Peach (29 page)

“Country neighbours means we live within twenty miles of each other in Wiltshire,” explained Melinda. “We went to all the same children’s parties although it’s Archie who’s more my age. And then, of course, there’s Harry. Tom’s older brother.”

The same Harry?
signalled Peach’s surprised eyes as Melinda nodded.

“Why are you sitting here stuffing yourselves with cream buns?” demanded Tom. “You should be up on the slopes. Come on Peach.” Taking her hand he marched her to the door, and grabbing both their skis, crunched off down the icy village street towards the ski lift.

It was fun skiing down the black runs with Tom, although really she was only used to the more moderate red runs. But with Tom beside her, Peach felt safe. Swinging over the valleys in a chair lift was somehow more fun with a boy than with Melinda, and she felt a funny little crackle of excitement when he held her bulky leather-gloved hand in his. “Have supper with me this evening,” he said as dusk fell and they trudged tiredly back through the village.

“But I can’t,” she protested, “I’m in the school chalet. It’s like a fortress, they never let us out at night.”

“We’ll see about that,” Tom said.

He was such a man of the world, thought Peach back at the chalet as the lodge-keeper palmed Tom’s Swiss francs with a wink, promising to leave the gate open. Even so she felt a bit guilty, though she knew Julie-Anne and some of the older girls managed to sneak out every night. Julie-Anne’s latest romance was the young bronzed ski instructor with the broad shoulders and compelling eyes of his equivalent in
Sun Valley Secrets
.

Tom was nice, though, and he was fun.
He
told her about life at Cambridge and
she
told him about life at L’Aiglon and they ate tons of
rosti
and drank a lot of fruity white wine so that her head whirled.

He walked her back to the chalet at midnight. “So your skis won’t turn into a pumpkin,” he grinned and then he kissed her.

It was nice, thought Peach with her eyes closed, counting
the seconds so she would remember to tell Melinda how long the kiss lasted.

“Night, young Peach,” said Tom cheerfully. “I’ll drop you a line from Cambridge.”

Peach waited and waited for that letter, dashing to the table in the hall and sifting the pile of letters eagerly every morning, hoping for one with a Cambridge postmark, but it never came. “Why?” she asked Melinda.

“I suppose he’s found someone else,” answered Melinda gloomily, watching Julie-Anne devouring her latest letter from the ski instructor, who seemed to write every day.

Peach sighed. “I’ve been spurned,” she cried dramatically, “after a kiss that lasted thirty-two seconds. I swear I shall
never
fall in love again.”

Peach prowled through Geneva’s old quarter one Saturday searching for birthday gifts for her sisters, admiring the pieces of hand-blown glass etched with small, exquisite mystical landscapes, in a smart gallery and wondering if she could afford one for Leonore. Of course Lais would need something different, something amusing to make her laugh.

Making her way to the desk she glanced at the tall silver-haired man browsing through a catalogue. His back was towards her but Peach knew it was Ferdi. Her heart pounded as she shakily placed the tiny bottle with its waving trees and curling river on the table.

“Ferdi?” she said, her voice quavering.

He looked at her. “Peach?” he said at last. “Is that really you?”

She nodded, not knowing what to say. He looked different. His thin face was lined and his blonde hair silvery white, but he was still handsome in an older sort of way.

He took her to a café by the lake and Peach stirred cream into her hot chocolate, watching him doubtfully. Why had
he never returned to see Lais? Was he afraid because she couldn’t walk? Didn’t he know that something like that couldn’t change a person like Lais, that she would still be as beautiful and wonderful and exciting as she had always been? Oh, how could Ferdi be so
cruel!

Ferdi asked her questions about herself and school and she answered sullenly, wishing that she had just made an excuse and disappeared out of the gallery.

“And do you still live in the castle?” she blurted after an uncomfortable pause.

“Part of the time,” he said with a smile, “but mostly I live in Cologne to be near my work. And what were you doing in the gallery, Peach?” he asked, lighting a cigarette, watching her sip the steaming hot drink.

