Nantucket (7 page)

“Oh,” she'd said.

How else have I misled you? Andrew had said to himself.

“Never mind,” she'd said. “I like architecture. Richard” – that was the boy she thought she was in love with – “he told me I pay attention to details the same as he has to. He says law school has taught him to read. I told him drawing is teaching me to see.”

Which had brought the topic safely to a close. But still.

In any event, he always gave his house guests a lecture on safety when they first arrived. And put a copy of
Moby Dick
in every bedroom.

Andrew opened the refrigerator door to get a bottle of soda water and…screw it. He wouldn't be able to see anything for several minutes. He grabbed the bottle, closed the refrigerator door and went into the pantry to get a glass.

There was someone in the pantry. A shape. A monster? He slowly put down the bottle of soda water and reached out in the darkness, finding…goosebumps, a woman's body, a shocking frizz of curly hair, wetness beneath. “Oh my,” he said, and even as he said it realised his hand had stayed too long where it shouldn't have been. “I beg your pardon.”

Whoever went with the goosebumps grabbed the sleeves of his nightshirt and pulled him toward her. “Relax,” she whispered. “What happens in the dark doesn't count.”

“Why are you here?” he heard himself asking. “And naked?”

“Why are you asking questions?”

Whispering didn't extinguish her accent. She had to be Rosemary. His hands found her breasts, which were pushing forward, eager for attention. “Do you even know who I am?” she said.

Andrew told his hands to behave. “Of course I know. But what are you doing here? Who were you looking for?”

“I was looking for you. I wish you'd lose this nightshirt.” She began pulling it up, and he resisted. “I want to go swimming,” she said.

“It's dangerous at night. And how long have you been here?”

“It's not dangerous if I have a life guard. And the answer is I don't know, maybe half an hour. I was awake anyway. Shiva snores. Your other guests, the newlyweds, finished their duties hours ago. Very traditional couple, if you like that sort of thing.”

What sort of thing, he wanted to ask, but didn't.

Rosemary paused, and changed her tone. “Listen, you're intelligent. You're on the edge of being middle-aged. Your wife is a bit distant, if I'm any judge, though superbly trained. It's three in the morning. Your profession involves sucking up to rich bastards. Wouldn't it balance things out if we went down to the beach and misbehaved?”

Andrew didn't answer.

“Well, at least
come
to the beach.” She took his hand and led him out of the kitchen like the first girl he'd slept with, leading him down the hall of her parents' house one empty afternoon. In the silence he remembered what she looked like. The first girl he'd slept with, that is. He wished he hadn't stopped touching her breasts so soon. Now he was thinking of Rosemary.

When they got down the steps from the porch, she began to speak in a normal voice – normal in the sense of not being a whisper, but still aristo English intoxicating. “Do I need to tell you the terms of engagement?” she said. “Neither of us ever tells anyone what we've done.”

“Is there anything particular you'd like?” Andrew said. He reminded himself that he was joking.

“If I tell you, it may not work,” said Lady Rosemary. She evidently wasn't.

“Tell me why you do this then?” he said.

“You're right. I do this whenever I can – walk around someone else's house naked, that is. We get invited to a lot of very large houses. I do it to meet men. Sometimes it works. Now, where are those steps you mentioned that go down to the beach?”

“Through this little tunnel in the bushes.” Now he was leading her.

“Oh, I like this little tunnel. It is dark in here. I love darkness. The man I'm with can't see me, and has to apprehend me with his other senses. Would you like to apprehend me a bit? I liked it when you touched me so rudely in the pantry and didn't know who I was.”

Andrew felt it would be a mistake to touch her again. She touched his face. One of her fingers wandered into his mouth. He reached up and gently took her hand away.

“Hold my hand, then,” she said. He led her through the tunnel and onto the steps, where there was a bit of a breeze, a bit of starlight.

“You're a beautiful woman,” he found himself saying to her back as he followed her down the steps.

