Chapter 17
CHAPTER
It’s barely eight when Sebastien, face set in preparation for his mission to get me to the cabin, leaves the second dining table.
‘Can we go?’ he asks.
‘Already?’
‘I’ll be on the bridge at five.’
As I pass Jerry, he grabs me and gives me a hug. ‘I’ve got a heap of work for you tomorrow. See you at six o’clock sharp.’
Sebastien frowns. ‘That’s too early.’
Jerry holds up his hands. ‘Just joking, mate.’
Sebastien and I walk side by side, but immediately the stairs come into view, he takes my hand and holds it firmly.
‘You only need to hold one hand now.’ My voice scratches. ‘Progress.’
Every few steps, he turns to consider my profile, but we eventually reach the cabin.
After my shower, I clear condensation from the mirror and tie back my hair.
My body is stiff from standing in the kitchen for most of the day, and the demons seem weary as well.
As I sit on the closed toilet seat to pull on pyjamas, the ship dips to the left, then rights itself. I yank on socks, yellow like sunshine.
‘The sun is up there somewhere,’ I grumble. ‘I miss it.’
By the time I pull on Sebastien’s jumper and walk into the cabin, he’s changed into a T-shirt and pants. An extra blanket is draped over the foot of the bed.
‘Were you cold last night?’ I ask.
‘You were.’ When the ship dips again, he takes my elbow. ‘Another storm.’
‘Poor Robin and the others. They’re already so sick.’
‘You’re not afraid of the storms.’
‘It makes no sense, does it?’ I climb onto the bed and lean against pillows like he does. ‘I’ll try not to wake you.’
‘It was a different dream last night. What happened?’
‘I dreamt about Matilda, my niece. She was calling out in my dream, and I thought …’ I take a deep breath. ‘She replied to my email this morning. She’s fine.’
‘You see her regularly?’
‘She goes to boarding school, but we talk almost every day. I often see her at debating and other activities during the week. She visits her mum, stepdad and brothers in the school holidays. Other than that, she’s with me.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Twelve.’
He frowns. ‘Your brother’s child?’
‘She was born eight months after Matt died.’
Matilda is safe at school. I’m safe with Sebastien, who is dependable and infuriatingly competent. The crew and other passengers not only respect him but seem to like him. Even though he shares so little about himself.
‘I prepared questions so we’d have things to talk about.’
He’s frowning again. ‘What questions?’
I search his face like he searches mine. ‘Are you safe?’
There’s no time to hide his expression. A flash of pain. Another. He looks away.
‘You should sleep.’
I’m on my side facing Sebastien when I wake.
My arms are bent and neatly tucked into my chest. The light in the room doesn’t come from the porthole I dare not look at, but through the bathroom door.
Sebastien is breathing quietly. He stirs.
And when I finally look up, it’s into his eyes.
As he shifts on the bed, I roll over so my back is to him.
‘Are you warm enough?’ He speaks quietly.
‘Yes, thank you.’
He touches my arm, just for a heartbeat. ‘Ask your questions.’
After lifting my chin, even though that makes no sense because I’m lying down and facing the wall, I think of a topic not likely to spook him.
‘What colour eyes do your parents have?’
‘Why do you want to know that?’
‘Satin bowerbirds have violet irises. Currawongs have yellow. A crow’s brown eyes usually turn white with maturity. I’m interested in eye colour and it’s not a difficult question.’
‘Can you turn over?’
‘Why?’
‘I want to see your face when I answer the questions.’
I do as he asks. He’s not lying flat on the bed like I am, but he’s further down it than usual.
‘My mother’s eyes are blue,’ he says. ‘My father has brown eyes.’
‘What shade of brown?’
A shrug. ‘Brown.’
‘Yours are a bit … chestnut.’
He frowns like I’m interrupting the more important thoughts he’d prefer to be having. But then, ‘Is that a nut?’
‘Yes.’
‘How would you describe the shade of your eyes?’
‘I’ve never thought to define it.’
‘They’re like a Norway spruce tree.’
‘Isn’t that green?’
‘Blue and green.’
‘Aqua?’
‘No.’ He shrugs again. ‘Norway spruce.’
He sees colours that I don’t. The thought flusters me more than it should. ‘You’re supposed to be answering questions, not asking them.’
A brief smile. ‘Ask, then.’
‘What’s your favourite food?’
‘Pear and fetta salad.’
‘Because we ate it tonight?’
‘Jerry said you made it.’ His lip lifts and my heart flips.
I link my hands and gather my thoughts.
‘Tell me about your family.’
‘My mother is a disability advocate.’
‘She was an Olympic skier, wasn’t she? I know that from your brother’s documentaries. Kit is two years older than you and he’s a biologist.’
‘Fin, a climate scientist, is two years younger. My father is a geneticist, an academic.’
‘Your family is close.’
‘It’s a traditional family. Yours is more complex.’
