The Seduction of Suzanne Read online

  She slipped downstairs, collared one of the staff and asked if knew the number for a taxi company or – failing that – for directory enquiries. He gave her a local number. She got the address of the house from him as well. The dispatcher on the other end assured her that a car would be sent out immediately, and should arrive within ten minutes.

  The back door opened easily from the inside, and she slipped through and closed it behind her. Security lights lit her way to the garage and driveway. She walked towards the street, teetering in her heels as she pulled the wheeled suitcase. She went past late-arriving guests, keeping her head down.

  In the street she had only to stand waiting self-consciously in the light of a street lamp for two or three minutes before the taxi she had ordered pulled up at the curb. The driver leaned across and spoke out of the open passenger window.

  “Taxi for Turlin?” he said, and when she nodded, he laconically told her to hop in. She got into the back, laying her baggage on the seat beside her. Then she twisted round to watch out of the rear vision window as the car pulled away. The noise of the party silenced by distance, the house quickly receded as well, until they turned a corner. Then it was gone.

  At the airport she paid the driver, climbed out of the car and went looking for an information point. The woman at the counter gave her the names of several airlines running flights to New Zealand, and pointed out the direction she should go to buy tickets.

  She worried that as late as it was, there might be nothing leaving until the next day. Then she’d have to spend the night at the airport. Horrid thought. However once she got to the ticket desks, she learned there was another flight to New Zealand leaving that night, due to begin boarding in little more than fifteen minutes. And there were seats available. Hurriedly she checked in her baggage, using her credit card to buy a ticket. When the boarding call came, she was ready.

  On the plane it didn’t take long to find her seat. Once again she was sitting by the window, although this time she was in the very last row in the cabin. She watched as the other passengers filed in, and when the aisles cleared, she could see that the aircraft was no more than two thirds full. No wonder she had been able to get a place on such short notice.

  No one came to sit by her, and as the plane began to taxi, she breathed a sigh of relief. She couldn’t bear the thought of spending twelve hours with a stranger right beside her, as she tried to maintain some semblance of normality.

  Once they were in the air, she unfastened her seatbelt, and lay down across the three seats. She pulled the blanket she’d been given up around her face, and let herself sink into the misery which was waiting to swallow her.

  In her mind she ran over every word that Justin had ever said to her, every experience they had shared, every time they had laughed together. In her recollection it all seemed smeared by the shadow of her knowledge he saw her as a woman too helpless to help herself. Too pathetic to pursue her own dreams. Who had then proceeded to fall head over heels in love with him. Who had even dared to hope that he might learn to return her love.

  The flight seemed endless. She did not sleep.

  There was a bleak darkness upon her, smudged across her soul.

  The plane flew on through the night and into the morning. Eventually she heard the engine sound change, as a tone announced the need to fasten seatbelts.

  Slowly, stiffly she pulled the blanket away and sat up. She had not moved for the entire journey. Her head pounded, and her eyes were hot and dry. She felt utterly fragile, as if she might shatter with a touch, fly apart into small, meaningless pieces.

  Less than forty-eight hours ago she had set out from New Zealand to America with Justin by her side. Now she was returning alone, and life seemed utterly dry and bleak.

  She lifted the shutter on the window, to see a flawless, robin’s-egg blue sky. Below them, imperceptibly approaching, was the dark olive-coloured land. She stared numbly at it as it rose to meet them. Closer and closer, until Auckland could be seen, then the small green humps which were some of the sixty-odd dormant volcanoes around which the city flowed, and finally roads, individual houses, cars.

  The aircraft touched down. She unfastened her belt, gathered her bag, got up from her seat and walked out. Customs took awhile, stringent and protective about the possibility of foreign plant matter being smuggled into this isolated, relatively uncontaminated country.

  Once she had been cleared, she headed for the domestic terminal, hoping to reach it in time to catch the early morning flight out to the Barrier, the same one that she and Justin had taken together on its return trip to the mainland two days before.

  She wasn’t too late, and there was space for her.

  The half-hour flight to the island seemed to take entirely too long. She was anxious to be home, to retreat into her den and lick her wounds.

  At the airstrip, Robert the taxi-driver was waiting for another passenger and pronounced himself perfectly willing to take her as well.

  Through the ride she hunched in the back seat, swaying with the curves in the road and contributing nothing to Robert’s cheerful conversation with the middle-aged woman he had also collected, who rode in the front with him.

  Robert dropped her at the bottom of her driveway, tooting his horn in farewell as he drove away.

  She was so glad to be home she felt like bursting into tears. Instead she stoically trudged up the front steps, barefoot with shoes in hand, and was rummaging in her backpack for the key when the door opened in front of her. Startled, she fell back a step, before recognising Michael.

  At the sight of his familiar, dear face she suddenly did burst into tears, wailing like a child.

  His surprised, welcoming smile was immediately replaced by concern. He stepped forward to give her a comforting bear hug, waiting until she had calmed a little before drawing back, taking her hands in his and saying in a teasing tone of voice:

  “Now whatever’s happened to that boyfriend of yours, it can’t be that bad.”

