"No," he said gently.
"It makes me sad."
"I really don't see why," she said as offhandedly as she could.
"Because it shows that you're deeply unhappy," he said.
"I hope this isn't going to turn into a therapy session?"
she said,
keeping her tone flippant.
He took her hands again, and she felt the warmth of his fingers as they
held hers.
"Why do you hate yourself, Jacey?"
he asked softly.
"What happened to make you hate yourself?"
She looked into his eyes and saw real bafflement, and a genuine need to
understand.
Suddenly her anger dissolved.
For the first time in her
life, she wanted to talk.
To talk about her past.
Why not talk to
this man, she thought.
It might help me.
He's a kind man, a caring
man.
And pretty soon I'll be leaving this country, and I'll never see
him again.
"I fell in love," she said.
"A long time ago.
Or maybe I should say, I thought I was in love."
"And he dumped you?"
Felix nodded.
"He married me," she said.
The memories came flooding back.
"I
married, and I had a baby."
She was vaguely surprised at how easy it
was to say the words.
"A son."
She paused.
"He'd be about ten years old now."
"He died?"
Felix asked compassionately.
"No," she said.
Tm sure he's still alive."
Suddenly, sitting there
with the muted noises of the rain forest all around her, she found the
words gushing out.
It was as if a dam had broken, and all the pent-up
rage and frustration and pain spilt out.
"I was very young, and I married an Arab boy.
I went back to his
country, and when my baby was born, his parents took the baby, and told
me that unless I did exactly as I was told, I would never see him
again."
"And your husband agreed to this?"
Felix was shocked.
"My husband didn't care," she said.
"He was gay, and his family had ordered him to give them an heir.
He
did.
As far as he was concerned, that was the end of my usefulness.
I
was a westerner.
I didn't matter."
"But his parents let you see the child?"
Felix asked.
"I never saw my baby again," she said.
"They took him away the day he was born.
They told me to divorce my
husband, and go back to England.
They told me that if I caused trouble, they'd have me deported and I'd
never see my son again, but if I behaved, they'd let me come back and
visit him.
It was all lies.
They never intended to let me see him.
But I believed them; I was young, frightened and alone.
I had to
believe them."
She shrugged.
"Of course, when I tried to get in touch with them later it was
impossible.
My letters were returned unopened.
I tried to get help, I
tried to get my son back, but I'd married in England, of my own free
will, and gone out to my husband's country willingly, and no one was
interested in my case.
I had the impression that some people thought I
deserved everything I got for being such a gullible fool.
Maybe they
thought my son was better off without such a stupid mother.
And I
suppose that for years I secretly thought that they were right.
That
it was all my fault."
She drew a deep breath and smiled.
"And that's it.
The dark skeleton in my cupboard.
What do you make of
it, Mr.
Therapist?"
"You decided never to trust a man again," Felix said.
"And I can't say I blame you."
He was still holding her hands.
Now he
pulled her closer to him.
"But we aren't all like that, Jacey.
Believe me."
"Don't feel sorry for me," she said.
"Being footloose and fancy free seems to suit me."
He gazed at her seriously.
"And you've never wanted to settle down?"
"Never," she said.
She smiled at him brightly, trying to lighten the
atmosphere.
"Perhaps my ex-husband did me a favour.
I've had a good life, with no
emotional ties, and no emotional responsibilities."
"Is that really good?"
he asked.
"Doesn't it make you feel rather incomplete?"
Before she could answer,
he let go of her hands and stood up.
"Come inside with me, Jacey.
I want to show you something."
The interior of the bungalow felt cool and the windows were shaded with
bamboo blinds.
Some of the furniture was western and Jacey guessed it
had probably been bought in Techtatuan, but much of it had obviously
been made from indigenous materials.
Felix led Jacey into a small
room.
It had wall-to-ceiling shelves, and they were all crammed with
bulging files, books, and papers gathered into bundles A large table
was piled with documents and ring-binders and a pot of fresh, bright
flowers stood in the middle of the chaos.
"My mother's workroom," Felix said.
He saw her looking at the flowers,
and smiled.
"My mother always had flowers everywhere.
I like to keep up the
tradition."
Jacey touched one of the thick ring-binders.
"May I look?"
"Of course," he said.
"That's why I brought you in here."
The binder was full of botanical drawings, annotated with meticulous
neatness, a strange contrast to the untidy room.
"It's a treasure trove," Felix said.
"For anyone who can understand it all.
This represents years of
research.
My mother lea mt from the Indians, from the healers.
I
don't think anyone else has had that opportunity, certainly not a
western doctor."
He watched as Jacey looked round the room.
"There's a wealth of knowledge here.
I can't do much with it, I'm just
a computer buff."
He moved closer to her.
"But if I could find a sympathetic helper, someone who was willing to
dedicate themselves to a voyage of discovery, things could become
exciting."
"Are you offering me a job?"
she asked gently.
"If I was, would you accept?"
he murmured.
"It would take a lifetime to work through all this," she said.
"You have a lifetime," he answered.
"Haven't you?"
She knew he was going to kiss her, and when he did she
wondered why she was allowing it to happen.
Although she certainly
found him attractive, he did not give her the kind of instant sexual
jolt that she felt when she looked at Nicolas, or the rush of
unexpected lust she had experienced when she first saw Leonardo
Marquez.
But she felt desire, and need, as he grasped her shoulders
and pulled her close, his body pressing against her.
Telling him about her past had acted as a catharsis.
She felt
light-hearted, and carefree.
As his lips moved over her face and down
to her neck, she relaxed against him, neither encouraging nor hindering
him.
She guessed he would be gentle and thoughtful, and that was just
what she needed.
She wanted to be made love to.
She did not want to
do anything; she wanted to let him pleasure her.
And he seemed quite willing to do so.
His kisses grew more passionate,
and she felt his hands moving to her breasts.
He cupped them, and
explored her nipples with his thumbs while, she made soft, encouraging
noises in her throat.
He pressed harder, massaging the sensitive peaks
into hard little buds.
She was wearing a loose, sleeveless top without buttons.
As he tugged
the garment upwards, she helped him by raising her arms.
He pulled the
top over her head, and then quickly removed her bra.
She felt his
excitement mount.
Keeping her hands linked behind her neck, and her
arms bent, she raised her elbows so that her breasts were level with
his mouth.
His lips closed over one erect nipple, and his fingers
sought the other one.
He concentrated for so long on exciting her
breasts with his tongue, and his hands, that in the end she felt a
slight impatience.
She loosened the waistband of her skirt and it
dropped to the floor.
Surprised, he stopped his caresses and took a
step backwards.
"Oh dear," she teased.
"I've shocked you."
"No," he said.
"It's just that I didn't expect1 mean, I wasn't trying to pressure
you."
"You weren't?"
She reached up and linked her hands round his neck.
"Well, you could've fooled me."
She pulled his head forward and kissed
him.
"Do you have a bed in this bungalow?
A nice, soft bed?"
"I have a bed," he said, his mouth still over hers.
"Then take me to it, and make love to me," she said.