“If you want beauty,” she said over her shoulder, “why won't you fuck me? I will become your fantasies.” There was a hint of sadness in her question, uninhibited as it was. A suggestion of struggle. It reminded him of Sally's “intimacy without sex” – though perhaps the other way round. Sally who was an unexploded bomb asleep in his bed.

“Because you're a goddess and I'm a mortal,” said Andrew in answer to Rosemary's question. There was a point to the Greek and Latin he had studied after all. “Because your husband is a prince.”

“I
thought
you might be a poet,” said Rosemary matter-of-factly, starting down the beach. “You certainly have a lot of poetry stuffed in your head, same as me. So you will understand. The fates played a cruel trick on me. I am beautiful, as you say. I say that without embarrassment or conceit because it is not something I achieved or earned.”

“Not like your first-class honours.”

“Thank you for knowing about that,” she said. “Take my hand, please. At least that, as we walk.”

Andrew did so. What a picture we make, he said to himself: naked Venus with a middle-aged investment banker in a red-and-white striped nightshirt, which billows when the breeze catches it. Well, almost middle-aged, he corrected himself. His curly black hair hadn't retreated yet. He was fitter than he deserved to be, considering how little formal exercise he got.

“I had to work hard for my first,” Rosemary was saying, “though of course the brains that made it possible were also an unearned gift. But my beauty is just…there. I eat what I like, exercise or not as I choose, wear what I feel comfortable in. Here's an experiment I tried. I went out to lunch in London in a really ugly outfit. No jewellery. No make-up. Fancy restaurant. The paparazzi spotted me. Next morning one of the tabloids had a spread, claiming this was the newest fashion trend. And, here's what's awful: I looked really good.”

“I'm not sure you have a complaint, my lady.”

“Let me continue. Along with my looks, I have an enormous sex drive. I want it twice a day, really.”

“Lucky Shiva.”

“Lucky you, if you'd just cooperate. I like sleeping with Shiva's professional advisers – which I take it is what you're trying to be. I go after you lawyer and banker chappies because you have a strong interest in keeping the liaison a secret. In case you're interested.” They walked on in silence for a bit. “Also, it's a way of disrespecting him, fucking his servants. And meaning no disrespect to you, sweet Andrew.” It occurred to Andrew that he was safe, at least for now. The intoxication had waned. She was crazy.

“Shiva is perverse,” she continued. “He thinks I desire him. He likes thinking that. He maintains it intensifies his pleasure to have me less often than I'd like. He's told me all this. ‘A beautiful wife is a treasure,' he says. ‘A wife overflowing with desire is a magical possession.' He thinks that my being horny makes him smarter. He wants me to be Miranda at the start of the play. That's why he goes on about
The Tempest
. ‘O brave new world that has such creatures in it.' You know that scene, I assume, where Prospero's daughter, having been raised on an island with no men except her father, sees the shipwrecked Ferdinand. Shiva likes that moment, where Miranda's desire is awakened but not yet fulfilled. He believes – and I promise you there is nothing to support this in the text – he believes that keeping Miranda pure is what makes Prospero strong. Shiva thinks he's Prospero, of course.”

“So why does he call
me
that?”

“He's being polite. It's your island. And he's giving you a hint. Find a way to tell him he's the magician. He will like that.”

“That's very helpful.”

“But to go on, the other bit of irony the fates hung around
my neck like a golden chain is that my beauty frightens most men. I go out to dinner and the boy beside me becomes tongue-tied. I let my dressing gown fall to the floor and so does his erection.”

Andrew laughed. “Surely not.”

“More often than you'd think. Even at university.”

“But you don't need lots of lovers. You just need a husband who likes sex as much as you do. I hesitate to say this. I am supposed to be winning Shiva's trust. But have you considered looking for such a person?”

“Every day. But you know, being rich is addictive. I would get very little in a divorce. I have no grounds. Or none I care to talk about in public. You will understand this, Andrew, being a poet. I'm Prometheus's unmentioned sister. The eagle of sexual hunger tears at me every night.” They walked in silence for a bit, and she played with his hand. “But when I do find a man who appreciates the gift of my fire, the pleasure for both of us is intense.”