  “Yes it can.”

  “Not unless you’ve murdered him. Anything else is repairable. Here, let me put these bags of yours inside, and then we can sit down in the nice sunshine and you can tell me all about it.” He suited action to words, lofting her baggage unceremoniously through the open door into the kitchen, and then sitting her down firmly on the verandah steps.

  “How do you know it’s about my boyfriend? And what are you doing here anyway? It’s term-time, and the middle of the week. Or is it?” she asked, suddenly unsure exactly what day of the week it was.

  “Yeah, I’m supposed to be teaching, but my classroom was being renovated in the holidays, and the builders aren’t finished, surprise, surprise. So me and my little nippers get the first week off. I thought I’d come out here and get some more summer in. And of course you’re crying about your boyfriend. What else could it possibly be? After all, I don’t exactly see him ‘round anywhere.”

  “He’s still in LA,” she sniffled miserably.

  “So why’ve you skipped out on him then? It’s not like you to run away from things.”

  “Oh Michael, it’s h-horrible,” she said, beginning to cry again.

  He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “This bastard really did a number on you, didn’t he,” he said, all traces of humour now gone. “I can’t even remember the last time I saw you cry about something. He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “No. No nothing like that. But I was all wrong about why he wanted to be with me, and I feel like such an idiot, and everything’s all completely screwed up, and I just had to get away.”

  “Hey, it’s okay. Don’t worry. We’ll get everything straightened out. Even if I have to track down that scum and personally straighten him out.”

  Suzanne couldn’t help giving a weak, watery little smile at the image of gentle, good-natured Michael, who was only an inch or so taller than her and not much more muscular, taking on Justin.

  “Should’ve known I could count on you,” she s
aid huskily.

  “Of course you can. Always. Now do you want anything to eat? Drink?” he went on, obviously seeking some concrete way of demonstrating his helpfulness, lacking the target of the man himself.

  “I don’t know. Actually, yes I do,” she contradicted herself, as an internal survey revealed hunger. She really had no idea when she had last eaten.

  “I would really like some breakfast.”

  “No problem. And then you can tell me all about everything.”

  An engine revved, a car coming fast up the drive. It burst out into the open, and Suzanne was surprised to see that it was Andrew’s large four wheel drive.

  But when it pulled to a stop, and Justin threw open the dusty door and got out, she was quite frankly stunned.

  She didn’t realised she’d murmured his name aloud until Michael looked at her sharply, and then back at the angry-looking figure striding towards them.

  “So that’s him,” he said, his eyes narrowed. He kept his arm wrapped firmly around her.

  Justin stopped two feet away, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

  “Take your hands off her,” he said to Michael, his voice low and dangerous. He looked haggard, deep shadows under his bloodshot eyes, his hair tousled and his clothing crumpled. Like a man at the end of his tether.

  Michael tilted his chin in challenge. “If Suzanne wants me to stop, she’ll say so. I haven’t heard any complaints.”

  Justin glared at him, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Suzanne stared at it with fascination. She had never seen him like this. “And who the hell are you?” he asked explosively.

  “Me? Oh I’m a very good friend of Suzanne’s.” His tone was deliberately provocative, and Suzanne’s hand moved from her lap to grip his thigh. She was trying to silently warn Michael this was not the time to irritate Justin. He looked like he was spoiling for a fight. A moment later she realised it was a mistake to place her hand there, because he followed the movement, his nostrils flared, and he switched his attention to her.

  “How did you get here so quickly?” she asked, forestalling him. How had he arrived right on her heels? It didn’t make sense.

  “I have my own plane,” he said flatly.

  “Of course,” she murmured sardonically. “I should have guessed.”

  “And as for you-” he began, and then broke off, his eyes widening. “You’ve been crying. If he’s done anything to hurt you . . .” the look he gave Michael was lethal, but he still didn’t make a move towards him.

  Suzanne suddenly realised that he was trying to work out exactly what the situation was here.

  “Well I guess that as you’ve come all this way, we can at least have that talk you wanted,” she said. She tried to sound relaxed. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut.

  Justin simply gazed at her watchfully, not making any move, so she turned to Michael.

  “Would you mind if we took a moment? I should probably at least listen to what he has to say.”

  Michael gaze flicked between the two of them, weighing the situation.

  “Okay,” he said finally, standing up, “but I’ll be just inside. Call me if you need anything.” He went through the door, and closed it quietly behind him.

  Suzanne stared down at her lap, suddenly conscious that she must look just as wrecked as Justin, her green dress crushed and her make-up probably smeared. She ran a hand through her hair, then let it fall again.

  Justin shifted, the aggression draining out of his frame, leaving him looking tired. He sat down on the same step, several feet between them. She looked sideways at him.

  “Suzanne, I know I lied to you,” he said in a tone of defeat, “or at least let you believe something untrue, which I suppose amounts to the same thing . . . but don’t you think that what we have is worth working to save?”

  “I wasn’t aware that we really had anything,” she said stolidly, and saw his face tauten and twist in an expression she didn’t recognise.

