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OF COURSE SHE KNEW who he was. She had realised this during the course of their conversations; Nelia’s father. No two people could have the same kind of life in such a small community. And, apart from the colour of her eyes, Nelia was very like her father—the same straight nose and high cheekbones, even the dimple in her chin came from him.
Janine mentioned it briefly the next time they met, two weeks later, when he again popped his head over the riverbank as she was taking photographs of the ruined tower.
“Yes, that’s right,” he said. “Nelia’s my daughter. Didn’t know the two of you had met. She’s never mentioned you.”
Janine let her camera hang from the strap around her neck. “That’s because she knows how to keep a secret. I asked her not to say anything about me to anyone.”
“And I told her not to tell anyone I’m home so often.”
“She told me about you.”
He folded his arms and leaned against the side of the bank. “You’re not ‘people’. You’re you and not connected to anyone here. But the locals, that’s a different story. I don’t want them to think Nelia’s like me. Bad enough they know who her dad is. People around here have long memories.”
“You think they’d still judge you?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know. But I don’t want to take the risk.” He smiled at her. “So now you know I’m Mick O’Shea, Paudie’s wayward brother.”
She couldn’t help returning his smile. There was something about him that lifted her spirits: a feeling of rebellion, a devil-may-care attitude that made her throw caution to the wind. “And I’m Janine Marchand.” On a whim, she held out her hand. “Very nice to meet you, Mick.”
He took her hand, held it for a moment, then bent his dark head and kissed it.
She let out a little ‘oh!’ of surprise at the chivalrous gesture.
He held on to her hand. “You’re beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
They stood there for a moment, her small, cold hand in his big warm one, until he laughed and let her go. “An angel was here. Isn’t that what you say in France when there’s a moment of silence jam-packed with meaning and feeling?”
“Oui,” she whispered, oddly breathless. “Un ange passe. I felt it too...”
“I also have the feeling we shouldn’t tell Nelia or anyone else that we’ve met.”
She nodded. “Yes. I think it’s best not to. The less people know the better. I want to stay as anonymous as I can. Keep a low profile. And if anyone finds out we know each other, tongues will start wagging. I don’t want that to happen here either.”
He looked suddenly serious. “Something’s troubling you. Someone hurt you and now you’re sad and scared. I won’t ask questions. But if you need a friend—” He pushed his hand through his hair and let out a laugh. “Who am I kidding? I couldn’t be your friend.”
“Why not?” she asked, confused by his sudden change of mood.
“I’m a man, sweet girl, and you’re a very alluring woman.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “This is getting a little complicated. Let’s cool it for a bit, okay?”
She took a step back, feeling suddenly annoyed. “Cool...what, exactly? Do you feel I’ve been coming on to you? That’s all in your head, in that case.” She felt anger rise inside like a hot tidal wave. Why did men always think she was looking for sex? “I didn’t ask you to come here. I was busy taking photographs for my art project, when you just popped—”
“Shut up.” He pulled her close and pressed his lips to her protesting mouth.
For a split second, Janine felt herself respond to his kiss before she tore away, staring at him, struggling to catch her breath. “Please. Don’t do this.”
He took a step back. “There. Now I’ve done what I’ve been dying to do since the first time I saw you. And I enjoyed it. Not going to apologise either. Go on, slap my face and tell me to go to hell.”
Angry, confused and shocked, more by her own feelings than his actions, Janine found she couldn’t speak. Eyes blazing, she simply stared at him.
He seemed to feel her anger. His shoulders slumped and he adopted a mournful air. “There, now I’ve gone and wrecked it, haven’t I? I’d better go.” He started to walk backwards in the direction of the beach, pointing a finger at her. “It wasn’t your fault. It was all mine. I’m a cad, you see, who steals kisses, among other things. So stay away from me, if you know what’s good for you.”
“But I don’t,” Janine said. “I’ve never known what’s good for me.”
Her words were spoken too softly for him to hear them. He turned and sprinted down the short path to the beach.
As she watched his departing figure, she could still feel the warmth of his lips. She regretted having reacted so strongly. But she didn’t want to get involved, get pulled into another love affair. She sat on the bank, her camera hanging, forgotten, from her neck, lost in memories from which she couldn’t escape.
-o-
On and on they went, over the dunes, the sun scorching and the dry desert wind whipping Janine’s hair into the Arab’s face. He grunted, swept it away a few times, then pulled up the camel. He fished out a piece of cloth and tied it around her head, ending in a tight knot under her chin. He handed her a flask and after thanking him, she took long gulps of water, and they were on their way again. The Arab never spoke, just grunted occasionally to the camel, tightening his grip around Janine’s waist when she slipped in the saddle, now slick with perspiration.
