She stood up slowly when he arrived, making no attempt to hide her dejection. «He wasn't a bad man,» she said. Her voice was husky from crying.
«I know he wasn't.»
«I suppose something like this was bound to happen.»
«Don't dwell on it. He really loved you. The last thing he'd want was for you to be unhappy.»
«Yes.»
He kissed her brow, and began to undo the buttons on her blouse.
«Don't,» she said. But even that was an effort for her.
«Shush.» He soothed her with another kiss. «It's all right, I know what I'm doing.»
She simply stood there with her shoulders slumped, as he knew she would. He finished unbuttoning her blouse, and pushed the fabric aside to admire her breasts. Althaea looked back at him, numb with grief.
«I can't make you forget,» he said. «But this will show you your life has more to offer than grief.»
He led her, unresisting, back through the unruly trees to his chalet.
The parishioners from Oliviera were a chirpy, energetic bunch. There were twenty of them, trooping down the jetty from Anneka 's deck: teenagers and adolescents, loaded up with backpacks and wicker baskets. After Charmaine's usual solitude they were like an invading army.
Eason had prepared a section of the island ready for them, determined the harvesting arrangement would be a prosperous one for both sides. It'd been a hectic, happy time for him since the funeral.
After the sun fell, Althaea would slip away from the house, returning night after night to the darkness and heat of his chalet. She was a sublime conquest—youthful, lithe, obedient. Taking her as his lover was sweet revenge on Tiarella. Replaced by her own daughter. She must have known, lying alone in her own bed as Althaea was ruthlessly corrupted in his.
By day, the two of them set about righting Charmaine. Eason renovated a rotary-scythe unit which fitted on the front of the mower tractor. He and Althaea took it in turns to drive the vehicle through the grove of citrus trees which was fruiting, blades hacking at the thick tangle of vines and low bushes, terrorizing the parrots and firedrakes. The chips were cleared away and piled high, making bonfires which burned for days at a time. Now they were left with broad clear avenues of trunks to walk down. That one section of island, two hundred metres long, stretching right across the saddle of coral between the lagoon and the ocean, was almost back to being a proper grove instead of a wilderness. Crooked branches still knotted together overhead, but all the fruit was accessible. Pruning could wait until later; his synaptic web didn't have any files on that at all.
«We'll need another boat to cope with the load,» Lucius said after they'd filled the Anneka 's outrigger holds by the middle of the afternoon on the first day. «We normally only get three or four boatloads out of the whole week. I wish I'd brought a bigger team now, as well. You've done a good job improving things here, Eason.»
Eason tipped back the straw hat which Althaea had woven for him, and smiled. «Thank you. Can you get hold of another boat?»
«I'll put in at the cathedral island this evening, ask the Bishop to assign us a second. It shouldn't be a problem.»
At night the picking team gathered on the lawn. Tiarella had set up a long open-range charcoal grill. They ate lobsters and thick slices of pork, washed down with juice and wine. After the meal they sang as a moon arched sedately across the sky, and the fountain sent a foaming white jet seven metres up into the air.
Althaea was in her element as she moved between the groups with a tray, her face animated in a way Eason had never seen before. Still later, when they had stolen away to make love in the jungle beyond the restored grove, he lay back on his blanket and watched her undressing, skin stippled by moonlight filtering through the thick canopy of leaves, his resolve crystallized. Her body, a rewarding challenge, beautiful location, it didn't get any better. He was going to stay.
Eason didn't see them together until the third day. It was a lunch break, and he'd just walked back from the jetty to help himself to the sandwiches Tiarella had made in the kitchen. Through the window he could see most of the garden.
Althaea was sitting in the shade of a eucalyptus tree with one of the parishioners, a lad in his teens. They were talking avidly, passing a chillflask to and fro. Her easiness with the lad irritated Eason. But he made a conscious effort to keep his feelings in check. The last thing he wanted was a scene which would draw attention and comment.
When his retinal amp focused on the lad's face, Eason could see a disturbing amount of adoration written there. Fair enough, she was divine after all. But there was something about his features which was familiar: he had a broad face, strong jaw, longish blond hair, clear blue eyes—a real charmer. Faces were Eason's business, and he'd seen that face once before, recently. Yet offhand he couldn't even point in the direction Oliviera lay.
It was Althaea who introduced him to the lad. His name was Mullen, he was seventeen, polite and respectful, if slightly overeager. It was an engaging combination. Eason found himself warming to him.
The three of them sat together for the meal that night, biting into broad slices of pineapple coated in a tart sauce, drinking a sweet white wine. Tiarella sat on the other side of the grill, her outline wavering in the heat shimmer given off by the glowing charcoal. Her gaze was locked on them.
«So how many times have you come here to pick?» Eason asked.
Mullen tore his attention away from Althaea. «This is my first time. It's wonderful. I've never seen a firedrake before.»
«Where were you living before Oliviera?»
«Nowhere. I've always lived there. This is the first time I've been anywhere except for other parish islands, and they're pretty much the same.»
«You mean you've never been on the mainland?» he asked, surprised.
«Not yet, no. I'm probably going to go next year, when I'm eighteen.»
«You've got a real treat in store,» Althaea said. «Kariwak's a riot; but just make sure you count your fingers after you shake hands.»
«Really?» Mullen switched his entire attention back to her.
Eason felt lonely, out of it. The truth was, their conversation had been incredibly boring all evening. They talked about nothing—the antics of the firedrakes, weather, which fish they liked best, how the picking was progressing. Every word was treated as though it had been spoken by some biblical prophet.
He was also very aware of the way Mullen's eyes roamed. Althaea was wearing just her turquoise shorts and a cotton halter top. It was distracting enough for him, so Heaven knew what it was doing to Mullen's hormones—the other boys from the parish, too, for that matter. He ought to have a word with her about it.
When he looked round the garden, Tiarella was still staring at him; her face sculpted, immobile. Maybe she was finally realizing her time was coming to an end. After eighteen years of stagnation and inertia it would be a jolt for any personality.
He allowed Mullen and Althaea to babble on for another ten minutes, then plucked at her halter strap. «Come on.»
She glanced at him, frowning as he rose to his feet, slapping sand and grass from his jeans. «Oh . . . not just yet.»
«Yes. We need to get some sleep afterwards.» He let an impish grin play over his lips, and picked up their blanket.
Althaea blushed as she glanced at Mullen, lips twitching into an embarrassed smile.
«Come on.» Eason clicked his fingers impatiently.
«I'll see you both tomorrow,» the lad mumbled.