“Does it?”
“Who are you?” she demanded. “What sort of man are you?”
“The sort of man who wishes I’d let you alone when I first saw you.”
“Why does your voice sound so tired?”
“I am tired. You’ve had your drink. Now go put your shoes on.”
He saw the broad-shouldered man in the white dinner jacket reach the bottom of the steps. The man bent over and picked up the shoes. The girl was plainly visible in the moonlight. He came slowly across the sand toward them.
“What do you want, Rolph?” she snapped.
“Sam is ready to leave, Gria. It makes him nervous to be held up. I’ve been looking for you for a half hour.”
“Suppose I don’t want to leave,” she said.
The stranger had a wide, heavy-boned face, a small black mustache. His voice was metallic, as though it came through an amplifier. He threw the shoes at her feet. “Put those on, Gria.”
“I’m not going. I’ve met this nice man and he wants me to stay here with him.”
Rolph moved two slow steps closer to Ryan’s chair. “You aren’t very smart, friend,” he said.
Ryan looked up at him and yawned. “Please go away and take the silly little girl with you, Rolph. You’re both tiresome.”
“I ought to drag you out of that chair and punch your mouth.”
“Go ahead!” Gria said eagerly. “Do it, Rolph.”
Ryan felt the first stirring of legitimate anger. He said, “Let me promise you something, Rolph. And listen carefully, because you’ll never hear it any straighter. I would like to have you start something. I would enjoy it. You wouldn’t enjoy any part of it. That, I promise.”
“Pretty boy,” Rolph said sullenly.
He stood and stared down at Ryan for the space of five waves breaking on the beach. Then he turned and took Gria’s wrist and pulled her out of the chair, picked up her shoes with his other hand. Halfway to the stone steps he turned and said, “I don’t want to find her down here again.”
“Then put a ring in her nose. I’m irresistible,” Ryan called.
“Good night, darling,” Gria called.
Later he tried to go to bed. It was no good. Something had made him restless. He thought of the shape of her mouth. He swam out, far and hard and fast. He thought of the process of learning to live again. Maybe a woman would hasten that process. The right woman. A wild, crazy kid like Gria. Odd name. Maybe some of the adolescent anguish would rub off on him.
After he had showered and toweled himself dry he found it easy to drop into the measureless chasm of sleep.
He lay on his back with the sun burning into him, his forearm across his eyes. Gulls dipped at the surf, croaking their complaints, their endless disappointments.
“Good morning, Ryan,” she said.
He sat up abruptly. Gria knelt beside him. She wore a pale green two-piece suit. She was taut and brown, yet modeled with the clean and perfect lines that sculptors seek for. In the sunlight her hair picked up odd bluish, greenish glints.
“Oh. You got the name from the desk.”
“Ryan Kestrick. I like the name. I’m Gria Baidee.”
He looked at her dark eyes. “You’re older than I thought.”
“I wouldn’t call that flattering. I’m twenty-four.”
“You acted about eighteen.”
“I suppose I did,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. He liked her better for it. “Rolph was furious. At himself, mostly, I think.”
“Because he backed down?”
“Yes. I told Sam about it and Sam laughed. You see, Rolph used to be a fighter. He keeps himself in good shape. He could have licked you, you know.”
“Did Rolph send you down here to build up his reputation?”
“Damn you, Ryan! You make me mad with everything you say.”
He lay back and covered his eyes. “Then go away.”
“I wish he had licked you.”
Ryan propped himself up on one elbow and smiled at her. “You are a nice kid. You live in a nice world where everybody fights with rules. I had one leg crossed over the other, with my ankle on my knee. If your ridiculous friend had taken one more step toward me I would have smashed his kneecap with my heel. They’d have had to carry him up those steps. I don’t play any games according to the rule book.”
The deep blush altered first her throat and then her face. “I was a little crazy last night.”
“Go play your games with people who know your rules.”
She laughed. It had a sound of heartbreak in it. It didn’t go with the sun, sand and sea. “Oh, Ryan. If I could tell you. If I could only tell you.”
“We now raise the curtain on scene three, act two. What do I have to do to convince you that I want to be left alone? You’re a very pretty and obviously healthy young girl with all the normal impulses of your position, background and education. Your experience has taught you that your combination of talents is irresistable to males of your own station. But, lambie, I don’t want any.
“I once knew a very homely young woman who was older, at fifteen, than you’ll ever be. She died at fifteen and she was worth uncounted dozens of you. I’m sorry to be blunt, but I’ve got to chase you away somehow. Whatever you are faced with, I know that I would find it more than dull. Now go away and try to grow up. It might become you.”
She jumped to her feet. Her face was contorted. “You... you pig!” she shouted. Scooping up a handful of sand, Gria flung it at him. She turned and walked down the beach. She walked with her head up, but with damp sand incongruously clinging to her. She walked with all the dignity of a spanked child. He blinked the last grains of sand out of his eyes. He laughed when she was out of earshot. The laugh wasn’t very satisfying.
It hadn’t been good to tell her of Paulette, because it made him remember Paulette. Poor little Paulette of the stringy blonde hair and the face like a dumpling. A century old at fifteen, with sadness that would never leave her colorless eyes.
At the border they found the packet on her. If someone hadn’t tipped them, it wouldn’t have been found. The group had heard later how she died, defiance in her eyes, the mouth tightly shut in the ruined face...
He waited and tried to feel something for the dead Paulette. But there was nothing. No warmth, no pity. Just a black, bitter-hard numbness.
Chapter Two
Trained Seal
The dumpy bartender filled his tall glass to the brim, shaking the last few drops from the black container. Then he twisted the strand of lemon peel expertly.
“Hello,” a soft voice said at his side.
He turned. She wore a pale yellow blouse and a peasant skirt. “Die-hard?” he said.
She looked at him, then touched the back of his hand. Her fingertips were cool. “I walked and walked,” she said. “And while I walked I thought about you. Ryan, I don’t care what it was. But whatever it was, it’s done horrible things to you. Ryan, I really want to help you.”
“Should I understand what you’re talking about?”
She smiled. “You can’t push me away like that. Not any more, Ryan.”
He held the tension within him for long seconds and then slowly let it drift away. He smiled. “I give up. Completely.”
“Then buy me a sidecar.”
He ordered it for her. As she sipped it, he studied her with the care he had learned. A man learns care when he is staking his life. The black hair and the high cheekbones spoke of a trace of Latin blood. The mouth was too young and too soft, but the jaw had a firm line to it. Unstable, emotional, feminine. But with a capacity for intense loyalty. Idealism, probably. And a lot of warmth.
“Did you love her very much?” she asked.
“Huh? Who?”
“The fifteen-year old, of course.”
He threw his head back and laughed. He could not remember the last time he had laughed as thoroughly. “Love her? Lord, no!” He gasped. She was staring at him with hurt eyes. “Please don’t take me off guard like that again, Gria.”