“I was buying a birthday present for Leonore,” she replied, “it’s her birthday—
their
birthday next week.”

Ferdi glanced away from her across the lake.

“
You should go and see her, Ferdi!”
The words burst from her suddenly and she slumped back against her chair in relief. Lais had never once mentioned Ferdi’s name but Peach just knew that all these years Lais had been waiting for him, hoping he would return … she was sure of it. “You should go to the Hostellerie, speak to her, explain …”

“Explain what?” asked Ferdi bewildered, wondering what this child could know about his relationship with Leonore.

“Why you never came back,” said Peach. “She needs to know, Ferdi. She
needs
that.”

“It’s been a long time, Peach,” said Ferdi, “and you don’t understand, you can’t possibly understand what happened.”

Pushing back her chair Peach glared at him tearfully. “I thought you were the fairy prince who would wake her with a kiss,” she cried, “but you’re … you’re just a
traitor!”

“Peach,” he called, hurrying after her, “Peach.” But she
was racing down the street, bumping into passers-by and dodging the traffic as she hurtled round the corner out of his sight. Ferdi returned to his table staring silently at her still-full glass of chocolate and the long handled silver spoon in the saucer beside it.
But he was seeing Peach crouched over Lais, covered in her sister’s blood, her eyes wild with terror
. What had she meant by “she
needs
to know”? Tossing some coins on to the saucer in payment he strolled down to the lake. Ferdi stood for a long time just watching the birds wheeling over its glassy grey depths and the tiny steamer in the distance, puffing its way along the shores filled with happy Saturday shoppers.

Noel scraped into the University of Michigan by the skin of his teeth. Of course he had to lie about his background, he didn’t want anyone to know about the Maddox Charity Orphanage. He wanted the stain removed from his record as though it had never existed, so that maybe one day, it would cease to be a reality.

He would have to work as many hours as God sent and even so he was the shabbiest guy at the school, but he made sure that one of his jobs was in the cafeteria so he had enough to eat.

No one wanted to share a room with Noel Maddox. The guy from New York who was supposed to be his room-mate rarely showed up, spending most of his time with his friends
and avoiding Noel’s eye on the chance occasions they were in the same room together. Noel didn’t blame him. He knew he looked strange. He was still very thin, his face was gaunt and fleshless and in reaction to the years at Maddox when his hair was cropped, he wore it longer than the crew cut that was the norm. He had three shirts and two pairs of jeans and wore sneakers winter and summer with an exarmy parka to keep out the cold. And his slate-grey eyes glittered with an intensity that was unnerving.

One thing he needed was some form of physical exercise. He wanted release from the pent-up tension of his studies and the strain of the extra workload he took on to cover his costs—and also from his physical cravings. Noel had discovered a sexuality in himself that sometimes shocked him by its urgency. He tried to bury it in his old standby, training. He lifted weights, he ran track, he skipped and punched away his passion. And his body responded, muscling out, becoming sleeker, adding inches to his height with his upright, athletic posture.

“Noel Maddox has a great body.” Four pairs of female eyes watched from a table in the cafeteria as Noel effortlessly hefted a tall stack of trays and carried them back to the counter.

“Trust you to notice.”

Jeannie Burton smoothed her blonde hair and smiled at her friends. “It’s true though, just take a look at the shoulders under that shirt …”

“That
disgusting
shirt,” mumbled one through a mouthful of bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich, dripping with mayonnaise.

“Not ‘disgusting’,” said Jeannie, eyeing Noel thoughtfully, “just … cheap.”

“Yeah, well, I guess that’s what the guy is—
cheap.”

“How do
you
know what he is?” demanded Jeannie. “Have you ever spoken to him?”

“No,” she said, munching her sandwich, “and I don’t know anyone who has. He’s the mystery man. The Enigma Engineer of the University of Michigan.”

“I’ve seen him around,” said Jeannie as they watched Noel shrug on a jacket and make for the door, a half-dozen books under his arm. “He’s in the undergrad library till all hours, studying.”

