explained, moving to

pick up the things and dust them off carefully.

'I thought he'd knocked you down.'

'He probably would have if I hadn't been prone already,' she

muttered, feeling annoyed when he laughed softly at that. How could

she have ever wanted to hear him laugh again? It was most

provoking. She stared at him consideringly, taking in the change of

clothes, the nicer slacks instead of jeans and the dark sweater over a

lighter shirt that was open at his strong brown throat. He looked