Distractions (16 page)

When Sally finally emerged from hiding she took one look at Emma – who turned a cross face around – and retreated back upstairs. On her bed she cursed herself for being such a coward. But no matter how hard she tried she could not find a reason to return downstairs. And she had so much to do upstairs, didn’t she? She started to clean the
en suite. Pulling on rubber gloves and getting on her knees and scrubbing the shower floor, which she’d been meaning to do for so long.

When David had decided on a course of action he stood up, shook the sand from his board shorts and started back to the house. The time alone had been good. The sand, the surf and the waves made everything far more manageable. Direct sunlight had bleached clean his thoughts.

He saw Emma on the balcony and waved. She neglected to wave back though she was looking directly at him. His step became far heavier, the sand dune more difficult to traverse. He was inclined to do an about-face, but even though his reasoning backed up such a retreat, his pride, the more influential member of his cabinet, voted for the storming of the barricades. The weight that he’d so recently shrugged from his shoulders was carefully loaded back on.

What could Emma be angry about? He had determined to blame her for the whole mess.

That Emma might be annoyed at his failure to cope with his attraction to her best friend was not even entertained as a reason for her look of disdain. Nor was his behaviour that morning. He had reasons for getting up early, he’d desired to
see Sally alone, and had given Emma a plausible excuse for leaving as he did. Case closed.

David’s slow trek forward was observed by an ever increasingly despairing Emma. His obvious regret made him appear pathetic. David should
never
appear pathetic.

Once he managed to pass by the balcony, Emma leapt up and, quickly assessing the risk, swung a leg over the rail. Holding the tip of the rail, she lowered her other leg onto the scant lip. She looked down at the grass over two metres below and felt a hollowness in her stomach. She couldn’t jump from that height.

Looking about her quickly for some other way, she noticed a handhold from which she managed to lower her legs over the side. She had no real idea how far she had left to drop. Her face was up against the balcony. Dangling thus, back to the grass, she regretted her action. But she soon tired and was forced to let go and let chance decide her fate.

She landed heavily in bare feet on the grass, falling backwards and hitting her head on the turf. She lay, stupefied. She was unhurt though her head bumped the ground quite hard. What an idiot thing to do, she thought. But she just couldn’t
face David looking like he did. Angry David, yes. Repentant David, yes. Dishonest David, yes.

But not pathetic David.

She crept into the shadow under the balcony. She’d much rather Sally deal with him in such a state. Not that he would appear to Sally like that.

TWENTY-ONE

David entered the house ready for a fight. He’d set his brain from defence to offence on the stairs. Everything was Emma’s fault. Who had falsely accused him of infidelity? Who had left him alone with Sally? Emma must have known Sally to be untrustworthy. Who had behaved so provocatively in front of Sally? Who had invited Sally to share in something necessarily exclusive? Emma had behaved abominably. He was in a strong position and felt far happier on the moral high ground.

So in truth, Emma had no real need to leap
the balcony rail and nearly kill herself. The David who entered the main room was one she would have welcomed into the ring. Pugnacious David was a worthy opponent. It would seem that pathetic David was but a momentary glitch in the circuitry.

David saw straight away that the balcony was empty. As was the main room. He needed no further evidence for his conclusion that she had run upstairs. He followed her up. Finding their room empty he proceeded to the room opposite. This too was empty, but he heard something from the en suite so glanced around the door and found Sally in her bikini on her knees, scrubbing the base of the loo with a scrubbing brush.

‘Where’s Emma?’ he asked.

Sally jumped a mile. Her thoughts were elsewhere, as they must be when cleaning the loo.

‘Jesus, David, you scared me!’ she said, starting to rise.

‘Don’t get up,’ he said.

‘You prefer me like this, do you? Is this what they teach you to expect of a woman at private school? A bikini-clad cleaning lady?’

‘I didn’t go to a private school.’

‘You didn’t? I thought …’

‘Nope. But that doesn’t mean that you, like this, hasn’t stirred something basic in me.’