By late afternoon, seasick from the camel’s motion, thirsty, sore and sweaty, Janine knew she wouldn’t last another minute if they didn’t stop soon. Her prayers were answered as they seemed to be near the end of their journey when they entered an area more rocky than sandy, following a path between enormous boulders. Scraggy bushes lined the path, and Janine could see a building with a corrugated roof, surrounded by tents just ahead. Water trickled from between rocks into a stone trough, where two women in burkas were busy filling bottles.
The Arab ordered the camel to kneel. He dismounted, gesturing her to follow. With enormous effort, Janine scrambled off the saddle, every muscle screaming. He called out a command in Arabic to the women, and they immediately rushed to her side. One of them took her hand and led her into a tent.
The interior was dimly lit by oil lamps. Carpets covered the floor, littered with cushions. In the middle of the tent stood a wooden tub where rose petals floated on milky water. The women led Janine to the tub, gesturing to her to take her clothes off and get in.
She sank into the lukewarm, rose-scented water, heavenly on her parched skin. She closed her eyes, giving herself up to the pleasures of being washed and pampered. The women offered her a drink tasting of peaches, fed her dates, pieces of mango and Turkish Delight. She began to realise they were preparing her for something—possibly sex with the Arab—but she didn’t care. He could do what he liked—that kind of abuse held no threat for her. I could even do things to him that might make him more malleable to my wishes, she thought, wondering what such a man would find enticing.
Having washed Janine’s hair, the women assisted her out of the bath. They led her behind a partition, where a gigantic woman dressed in a black shift was perched on a stool beside a battery of bottles and urns from which wafted spicy scents. She grabbed Janine, throwing her across her knees like a baby. She scrubbed her all over with a mitt that felt like sandpaper, before handing her back to the other women. They led her back to the main part of the tent where they laid her on two big silk cushions.
Standing on their knees, the women started to decorate Janine’s body. They anointed her with a light oil that smelled faintly of vanilla, caressing her skin until it was as soft as the belly of a newborn baby. Then they took out two little pots and began to decorate her breasts with fine brushes that tickled deliciously. They swiftly drew an intricate pattern as fine as lace on each breast, ending by painting her nipples a deep red.
More oil was massaged into Janine’s stomach, hips, thighs and groin. The light touch of the women’s hands aroused her in ways she had never experienced. She floated as if in a dream: a dream of Jake, caressing her with his eyes, hands and lips. She didn’t usually like being passive. She needed control, loved being in charge, leading her partner to the ultimate goal, taking every possible pleasure as she went. But this was different. She was being cared for. These women seemed to love her body and the feel of her skin. She was important to them, her well-being and pleasure a challenge. They made her feel beautiful in a new, feminine way. Unlike a lesbian adventure, it had nothing to do with her wanting any of them. She was their work of art, their creation.
Without analysing any further, Janine gave herself up to the sensations. She remembered Jake again: a man who was her equal, with whom she had no inhibitions. But he had been left in the desert, seriously hurt. Was he still alive? She flinched as she remembered him so brutally assaulted.
The gentle hands on Janine’s body became more insistent, the cadence of their caresses rising and falling, like a symphony coming to its conclusion. The women faded into the distance, only the hands touching her were real. She closed her eyes, savouring the pleasures of their skilled kneading. They brought her to a kind of climax that was gentle, like soaring to the peak of a mountain with heavenly views, then slowly drifting down through gossamer mists, coming to rest in a beautiful meadow. She gasped with pleasure, ending in a soft moan. When it was over, she drifted off for a minute. She felt no shame, knowing this had been some kind of test or initiation. She thought she must have passed with distinction, judging by the women’s soft murmuring.
When she opened her eyes, the women, smiling and nodding, invited Janine to rise. They dressed her in wide cotton pants, a short open jacket made of a transparent material, cut to just below her breasts. Having brushed her hair, they covered her in a dark cape and a veil. Unlike them, her face was uncovered.
The women gestured for Janine to wait and left the tent. She remained there, wondering if she should try to sneak away. But where would she go? It was late. Through a slit, she noticed darkness had fallen. She also spotted a man, standing just outside, his back towards her, armed with some kind of rifle.
Deflated, her nerves taut, Janine sank down on a cushion, awaiting her fate. What was going to happen to her? Would the Arab sell her on to someone worse? Would she be subjected to white slavery? Or would they rape and kill her? They might even, she suddenly thought, be in cahoots with Steve’s men. She buried her face in her hands. She had lost.
