Dinner and a Walk

Dinner and a Walk

They swam until sunset, wordlessly finding their way through the salty water. After a while, Carlos was, as usual, entranced by the combination of salt on his lips and sun on his scalp and water everywhere else. He nearly forgot about Tessa until she was gone.

He stopped in the middle of nowhere, the beach pleasantly far away and the seagulls crying out their lonely songs above. Turning once in a full circle, he still couldn't see her and then decided to float in the water until she had enough of diving. Idly wondering what she was up to, he suddenly felt her strong fingers round his ankle and knew she was underneath him, playing games.

He smiled. One week, and she had given in to his courting. Maybe she didn't know yet, but she was his as surely as the night would be moonless tonight.

A sharp tug, and he was under the water. Sound vanished, vision blurred.

There she was, only a few inches away from him. Their eyes were at level, and like alien fingers, her hair caressed his face. Deliberately, he sunk a bit lower and took her with him, his hands placed firmly on her waist. Without hesitation, she followed him, away from the surface and deeper into the twilight. The sandy bottom shone faintly in the dim light, and the sun, so strong above, hadn't heated up the ocean down here.

She stared at him with wide, water-filled eyes. No sunglasses protected his face – he felt strangely naked without them. But for the first time, he could see her face – just a bright oval – without glasses, too. She had no freckles here, in this twilight zone, no frown, and the melancholic expression was washed from her lips. He had no crooked nose, no wrinkles around his eyes, no scar along his cheekbone. They were different in this other world, in this universe without air to breathe and sounds to hear. Even thinking was unnecessary in the depths of the ocean, wondering who the other one was or hoping that wishes became true. Down here, there was just silence and peace.

She raised a hand, dreamlike and slow, and touched his lips, his cheeks, his short hair. For a brief moment he thought he could see her frown as if she was trying to catch a dwindling memory. Her fingers were cold on his skin, and he reached out for her, wanting to pull her closer, to warm her, hold her, but then the need for air became overwhelming. He struggled, had to get back up although he didn't want to.

She dashed away from him like a scared fish and, with a meremaid's grace, swam back to the beach.

Breaking the surface, gulping in air, Carlos longed for her more than he had longed for any woman in a very long time. He wanted to go after her, catch her, grab her round her slender waist once more and pull her down again into this twilight zone, make love to her down there where neither of them needed to speak, to explain, to reason or to suffer.

Impossible. So he went after her but didn't grab her, swam his erection away without getting closer than ten feet at the most.

Out of breath, she reached the beach and ran for the towel, wrapped the huge, fluffy thing round her fragile body she seemed to dislike so much. Roughly, carelessly, she dried herself with her back to him, ignoring even her children. With haste she put her clothes back on, pinned her wet hair up into a tight knot, and only when she was covered again by garment and hat, she turned and looked at him once more. Through sunglasses, sitting slightly lopsided on her nose.

Hell. He wanted to see her eyes so very badly, not even knowing why he was so eager to at least get their colour. But then, instead of drying himself, he had shoved his glasses onto his nose as well. His eyes were sensitive to the sun, even when it was nearly gone.

"Let's go for dinner," he said, brushing the water out of his hair. It was too short to shake it dry, too short to cover even a small part of his face. He felt open and unguarded, vulnerable for the first time in years when he felt her gaze roam over his body. From head to toes her eyes went, and suddenly, seeing her tipped head, she reminded him of someone from his past again. Someone far away, someone he once had known. It had bothered him before, this feeling that he knew her. Maybe, if she said something now...

No. The memory was still too far away. He was certain now that he knew her, but couldn't put a finger on it; so he let it go again. Eventually, he would remember.

Tessa, though, still stared at him, lost in thoughts. The bright tattoo, covering his right shoulder and his upper arm with some leaves even touching his neck, was part of her interest, the bracelet as well, and his face, most of all. He felt caressed by her inspection, and only high self-control allowed him to keep his growing arousal in check. None of his lovers had ever looked at him so calculating and so interested at the same time, entwined with a strange innocence he found extremely charming.

She didn't seem to know that she had been staring for more than a minute and hadn't replied to his suggestion, either, until Rose tickled her and said, "Mummy, I'm hungry!"

