‘Darling, you must stop leading Imogen on. She’s got a terrible crush on you. She hasn’t taken her eyes off you all morning.’
Matt sat on the beach beside Imogen, reading the same page over and over again. Ever since he’d woken up he’d been kicking himself, and going round saying damn, damn, damn, damn, like Professor Higgins. Admittedly he’d been smashed out of his mind last night, or he’d never have risked casing Braganzi’s house and putting himself and Imogen in such danger, but he never should have given her that aster, or kissed her good-night. If they hadn’t been interrupted by that fat woman rushing down to the lavatory, heaven knows how far he might have gone. He had his hands full with Cable. He liked Imogen far too muuch to hurt her.
It was a soft day. The breathing of the sea was remote and gentle; the sky arched a perfect cornflower blue over their heads. But yesterday’s easy camaraderie had vanished. Imogen didn’t seem to be getting on much better with
‘Let’s go for a walk,’ he said.
He bought her a Coke and a can of beer for himself, and they wandered along the beach, Imogen gathering shells and popping seaweed. As she popped away he could see her mouth moving — he loves me, he loves me not — and the look of desolation on her face when it came out, he loves me not.
They examined a dead jellyfish (like a striped red blister), overturned rocks so that little crabs scurried out, and when they walked over the dark wet saffron masses of seaweed covering the rocks, her hand slid into his as trustingly as a child to stop herself slipping. Oh Christ, why had he led her on? He had only meant to be kind.
They reached the end of the beach, and sat down to cool off under the indigo shadow cast by a huge red rock. He looked at her round innocent face longing to be kissed.
‘Imogen, darling?’
‘Yes,’ she said, her eyes lighting up.
‘How old are you?’
‘Nearly 20.’
‘And how many affairs have you had?’
‘None really,’ she blushed. ‘Not bed anyway. I expect I would have with Nicky, but I lost my pills. But I found them again. I took three yesterday,’ she added quickly.
‘Well, don’t tell him,’ said Matt, deliberately misreading her offer. ‘Nicky’s no good for you. He’s only interested in conquest, servicing totally
He picked up a handful of sand, letting it drift through his fingers.
‘Do you know what you should do after this holiday? Get away from your father and the family and Yorkshire and get a job in London. The paper’s got a terrific library; they sometimes have a vacancy. Would you like me to see if I could get you a job?’
‘Oh, yes, please,’ she gasped. ‘Oh, yes.’ To have a chance to see him every day, to cut out his stories every week and file them under ‘O’Connor, Matt’, to do telling research for him whenever he needed help with a story.
‘But I don’t really know anyone in London,’ she stammered.
Matt smiled. ‘You know me and Basil — and Cable.’
Her fingers, which seemed to be sleepwalking towards his hand, suddenly stopped at the mention of Cable. She took a hasty swig from her tin, leaving a moustache of Coke on her upper lip.
‘You should live a little,’ he said very gently. ‘Get more experience. Play the field. Break a few hearts, and have fun. You’ll soon grow out of men like Nicky.’
‘I don’t want to play the field,’ she said dolefully.
‘Cable and I have been together a long time. We understand each other.’
He was trying to tell her something, however gently, and she didn’t want to hear it. Keep out of Ireland. Hands off O’Connor. In the heat, he had pushed his damp blond hair back from his sweating forehead, showing the thick horizontal wrinkles, and the laughter lines round his eyes, which were bloodshot from drinking and lack of sleep, the heavy lids swollen. He looked thoroughly seedy and hung over, and every bit of his thirty-two years. But gazing at the battered sexy face she wondered how she could ever have loved anyone else in her life.
Matt sighed. He wasn’t finding this at all easy. ‘Look, sweetheart,’ he said, ‘I shouldn’t have kissed you last night. I was extremely drunk and I enjoyed it, but I shouldn’t have done it. You’ve had enough flak from Nicky without my putting the boot in.’
Imogen watched a speedboat shooting by, rearing up thirty degrees out of the water. The noontide sky was the same colour as the sea now; you could hardly distinguish the horizon.
She leapt to her feet.
‘If you’re trying to pretend last night meant anything more to me than a friendly good-night kiss,’ she said, ‘you’re very much mistaken.’
And, turning away, she ran back down the beach towards the hotel.
‘Hell, hell, hell and damnation,’ said Matt.
A huge pair of dark glasses over her reddened eyes had got her through lunch. She could hardly eat anything, picking away like Cable. She avoided looking at Matt, who wasn’t eating much either. He announced he was going into Marseilles by himself that afternoon, to follow up a tip-off Antoine’s contact had given him at the Bar de la Marine.
‘I’ve had quite enough of Marseilles for one day,’ said Cable, who’d had a successful shopping expedition. ‘I’m going to sleep for a few hours. Such an exhausting night, darling,’ she added, running a caressing hand inside Matt’s shirt. Imogen gritted her teeth. Yvonne, looking smug and well bandaged after a trip to the doctor, said the sun was too hot for her foot, and she would like James to drive her to look over a nearby chateau.
‘And Imogen shall come with us,’ insisted James, terrified of being left on his own with Yvonne.
‘That’s a good idea, darling,’ said Nicky, running a lazy finger down Imogen’s cheek. ‘I’ve found some passable courts about five miles from here, so I’ll have a workout this afternoon. You go with James and Yvonne. You’ll enjoy it.’
He was wearing a navy blue T-shirt and white shorts, and Imogen could see the muscles rippling on his thighs and his shoulders, and suddenly she was shot through with sadness, because she had adored him so much and she remembered the ecstatic admiration she had felt when she’d first watched him playing tennis. And now, although she could still appreciate his beauty, he meant nothing to her. Maybe one day she’d feel as indifferently towards Matt.
‘I’m cured of Nicky,’ she thought dolefully. ‘Now I’ve got to start again and get over the cure.’
In the end, when Cable had gone up to bed and Nicky and Matt had set out, she suddenly felt she couldn’t face Yvonne bitching all afternoon at James and told them she felt like a walk on her own.
It was very hot. She wandered out of the town up a hill path which began with shallow steps between red and white holiday villas, then became a rough track leading on to wilder heath above the cliffs, not unlike the moors at home. The sea sparkled below and the air had a marvellous sweetness from wild lavender and thyme mingling with the sharper tang of the sea. If only Matt were here all would be perfect, but she mustn’t think of him.
The path forked. She followed a track leading steeply down. She was pouring with sweat by the time she reached the sea’s edge, picking her way across the jagged red rock, feeling its heat and sharpness even through the soles of her espadrilles. She took off her dress and shoes and dropped in her bikini into the cool green water, hoping it might bring her some relief. She swam out to sea, wondering in a brief despairing moment whether to swim on and on. But they always said you saw your past life again if you drowned, and the past four months had been far too traumatic for her to want a replay.
She floated for a bit, then swam round into the next cove, climbing back on to the rocks, regaining her breath. Suddenly she could hear the sound of voices and edged her way round the cove, until she could see a beautiful stretch of beach deserted except for one family. She sat down to watch them. A dark-haired, dark-eyed child in a pink sun hat was aimlessly banging a red spade on the ground, and watching his pretty mother and father build him a huge elaborate sandcastle. The girl was wearing a red bikini, the man a shirt and black trousers. He must be baking in this heat.
Tears filled Imogen’s eyes. They looked so united and happy. She had a sudden fleeting picture of herself and Matt laughing together, building a castle for their own suntanned blond baby.
The child got unsteadily to its feet and waddled off, clambering on to the rocks, about twenty yards from her.
