Season of Shadows (25 page)

Laura trailed coaxing fingers along the hard line of his
jaw. 'None of it matters now.'

He turned his lips into her palm, and the tightness left
his mouth as they sat in silence for a time, then he sighed and put out
his cigarette.

'Laura…' he began, and for the first time since
she had known him, he seemed to be having difficulty in saying what was
on his mind.

'You don't have to be afraid to tell me you love me,' she
told him gently, and when the look in his eyes told her that she had
guessed correctly, she added: 'There are no traps I want to set for
you, and no chains to bind you, or limit you in any way which you might
find tiresome.'

His strong hands framed her face lightly, and there was a
new warmth and tenderness in his glance that made her feel weak with
happiness. 'I'm not too proud to admit defeat,' he said, his voice
deepening with emotion. 'You've made it possible for me to tell the
whole world that I love you, and I shall welcome whatever chains your
small hands may desire to place on me, but don't ever go up into the
mountain alone again.' His eyes became haunted. 'If you'd fallen down
that cliff—'

She silenced him swiftly with her fingers against his
lips. 'Forgive me,' she begged softly, then she could no longer delay
the questions which were crowding her mind. 'Anton, tell me about that
cliff. Are there any ledges or crevices below it?'

'There's a deep crevice about fifteen metres down,' he
replied frowningly. 'Why do you ask?'

'If someone fell down there—'

'For God's sake, Laura!'

'No, listen,' she pleaded urgently. 'Is it possible that
someone could fall into that crevice and remain undetected?'

Anton's frown deepened. 'It's possible, I suppose, but I
fail to see why that should interest you.'

'Would you do something for me, Anton? Would you have that
crevice investigated?' He sat up slowly and stared at her
incredulously, but before he could question her, she added quickly,
'Don't ask for an explanation now, but would you do it for me?'

She thought for a moment he would refuse, then he nodded
slowly, and smiled down at her with tolerant amusement lurking in his
eyes. 'If it's important to you… yes.'

'Thank you, darling,' she smiled excitedly, the endearment
slipping naturally off her lips as she flung her arms about his neck,
and kissed him on the mouth, but when she would have drawn away, she
found herself held there and kissed with a lingering, deepening passion
that found a swift response in her.

Three days later a small party of experienced climbers
came down the mountain to report their findings to Laura, and soon
after their departure she telephoned Anton at the office to ask him to
return home a little earlier that evening.

'You asked me once for proof that Dora hadn't walked out
on Friedrich,' she said when they eventually faced each other in the
living-room, and in the hand she extended to-wards him lay a faintly
tarnished, heart-shaped gold locket with the name 'Dora' engraved on
the face of it. 'This was found up there in the crevice, together with
what remained of her body.'

Anton examined the locket in silence, and there was an odd
whiteness about his mouth when he asked, 'What made you suspect there
was something up there?'

A nervous little smile plucked at her lips. 'If I tell
you, will you promise not to laugh?'

He nodded silently, and then Laura told him about that
night when she had imagined she had heard a voice warning her not to go
further, and how, after questioning about the cliff, she had begun to
suspect that Dora's body had remained undiscovered in the crevice.

A long, tense silence followed her disclosure, then Anton
opened his arms wide, and she went into them swiftly to bury her face
against his broad chest.

'We'll bury what's left of Dora alongside Friedrich, and
perhaps now his soul will rest as it should,' Anton murmured almost
reverently against her temple, and she nodded, tears filling her eyes
and spilling over on to her cheeks to dampen his shirt as she pressed
closer to him.

The shadows passed on like the seasons and, as Jemima had
predicted, Laura's son was born when the grapes, swollen with
sweetness, were harvested in the valley, and now, at the age of five
months, he already showed signs of possessing a will as strong as his
father's, as well as a smile which could quite likely disarm the devil
himself.

From the window of the master bedroom they could see Sally
and Jemima pushing little Friedrich in his pram through the
sun-drenched garden, and their eyes followed the trio adoringly until
they were out of sight.

Laura sighed then, and turned in her husband's arm to
glance up at him with a tender smile hovering on her lips. An answering
smile lurked in the depths of those heavy-lidded eyes, and the hard
mouth softened. That core of
ruthlessness
was still there, and so also that immense vitality which was so much a
part of his tall, muscular frame. Anton relaxed more often, shedding
the pressure of work to become less strained, and, although his
cynicism was still clearly evident at times, she had discovered a
gentle side to him which few people ever saw. She felt privileged,
special, and eternally grateful to be able to share his life.

He brushed the long strands of silky hair away from her
face and placed his thumbs beneath her chin so that she was forced to
meet the soul-searching penetration of his eyes. 'I have no words to
tell you how much I love you.'

'Nor I to tell you how happy it makes me to hear you say
that,' she sighed, thrilling to his touch as he slid his hands down her
back and drew her closer to the familiar hard length of his body.

'Do we really need words?' he asked against her lips.

'No,' she smiled, then his mouth was plundering hers, and
his hands were igniting a flame of desire within her that made her
blood flow swiftly and strongly through her veins as he edged her
towards the bed and followed her down on to it.

Her fingers tightened in his hair as she drew his head
down invitingly on to her breast, but it was when she felt him tremble
against her that she knew this man would be hers until the seasons no
longer came and went in the valley.