A Woman of Courage (37 page)

‘Craig Laurie,' he said.

Ruby had emerged from the bungalow and was making her way across the grass towards them.

‘I see your friend is coming,' he said. ‘I'll leave you to it.'

A smile of the well shaped mouth, a flick of the hand and he was gone. Hilary watched him go out the gate and disappear.

‘Who was that?' Ruby said.

‘Some bloke passing the time of day,' Hilary said.

A pity he hadn't stayed. She had rather liked the look of him.

2

The next morning he turned up at the hotel.

The sun was barely clear of the horizon but Hilary was an early riser and had already been for a walk along the beach. Now she was breakfasting on the terrace and wondering what joys Ruby had dreamt up for today. A trip to Tanjong Bunga, perhaps. Take in the shops. Exclaim over brocaded cloth in an Indian store. Pick up a cheap memento or two to take home. Even the thought irritated her. The day before she had gone along with Ruby's plans but enough was enough. Now it was time to reclaim her life.

She would hire a car, explore the back blocks, see something of the country. Forget Ruby. There would be hills out there, patches of emerald paddy and coconut groves, tiny kampongs away from the coastal strip. That was what she wanted. You could keep the shops.

She paused in the act of buttering a croissant and there Craig Laurie was, as tall and trim as she remembered, his outline silhouetted against the morning sky.

Startled but pleased, she smiled up at him. ‘I didn't know you were staying here.'

‘I'm not. I came to look for you.'

A nerve jumped in Hilary's stomach. She finished buttering the croissant, added a dab of strawberry jam and took a bite. ‘Why would you do that?'

‘To ask if you'd like to spend the day with me.'

‘Perhaps you'd better sit down,' Hilary said.

He did so. She saw that his eyes were the same dark blue as his short-sleeved shirt. Saw, too, that his sun-browned arms were strong, the flesh firm and well muscled. Again that dangerous nerve flipped in her stomach.

‘Would you like some coffee?'

‘Thank you.'

She raised her hand and the waiter came at once. She continued to eat her croissant, watching Craig thoughtfully. The smell of gardenias from the garden was very strong.

‘Does this invitation include my friend?'

‘Just you.'

‘And how would we spend the day?'

‘I thought a drive through the country. Get away from the mob for a while.'

‘Why do you suppose I might want to get away from the mob?'

‘You were at Brown's Restaurant on Penang Hill,' he pointed out. ‘You wouldn't have been there if you liked crowds.'

It was an enticing prospect. And with this man…

That nerve was on overtime now.

‘There is a waterfall in the hills,' he said. ‘It has a pool at the bottom. By tropical standards the water's cool. Bring bathers; we could swim. Afterwards we could have lunch. I know a restaurant with an outside terrace. The owner will cook up something special for us if you can handle Chinese food.'

Hilary could handle Chinese food very well. And his suggestions fitted perfectly with her inclinations. And yet…

She didn't know this man. Caution was clearly called for; then she pictured the waterfall high in the hills, the water that by tropical standards was cool. She thought of Ruby brimming with bright ideas how they might spend the day. She thought, to hell with caution.

She said: ‘Give me a minute to write my friend a note.'

3

The hills climbed skywards in many folds with bare rock on the higher slopes yet Craig's ute devoured the steepest climbs without hesitation.

Hilary saw no sign of human life yet the crowded pavements of the coastal strip were less than an hour away. No doubt Ruby would be cross at being abandoned but Hilary had no regrets.
Je ne regrette rien
. She had always been an admirer of Edith Piaf and her famous song.

They were off the bitumen now. His eyes watched the gravel road and his hands – strong and tanned, with fine hair on the backs of the fingers – were steady on the wheel. Hilary felt safe with this man. A thought came uninvited and potentially dangerous. How safe did she want to be?

The road climbed to a ridge, grey stone against a gentian sky. Beyond the ridge the way slanted steeply downhill with a wooden bridge at the bottom and Hilary saw the silver glint of water.

