The Wall (6 page)

was deplorably out of shape. Her chest heaved. 'You'll make yourself

sick!'

What the devil does he mean? she had time to think before two hands

hauled her to a stop. She stood with head bowed and chest heaving,

the air coming from her in gasps. Greg stood with his hands on her

shoulders, frowning at her, but she didn't see.

'Why did you run?' The tone sounded to her to be harsh and

uncompromising, like the tone he had used with the strange man just

now, and the shoulders that he held trembled in his grasp.

'M-my feet were cold,' she stammered, and gulped air. Her chest felt

tight, and her head was beginning to ache behind the ears.

'You're lying to me,' Greg started, then stopped a second as he felt

her involuntary cringe, so like her fear to the dog. He said slowly.

'Sara, are you afraid of me?'

The trembling seemed to increase at this, and she couldn't help it. His

hands tightened. She thought a moment and decided that honesty was

the best answer. 'Yes.'

Silence. Then, a more gentle tone, 'Why?'

'You—that man, I can't make any sense out of ...' She made a huge

effort and stopped for a minute with head bent, and took one

sustaining breath. 'You were so hard on the man. I mean, I'm a

trespasser, but you even invited me back, and he was just taking a

walk on the beach; and you were going to loose the dog on him, and

-'

'You,' Greg told her, 'couldn't hurt a flea, and we both know that.

Furthermore,' and his grip tightened on her shoulders and drew her

near him. She resisted, but he drew her near anyway, 'I happen to

know my neighbours in the north, and he wasn't any of them. He was

a stranger and he was trespassing deep into private property. He was

not on the beach but on a path that leads to my house, and he had no

business up there. If he'd been on the beach it might have been

different. You, I know, are harmless, while he's virtually unknown...

'How?' she burst out, staring up into the darkness where his face was

supposed to be. One part of her brain thought, God, I'm shaken.

'I checked on you this afternoon,' he said simply. 'You really are a

neighbour who's rented the cabin for six months. Your landlord even

told me that you were right when you said there were two fireplaces

and no firewood.'

'I burned my cigarettes this afternoon,' she murmured, apparently

irrelevantly. The hands loosened on her shoulders and one arm

replaced them, drawing her into his side and held to his body warmth

in a quick hug.

'Good girl!'

Then she exploded. 'My God, what gives you the right to think
you

need to check up on me, when you're acting a damned sight fishier

than I am, for heaven's sake, and all I did was trespass a few hundred

yards, and you're probably going to be responsible for a murder if

you loose your horrid dog on that fellow, because you
know
that he

won't have enough time to get off the property before then, it's much

too big . ..'

She was stopped, very effectively, by warm lips that took her mouth

in a long, hard kiss that seemed to shock all of the breath out of her.

When that dark head lifted from her, all she could do was stare.

'I wanted to do that when you picked up the sand with both fists,' he

said in a voice that sounded as if he was discussing the weather.

Sara murmured, 'It was nice.' Greg's arm came around her again and

tightened. He started to walk her slowly, keeping her close to his

side. She didn't object. She should have, probably, but she didn't.

Instead, she snuggled closer.

'Did you hurt yourself?' he asked her.

'What?'

'When you ran so hard. You said to me that you were recuperating

from an illness and I was worried that you would do yourself harm

by running so recklessly.'

'Oh,' she said, and then, 'oh, no, I hadn't broken any bones or

anything like that. It was—more a virus, you know. I've quite

recovered from it.'

'When do you go back to your work?' a quiet voice had asked her,

and the question was so close to her own thoughts that she jumped

violently.

'I'm not sure,' she said hesitantly, wondering what to say next. 'It kind

of depends on how well I recuperate, you see, and if I get bored soon.

It may be a few months.'

'Were you smart to go wading into the cold water like you did? Could

it bring back the virus you had?'

Sara answered this truthfully. 'I never even thought of it.' The arm

around her tightened again.

'You need a nursemaid to take care of you if you're going to be this

irresponsible,' he told her, and she put a hand to her mouth to keep

from laughing aloud.

They found their shoes quickly in the moonlight, and both had to sit

on the sand to put them on. She made a comment about his nice

slacks, which he promptly told her not to worry about, and they both

sat looking over the dark water that occasionally sparkled from the

pale light that gently suffused the October night. The air was getting

nippy; even though the days were just like summer with an

unseasonal heat, the nights were getting distinctly chilly.

The water lapping so gently seemed to have her falling into a trance.

She lay back on the soft sand and stared up at the sky. The man

beside her was silent, almost totally black, and she wondered that she

would feel alternately so comfortable with him and at the same time

so uneasy. She wondered why he was so distinctly unfriendly to

strangers, or why he would want to check up on a neighbour with

very little provocation. She decided that he must be either very rich,

or illegal, and possibly both. She decided that she didn't want to

know.

'I want a cigarette so badly, I can just taste what it would be like,' she

told him conversationally. 'That marvellous smell, the relaxation . . .'

'... the smoke damage to your lungs, the heart problems ...' added

Greg with what sounded like a smile in his voice.

