Part 35 (1/2)
She thought about this. ”A generalization, surely.”
”But sadly, it bears up under a.n.a.lysis.”
He shot her a mischievous look, knowing a.n.a.lysis was very nearly Olivia's favorite thing.
She smiled, enjoying being known.
”Jonathan may not have done it at all if you hadn't left Pennyroyal Green.”
He looked at her sharply then.
And fell into a silence that had stretched on long enough to take on something of the feel of a brood.
She knew, no matter what, that he had missed his family, too.
”Are we waxing philosophical this morning, Olivia?” he said finally.
”It's generally how I wax, when I do.”
He laughed.
She wondered if for the rest of her life the sound of his laugh would make her heart launch, because it made every single thing about life better, the way salt or marmalade did.
They mounted a gentle rise, which was when she became aware of a rus.h.i.+ng sound, a constant, soft roar, distinct from the pulse of the ocean breaking on the beach and rolling out again. As they crested the rise, he reached for her hand.
”We'll be heading down in a bit, and the ground can be a bit s.h.i.+fty here, so . . .”
She gave him her hand. It was engulfed in his, and she suddenly felt shy and solemn and girlish.
”Don't trust my agility?” she said lightly.
”Oh, it's not that. I just don't want to go tumbling to my death unaccompanied.”
She laughed, and then gave a little gasp as he tugged her forward and then down a fairly steep slope, flexing his arm expertly, effortlessly, for all the world like a rudder on a s.h.i.+p. His strength was both shocking and humbling and innate. She might as well have been gripping a steel bar.
With a little jump they landed on a narrow strip of golden beach.
”All right, then,” was all he said.
She couldn't speak.
They were nestled in a sort of basket made of towering stone and sheer cliffs.
A turquoise jewel of a pool s.h.i.+mmered at their feet, spreading in a gently wavy oval for perhaps fifty or more feet, then curving, like the tail of an apostrophe, into another smaller pool that disappeared beyond an enormous outcropping of rock. Its surface s.h.i.+vered, delicately disturbed by the waterfall at its far end, an endless pour of foaming water about as tall as Lyon and about the length of two landaus, if she had to guess, across. She couldn't see its ultimate origin; it spilled from another craggy hill out of sight above them; and it ended by tumbling down staggered ledges of stone before it emptied into the pool.
Behind it was a soft and shadowy recess of stone. Flat from the looks of things.
It looked for all the world like a lacy white curtain over a stage.
”Eden.”
She hadn't realized she'd said the word aloud. It was more like an exhale from the very depths of her soul.
”Precisely what I thought when I first saw it.”
They admired it in silence for another moment.
”And now you take off all your clothes and stand beneath the waterfall and wash.”
Her head whipped toward him.
He extended his hand and opened it ceremoniously. In it was a bar of soap. It looked very white against his browned hand.
She stared at it.
Then looked warily up at him.
”It's French, the soap is. Have a sniff.”
”I believe you,” she said dryly. ”The sentence prior to that one is what gave me pause.”
Another silence. During which they locked eyes, and a good deal was thought very loudly but not spoken.
”I'll stay in here.” He made a sweeping motion at the little curving portion of the pool that disappeared behind the outcropping. The little tail of the apostrophe. ”And perform my own ablutions. It's quite shallow throughout, and I daresay even you can stand up in it. I won't be able to see you and you won't be able to see me. Though if you stand behind the water you ought to be somewhat veiled, regardless of where I am.”
She turned toward the waterfall. Then back to him.
Then back to the waterfall. Then back to him.
”Do you . . . need some a.s.sistance? With laces, stays, and so forth?” he said almost stiffly. ”Or would you prefer to keep the sand in your crevices as a souvenir of your sojourn here?”
”I can manage,” she said tautly.
”Intrepid as always.”
She snorted softly.
”I'll keep guard, and I'll protect you from any encroaching seagulls or vengeful mermaids.”
”Vengeful, are they?” She at last gingerly reached for the soap.
She was reminded of the time she'd handed a pamphlet to him. That first touch of his skin against hers, illicit and cherished. The fuse that had lit all of it.
His hands were still long and elegant, but brown and hard now. But now there was a faint scar across one. They looked well-used. As though he'd spent the past few years wielding weapons. And other quite dangerous things.
Did he ever tremble now? Or had he seen and touched enough women to shave the edge off wonder forever?
”Oh, mermaids are a jealous species,” he said softly, as if he could hear her thoughts. ”They often make very cutting remarks about other beautiful women.”
She was so enchanted by the image of fuming aquatic maidens smacking their tails indignantly she immediately forgot to be nervous.