The tyres crunched on gravel as the ute drew to a stop just before the bridge. Craig switched off the engine.

‘Now we walk,' he said.

They followed a narrow track beside the stream. The water ran fast, glinting over the stones. Craig went first, Hilary watching his back as she followed. The strong shoulders beneath the blue shirt. The seamed neck.

Frogs chinked in the thick grass and from time to time small birds flew in sudden flashes of variegated colours, too swiftly to be identified. The track drew a long curve through the bush. The voice of the water grew suddenly louder and Hilary saw they had come to the fall.

It was about fifteen metres wide and double that in height. The water flashed in rainbows of brilliant light as it fell into a rock-fringed pool before spilling over a lip and continuing down the valley. On either side of the pool the forest grew close, with trees leaning over the water. The sound of the fall was very loud and beyond it Hilary could see nothing but sky.

Craig stripped off his shirt and pants. His chest was flat and hard, exactly as she had imagined it. She had put on her cozzie at the hotel. She stood at the edge of the pool and looked at the water.

‘How deep is it?'

‘About four feet here. More in the middle.'

She made a shallow plunge, then stood with the water cascading off her. The water came to just below her breasts and was as cool as Craig had promised. She looked back at him. ‘Coming in?'

‘Of course.'

He dived in and surfaced beside her. They stood and smiled at each other before Hilary turned and swam up the pool until she reached the fall. The water crashed on her head but behind the curtain was an oasis of peace where the rock had been hollowed out over the centuries. She looked back through the veil of falling water. Even the roar of the stream was muted here.

Craig joined her. There was room for two if they stood close together. They stood very close indeed and Craig kissed her and she kissed him back. The kiss lasted a long time and all the while Hilary was asking herself what she thought she was doing.

It was a legitimate question but she knew it was already too late. There had been a time when she had sworn off men but that had been after the break-up with Lance. Eighteen years ago, she thought. My God! There had been one or two brief episodes since then but nothing of importance. Eighteen years, and now she was hungry for this man who had come so unexpectedly into her life and was thankful that her breasts were still firm, her body ten years younger than her age.

He caressed her upper arms and shoulders, pulled down the top of her costume and kissed first one breast then the other. She shivered not with cold but with heat as she leant against him. She held his head and pressed it to her. There. Oh God. There.

He stood back and smiled before kissing her mouth again. Her lips parted and she wondered whether her legs would be strong enough to hoist her out of the water when the time came.

‘Shall we swim?' he asked.

She took a succession of deep breaths as she willed her heart to slow. She followed Craig back through the fall. They swam to and fro, splashing water over each other and laughing open-mouthed. Like kids, she thought, but so much more than that. Eventually they climbed out of the pool and lay on a rock shelf to let the sun dry them. The rock was warm beneath Hilary's shoulders, the noise of the fall once again loud in her ears.

She had wondered whether he would make love to her straightaway but he did not. They towelled off, got dressed and went in search of the restaurant he had mentioned.

The meal was as good as he had promised. After they had eaten, after Craig had thanked the smiling proprietor and paid him, they climbed into the ute and drove away, heading where she neither knew nor cared.

She wondered how often he had done this and with how many women. She wondered what he did for a living. She wondered who he was and why he had chosen to live in Penang. None of it mattered. The answers would come or not in their season. In the meantime he drove, she leaning back in her seat, eyes closed and heart thundering. It was then that he placed his left hand on her bare thigh. She put her hand on his and pressed it hard against her. While her senses swam, the engine hummed and the kilometres flew back.

4

Eventually they turned on to a side road that led past paddy fields where water buffalo were working, and Hilary caught glimpses of the sea between the trees. They turned on to a muddy track that ran downhill past more coconut palms and the occasional house raised on wooden piles above the ground. Indignant chooks catapulted beneath their wheels while women with shawled heads watched them from the shadows. A hundred metres past the last house the track ended. Craig switched off the engine, and they left the vehicle and walked down through the trees.