  “Perhaps not, from your point of view,” he said falteringly, “But I . . . I have a confession to make. When I said I wanted to travel with you, help you for the sake of friendship, that was a lie. I think the only one I actually told.”

  “I know,” she broke in. “I said that I knew, didn’t I? In the note I left.”

  He looked confused, reached into his shirt pocket and brought out a small, crumpled piece of paper which she recognised as the notepaper she had written on the night before. He passed it to her with a frown on his face.

  “Where?” he asked.

  “Here: ‘I’ve figured it all out. Consider your artist protégé launched’,” she read aloud.

  “By which you meant . . .?”

  “I know full well you only suggested we go overseas because otherwise I would never get off this island and make something of myself.”

  “I see,” he said carefully. “And that’s what made you leave?”

  “Of course. I’m not some charity case, to be adopted, set on the right path and then sent off into the world!”

  “So you didn’t run because I told you lies?”

  “That too. It’s all wrapped up together. The lies and concealment, topped off by what the reality actually was. Is.” She was having difficulty explaining. Running away had been the only appropriate thing to do. Or at least it had seemed inevitable. But with him standing here after following her halfway back around the world . . . She tried to work out how this changed things. If at all. Her tired, grieving brain wasn’t working properly.

  His sins against her had been so enormous and devastating. But was it his actual acts? Or her intense feelings about them? Rage and shame and anguish . . .

  “I don’t . . . I don’t even know you, Justin. And I knew that, but I never guessed at the . . . the substance of it. I thought you were my friend, standing by me as I tried something new. Not some philanthropist patronisingly doling out money to the humble and helpless.”

  “I didn’t mean to be patronising.”

  “It’s not so much how you acted, as just your position. It certainly didn’t help matters to discover that you’re some multimillionaire,” she said resentfully.

  “No. No, I can quite see your point. It must be awful to discover that the person you are with is unexpectedly wealthy,” he said, with every sign of meekness.

  “Don’t you dare mock me!” she said awfully.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. So you might have stayed if you hadn’t thought that our relationship was all about my desire to launch your painting career?”

  “Well that and the fact I’m totally wrong for your world. The sort of place you live, the people you mix with. The clothes you wear and the car you drive- The car you’re driven in. I don’t fit in. Not at all. We don’t have any points of contact.”

  “We have us. We have us, together, and how good that feels.” He leaned towards her, one splayed hand on the step, fingers curving over the edge, shoulder muscles bunched. “And really I don’t try to fit in anyway.”

  “You don’t need to fit in. In your position, people will fit around you.”

  “My position? My position is I’m kind of signed out. I just visit occasionally. Seriously, apart from my family, those aren’t my people anymore.”

  “But that big, glitzy party-”

  “Mom just wanted an excuse. She likes to pull these things together at the last moment. It gives her a rush of satisfaction when everyone drops what they had planned for the evening and hurries to do her bidding. Don’t take it personally. I never do.”

  “Hold on,” she said as something new occurred to her. “If my reasons for going are news to you, what did you think I meant in my note when I said ‘I’ve figured it all out’?”

  “Well I wasn’t entirely certain, but. . .uh. . .,” he clasped his hands together and looked away into the middle distance. “I wondered if you meant you had figured out I love you.”

  There was silence.

  “And that would make me run away beca
use...?” she asked in a queer little voice.

  “How the hell should I know?” he exclaimed in sudden exasperation. “I mean you agree – with barely a protest, mind you – that we can run off together, and then the way you make love to me makes me start to think . . . and then we go to LA and I’m trying all the way to figure out how to let you know about the money, but I can’t, and then when we get there and you find out, you just close down on me, and I think I’ve lost you completely. At least until the shower,” Suzanne blushed fierily, “which makes me suppose that things are all right again. The next thing I know is you’re avoiding me, you don’t want to talk about it, and then you disappear and leave this,” he plucked the note from her limp hand and waved it wrathfully, “pathetic excuse for a runaway letter.

  “I didn’t know why you took off. Perhaps being loved makes you as afraid as you were about other things. Perhaps there’s something specifically horrible about me. I don’t know what was going on in your head. You’re a mystery.

  “Now you’re saying the money is an issue. I like the choices it gives me but frankly I like you a hell of a lot more. So if it’s such an issue for you we can give it all away. I’m sure we can get rid of most of it if we try hard enough. I don’t really use it for anything, apart from travelling. Graham just sort of accumulates it and then Dad invests it.”

  “Giving it away could be fun,” she murmured.

  “Whatever. I don’t care! But is it the money? Because the only other thing I can think of,” his voice cracked, “is that you can’t bear the thought of me loving you. And if it’s that, then I swear I’ll keep my feelings to myself, and I’ll give you plenty of space, and I won’t make demands on you. And given time, who knows what will happen. You might come to love me too.” Even as he spoke, he was reaching out to bridge the gap between them, to pull her ever so carefully into his arms, as if he couldn’t quite believe she’d let him.

  She buried her head in his shoulder and began to shake. Immediately he backed away. “No, sweetheart, please don’t cry. I’ll leave you alone completely. Or I’ll try. Just don’t cry!”