-o-
“Look.” Nelia swished her skirt around her long legs. “My school uniform. Isn’t it hideous?”
Janine turned away from the canvas she had set up on the deck. She glanced at the skirt. “Awful. What do you call that shade of green?”
“Don’t know. I call it puke.” Nelia pulled at her sweater and squinted at it. “The pullover is horrid too. Grey with a matching green stripe around the neck. And look at this shirt—pale green, yuck. But worst of all is the blazer. Green, too, with a huge crest on the pocket. Dad said it’s to make sure girls are as unattractive as possible while they’re at school. I think it’s working, don’t you?”
Janine looked at Nelia as she stood there on the deck, her hair shining in the late afternoon sun. “I’m not sure. You could never be unattractive, mon chou.”
Nelia dumped her school bag on the deck. “But it’s bad for my soul to be dressed in ugly clothes. Megan said it’s positively gorgeous compared to hers. She showed me one of her class photos and she’s right. Hers was a lot worse.” She sniffed the air. “What’s that nice smell? Are you baking? Can I have some? I’m starving.”
Janine touched Nelia’s nose. “You have a good sense of smell. I’m making a clafoutis with apples. It’s a kind of apple cake. And yes, you can have some. Very good for the soul. Let’s go into the kitchen.”
Nelia glanced at the easel. “But you’re painting. Maybe you want to finish it?”
Janine looked up at the sky. “No. The light’s changing.”
Nelia took a closer look at the painting. “What is it? I like the colours. But I can’t tell what it’s supposed to be.”
Janine took the little canvas off the easel. “It’s an abstract. I get inspired by the colours in this beautiful landscape—all the soft greens, blues and greys. And the shapes of the trees, the mountains, the old walls. Then I paint what I see, but more with my feelings than the visual sense. You understand what I mean?”
Nelia nodded. “Yes. I like it. Makes me feel calm when I look at it. Calm and kind of...” she thought for a moment, “suspended.” She frowned. “Don’t know why I said that.”
“I know. That’s exactly how I feel right now. Suspended in a kind of limbo. As if my life is on hold before it takes off again. But I think it’s going to rain. Come in and tell me about your first day at school.”
“Okay. Can we sit in the living room? I love looking at all the beautiful things you have there.”
“Of course. You go in and I’ll get us tea and some of my clafoutis . I hope you’ll like it.”
Nelia did. Curled up on the sofa like a cat, she munched on the apple cake and declared it delicious. “Like pancakes with apple. That’s what it tastes like. Did you put cinnamon in it?”
“Yes.” Janine helped herself to a piece. “Apple without cinnamon is like...” She thought for a while.
“Like a baby with no dimples? Pizza with no crust? Bacon with no eggs? Or,” Nelia giggled, “love without kisses?”
“All of that,” Janine said. “But love complicates things sometimes.”
“I suppose.” Nelia sighed theatrically. “It seems so gross, anyway. You know... doing it, I mean.” She blushed, looking uncomfortable.
“Gross? You mean making love?” Janine shook her head. “No, mon chou, not if you’re in love. But even if you’re not, it can be so...so sublime. Don’t you forget that. But be careful, you must never have sex without passion.”
Nelia looked at her feet. “Um, okay. I suppose.”
Janine laughed and patted Nelia’s cheek. “You won’t have to worry about that for a long time. Now, tell me about school.”
Nelia studied her piece of cake intently, picking at a speck of cinnamon. “It was okay. Pretty much as I expected. They all thought I was some kind of freak. Nobody except one girl spoke to me. But that was okay. I didn’t want to talk to any of them anyway. Bunch of sad losers.”
“But the girl who did speak to you? Was she nice?”
Nelia shrugged. “I ‘spose. We walked home together a bit of the way. Her mum owns the hairdressing salon in the village. Her name’s Assumpta. The girl, I mean, not the mum. Terrible name but she’s named after her granny. She has purple hair. Assumpta, not the granny.”
Janine laughed. “Yes, that’s what I thought.”
“She said it’s to jazz up her uniform so she looks less dreary. She has a tattoo of a rose on her shoulder and four earrings in each ear and a stud in her nose.”
Janine frowned. “Not terribly chic.”
“No, but she wouldn’t want to be. She’s so cool. Her mum’s divorced, and Assumpta gets to do pretty much what she wants. I wish I could dye my hair purple like her. And I’d love to get my ears pierced.”
“Maybe you could?”
Nelia glanced pityingly at Janine. “Oh yeah? You think Megan’d let me?”