'... the tantalising curl of the smoke from the glowing end, such

pleasure ...' she murmured, and laughed. 'It's a good thing I burned

my carton of cigarettes! Now there aren't any in the house—oh,

wonderful! I forgot to check the glove compartment of my car, and I

always keep a pack there. I'll have to go and get them.' She didn't

move, in spite of the craving her body felt.

'You don't need them. Throw them out!' he told her, propping himself

up on one elbow to look down on her face. The moonlight on her

skin made it look like polished marble, and her eyes glittered like

liquid jewels. 'Why should you need artificial stimulation or a

depressant? You seem like you can get your happiness well enough

on your own. Make in on your own steam, don't rely on drugs.'

The marble smoothness of her face cracked, and as he watched, the

liquid quality of her gleaming eyes shimmered and two sparkling

tears slid down her cheeks. The eyes closed, hiding those expressive

orbs. Then, with a sudden movement, she rolled over in the sand and

hid her face in her arms to weep.

Greg moved close, shocked. 'What did I say?' he asked her lowly,

putting out a hand to lay on those shaking shoulders. They felt so

thin! 'What did I do?'

After a little, Sara whispered, 'It isn't you, it's me.'

'What did you do?' The question was asked gently. The hand on her

shoulder rubbed up and down, soothing and comforting.

At that, she rolled back over and stared up at the sky, feeling after

that first bit of terrible sadness a surprising measure of calm. 'I've

been a fool, that's all,' she said, smiling a little. 'It's hard to admit

when you've been a fool, and often you don't feel proud of yourself.

When I was sick, before I knew it, I was feeling really tired and

draggy, really down. I could barely get through work. Someone

offered me a pill. I guess it was speed. I wanted to take it so badly,

and I've always been very careful as to what I put in my body and

there I was, wanting to take that pill. I told myself that it was only,

one, that it wouldn't really make any difference. Of course that's not

true. It's not the pill that matters, but the reasons and philosophies

behind it.'

He was very still, and when she paused, his low voice prompted

gently, 'And did you take it?'

'No,' she sighed, stirring. 'But that was when I realised that something

was terribly wrong in my life, and that's why I'm changing it right

now. There for a while I was afraid I'd lost myself somewhere along

the way.'

'And do you think you've found yourself again?' She turned her head

to look at Greg.

'I think so. I'm not sure. I guess so, if you count gaining back some

measure of calm and peace. I'm still looking for my self-respect—I

really misplaced that one.' Silence settled on them for a time. Sara

felt reluctant to move. The peace that she had mentioned came to her

now and settled on her like a comforter, warming her with serenity.

She felt so good, sitting on the beach with this man. She felt more

comfortable with him than she had ever felt with Barry or any of her

musicians or acquaintances. There he was, like some black monolith

in the night, and she didn't know a thing about him, but his

understanding questions and gentle touch had meant more to her than

any overtures that she had been the recipient of for the past six years.

It was because he gave them straight from himself to herself. There

was no barrier, no underlying motive stemming from who she was, or

how influential she could be with the company she worked with—-or

was there?

She kept very still on the sand as her brain started to click over

certain things with an uncomfortable suspicion. Suddenly she

remembered the odd way that Greg had looked at her when she had

first arrived on the scene that morning and had built the sand castle.

His gaze had been very keen and piercing. Sara knew that her face

was extremely well known, and the bone structure so prominent as to

make her face probably distinctive enough to make one wonder. And

he had admittedly 'checked up' on her residence. Just how far had that

check-up gone? If he had enquired into her past work position or

residence, then he would have come up with a complete blank. Sara

Carmichael didn't really exist in a practical sense, for Sara Bertelli

had lived for six years in California. If Greg had made the least push

to find out what she did for a living, he would have her, for she had

no work history, and her landlord knew nothing. If he got suspicious

enough to check that far, then the fact that Sara Carmichael didn't

really exist as far as records go would be enough to make him turn

ugly with suspicion—for he was so wary of strangers that he must be

hiding something, what she didn't know, but he was definitely hiding

something— or it would be enough to push his memory to the truth.

Without her heavy make-up she could fob off casual glances her way,

but she couldn't hope to do it with a discerning eye.

One thing that had struck her about Greg was that he had a definite

discerning eye. He noticed everything, like a hawk.

It was a suspicion on her part, but it was such a strong suspicion, and

she had taken so much pleasure in thinking that they had dealt well

together, just themselves with no pretence or pressure, that she closed

her eyes against it. It was too late, however, and had been too late the

moment the thought had entered her mind. The unpleasant part about

the whole thing was that she felt so naked, so completely vulnerable

now, that she would not feel comfortable around him whether he

really knew or not. Just that she would suspect it was enough to

destroy whatever natural attitude she had been able to adopt around

him, because she knew that she could never ask him for the truth.

She sat up, staring out in the early evening, blinking like a

sleepwalker newly awakened. The night lost all of its magic and its

peace and a perfect day was ruined.

She mumbled, 'I'm going home,' and stood, looking around her and

trying to remember just where she had put her camera bag. It was so

dark that she couldn't see landmarks very well.

'This is abrupt,' he said, and stood also. Looking down at her and

trying to catch a glimpse of her face, he asked her. 'Something