Sally did stand up. She took off her rubber gloves and threw them on the closed lid of the loo.

‘I suppose you’d have preferred those left on.’

‘They did add something, um …’ said David, waving his hand in a circular motion. ‘A certain …’

‘Yes?’ she said, leaning over the sink to wash her hands, knowing full well she was just asking to have him reach out and touch her butt. He resisted the temptation but lost his train of thought. ‘You were saying?’ she teased.

‘I’m sorry about last night,’ he said, thoughtlessly. Immediately regretting introducing the topic and regretting taking the blame.

‘I’m not,’ she replied, turning to face him.

He saw she was wearing a different bikini. This new bikini was unlike the strapless one from yesterday in every way. It was all strap, shoelace thick, with the smallest triangular piece of white cotton covering and holding up her breasts. The white material against her tanned skin was unbearably attractive to him. The contrast to his wife’s skin was never more apparent. The beauty of her body
was presented for him by this slip of a bikini. All eyes, he handed her a towel.

Sally thanked him.

‘Emma and I were out of line,’ he continued, pushing Emma into the firing squad before him.

‘That’s Emma, though,’ she said, pensively, ‘through and through … as you know.’

‘I’m not proud of my behaviour,’ he added.

‘I’m not proud of mine,’ she conceded, purely to align herself with him. ‘Emma is a very persuasive personality, don’t you think?’ she said, moving towards him.

He stepped aside to let her leave the en suite. ‘She has strong views, but I don’t know how persuasive she is.’

‘Oh, I think she is very persuasive,’ she said, sitting on the bed. Flitting through her mind were images of the three of them living sinfully together. Though she knew she would never be able to play second fiddle to anyone, not even Emma. In the presence of such a male her desire for Emma was necessarily, and consciously, pushed aside.

As a married woman, as the proud owner of an Audi, as a Mosman resident and a lifetime member of the gym, she felt certain the best course of action was deception. She would have
to convince David to deceive his wife as she was willing to deceive her husband. Nothing could happen here. Nothing could happen now. She was certain she would have to seduce David all over again once everyone was established in their normal roles back home. The thrill she received from the thought of her treachery was exquisite. But most of the pleasure she derived from this thought came from the delight of sharing of it with Emma, which she would never be able to do.

‘She’s wilful. That’s all. And irresponsible,’ said David, utilising some of the ammunition he had ready for Emma.

‘And lovely, David.’

He was silenced by these words. Not because he was in the mood to agree but because he had just been thinking how lovely
Sally
was. Now he felt shackled by the expectation of some affirmation, which would not come. Instead of searching for words, instead of opening up his box of stock phrases, he took hold of Sally by the hands and lifted her till she stood before him. He placed one of his hands on the naked small of her back, and the other he lifted to her face and gently cupped her cheek. She smiled warmly. He held the moment, looking into her eyes. She was so very beautiful.
This hand slipped around till he held her by the back of her neck. Her whole body fell against his. He drew her lips slowly towards his own. Feeling her breath on his lips, he paused. His heart was beating swiftly, he felt physically weak.

Sally was only still standing because he held her. Nothing had prepared her for this. She was frightened. Fantasy was always safer than the sudden reality. In fantasy, the belief is anything can happen. How silly that belief felt now. His hand on her neck was immovable, so strong, so permanent. He might do anything. She might do anything. She had seen things happening so differently. But now she couldn’t even think. His breath on her lips. His determined eyes. She would do anything.

He held her there unable to go through with the next vital act. They were alone. She waited for his kiss. Both were willing. Both resigned to their wicked roles. But that next step was greater than he had imagined. He relaxed his hold of her and her body drifted from his.

‘We’d better know what we’re doing,’ he said, not even knowing what he was saying.

‘I know what I want,’ said Sally, lying through her perfect teeth.

‘I know I want you,’ he said, pulling her against him again. ‘Don’t doubt that.’

‘But …?’ she asked, looking up at him.

‘We should be aware of what we are doing.’

