Mark asked lazily and relapsed into silence, giving himself up to the full pleasure of watching her and they were silent for nearly an hour, silent but close and Spiritually in tune.
Mark spoke at last. I know what you mean by seeing more clearly now. That one, he pointed at one of the larger canvases against the wall, that's probably the best thing you've ever done. I hated to sell it, the man who bought it is coming tomorrow. You've sold some of your paintings? he was startled. How do you think John and I live? I don't know. He hadn't thought about that. I supposed your husband. Her expression changed, darkening swiftly. I want nothing from him. And she tossed her head so that the braid of hair flicked like the tail of an angry lioness. I want nothing from him, and his friends, and my loving friends, all those nice loyal people who stay away from me in droves now that I am the scarlet divorcee. I've learned a lot since last I saw you, and especially I have learned about that kind of person. They are rich, Mark pointed out. You once told me how important that is. The dark anger went out of her, and she drooped a little, the brush falling to her side. Oh Mark, please don't be bitter with me. I don't think I could stand that. He felt something tear in his chest, and he rose swiftly and went to her, picked her up with a swing of his shoulders and carried her high, through the curtained doorway into the small cool dark bedroom.
It was strange, but their love-making was never the same, always there were new wonders, new accords of desire, the discovery of some little things that excited them both beyond all relation to its apparent significance.
Repetition could not weary nor dull the appetite they had for each other, and even as that appetite was totally satiated, so the endless well of their mutual desire began to fill again.
It would start again immediately with the lazy touch of fingers as they lay curled together like sleepy puppies, the sweat of their loving cooling on their skin, raising little goose bumps around the dark rosy aureoles of her nipples.
A finger drawn lightly down his cheek, rasping on the sandpaper of his beard, and then pushing lightly between his lips, making him turn his head for another gentle kiss, a mere touch of lips and the mingling of their breath so that he could smell that peculiar perfume of passion from her mouth, a smell like newly dug truffles, a mushroorny exciting smell.
She saw the new spark of interest in his eyes and drew softly away to chuckle at him, a throaty sensuous sound, and she drew one sharp finger-nail swiftly down his spine so that little sparks of fire flew along his nerves and his back arched.
I am going to claw you because you deserve it, you randy old tomcat. She made a growly sound in her throat and curled her nails into a lion's claw, drawing it lightly across his shoulder, and then hard down his belly, so that her nails left red lines against the skin.
She studied the red lines, with her lips parted and the tip of her pink tongue touching her small white teeth. The nipples of her breast swelled as she watched, growing like new buds, as though they were about to burst. She saw the direction of his eyes, and she put her hand behind his head, drawing him-in down gently, pulling back her shoulder so that the heavy rounded bosom was offered like a sacrifice.
Mark took some of the big scaly crayfish from the lowtide pools, and they smelled of kelp and iodine, thumping their tails furiously in his grip, snapping their legs and bubbling at the small mouths with their multiple mandibles.
Mark rose, streaming salt water, from the depths of the pool and handed them up to Storm, who squealed with excitement on the rocky edge of the pool and took them gingerly, using her straw hat as a glove against the spiky carapace and waving legs.
Mark built a fire in a scooped fireplace in the sand, while Storm held John on her lap and fed him through a discreetly unbuttoned blouse, offering advice and ribald comment as he worked.
Mark threw wet seaweed over the coals, put the crayfish on top of that and covered them with another layer of seaweed, topping it off with a final layer of sand, and while they waited for the crayfish to cook and John to finish his noisy guzzling, they drank wine and watched the setting sun turn the sea clouds into a brilliant display. God, Nature's an old ham. If I painted like that, they'd say I had no sense of colour, and I could go work for a chocolate company painting boxes. Afterwards, Storm lay John in the apple basket that served as a portable cradle and they ate crayfish, pulling the long luscious sticks of white meat from the horny legs and washing it down with the tart white Cape wine.
In the darkness the stars were stark pricks of brilliant white, and the su boomed in long soft phosphorescent lines. It's so wonderfully romantic. Storm watched it, sitting hugging her knees, and then turned her head and smiled wickedly. And you can take that as a hint, if you want to On the rug together she said, Do you know what some people do? No what do some people do? Mark seemed more interested in what he was doing than the actions of the nameless somebodies. You don't expect me just to say it out like that. Why not? It's rude. All right, so whisper it. So she whispered it, but she was giggling so much that he was not sure he had heard right.
She repeated it, and he had heard right. He was truly stunned, so that he found himself blushing in the dark. That's terrible, he answered huskily. You would never do that! However, he was over the first shock, and the idea intrigued him. of course not, she whispered, and then after a silence, Unless of course you want to. There was another long silence during which Storm made some investigations. If I'm any judge, and I should be by now, you want to, she stated flatly, Long afterwards, naked in the dark, they swam together out beyond the first line of breakers. The water was warm as fresh milk and they trod water to kiss with wet salty lips.
On the beach Mark built up the fire and they sat close to it, cuddled together in the yellow light of the flames, and they drank the rest of the wine. Mark, she said at last, and there was a sadness in her voice that he had never heard before. You have been with us two days now, which is two days too much. Tomorrow I want you to go. Go early before John and I are awake, so we don't have to watch you. Her words struck like a lash so that he writhed at the sting. He turned to her with a stricken face in the firelight.
What are you saying? You and John are mine. We belong together the three of us, always. You didn't understand a word of what I was saying, did you? she asked softly. You didn't understand when I said I must rebuild my pride, refashion my honour? I love you, Storm. I have always loved you. You are married to somebody else, Mark. That doesn't mean anything, he pleaded. Oh yes, it does. She shook her head. And you know it does. I will leave Marion. Divorce, Mark? Yes. He was desperate. I'll ask her for a divorce. That way we can both be truly proud. That will be a fine way for me to go to my father. Think how proud we will make him. His daughter, and the son he never had, for that's the way he thinks of you, both of them divorced.
Think of baby John. How high he will hold his head. Think of us, what a noble life we can build on the misery of the girl who was your wife. Looking into her eyes in the firelight, he saw that her pride was iron and her stubbornness was as steel.
Mark dressed quietly in the dark, and when he was ready he groped his way to the cradle and kissed his son. The child made a little whimpering sound in his sleep, and he smelt warm and milky, like a new-born kitten.