Tessa snapped out of her thoughts and looked at her girl. "Of course, love," she said, apparently confused at the fact that she had lost a tiny bit of her time. "Let's go back to the hotel."

Both children looked equally unhappy. "Can't we go somewhere else? The food is bah in the hotel." Hugo pulled a face, and Rose nodded eagerly.

Tessa sighed. "We can't go anywhere else, as there is no restaurant close by. Come on, I promise..."

Carlos interrupted her, "'Let's go for dinner' meant 'let me invite you for dinner,' Tessa. A friend of mine lives nearby. She has a family the size of a football team, and she is always happy to see me. Four more people won't make a difference to her. See the path that leads to the beach? When we follow it, we will end up at her house. It is a less than fifteen minutes' walk, even with two sleepy children."

"We're not sleepy!" Rose piped up and grabbed both her brother's and her mother's hand. "Come on, Mummy, we are hungry!"

Thoughtfully, Tessa looked at Carlos. Whatever had happened when they'd been swimming, it had changed something between them. He was sure that a day ago she wouldn't have accompanied him. Now, after a brisk nod, she quickly gathered her belongings and just walked ahead, Rose and Hugo hopping happily along.

Carlos put his shirt and shorts on and picked up his own bag. Bottles clinked. Two steps behind her, he soon decided that walking next to her was more to his liking.

********************

"Carlos! Mi niño!" The old woman threw herself into his arms, and he lifted her up a bit, swung her round and put her down on twig-thin feet. She was as dark as an apple seed, her face wrinkled, her eyes bright and alert. A nearly toothless smile spread over her mouth; and Carlos could see Tessa relax at the sight of her. She hadn't shed all her fear yet; she was definitely relieved that he hadn't led her into a dungeon to torture her and her children.

Conchita's hut was anything but a dungeon. It was big, old, filled with half a dozen children, a few more adults, and the smell of food. The table looked as if it would break any moment under its weight, laden as it was it with bowls and plates and glasses and bottles. The noise was overwhelming, and Hugo and Rose tried to hide behind their mother.

In vain. Conchita's grandchildren claimed the two little guests as theirs, pulled them along, showed them the litter of kittens in the corner and the bright bird that sat on a stack under the ceiling. A dog came along, sniffed some toes, then collapsed with fatigue in a corner, and Carlos laughed, kissed the old woman's cheek and handed her three bottles from his bag. "Un regalo para tí, nana," he said. "A present for you. I figured you've drank the last drop a while ago."

Conchita became very silent. She took one bottle and placed it on the table; she handed the two others to a young man, waving him off towards the kitchen. "Your wine, Carlos?" she asked. "You bring me more of your wine?"

"But of course, nana," Carlos answered. "I know you like it, and I owe you a bottle from the last time I came here uninvited. This time, I even bring guests. If you allow, we would like to eat with you."

The old woman hugged him tightly once more, then shoved a chicken off the table and urged them to sit down. Tessa, who was loosening up by the minute in the face of the unceremonious behaviour of everyone and the delighted giggles of her children, cast him a curious smile. "What's so special about the wine?" she whispered into his ear, and he leaned over, close to her.

Smelled her hair and her skin. Felt her breath hitch at the close contact. "I made it," he said. "I told you I have a vineyard, didn't I?"

She shook her head and nodded afterwards, when a young girl offered her freshly baked bread. "I guessed you... well, actually I didn't waste a thought at what you might do for living."

"Carlos," Conchita stated with pride and a heavy accent, "my Carlos makes wine. Best wine of island. Best wine of whole world." With a flick of her hand, she ordered one of her sons to get a special glass for the guest and to pour some of the precious, golden liquid. With something like admiration in his face, he obeyed, placing the glass in front of Tessa.

Hesitantly, she looked at the glass and at the wine inside. "I don't usually drink," she objected. "I am not able to honour this wine, however wonderful it might taste."

"Drink," Carlos said, and "Drink!" the old woman urged.

Tessa took the glass. Brought it to her lips and took a sip.

Her eyes widened when the golden wine touched her lips. She gasped when it ran down her throat, and Carlos knew it just exploded in tiny flames deep down in her stomach. "But..." she managed and looked at him helplessly. "Are you sure this is wine? It tastes like nothing I have ever tried. It is... perfect. Marvellous!"