He’s turned the tables again, but I like it when he speaks and I don’t want to put him off. ‘I was young when my father died, and I didn’t really know him. My mother lives in Queensland, but we talk on the phone.’
‘You were close to your brother.’
My chest is suddenly heavy and the walls of the cabin seem nearer than they were. Sebastien won’t like it if I blubber, but the more I blink, the thicker the fog becomes. I scramble to sit and he sits too.
‘Don’t hold your breath.’ His voice is a long way away. ‘Open your eyes, Lisse. Look at me.’
I force my eyes open. ‘This is terrible.’
Our legs are bent to the side and we’re facing each other. He takes my hands. ‘Ask me about Norway spruce.’
A deep breath. A watery smile. ‘Deciduous or evergreen?’
‘Evergreen.’
‘What birds nest in it?’
‘Owls.’ He frowns. ‘Maybe.’
‘Assuming it’s owls, what species?’
‘Pear and fetta.’
I croak a laugh. ‘You’re being kind.’
‘I hate your pain.’
His words express a statement of fact. He’s seen me in pain. He doesn’t like it. He wouldn’t want it to mean more than that. But his grip is familiar and I’m relying on that far more than is safe.
‘I’ve been avoiding things I shouldn’t.’ The words come out in a rush. ‘I’m going to do better.’ I pull my hands free.
His hands stay open between us. His eyes are fixed on mine. ‘What else was on your list?’
‘Really?’
‘Ask your questions.’
‘What’s your favourite Australian bird?’
‘The emu.’
‘Emus are only second in size to ostriches. They’re polygamous and can lay a few clutches of eggs every season.’
‘There are many fathers?’
‘Yes.’ I nod firmly. ‘What is your favourite Antarctic bird?’
‘The penguin. How many times a year do they lay?’
‘Only once a year. And they’re monogamous.’
‘From year to year?’
‘Even when there are thousands of birds in the rookery, penguins search for their mate.’
He nods. ‘Anything else?’
‘I’m avoiding topics you won’t want to talk about.’
‘Do you want to know why I’m on leave?’
‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.’
He takes my hands again, squeezing so tightly that it hurts. ‘I was injured.’
When my knuckle cracks he loosens his grip but I tighten mine. ‘Mandy, my psychologist, said you shouldn’t force—’
‘It was a NATO mission on the border of Russia and Finland. The jet had a mechanical failure.’ His words are stilted. ‘I ejected and hid from the Russians. It took two days for the Finns to find me.’
‘When did this happen?’
‘Twelve months ago.’
‘How badly were you hurt?’
‘I was flying at 880 kilometres an hour. Spinal fractures, three broken ribs, other things.’
‘Have you recovered?’
‘I’m medically fit.’ A shrug. ‘Bureaucracy.’
‘They won’t let you fly again?’
‘Not yet. Not jets.’
‘That’s why you’re stuck in a cabin with me.’ I interlace our fingers in my lap. ‘Outside of the air force, and I guess your UN colleagues, how many people know about this?’
His mouth is tight. His body is tense. ‘My parents and brothers.’
‘I won’t tell anyone.’
‘These questions, why are they important?’
‘Because …’
His thumb glides over the back of my hand. ‘What?’
‘You only show people parts of you. Strong parts.’
With a frown, I lose him.
‘Now we sleep,’ he says gruffly.
This time when I wake, I’m on my back and he’s on his side and draped across my body.
His hair is soft beneath my chin and his breathing is even.
A few days ago, I would have thought his heartbeats were predicable like he is but now I know better.
He might be abrupt and arrogant, but he can be kind. He can also be vulnerable.
His T-shirt has ridden up. His skin is warm. As he sleeps against my breast, I trace the long crescent scar on his side. It’s not new, but not old either. Twelve months.
The ship creaks and groans as it tilts. His body tenses, but when he looks up and our eyes meet, his are sleepy. His mouth is soft.
‘Lisse.’
As he snuggles closer, his hand goes to my shoulder and slides down my arm and then he takes my hand. He shifts position so that even though our hands are still linked, his arm lies between my breasts. For two days, he was injured and alone in the cold. No one held him then. Afterwards?
He’s at ease with older women like Robin, he’s respectful with female crew members and occasionally jokes with confident women like Angelina. With me, it’s different.
After we’ve been to Antarctica, he’ll go back to the air force and fly jets and do other dangerous things, while I go back to Matilda and my birds.
As I breathe him in, he puts his leg over both of mine, securing them.
He’s protective. Careful. His breathing is as steady as it was, but deeper, slower.
I trace around his ear then down his jaw.
I run my mouth over his forehead and whisper on his skin.
‘Sleep well, Sebastien.’
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Sebastien’s heartbeats. There’s another sound too. A ping that’s close yet far away. I struggle to pinpoint the noise.
‘Is that an alarm?’