“He works out all the time too,” said her friend, “he’s on the track a lot. No teams though—and
no football.”
At the University of Michigan football was a passion and the players were gods. On game days the town of Ann Arbor, through which the university spread, was deserted, and the parties on those nights were
the best
. “Hey,” she teased, “I think Jeannie Burton’s got a thing for our poor engineer. You’re wasting your time, sweetheart—he never even
looks
at a girl, and he certainly doesn’t
date.”

“Doesn’t he?” queried Jeannie, recalling Noel’s shadowed gaze as he’d passed.

“Listen,” said her friend, “that guy wouldn’t even notice Rita Hayworth. Nobody could get a date with him.”

Jeannie sat back and lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke lazily. “Is that so?” she said.

Jeannie Burton had long, straight blonde hair and round blue eyes. She wore soft pink or pale blue cashmere sweaters and a string of tiny pearls whose lustre emphasised her smooth pale neck. Her short, pleated skirts swung with the rhythm of her walk and she wore saddle shoes with little tassels on her small narrow feet. And she had the greatest legs ever.

Noel had been aware of Jeannie’s legs for months. Whenever she appeared in the cafeteria he managed to find an
excuse to hang around where he could observe her and he stored the image in his head for later that night when, alone in bed, he would re-run the interlude like a roll of film until it dissolved into his fantasies of her. The shock when Jeannie spoke to him caused him to tremble.

“Hi,” said Jeannie, “I’ve noticed you around for ages. I’m Jeannie Burton.”

“Hi.” Noel stared at her dumbfounded.

“I know you’re Noel Maddox,” she continued with a smile. “Look, we’re walking the same way, could you give me a hand with some of these books?”

“Sure. Sure.” He took the books she handed him, and fell into step beside her.

“So,” she said, “what do you do with yourself, Noel? You’re quite a mystery man.”

She was wearing some kind of perfume that smelled fresh and flowery. “I work. At my studies. And then the jobs. Sometimes I wonder which comes first.”

“Chicken or the egg!” she laughed. “But I hear you’re a great athlete too.” Her eyes flicked over him boldly. “You must work hard at that too, to be in such good shape.”

Noel Maddox blushed. “I like to box,” he said, “so I train, but I don’t get enough time to enter tournaments—I spar with the other guys, now and then.”

Jeannie stopped in front of the Undergraduate Library. “This is where I’m going. Thanks for helping with these books.”

Noel handed them over and their hands touched.

“Say Noel, why don’t you and I get together for a pizza and a beer,” smiled Jeannie, fixing him with her round blue gaze. “When are you free.”

“I … er, well,” stammered Noel.

“Tomorrow? Seven o’clock then. Let’s meet right here.” With a wave, she ran lightly up the steps.

Noel was unable to study the rest of that day. His concentration was shot. He didn’t sleep for thinking about her, remembering the way the pearls rested against her warm neck, the long legs swinging up the steps away from him, her blue eyes smiling at him. He worried about what he would say to her when they met, how to behave on a date, what they would talk about, and how much it would cost for pizza and beer. And he worried about touching her.

He took two showers within an hour, put on a clean pair of jeans and a new chequered shirt. He folded ten dollars into his pocket and walked over to the Undergraduate Library. It was only six forty-five.

“You’re punctual,” Jeannie greeted him twenty minutes later. She wore a white wide-necked sweater and a light blue skirt and her blonde hair shone. “Come on then, I’m starving.”

Jeannie drank red wine and only picked at her pizza. “I thought you were starving,” said Noel, staring regretfully at the neglected pizza.

“I was,” said Jeannie, lighting her fourth cigarette, “but I talk too much to eat.” She took another sip of her wine. “Do you know, Noel Maddox, that you have a very interesting face?” Her finger traced the length of his cheek gently. “And,” she leaned closer, “the most wonderful eyes. Sometimes they look intense and smoky—that’s when you don’t want people to know what you’re thinking—and other times they’re light clear grey, almost like glass. That’s when you’re relaxed and enjoying life. Like now.”