“You could ask. Or maybe your father could—”
“Ha, you don’t know my dad. He’s very strict. Funny, considering what he was up to in his youth.”
“And what was that?” Janine enquired casually.
Nelia stuffed the last piece of apple cake into her mouth. “Don’t know, really. Just that he was a bad boy but now he’s the model of good behaviour. He said he’ll tell me when I’m older.” Her eyes wandered around the room. “You’ve got some very pretty things. I love the throw on that chair.”
“It’s a shawl, really.”
Nelia sprang up from the sofa. “Can I try it on?” Without waiting for a reply, she took the shawl and draped it over her shoulders. “Love the colours. It’s like a mosaic.” She picked up a fan from a display on the coffee table and spread it out, fanning her face. “I feel like Carmen in the opera. Do I look Spanish?” She craned her head to admire herself in the mirror over the fireplace. “Si, si señor,” she chanted.
Janine laughed. “You’re a bit of a ham, my dear.”
“I know. I’d love to try acting.” She picked up a brass candlestick. “This is nice.”
“It’s Egyptian.”
“Did you buy it there?”
Janine took the candlestick from Nelia. “No, at a market in Italy. Long time ago.”
Nelia peered at the photo in the silver frame. “This is fantastic. He looks as if he’s going to jump off the pyramid. Or fly to the sun like Icarus. You know, you could turn this into a great painting if you copied it on a big canvas. Imagine, with these colours and his amazing body...” She turned her head to Janine. There was a curious look in her grey eyes. “Were you in love with him? I think you were. I can see it in your eyes.”
Janine was saved from answering by a knock on the front door.
Nelia put back the photo. “Must be Megan. Shit, she’ll be mad at me for not going home straightaway.”
Janine went to open the door. It wasn’t Megan but a young woman with light-brown hair and pale-blue eyes. “Hi,” she said. “Sorry to barge in but Megan asked me to come and see if Nelia was here.” She held out her hand. “I’m Beata, friend of the family.” She peered past Janine and smiled at Nelia. “Hey, you—get your ass up to your house, pronto, or Megan will have a blue fit. She had a special tea ready for you and was dying to hear about your first day at school.”
“Oops, I forgot.” Nelia threw the shawl off her shoulders. “I’ll just grab my schoolbag on the deck. Bye, Janine. Thanks for the clafy-thingy. See you, Beata.” She ran out the back door.
“Don’t forget to act hungry,” Beata called after her.
“That won’t be a problem,” Nelia shouted. “I’m always hungry.”
Beata laughed and shook her head. “Like a whirlwind, isn’t she? Poor Megan has a lot to cope with.” She looked at Janine with curiosity. “I know you want to keep yourself to yourself and not meet too many people. But don’t worry. I grew up in Poland during the end of the communist era. I know how to keep my mouth shut. So does Boris. He’s Russian, but that’s not his fault. He had a little brush with Putin’s men a while back, so he’s not even inclined to discuss the weather with anyone he doesn’t know very well.” She drew breath. “But I have to get back. The twins will be yelling for their supper, and Boris doesn’t know how to breastfeed. Yet,” she added with a laugh.
“Twins? How old are they?” Janine asked. She knew she should invite Beata in, but despite her reassurances, yet another guest seemed too much to cope with.
“Six months. Boys. Brendan and Sean. Identical. Even I don’t know which is which most of the time. Except Brendan has a little star-shaped birthmark on his thigh. Or is it Sean?” She pushed her hair back, looking stressed. “And we have the new business that Boris started when I closed my guest house, so there’s a lot to cope with right now. Got to go. Great to meet you. Call in if you’re passing through the village. Big white house with a red door and a messy garden. Just after the garage, on your left.”
“Thank you. I will,” Janine said and started closing the door.
“Yeah, well, perhaps not,” Beata said, looking at Janine. “I understand if—” She stopped and clapped her hand to her mouth as her eyes strayed to Janine’s wrist. “Holy fucking shit! I can’t believe it. You’re...her.”
Janine froze. “What?”
Beata put her hand on Janine’s arm and looked over her shoulder up the deserted lane. “I’m probably the only person in Ireland who’d recognise you.” She lowered her voice to a near whisper. “But I happened to read a very old issue of Paris Match that one of my guests from France left behind about two years ago. I was clearing out the room we used as a sitting room before we closed the B and B business. I flicked through the magazine before throwing it out this morning and saw this picture of...you. Coming out of the courtroom in Paris” She studied Janine from top to bottom. “You do look very different now, so well done. Nobody would know who you really are.”
