Run Before the Wind (10 page)

A few days before building began on the boat, Mark drove the van to Dublin to scout the chandleries there for what might be bought in Ireland, rather than sending to England and bothering with shipping and customs. He telephoned from there in the late afternoon and said he would be staying the night.

I received this news from Annie in a stooped position, as I had been humping large chunks of granite around all day, in a project to repair the stone jetty outside the cottage.

"Get yourself into a hot bath for a bit," she said, laughing at my posture.

"I'll fix it for you later."

I did as she instructed. By the time I had soaked for an hour it was dark, and she had an inviting dinner on the table.

"Don't bother to dress," she called after me as I went into my bedroom.

"Your dinner will be cold." I grabbed a terrycloth robe and hurried to the table.

It was the first time I had ever been alone with her.

"It's nice not to talk about the boat," she said, sighing.

"I was so happy when Mark got the sponsorship, but now I wonder if I can last the distance."

"I suppose I'm guilty of talking of nothing else, too. It's hard not to with Mark around."

She washed down a bit of cheese with her wine and smiled.

"I'm glad he's not around," she said.

"Do you like being married?" I asked.

"I mean, don't you ever feel confined? Boxed in?"

She looked at me thoughtfully.

"Not at first. At first it was a romantic dream. Still, I was old enough, had been about enough not to expect that to last. But I hadn't expected Mark to be quite so absorbed with his career, either."

"I guess a lot of guys are like that, not just the Royal Marines.

There are workaholics in business and law and medicine--doctors' wives are always complaining."

She shook her head.

"This was something different. It was like a religion to him. He was like a monk in some order that demanded utter devotion."

"Well," I laughed, "at least he didn't have to be celibate."

"No, he didn't have to be." The sadness was there again.

"Do you mean .. . ?"

"Oh, no, we had a sex life of sorts, I suppose, but the commandos got more of his energy than I did."

"Well, that's over, anyway."

"I wonder. He's giving to the boat just about what he gave to the Royal Marines."

I was stuck here; I didn't know whether to offer to fill in for Mark in the bedroom or what.

"We'll have to get him out more often; go out to dinner and that sort of thing; get his mind off the boat once in a while."

She suddenly stood.

"I'd like a bath, now. Do you mind clearing up?"

"Not at all," I said, beginning to gather dishes.

She passed through the kitchen on her way to the bathroom.

"Why don't you get a fire going?" she rubbed her arms.

"It's damp down here by the river."

I finished the dishes and lit some kindling in the big fireplace. I added a stick at a time, staring into the flames, until it was hot enough to get the oak logs burning. The kitchen light went out, and I heard the tinkle of glasses. Annie walked to where I sat on the rug in front of the fire and handed me a brandy snifter. I turned to take it from her and found a tanned thigh at eye-level. She was wearing an old shirt of Mark's. I wondered if she were wearing anything else.

"Have a large swig of that to relax you, then I'll do your back," she said, sitting down, cross legged beside me. I barely resisted the temptation to follow the thigh to its source. I took a gulp of the brandy straight down. It worked quickly.

"You aren't going to walk on my spine like a Japanese girl, are you?"

She laughed and gave me a push, toppling me sideways onto the rug.

"I weigh a couple of stone more than a Japanese girl--I'd cripple you for life." She tugged at the robe.

"Let's have that off;

I've got to get at the muscles, you know." I shucked the garment off my shoulders, leaving my lower body covered. She snatched it away and tossed it onto the sofa, leaving me bare on the rug.

"I think there are a couple of baby pictures of me like this somewhere," I said shakily. I could feel the goosebumps come up on the side of me away from the fire.

"Oh, shut up." She slapped me sharply on the buttocks. I heard her unscrewing a bottle cap and her hands rubbing together. A slightly sweet scent reached me, and then I felt her hands rubbing warm oil onto my skin. She worked slowly up and down one side of my back, using more oil now and then, while I groaned with pleasure. Her breathing became faster as she worked. She had been on her knees on one side of me, then she changed to the other side, throwing a leg over and sitting back, straddling my thigh as she nib bed It was now absolutely clear to me what she was wearing-or rather, not wearing--under the man's shirt. Her hands were warm from the rubbing, but not as warm as the part of her that rested against me. She kept rubbing, moving down until she was massaging the large muscles in my buttocks. Soon, I thought, I would have to turn over, because my changing anatomy would be no longer accommodated by the hard floor beneath the rug.

She began to ease up and went over the whole of my back again lightly. Then she leaned forward and kissed me on the nape of the neck.

"There you are, Willie." Her voice was husky through her breathing.

"You lie there for a minute." She stood, and my thigh was wet where she had been sitting. Then she tossed the robe over me, and I heard her bare feet padding on the stone floor as she walked toward the large bedroom. She did not close the door. I heard covers rustle and springs squeak as she got into bed.

I'll lie here until my heart stops that thumping, then I'll decide what to do, I thought to myself. I turned on my back to free myself from being pinned to the hard floor. Gradually, my breathing and my heart slowed. I worked at relaxing everything, while my mind spun. The brandy helped.

I jerked awake sometime in the middle of the night. The fire had died, and I was cold. I got up stiffly from the floor and walked to the door of the large bedroom. The moonlight lit Annie's form. She was turned on her side, and her hair spilled over her face, hiding it. I could hear her deep breathing. I crossed the living room and went to my own bed, but light was showing in the sky when I finally fell asleep again.