Sebastien stiffens. Then he sits bolt upright, taking me with him. Hands on my shoulders, he blinks and looks around. ‘Fuck!’
‘What?’
After carefully but resolutely separating our bodies, he jumps off the bed and switches on lights. He stabs at his watch with a finger. ‘Fuck.’
‘What’s the matter?’
He mutters yet another curse, yanks his trousers from the back of the chair and walks into the bathroom before slamming the door.
I check my phone—four forty am. He said he had to be on the bridge at five.
Did he mean to get up even earlier? I pull out my hairband, comb my fingers through my hair and retie a sloppy plait.
I’m yawning as I sit on the end of the bed, pull down the cuffs of my sleeves and straighten my pyjama pants. Why did he swear and why was he cranky?
I’m muttering complaints as I pull up the sheet and fold it neatly at the top. Shaking out the blankets, I throw them over the bed and smooth them down. My back is to him when the bathroom door opens.
‘Go back to bed.’
I spin around. ‘Stop telling me—’
His chest is bare, his muscles defined. Abdominals, pecs, arms and shoulders. I’m not surprised he looks as good as he does but …
‘Lisse.’ He’s speaking quietly now. ‘Go back to bed.’
His eyes are bright. Is his skin hot like mine? When I straighten my pyjama top, he follows my movements. The top clings to my breasts. I pull it away from my nipples, but it settles again.
Movements jerky, Sebastien grasps a shirt from the back of the chair and shoves his arm in the sleeve. ‘I have to go.’
‘Are you late? Is that why you’re angry?’
His mouth is firm. ‘I’m not angry.’
‘Bad tempered.’
With a narrow-eyed look, he shoves his other arm in a sleeve and lines up his buttons. ‘I’ll tidy later.’
All I can see that’d need tidying is a heap of clothes belonging to me. ‘I can do that.’
As I pick up the pillows and put them on the bed, he fastens buttons. ‘I shouldn’t have touched you.’
‘When you were asleep?’ A flush moves up my neck. ‘Is that what this is about?’
‘You should have woken me.’
‘In such a small bed it’s impossible not to—’
‘It shouldn’t have happened.’
I wanted to be close to you. I wanted to hold you.
I harden my heart. ‘Nothing did happen.’
He stalks across the cabin and back again. ‘I’ve had four nights of …’ When he holds up his thumb and index finger, they’re pressed so closely together the tips of his fingers are white. ‘I’m this fucking close to—’
A knock on the door. ‘I’m here, my darling!’ Gregory calls.
Sebastien spins around, yanks open the door.
With a good-natured smile, Gregory lifts his brows. ‘Not ready yet?’
Sebastien’s cuffs are dangling at his wrists; only the two middle buttons of his shirt are fastened. ‘Five minutes.’
Gregory peers around Sebastien to me. ‘Hello, lovely. Bed made already? No hurry to get dressed.’ He looks at his watch. ‘Hot chocolate on the menu when we go upstairs?’
‘Thank—’
Sebastien slams the door. Then, with his hand still on the knob, he slowly turns.
‘I apologise.’ He doesn’t look at me, he looks over my shoulder.
‘You should apologise to Gregory!’
‘I meant—’
‘I know what you meant!’ I lower my voice. ‘After I saw Dr Leeton, you said you’d help but we had to keep our distance.’
‘You said nothing happened. It could have.’ He fastens a button, yanks at his collar and fastens another button. ‘I swore I wouldn’t touch you.’
‘You didn’t.’ My voice croaks. ‘Not in the way you’re talking about.’
A long, suspicious look. ‘We slept together.’
When I walk away, it’s towards the porthole, so I’m forced to walk back again. I cross my arms, uncross them. ‘Stop beating yourself up about what didn’t happen.’
His jaw is tight, as are the fists at his sides. ‘We can talk later.’
‘You answered my questions last night. Is that a problem too? I know what colour eyes your parents have. I know about your accident. You’ve seen me when I’m vulnerable too many times to count. All I got from you was—’ I hold up my thumb and finger like he did, ‘—this much.’
He thinks about that. ‘This timing is fucked.’
The ache in my chest intensifies, but I push through. ‘We have to work together, is that what you mean? Why should whatever happened or didn’t happen in this cabin be a problem? I want to forget it just as much as you!’
‘We kissed in Hobart. Do we forget that too?’
‘Yes!’
‘These last few nights …’ He takes a breath. ‘It’s been difficult.’
‘You’ve missed a lot of sleep.’
His bristles are dark; his mouth is tight. He leans in so close I see the flecks of grey in his chestnut eyes.
‘I didn’t care about the sleep.’
‘Last night, I showered and dressed myself.’ My voice is pleasingly brisk. ‘I kept clear of the porthole and breathed on my own. I didn’t have a panic attack and I didn’t get a migraine.’ I turn my back to smooth the covers that don’t need smoothing. ‘I don’t need you tonight.’