‘I am,’ she said. ‘I’m ready for you now, David.’ Sally was taunting him. If he gave into temptation he would again take her roughly in his hands and she would be overcome.

She took half a step back and drew his hand to her stomach, then dragged his fingers down over her flesh to the white cotton bikini bottoms. She looked up at him and saw the mental strain he was under written on his face. She took his hand lower so that it rested on her mound. Then, turning his hand so that the palm faced up, she spread her legs and placed his hand between them so that it cupped her whole pussy.

He could feel the heat. She placed her hands over his and massaged herself using his hand, till she was able to move aside the fabric and welcome the warm skin of his palm.

Sally could barely believe what she was doing, her thoughts were sending her into a flashpoint of eroticism. Her body shook as he entered her. First one finger, then two. He knew exactly where to go. Her knees were not coping, her body
shuddered. His fingers were long and strong. She reached out for the bulge in his shorts and felt the length of the cock she’d been fantasising about.

David woke from his lustful stupor when she touched him. Mentally, he shook his head and said no, quite plainly. But Sally saw and heard nothing. She was fondling the erection through the shorts. David’s mind was racing ahead. She wanted it. He wanted it. There was no stopping them. Hell, last night Emma had encouraged them both.

Sally began to kneel down, but David stopped her. He removed his hand and held her by the shoulders and looked her dead in the eye.

‘We can’t do this now,’ he said firmly, adhering to something that had become embedded in his psyche.

‘When then?’ she asked, thankful for his decisiveness, but rueful as well.

‘Never!’ he said, in a whisper. ‘Never, Sal, never. Don’t you see?’

‘No, I don’t.’ A deferment was one thing. That was critical, erotic, it cemented their relationship, made them co-conspirators, ensured their next liaison would be spectacular, but total abnegation, that wasn’t possible.

‘I must go find Emma,’ he said, pouring salt on a wound Sally only now realised she had.

With these words, he left the room.

TWENTY-TWO

David was standing on the balcony knowing full well he’d only just escaped another moral catastrophe. He could sit and wait for Emma, his preferred course of action. But staying meant he’d be left alone with Sally. He spotted Emma. She was a long way along the beach, heading north, away from the village. The day was becoming stickier and hotter. She wore a large straw hat on her head he’d not seen before, but even so she was unmistakable. He was out the door and down the stairs as quickly as his feet could take him. He decided to jog up
to Emma and have it out with her. If there was anything to be ‘had out’.

As soon as he reached the hard sand by the water he felt the temperature change for the better. The ocean cooled the air markedly. He predicted a storm by mid-afternoon. He turned to look at the clouds in the south. A great bank of white, rising high into the heavens, greeted his eyes. He watched the clouds, bright white in the sun against the blue sky, and noticed that the front was never still but slowly billowing out or fading away to be replaced by the next great explosive burst, all in the slowest of slow motion.

These moments calmed him substantially. He realised he was a safe distance from both women. He might well have chosen to stay where he was and let fate decide his next move. One of the women would come to him first and that woman would be the one whose demands he’d satisfy.

But he had already chosen which woman he would love and obey. Circumstances made his commitment to the year-old promise harder today than it had been yesterday. Sally waited with open arms, open mouth, open legs. Emma, with recriminations, anger and a bad attitude.

He walked towards Emma slowly. He was not
unhappy at his choice, he was relieved. It meant that he didn’t have to recognise his obligation to Sally, or give in to his own desires. He strolled along the beach taking in the beauty of his surroundings and thinking about, of all things, something Emma had said to him days after their first meeting.

They lay in the wonderful aftermath of one of their first nights together. Her bedroom was trashed. She said, ‘You may regret ever having met me.’ He’d said at the time, ‘Impossible.’ And that had been that. As he walked along, he was thinking how right he had been. His life before meeting her had been one predictable moment after the next while his life since had been anything but.

He was a few metres behind her.

‘Emma!’

She stopped walking.

He caught up and came around to face her. The large sunhat was obscuring her expression. He bowed down to look up at her and found angry eyes staring at him.