The sun was high when I awoke, and there was a note from Annie saying she'd gone for a walk. I had some breakfast, then pottered around the cottage until after lunch, all the while still in a state of sexual excitement. I got into the Mini Cooper and began to drive fast down the country lanes. I headed generally west, with no firm idea of a destination, and the concentration demanded by speed helped occupy my mind for a while. I was approaching Kinsale when I realized I had had a destination all the time. Soon I pulled over to me side of the road and stopped. I got out of the car, walked around and sat on a fender, facing the field. The hockey match was in progress, as if it had never stopped since my first visit. The match ended, and Connie Lydon walked toward me across the field. She stopped and beckoned, and a nun joined her.

"Hello, Will," she said.

"This is Sister Mary Margaret." I turned and shook hands with a tall, fresh-faced girl in a black habit who seemed too young to be a nun. Connie had not taken her eyes from mine during the introduction.

"You're back for a bit, then?"

I nodded, returning her gaze.

"For some time, it seems."

There was a silence, then Connie asked, "Will you come to Summercove for a drink? I'm finished here."

"Sure."

"You go ahead; I'll get changed and get my car. The key's in the window box."

"Nice to meet you," I said to the nun.

"Same here," she replied, offering her firm handshake again.

They walked away together across the field.

At her cottage I found the key where it had always been kept and moved impatiently about the place, picking up a book, looking at pictures. I heard her car pull up outside. She came into the room and started to mix a drink.

"Jesus, but I've missed you," I said, with a feeling that surprised me. It seemed to surprise her, too.

She came quickly across the room and put her arms around my waist. Her hair was wet and she had not bothered to wear a bra under her sweater.

"I missed you, too," she whispered.

"I said some things I shouldn't have. I practically accused you of being a heartless bastard."

I didn't say anything. I wasn't sure I could deny it.

"Do you still want me?" she asked.

"Oh, yes," I said, with honesty. I had made no declarations, but I did want her.

"I want you, too," she said.

I pulled her toward the bedroom, as I had tried to do so many times. This time she came with me. We made love quickly, inexpertly, awkwardly, even. We lay in each other's arms for a while, then did it again, this time with more assurance and satisfaction for us both. If we were students of love, we were, at least, learning. One of us was pretending, too.

Later, she brought me a cup of tea and we lay propped up on pillows, talking.

"Maeve thought you were dishy," Connie said.

"Who's Maeve?"

"Sister Mary Margaret, to you. We grew up together and were at university together, in Cork, before she went away. She studied to be a teacher, and after she took her final vows they sent her to our school."

"Can you be friends with a nun?"

"Sure, as long as it doesn't get too worldly, I suppose."

"If she still thinks guys are dishy, you can't be too good an influence. I wonder what the head nun would think of that."

Connie laughed aloud.

"She'd wet her pants." We both laughed."

"And you've become the great yachtsman."

I was astonished. We'd kept so close to the cottage and the boatyard I didn't think anyone knew I was back. I hadn't even called my grandfather.

"How do you know about that?" I asked.

"Helping the intrepid Brit get all ready for his race. Where's he getting all the money?"

I told her about Cowes and Thrasher. I shouldn't have told her about Thrasher.

"What's he like, the great Captain PembertonRobinson?"

"He's great; so's his wife, Annie. You'll like them."

"I hear he shoots children in the streets."

"Jesus H. Christ, Connie!" I sat up, spilling my tea.

"In the back."

"Shit! Where the hell have you picked up all this garbage?"

"Ah, you can't keep a thing like that quiet, you know."

"That's not the way it happened." I told her Mark's story.

"And if you don't believe that, have a look at his leg sometime."

She was quiet; I wasn't sure whether she was serious or just baiting me.

"Did you know that he knew the boy he shot? That he had arrested him for throwing stones at a patrol? Twice? Did you know the boy was tortured at the army barracks and that your friend was there?"

I defended Mark as best I could, but I left Summercove filled with dread and guilt--dread that my friend had not told me the truth, and guilt that I had taken Connie Lydon's virginity while pretending she was someone else.

I SPENT THE NEXT two nights with Connie Lydon, and it occurred to me that they were almost the only moments I had spent away from Mark and Annie since I had met them. Mark and Annie were delighted that I had found a regular girl friend (in truth, I would have felt better if Annie had been less delighted) and wanted to meet her at the earliest possible moment. Annie proposed a weekend cmise down the coast of West Cork that would get Mark away, as well.

Connie's reservations about Mark were palpable, even as she accepted, and she was clearly, at least to me, uncomfortable with him as we sailed out of Cork Harbour. I think she had been expecting a stiff, terribly British military type, but not even Mark's informality and easy charm, nor his rugged good looks, had put her at ease. Annie did not exactly fit the stereotype of the military wife, either, moving expertly about the decks and taking no guff from Mark in the sailing of the boat, and Connie was obviously immediately attracted to her. They were soon knocking about the galley together, making sandwiches. By lunchtime we were past Roberts Head and sailing comfortably in a light breeze.

There were fishing boats about, but none very near us, and I was surprised when Mark suddenly tacked the boat. We had a comical minute or two trying to handle the sheets without spilling beer and food.

"What was that all about?" I asked, wiping mayonnaise from a cockpit seat.

Mark nodded at the water between two fishing boats.

"Drift nets," he said, scowling. I could see a line of small floats.

"Diegal salmon fishing. Those fellows all carry shotguns and brook no interference. Bastards."

"Does no one police them?"