‘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