They came to a beach of yellow sand edging a horseshoe-shaped bay. Thirty metres back from the beach a house stood amid a grove of yet more coconuts. Red and yellow cannas grew in beds along the front of the house, whose wooden walls shone chestnut-coloured in the sun. This house too was raised on piles and had an arcaded veranda running along the front with a flight of steps leading up to it. The house was sturdily built and Hilary thought she had never seen a building more in harmony with its surroundings.

‘What a wonderful place!'

‘I like it,' Craig said.

‘Does it have a name?'

‘A Malay one. I decided to call it Rumah Kelapa.'

‘Meaning?'

‘The House amid the Coconuts.'

‘Rumah Kelapa,' Hilary repeated.

The words flowed like honey on the tongue, the name and house yet more components of this day of endless wonder.

‘Let me show you round.'

Hilary followed him up the steps to the veranda. From here she could see the entirety of the bay. At the far end was a point of land with the houses of another kampong showing through the trees. Three canoes were drawn up on the sand in front of them.

‘The Malays called them koleks,' Craig said. ‘They're handy for fishing or exploring the coast.'

The silence was absolute. Hilary thought this must surely be the end of the world or perhaps the beginning of paradise.

The interior of the house consisted of a succession of spacious rooms with glass windows through which the afternoon sun shone. The sunlight glowed on the wooden walls so that every room seemed to float in golden light. The furniture included large and comfortable easy chairs with plenty of cushions in brightly coloured Siamese silk. Persian rugs were scattered here and there. Wooden shelves crammed with books ran around the walls with more books in haphazard piles upon the floor. Books apart, everything was spick and span.

‘A woman comes in twice a week,' Craig explained. ‘She does the washing and ironing too.'

Every room had lofty ceilings from which hung broad-bladed fans.

‘Although they are not really necessary,' Craig said. ‘Since I had air-conditioning put in.'

‘Where do you get your power?'

‘Generators. They chew kerosene like crocodiles but make a big difference to your personal comfort. And the glass windows keep out the mosquitoes.'

Hilary walked out on to the veranda. Silence, like the house and trees, enfolded her. She observed the green vegetation, the red and yellow cannas, the blue sky and bluer sea, the sickle curve of yellow sand. She was conscious of Craig standing at her shoulder.

‘It is more perfect than I could have imagined,' she said.

Two cane chairs and a round glass-topped table stood on the veranda. Craig gestured to them. ‘I'll get us a glass of wine.'

She sat looking at the placid waters of the bay, the slatted leaves of the palms hanging in the still air, and wondered where she was going with this man. If anywhere. She smiled ruefully. She was not in the least tranquil by nature but now was prepared to wait tranquilly to see what the future would bring.

What it brought: a glass of white wine, flint dry and cold, with a round of Brie from which Craig cut segments with a broad-bladed knife. A meandering stroll along the beach. They watched the sun's red disc slide below the horizon. Lights began to flicker in the houses on the point. Waves shod with phosphorescence turned at their feet. Craig's fingers, interlaced with hers, were firm and warm.

Hilary thought, I have said nothing about going back to the hotel. Neither has he. What would she say if he said nothing? What would she say if he did?

They reached the end of the beach where the koleks lay on the sand. They turned back, Hilary's hand clasped as firmly as ever.

Perhaps he would drive her back to the hotel and leave her there. An end to the magical day and all its potential.

Did she want that? She did not. So would she stay, with all that implied? They were strangers; she knew almost nothing about him. Would she stay if the stranger asked?

They reached the house and climbed the steps. Since they left the waterfall he had not kissed her. Would he kiss her now? Would her soul fly out? He switched on the lights and turned to her. Beyond the windows the night was dark. Hilary could see her reflection lonely and wondering in the glass. She remembered how eager she had been for Sean Madigan, eager enough to marry him. Look how that had turned out.

She was older now, wiser and more cautious. But still eager. She wanted to eat Craig up. Be eaten up in her turn.

He was there. His lips were on hers. His hands were moving.

Yes.

5