At night the picking team gathered on the lawn. Tiarella had set up a long open-range charcoal grill. They ate lobsters and thick slices of pork, washed down with juice and wine. After the meal they sang as a moon arched sedately across the sky, and the fountain sent a foaming white jet seven metres up into the air.
Althaea was in her element as she moved between the groups with a tray, her face animated in a way Eason had never seen before. Still later, when they had stolen away to make love in the jungle beyond the restored grove, he lay back on his blanket and watched her undressing, skin stippled by moonlight filtering through the thick canopy of leaves, his resolve crystallized. Her body, a rewarding challenge, beautiful location, it didn't get any better. He was going to stay.
• • •
Eason didn't see them together until the third day. It was a lunch break, and he'd just walked back from the jetty to help himself to the sandwiches Tiarella had made in the kitchen. Through the window he could see most of the garden.
Althaea was sitting in the shade of a eucalyptus tree with one of the parishioners, a lad in his teens. They were talking avidly, passing a chillflask to and fro. Her easiness with the lad irritated Eason. But he made a conscious effort to keep his feelings in check. The last thing he wanted was a scene which would draw attention and comment.
When his retinal amp focused on the lad's face, Eason could see a disturbing amount of adoration written there. Fair enough, she was divine after all. But there was something about his features which was familiar: he had a broad face, strong jaw, longish blond hair, clear blue eyes—a real charmer. Faces were Eason's business, and he'd seen that face once before, recently. Yet offhand he couldn't even point in the direction Oliviera lay.
It was Althaea who introduced him to the lad. His name was Mullen, he was seventeen, polite and respectful, if slightly overeager. It was an engaging combination. Eason found himself warming to him.
The three of them sat together for the meal that night, biting into broad slices of pineapple coated in a tart sauce, drinking a sweet white wine. Tiarella sat on the other side of the grill, her outline wavering in the heat shimmer given off by the glowing charcoal. Her gaze was locked on them.
«So how many times have you come here to pick?» Eason asked.
Mullen tore his attention away from Althaea. «This is my first time. It's wonderful. I've never seen a firedrake before.»
«Where were you living before Oliviera?»
«Nowhere. I've always lived there. This is the first time I've been anywhere except for other parish islands, and they're pretty much the same.»
«You mean you've never been on the mainland?» he asked, surprised.
«Not yet, no. I'm probably going to go next year, when I'm eighteen.»
«You've got a real treat in store,» Althaea said. «Kariwak's a riot; but just make sure you count your fingers after you shake hands.»
«Really?» Mullen switched his entire attention back to her.
Eason felt lonely, out of it. The truth was, their conversation had been incredibly boring all evening. They talked about nothing—the antics of the firedrakes, weather, which fish they liked best, how the picking was progressing. Every word was treated as though it had been spoken by some biblical prophet.
He was also very aware of the way Mullen's eyes roamed. Althaea was wearing just her turquoise shorts and a cotton halter top. It was distracting enough for him, so Heaven knew what it was doing to Mullen's hormones—the other boys from the parish, too, for that matter. He ought to have a word with her about it.
When he looked round the garden, Tiarella was still staring at him; her face sculpted, immobile. Maybe she was finally realizing her time was coming to an end. After eighteen years of stagnation and inertia it would be a jolt for any personality.
He allowed Mullen and Althaea to babble on for another ten minutes, then plucked at her halter strap. «Come on.»
She glanced at him, frowning as he rose to his feet, slapping sand and grass from his jeans. «Oh . . . not just yet.»
«Yes. We need to get some sleep afterwards.» He let an impish grin play over his lips, and picked up their blanket.
Althaea blushed as she glanced at Mullen, lips twitching into an embarrassed smile.
«Come on.» Eason clicked his fingers impatiently.
«I'll see you both tomorrow,» the lad mumbled.
«Sure. Good night.» He steered Althaea towards the black picket of trees. He liked Mullen, but the lad had to understand exactly who she belonged to.
«That was very rude,» Althaea whispered.
His free arm went round her shoulder. «Not as rude as what I'm about to show you in a minute.»
Althaea fought against a grin as he tickled her ribcage. Her finger poked him in retaliation. «Rude!»
«Was not.»
«Was too.»
He looked back as he reached the trees. The glowing charcoal was spilling a pool of tangerine radiance over the lawn. It showed him Mullen covering his face with his hands, shoulder muscles knotted. And Tiarella, who hadn't been staring at him after all, because her eyes had never moved when he and Althaea departed. She was watching Mullen.
When the lad's hands slipped back down to reveal a crestfallen expression, the corners of her mouth lifted into a serene smile.
• • •
Eason stood on the jetty, his arm around Althaea as they waved goodbye to the
Tiarella started walking back to the house. Eason turned to follow, and gave Althaea a reassuring hug, noting a certain wistfulness in her eyes. «Don't worry, I'm sure your new boyfriend will be in touch. He's madly in love with you, after all.» He grinned broadly to show he understood.
Althaea shot him a look of pure venom, then her face became the identical blank mask which defended Tiarella from the world.
«Hey, listen—« he began.
But she shook herself free and ran off down the jetty. He stared after her in consternation.
«What did I say?»
Tiarella arched her eyebrow. «It's not what you say, it's what you are.»
«You make me out as some kind of ogre,» he snapped, suddenly exasperated with her, the unending stream of oblique remarks.
«In medieval times that's exactly what you would be.»
«Name one thing I've done to hurt her.»
«You wouldn't dare. We both know that.»
«With or without your threats, I wouldn't hurt her.»
Her lips compressed as she studied him. «No, I don't suppose you would. I never really thought about how you would be affected by your time here. I should have done.»
«My time? You make it sound finite.»
«It is. I told you that the day you came.»
«Your fucking cards again!» Crazy bitch!
Tiarella shrugged and sauntered off down the path to the house.
He slept alone that night, for the first time since the funeral. Guilt soaked his mind as he lay on the cot, yet he still didn't know what it was he'd done.
The next morning over breakfast she gave him a timid smile, and he glossed over any awkwardness with