Conchita laughed, and he bowed his head. "It surely is wine. I make a few crates every year. One or two I sell, the rest I give away to friends. And thank you for the compliment – I am glad you like it."

She took another sip, just enough to cause another explosion. With a delighted sigh, she closed her eyes. "Marvellous," she said again, and then the children laughed as the chicken laid an egg on the table.

*****************

They ate, they talked and laughed, and Tessa warmed up amongst those strangers, people she had never seen in her life and never would see again. Hugo and Rose tried everything that was offered, even the hare in garlic oil. They ate the rice and the potato chips, and after two hours, Rose said her first Spanish word.

Tessa didn't talk much, but it was obvious that she enjoyed the company. Sitting close to him, he could feel the heat her body radiated, could see her rosy cheeks, and could smell the faint fragrance of orange petals from her perfume. Of course they both had taken off their sunglasses, but the house was lit by oil lamps and he was not sure if here eyes were grey or brown or black. They could even have been blue. I will find out, he thought. I truly hope I will find out.

He loved every moment and wished the evening would never end. So far, he had never brought one of his conquests into Conchita's house, and he was surprised how much he enjoyed it. Tessa was so very different, and he found he would love to take her to other places he liked, introduce her to his friends, show her his vineyards. This longing to show her who he was, what he did, and how he spent his time was maybe even stronger than the wish of finding out how her skin felt under his exploring fingertips.

Watching her was a pleasure, hearing her soft, gentle voice made his heart skip a beat, and he smiled at his own foolishness of hoping that for once, things could end differently than with a final "Fare well."

Around eleven at night, Rose fell asleep with the chicken in her arm, followed closely by her little brother. Hugo had found shelter under the table, thumb safely in his mouth, and Carlos shared a glance with Conchita. "May they sleep under your roof for a little while longer, nana?" he asked, and before Tessa could protest, he looked at her, tempting her. "The beach at night is beautiful, and I would like to take you for a walk. Afterwards, I will accompany you back to the hotel. One more hour, Tessa. Please."

Getting up, she knelt down and wiped a curly strand of hair out of the little girl's face. The chicken clucked sleepily, Rose smiled, and Tessa said, "Why not. I haven't walked along the beach so far. Half an hour, Carlos."

He held the door open for her whilst Conchita's daughter clattered with the dishes in the big kitchen. The old woman patted Carlos's cheek and Tessa's arm. "Take your time, niños," she muttered, pushed them out into the dark and firmly closed the door behind them.

*********************

The night was warm and tender, the air like the caress of a lover's hand. Tessa exhaled contently. "That was a wonderful evening. Different from most evenings in my life. We don't have guests at home – my husband grew up in a big family, and there was a point when I had to end their constant visits to my house. I couldn't stand his mother's hints of proper housekeeping any longer, I couldn't cope with his brother's silly jokes or his father's friendly scolding that I don't raise my children properly only because I think they have their share to do at home."

He nodded once. Her strides grew longer, and they were walking fast now, reaching the beach. There was no moon, and the ocean looked black and forbidding. The wind was strong, the sand nearly cold.

It didn't seem to bother her. She kicked off her shoes and after a few more steps, she stood ankle deep in the water with her back to the beach. The hems of her trousers got wet when she dug her feet into the wet sand, small waves rolling over them. Closing her eyes, she raised her face to the wind and the spray, breathed in deeply and continued, "I was nineteen when I married, right after I had to repeat my last year at school. My husband and I travelled for two years; it was a good time. Then I began to study and became pregnant after a year. Rose was born when I was twenty-three, Hugo when I was twenty-five. I have no job, two children, a house that is too big and more money I could spend in a lifetime. My husband is away most of the year, all around the world, and his friend sees him more often than I do. When he is at home..."

"...it is not the same anymore," he finished her sentence for her. Silently, he had stepped behind her and could have embraced her if he had dared.

She turned and looked at him, and in daylight, he would have been able to see more than dark shadows in her face. The wind ripped at her hair, trying to get it out of its pin cage. Without thinking, he picked one pin and pulled, then a second one, a third until all hair pins were in his hand. Wild and free, her hair stormed around her face, making her look like a teenager.

