On the last day of their honeymoon, the one with no clouds and sky blue as china, Elisabeth was on the beach devouring an Agatha Christie, her second of the holiday. She was smooth peanut-brown, the darkest her pale skin would turn in the sun, and she wore a red polka-dot swimsuit with a white frilled skirt that kept flapping up in the breeze, revealing the perfect curve of her behind. Alan stood towelling himself after his swim, and as he looked down at his young wife lying on her stomach, legs kicking, back arching so that she could read, dark hair loose in the sunshine, he thought again what a total smasher she was, and he felt the desire build in him yet again, was there no end to his ardour?
‘Shall we go in a minute, pet?’ he said. He paused. ‘We might have time for a quick lie down before dinner.’
Elisabeth looked up over her shoulder. ‘You randy bugger,’ she laughed. ‘I need to finish my book, I’m just about to find out whodunnit.’
‘I’m all clean now, love,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to get all sandy again. Shall I go ahead then, take everything up, get the kettle on for a brew?’
‘Yes, fine, I’ll only be ten minutes. D’you mind?’
‘Of course I don’t.’ He leaned down and put one hand into the sand as he kissed her, tried to put his tongue in her mouth.
‘Stop that,’ she giggled. ‘There are children about.’
He looked at her green eyes, her flowing hair, her breasts squashed together by her position, and he wanted to reach out and touch her right there, hold her, make love to her, bury himself into her. My God, he had to stand up, before it was obvious.
‘All right,’ he said. He moved reluctantly away from her and packed everything up, the picnic, the Thermos, the beach ball, the frisbee, and when it was safe he folded up his towel, put on his shorts and shirt, and left her sundress and sandals neatly beside her.
‘I’ll see you soon, my darling.’
Elisabeth looked up quickly from her book, she’d just found out the murderer was Vera, she needed to know how it ended.
‘Bye, love,’ she said, and blew him a kiss full of promise.
When Elisabeth finished her book just twelve minutes later, there were only two family parties left on the beach. The children were still running squealing in and out of the sea, and as it was such a perfect evening none of the adults seemed inclined to move, although it was gone six o’clock. As Elisabeth put on her dress she noticed one particular little girl, laughing and naked, and she felt a tiny pull of joy that perhaps she might have one of those herself soon; she wouldn’t be surprised if they had a honeymoon baby after the week they’d had. She smiled to herself. Yes, she’d be quite happy with that.
The walk up the cliffs to the cottage was steep, and although it wasn’t far it puffed Elisabeth out; she smoked too much even in those days. She stopped for a second, panting, looking back the way she’d come, and she could see the people, small now, still settled in their deckchairs, and a dog cavorting across the sand after a ball, and the green of the sea, reaching out for ever, to the end of the world. She shook her head back and shut her eyes and put her face to the sun, and it still felt warm, like it was blessing her. And that was when she felt a hand over her mouth, and something cold and hard against her throat, and that was when she got pulled off the path and into the bushes, down into the thorny bushes that scratched and hurt her, but not as much as he did.