across the sand, struggling to hold up her shorts from falling to her knees, dropping articles of clothing, losing a shoe….
Slowly her initial shock gave way to an icy contempt. She reached down and pulled up the zipper of her shorts, making no effort to conceal her breasts. I
will show him that he is totally unimportant to me, a species of vermin beneath notice.
She picked up her halter, slipped the straps over her arms, and cradled her breasts with a smooth, rolling shrug. She tied the halter and spoke with regal contempt.
“Now that there’s nothing more to see, why don’t you leave?”
His smile seemed to grow thinner, but she wasn’t sure. She couldn’t look at him with the sun blazing in her eyes. The scene was becoming weird and unreal. She sat down on the sand, drew her knees up into the circle of her arms, and looked out to sea.
I’ll ignore him and maybe he’ll go away.
A gull shrieked overhead; a pelican made a crumpled dive into a breaking wave. This man was adding a final sordid touch to an already unpleasant homecoming. She thought of Doctor Kohlmetz in Geneva, with his ponderous German way of intoning clichés: “I have every confidence in your recovery, Mrs. Barrington, but you require rest and quiet. Your husband told me about your private island, and I must say it sounds ideal.” Inside her mind Edith had screamed:
Ideal! For God’s sake, didn’t he also tell you it was the island that did this to me? If I go back
—But she had looked at Ian, and he had smiled his velvet smile, and she had remembered that there were worse places than the island….
So she’d returned, and all would become as it had been before: Ian back in the bush, ruling like a feudal lord behind the walls of Diamond Estate; Doxie performing his labor of love, watching with eyes which never raised themselves above her breasts. She’d come here for the sun, but now this man had come to gaze as Doxie gazed. But he was bold where Doxie was shy; he was arrogant where Doxie was sly. He made her feel awkward and lumpy. Seeking something to busy her hands, she picked a cigarette out of the can, tapped it against her thumbnail, and lit it. She pulled too deeply and coughed.
He chuckled.
Sudden anger made her forget her decision to ignore him. She whirled and bit off the words: “I see you can laugh. Can you talk too, or are you a complete fool?”
She didn’t see his lips move; his words seemed to come out of the air surrounding him, flat and hard and crackling across the space between them.
“I can talk, Edith. Don’t you know me?”
She shaded her eyes against the sun and squinted up at him. She remembered Doxie’s words in the salon just before they’d reached the island: “There’s a squatter here who calls himself a painter. If you’ll watch through the port, you can see him leave.” And Doxie had strode off like St. George in search of a dragon, only to return and report in disgust that the man had fled.
“How could I know you?” she asked. “I’ve been away two years.”
“We met a long time ago, Edie. Remember?”
With his use of her nickname, the pieces fell into a pattern so familiar that she felt a weary sense of
Déjà-vu.
Would they never stop coming back, these old lovers from the past?
“No,” she said coldly. “And if you know my name, you must also know that my husband owns this island, including that rock you’re lying on. If you leave now, I’ll say nothing to him. But if you persist in sitting up there like a gawking baboon—!”
She bit her lip and turned away. Her words had only brought a sleepy smile to his lips. She felt the blood pound against her temples. She started counting:
One … two … three
… A manta ray broke from the water two hundred yards away, so huge that her breath caught in her throat. It arched up into the air, its twelve-foot wings glistening with rubbery wetness, then struck the water flat with a resounding
plop!
Ten.
The counting had helped. She
Slowly her initial shock gave way to an icy contempt. She reached down and pulled up the zipper of her shorts, making no effort to conceal her breasts. I
will show him that he is totally unimportant to me, a species of vermin beneath notice.
She picked up her halter, slipped the straps over her arms, and cradled her breasts with a smooth, rolling shrug. She tied the halter and spoke with regal contempt.
“Now that there’s nothing more to see, why don’t you leave?”
His smile seemed to grow thinner, but she wasn’t sure. She couldn’t look at him with the sun blazing in her eyes. The scene was becoming weird and unreal. She sat down on the sand, drew her knees up into the circle of her arms, and looked out to sea.
I’ll ignore him and maybe he’ll go away.
A gull shrieked overhead; a pelican made a crumpled dive into a breaking wave. This man was adding a final sordid touch to an already unpleasant homecoming. She thought of Doctor Kohlmetz in Geneva, with his ponderous German way of intoning clichés: “I have every confidence in your recovery, Mrs. Barrington, but you require rest and quiet. Your husband told me about your private island, and I must say it sounds ideal.” Inside her mind Edith had screamed:
Ideal! For God’s sake, didn’t he also tell you it was the island that did this to me? If I go back
—But she had looked at Ian, and he had smiled his velvet smile, and she had remembered that there were worse places than the island….
So she’d returned, and all would become as it had been before: Ian back in the bush, ruling like a feudal lord behind the walls of Diamond Estate; Doxie performing his labor of love, watching with eyes which never raised themselves above her breasts. She’d come here for the sun, but now this man had come to gaze as Doxie gazed. But he was bold where Doxie was shy; he was arrogant where Doxie was sly. He made her feel awkward and lumpy. Seeking something to busy her hands, she picked a cigarette out of the can, tapped it against her thumbnail, and lit it. She pulled too deeply and coughed.
He chuckled.
Sudden anger made her forget her decision to ignore him. She whirled and bit off the words: “I see you can laugh. Can you talk too, or are you a complete fool?”
She didn’t see his lips move; his words seemed to come out of the air surrounding him, flat and hard and crackling across the space between them.
“I can talk, Edith. Don’t you know me?”
She shaded her eyes against the sun and squinted up at him. She remembered Doxie’s words in the salon just before they’d reached the island: “There’s a squatter here who calls himself a painter. If you’ll watch through the port, you can see him leave.” And Doxie had strode off like St. George in search of a dragon, only to return and report in disgust that the man had fled.
“How could I know you?” she asked. “I’ve been away two years.”
“We met a long time ago, Edie. Remember?”
With his use of her nickname, the pieces fell into a pattern so familiar that she felt a weary sense of
Déjà-vu.
Would they never stop coming back, these old lovers from the past?
“No,” she said coldly. “And if you know my name, you must also know that my husband owns this island, including that rock you’re lying on. If you leave now, I’ll say nothing to him. But if you persist in sitting up there like a gawking baboon—!”
She bit her lip and turned away. Her words had only brought a sleepy smile to his lips. She felt the blood pound against her temples. She started counting:
One … two … three
… A manta ray broke from the water two hundred yards away, so huge that her breath caught in her throat. It arched up into the air, its twelve-foot wings glistening with rubbery wetness, then struck the water flat with a resounding
plop!
Ten.
The counting had helped. She
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