Of course, I’m not saying you don’t tell them you love them. Amazing what those three little words can do for a marriage. I don’t let a day go by without telling Leah how much I love her.’
‘That sounds awfully callous, Gerard…’
‘Not at all. It works, Steven. You won’t find my marriage ending in divorce, you mark my words.’
Leah had certainly marked them. All of them.
What a pity she hadn’t had the courage to throw them in his face, personally!
She’d been going to confront him that night, as soon as Steven had left the house. But the wretched man had stayed for ages, till her own misery had forced her to go upstairs to bed.
Not that she’d slept. Midnight had found her lying wide awake in bed, tensely listening to Gerard’s footsteps on the stairs.
‘Waiting up for me, darling?’ he said on entering the room. ‘How sweet,’ he murmured, smiling softly down at her as he undressed.
Leah watched him, dry-mouthed, her stomach swirling with a mixture of distress and dismay. She felt sickened by the situation, and her foolishness in being taken in by him so easily.
And yet, how could she have known what he was? He’d always been so incredibly good to her, had fulfilled all her romantic dreams, especially in bed. No man could have been a better lover. Or more considerate.
Her mind was whirling with all these thoughts when he slipped into bed beside her. Her mouth opened to say something, only to be covered by his in a gentle kiss. Much more gentle than was his usual style. Leah hoped that meant he wasn’t going to continue, that it was just a goodnight kiss. But it seemed stopping was not on Gerard’s mind. Soon, it wasn’t on her mind, either.
Afterwards, she lay there, stunned, shattered. How could she have let him? And how could she possibly have found pleasure in it?
It was then that she knew she had to remove herself completely from his corruptive physical presence. She had to flee. If she confronted him with the truth—that she’d overheard what he’d told Steven in the study after dinner—he would find some way to explain it, to convince her that he didn’t really believe what he’d said, that he did really love her.
Gerard was a natural born salesman. A clever and convincing talker. He could almost make people believe black was white when he wanted to. On top of that he would surely use sex against her, seducing her to his will, corrupting her with the pleasures of the flesh.
Leah believed if she let him do that, she would be lost. She could bear a lot of things in life, but she could not bear to live a lie. Gerard’s love had meant the world to her. Dear heaven, it was her world! She’d given up everything for him. Her family and friends. Her home. Her beloved ocean.
All for nothing. An illusion. A trap.
On the Monday, she made her secret plans to flee the marriage, and this man who had such terrible power over her—demonstrating that power again that night, despite Leah finding what she hoped was the perfect excuse to be left alone. A migraine.
Her claim of a headache, however, brought nothing but solicitous offerings of painkillers and an aromatherapy massage. Admittedly, it had been a very long, very sensual massage. In the end she succumbed to those knowing hands, despising herself all the while she was wallowing in her husband’s erotic expertise. When she sobbed afterwards in his arms, he actually thought her still in pain, and was so apologetic she almost thought she had to be mistaken about him.
But that was just desperation talking, silly Leah not wanting to believe she could still love and want any man who could speak of marriage—their marriage—as he had that Sunday evening.
The final night she spent in their marital bed did not include any further humiliation. Leah could not have borne it. She’d come to the difficult decision to take the initiative in the bedroom that last night, thereby salvaging what little pride and self-respect she had left. Better she accept the inevitable with some dignity than act like some ninny of a victim who could not help herself.
So she climbed into their bed naked and reached for him first, startling him. Not once during their marriage had she done that. Perversely, he’d seemed very pleased. He didn’t realise her actions were inspired by desperation. And despair.
It was ironic that his subsequent lovemaking carried a sweet tenderness Leah had never previously experienced in his arms. She responded to that tenderness, even more than she had to his passion the previous two nights.
Gerard would never know how much he had lost in losing her. She would have devoted her life to him, if only he’d loved her back. Instead, he’d reduced her to nothing but a shell of a woman, tormented by thoughts of what might have been, tortured by what her marriage had actually been.
A cruel, cynical, cold-blooded sham.
‘Got the food and drink ready, Leah?’
Leah spun round, the sea breeze whipping her long honey-blonde hair across her face. ‘Yes, Alan. Everything’s ready,’ she called back.
‘Good girl. Hold the fort while I collect tonight’s party,’ he said, nodding towards the distant figures on the beach.
Leah shaded her eyes with her hands and peered to shore. She knew they had a booking for six, but not the ages or sexes of the people. It looked like two couples, a single woman and a single man. You could usually guess their status by the way they stood, either in close pairs or out on their own.
‘Won’t be long.’ Alan undid the rope, jumped into the Zodiac dinghy and fired the outboard motor. Within seconds the small craft was speeding across the water towards the beach, its flat bottom slapping across the tops of the waves, salt spray flying everywhere.
He was a bit of a cowboy, was Alan.
He was also the captain and owner of The Zephyr, an old pearling lugger built back in the 1920s. Alan had bought it a few years back, and now made a tidy living carrying tourists up and down the West Australian coast, his speciality being sunset cruises along Cable Beach during the Broome holiday season, which ran from late May till early September.
Six weeks ago Leah had heard on the yachtie grapevine in Darwin that the owner of The Zephyr wanted a female deck-hand, someone young and attractive who knew about sailing boats and who could handle the hostessing part of the job. So she’d applied and been immediately offered the job. Once she’d assured herself Alan didn’t think he was hiring himself a live-in lover for the duration, she’d had no hesitation in accepting his offer.
He’d been a perfect gentleman so far. Not so perfect a gentleman with other members of her sex, however. A steady stream of women had trailed through the captain’s cabin since The Zephyr’s arrival in Broome.
Alan had this thing for older women, it seemed. He had no trouble reeling them in, either. Around thirty-five, he wasn’t what Leah would have called handsome. But it seemed his long blond hair, bronzed body and soulful brown eyes always got the women in, especially the ones around forty.
Leah wondered if the unattached woman standing alone on that beach might be in Alan’s required age bracket. It was a distinct possibility, and she watched him angle the boat further in than usual.
The wide flat tides around Cable Beach