“Except you.”
Beata nodded. “Just a weird coincidence. I happened to see that picture only today. And it wasn’t until now, this minute, that it clicked.”
Janine felt like a rabbit caught in a trap. “What gave me away?” she asked, her voice quivering.
Beata pointed at Janine’s wrist. “That bracelet. Can’t imagine it’s something you’d pick up in any department store. You wore it in that picture. I did kind of recognise you the minute you opened the door. In that I’ve-seen-that woman-before-but-where kind of way. But it didn’t click until I saw the bracelet.”
Janine’s eyes strayed to the silver bangle studded with turquoise on her wrist. “Merde. I haven’t worn it since then. I only put it on today for the first time. It’s something I cherish. Given to me by a...friend, years ago.” She looked at Beata, willing her to understand.
“Of course,” Beata said with great sympathy in her voice. “Must mean a lot to you. But maybe it’s not a great idea to wear it? I wouldn’t tell but you never know. Someone else might spot it.”
Janine took off the bangle. “You’re right. I won’t wear it again.”
“Sorry about that. But I thought I should tell you.”
“Of course. That’s very helpful. I was amazed you recognised me. I had no idea anyone around here would even know me—the old me, I mean.”
“Just an unfortunate coincidence. If I hadn’t flicked through an old, foreign magazine, I wouldn’t have a clue either.” Beata cocked her head to the side and studied Janine intently. “Apart from that, I really don’t think you have anything to worry about. Nobody in these parts would even know you—I mean the other you. You don’t look at all like that photo. Without make-up and with your long hair and fuller figure you look like a different woman.”
“I put on weight after that horrible time. A lot of stress makes me want to eat.”
Beata nodded. “I can imagine. But now you can relax.” She turned away. “I really have to go. The twins will yell the roof off. Great to meet you. I hope we’ll meet again soon.”
With that, Beata sprinted through the front garden, got into her car parked at the gate and drove off
As she watched the taillights disappear up the road, Janine felt, to her surprise, that meeting this unusual young woman again would be a great pleasure. She went back inside. Her fingers caressed the smooth stones on the silver bangle, as she put it into a small wooden box. She felt a sense of loss as she hid the box behind the bookcase. It was the only memento of Jake she had left. My hero, she thought, who rescued me when I thought all was lost...
-o-
Janine pressed her forehead on her knees and started to recite a silly little prayer her grandmother had taught her. It was her mantra in tough situations. Closing her eyes tightly, she promised the man above to do whatever he wanted, to be good, to join the missionaries, even to go back to Steve.
A hand grabbed her shoulder. Startled, she began to let out a scream, when another hand on her mouth made any sound impossible.
A voice in her ear. “Shut the fuck up. It’s me.”
Janine turned around, nearly fainting with joy. “Jake,” she hissed. “Oh Jake, how did you find me?”
“It wasn’t me, it was Clyde. Turns out the Arab’s camel was a female on heat. Clyde followed her scent like a bloodhound. Wouldn’t even stop for a pee.” He put his finger to his mouth. “But shh, not a sound. We have to get out of here fast. Some men are gathering in the little building next door. I have a feeling you’re on the menu.”
She nodded. She didn’t understand how he was going to get them away in the dark. “Clyde?” she whispered.
Jake shook his head. “No. He’s...ahem...busy. I let him into the camel enclosure. He’s having fun. If you hear a noise, it’s a camel rutting. Great distraction. But no more talking. Let’s get the hell out.”
Grabbing her hand, he pulled Janine to the back of the tent, where they slipped through a large slit in the canvas into the freezing air outside.
Jake stopped for a moment. “Hang on,” he whispered. “I just had an idea.”
He went back in. After only a few seconds, he appeared again, his shadow outlined against a flickering light. “I threw the oil lamp on the floor. The place should go up like a bonfire in a minute.”
They hurried away. When Janine’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, she realised there was quite a lot of light from the stars and a new moon. She shivered in her cloak, wishing she had the jacket she had left behind in the tent. But there was no time to linger. Janine heard shouts behind her as the fire grew in strength. She raced after Jake, jogging towards a dark shape. He turned and pulled at her hand. “Come on.”
“A jeep! How did you—”
“I stole it. Get in.”
They jumped into the jeep. Jake switched on the engine but not the headlights. The jeep started forward. Janine looked back. She could see the tent ablaze, people running around, shouting. The camels had broken loose and were galloping in every direction, bellowing.
She was jolted back as Jake stepped on the accelerator. The jeep gathered speed. They turned onto a dirt track, leaving the calamity behind.