“That was beautiful,” said Andrew. And then: “We should probably go back.”

“All right,” said Rosemary, letting go of Andrew's hand and turning towards him. “But for my pains, one kiss?”

It was a very good kiss.

Andrew had one more question for her, though. “Why did you marry Shiva?”

“I thought I was being clever. One wants to keep on being clever when one has gotten a first. The fact that my parents objected was a further inducement of course.”

Neither of them spoke for a while, but when they entered the tunnel through the shrubbery, she grabbed his nightshirt again and pulled him to her. “I want to use the darkness again.

Just touch me somewhere.” He let his hands find her breasts. “You are very brave,” she said. “Whatever happened on that phone call, you managed to lock it up. Don't worry. You looked fine. But I could tell. If you're married to a man like Shiva, you see a lot of supplicants. I know what suppressed fear looks like in a man. And I like you, sweet Andrew, who took me to the beach but wouldn't take advantage of me. I think I'm going to like you very much. Whatever it is you're trying to accomplish here, I'll help you if I can. I never pay attention to the business aspects of our existence, you realise. Shiva's and my existence, that is. All the nice invitations.”

“I want your husband and Joe to merge overlapping bits of their respective empires,” and Andrew.

“So they need to become friends,” she said, “at least for a while?”

Andrew took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said. He certainly hoped they would. “Quite a while,” he added.

When they got to the house, Andrew told Rosemary to go up to her room. He'd wait on the porch for a while. She was back within seconds, however. “Shiva's not there,” she said.

“Does he know about your night-time prowling?”

“He knows about my
insomnia
. I'll just slip back into bed, and be asleep when he returns from whatever he is doing. He must be trying to seduce your wife, by the way, because I hear voices coming from your room. I would recommend you not confront him.”

“I will go into the maid's room at the end of the pantry,” said Andrew, not sure he should have agreed so readily. “I'll pretend I snore. He does that too, I think you said.”

“A good listener and a wise banker,” said Rosemary. And kissing him lightly on the cheek, she scampered upstairs again.

5

Andrew woke up in the maid's room. It took him a moment to remember where he was. Thick curtains covered the windows but there was bright sunlight at the edges. Something had happened in the middle of the night, but he couldn't let himself get distracted remembering it. He had a weekend to manage.

Feeling foolish in his red-and-white striped nightshirt, he hurried through the pantry to the kitchen, saw the remnants of several breakfasts, began to panic. His watch and mobile phone were upstairs, he thought, but from the brightness of the sun it could be after nine. The house was quiet. What if everyone had left? Shiva could have sent for his plane. Joe could have chartered a boat. Sally could have quit.

He looked into the living room. Rosemary was sitting on the sofa, reading. That was a relief. It was very nice, in fact. Looking at her was like eating honey. She was wearing linen long pants and a matching long-sleeve blouse. The colour was hard to name: faded apricot? It complemented her white-blonde hair. Her hair was a mess – and perfect. She was what had happened in the middle of the night.

“You're awake,” she said, looking up from her book. “Come sit next to me.”

He did, leaving space between them.

“I've sent Joe and Shiva walking to the lighthouse, which should take them a couple of hours. I told Shiva he could regard a lighthouse as a kind of temple. Joe took his map. He's a bit nutty about maps.”

Ah.

“The girls have gone for a run in the opposite direction, so as not to be in the way. Cathy made sure of that. She's good. I expect they'll get into the water before they come back. Cathy went to town early and bought muffins and lobsters. Stay put. I'll get you one – a muffin, that is – and how do you like your coffee?”

“Black. No sugar.”

“Oh, and good morning,” she said. She leaned across the space he had left between them and kissed him on the mouth.

“Indeed,” said Andrew, blinking. The kiss had been more than perfunctory. “You didn't want to go out?”

“I don't do sunshine, remember. And I would have been a fifth wheel. Or a third wheel. And think how you'd have felt if you'd woken to an empty house.”