There it was again, the feeling that he knew her.

"We were friends," she whispered, and for a moment, her words didn't make sense to him. "My husband and I, we were the best friends for years. Then I married him, gave birth to his children, and everything changed. We both wanted children, and we decided to have them early rather than later. He promised to stay at home as long as I needed him after the birth so I could continue studying. Unfortunately, he got a job offer he couldn't refuse. I had to interrupt my study, hoping I could pick it up again a few years later.

"Then Hugo was born, and my husband decided that being in France or Japan or Paraguay was a lot better than being at home. I couldn't go back to university. I didn't look for a job because my husband earns shiploads of money – everything I would have earned would have been nothing compared to his income, and I couldn't have got the job I wanted anyway without having finished my study. His mum lets me know on a daily basis that in her opinion, a mother should stay at home anyway. Until recently, I though we still were friends. But even that changed when he refused to take as much as a week off to come to holiday with us. And I..."

"You don't love him anymore. If you ever did. If it wasn't but a crush. Am I not right?"

After an eternity, she nodded. Then she stepped back and ran through the night, along the beach, and as he couldn't do anything else, he ran after her.

******************

She was fast, but he caught her in the end. Panting, she stood in the waves and stared out into the darkness. He was only inches away, heard her ragged breath, felt more than saw her heaving chest. "I shouldn't be here," he heard her say. "I should be at the hotel, asleep in my bed, not out here with you. Not telling you things too private to tell a stranger."

There was nothing he could reply to that. She was right.

"Why did I tell you all that?" Despair rang in her voice, this wonderful mellow voice, laced with sadness. "Why do you know how I feel; why do you know things no one else knows?"

He edged a bit closer, his feet leaving deep tracks in the wet sand. "Most of my life I have spent watching others," he explained, surprised at his words and at his wish to tell her something he had never told anyone before. "I watched, I judged, I used, I manipulated. I was a well-hated man, and I still can read most people like open books. You are hard to read; what I said was nothing but a well-aimed guess. I apologise for having hurt you."

Slowly, she brushed her fingertips along the scar on his cheek. The night was too dark to see the expression on her face, but he hoped there was more than curiosity in her eyes. "You remind me of someone," she stated calmly. "I didn't like him, but I respected him. He's long dead, but since I met you, I find I think about him often. Maybe he – what he was, who he was, and what he did – is the reason why I trust you, although I shouldn't."

Carefully, he cupped her cheek and was glad she didn't shun away. "I want you to trust me. I want you to like me as well. If I remind you of someone you disliked, I'd rather not have you thinking about him."

She smiled, surprisingly open and unguarded. "He wasn't who he seemed to be. In the end it became clear that he was a good man, a brave man, and a deeply misjudged man. Comparing you with him is nothing you should fear." She placed her own hand over his. Barely audible, she murmured, "I can't do this. I don't want to do this!"

How much he wished he could embrace her, kiss her, smell and taste her. Instead, he put more distance between them, but couldn't bring himself to break the contact with her soft, cool skin. "I don't know if you can do it," he answered and had to clear his throat before he continued, "but I am absolutely certain that you want to do it. You want to be with me; you want to kiss me, and you want to come into my bed. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here. And you wouldn't allow me to touch you." With his free hand, he caught one strand of her hair and wrapped it round his finger like a ring.

"I've never cheated on my husband. I've never even thought about it. It feels lousy, although he cheats on me." Not an outcry. A quiet statement, and the loneliness in her words threatened to break his walls.

Hell, who he was trying to fool? That had happened already. She was in his mind and in his heart, and there was nothing he could do about it.

His hand whispered over her skin when he let go of her; the strand of hair floated in the wind whilst the spindrift wet her trousers. For a long moment, he just looked at her, considering if it wouldn't be better to leave her alone, if he shouldn't find someone else for his pleasure.

Too late. He not only wanted her, he also liked her. A lot. More than he had liked anyone else before. He wanted to see her smile again, and therefore, he needed to make her happy.

Instead of saying something useless, he offered her his hand. And she took it.

Walking back hand in hand to Conchita's house took them more than an hour. It would have been pathetically romantic but for her grip, being hard enough to leave bruises.