Chapter 25
CHAPTER
I could leave a message with Helen, who works at the administration office: If anyone wants me, I’ll be at the gentoo penguin rookery on the western side of the island.
But why would I do that today when I haven’t done it any other day?
If something unexpected happens, such as the impenetrable fog that fell from the sky last week, I’ll have a GPS tracker and satellite phone. I can be found.
Helen hands over the equipment. ‘Do you ever get lonely out there?’
‘The birds keep me company. Also, the solitude gives me an opportunity to practise my bush dance.’ I bob a curtsey.
‘I’ve warned Angelina my two-step will be a two-left-feet-step, but she refuses to listen.’
It takes forty minutes to walk to the rookery, where I sit on an outcrop and write notes on my iPad.
Even after a month, the sight of thousands of pairs of penguins and fluffy grey chicks delights me.
The nests—shallow circles of gravel and snippets of grasses and vegetation—are surrounded by stones.
The gentoo lack the decorative fascinator–like feathers of the macaroni or the distinctive dark line of the chinstrap, and the males don’t hatch their young at their feet like the emperor, but gentoo are one of the larger Antarctic penguins, have striking white feathers like raised eyebrows and can swim faster than any other species.
High-resolution satellite imagery maps penguin colony locations and numbers in the sub-Antarctic and Antarctica, but in-person observations are also important.
Two hours pass. Then another hour. By midday, I’ve accepted I won’t see Sebastien.
He believes we have more than an attraction.
He said he had to tell me something that I wouldn’t like.
The wind is playful and the sun is warm on my shoulders as I climb over boulders then clamber down an incline.
Light bounces off the penguins’ glossy black backs as they bustle to and fro.
‘Lisse!’
If he had someone with him, Sebastien wouldn’t call me that.
‘Over here!’
Sebastien favours his ankle as he walks over the rocks. He pulls back his hood and, smile a little tentative, stands in front of me.
‘I was delayed.’
‘How is your lip?’
He touches it briefly. ‘Better.’
‘Did the meeting go over time? Who was it with?’
‘Dougie.’
‘Again?’
Turning away, he watches a penguin rush across the sand and dive into the water. A splash, the hint of a flipper.
‘Did you see that?’ I smile. ‘Penguins fly under the water.’
Sebastien stills. Then he takes my hand, turning it slowly and tugging my jacket over my wrist. He does the same with my other hand before releasing it.
‘It’s what you do when you swim, isn’t it? Fly beneath the surface.’
Warmth moves up my neck. ‘Penguins’ bodies are tapered at both ends. That’s why they’re fast.’
‘Fusiform.’
‘They’re black and white because countershading camouflages them when they’re hunting under water.’ My words escape in a flurry. ‘Gentoo penguins can dive up to twenty metres and emperors can dive to five hundred.’
A lift of his lip. ‘How do you tell the gentoo apart?’
‘It’s obvious after a while. They move differently, interact in different ways.’
‘What do they eat?’
When I look at him with suspicion, his brows lift.
‘It’s relevant to my project.’
‘Gentoo and royal penguins eat krill and squid. Emperor and king penguins eat fish, chinstraps eat large krill, small penguins like the Adélie eat small krill. Different diets mean there’s less competition for food.’
‘Do you know of Harriet Scott?’
‘She’s an environmentalist with a ship called the Adélie. Every Australian knows Harriet.’
‘Per Amundsen and I dive together.’
‘Do you do anything that isn’t dangerous?’
A slight hesitation. ‘Which penguins are the most vulnerable to changes in climate?’
‘Emperor and king penguins only breed on snow and ice and only lay one egg. Warming oceans and the associated loss of habitat makes them particularly vulnerable.’
He looks towards the rookery. ‘They mark their nests with stones.’
‘Stones, moss, grasses, feathers and whatever else is available. Rocks are a valuable commodity out here, so when a male is wooing a female, he might present her with one.’
‘Wooing is seducing?’
Ten metres away, the male of a pair sits on the nest and the female stands close by. ‘The male wants to attract the female. He wants to show her he’ll be a responsible mate, so offers to contribute to their new home’s foundations.’
‘That’s more than seducing.’ Sebastien, oh so serious, considers my mouth. ‘I should talk now.’
‘Does that hurt your lip?’
‘Do you care?’
‘I wish I didn’t.’
He takes my hand and pulls off my gloves. ‘You can touch it.’
My heart skips beats as I lift a finger to his mouth. It’s swollen, but he doesn’t flinch.
‘Harder.’
His whisper warms me inside and out, but I’m careful to avoid the cut as my second and third finger join my first.
‘I’m sorry you got hurt.’
Breath soft on my skin, he guides my finger to the cut. His bristles are dark, his eyes are bright. When a crease mars his brow, I free my hand and rub it smooth. Then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, I stand on my toes and gently put my mouth on his.
He freezes. Then he pulls me close. My body is warm, my heart thumps a rhythm, my breasts tingle, an ache starts up in my thighs.
He lifts his head a fraction, then deepens the kiss.
I’ve missed him and I figure he’s missed me, too, because neither of us wants to come up for breath.
I thread my hands through his hair. I touch the skin at his neck and face.
‘Lisse …’ My name is a hoarse whisper.
I open his coat and touch the warmth of his body through his jumper. He unfastens the buttons at my throat and pulls open my coat and—
Stares at my jumper. His jumper.
‘You said layers.’
With something between a laugh and a groan, he pushes my coat over my shoulders and cups my breasts. He trails his thumbs over my nipples and my legs wobble. His mouth is damp and slightly open. I’d forgotten about the split but now …
I put my hand on his cheek and kiss him softly. ‘Did I hurt you?’
‘Do it again.’
A tender kiss, an exchange of sighs and frustrations as I cling onto him and he clings onto me. Squabbling penguins. The whoosh of gentle waves on the sand. Whistling grasses. It’s like we’re the only two people who have ever kissed like this or will ever kiss like this again.
When an alarm grumbles quietly in my pocket, Sebastien lifts his head a fraction.
But then, as if he doesn’t want to lose this any more than I do, he kisses me again.
After I remembered he had a sore lip, I took care.
He doesn’t. A searching kiss, like he has to return to the places he was before.
Hands on my waist, he lifts me and I straddle his leg.
For a moment it helps with the tension coiled between my thighs but soon enough the pulsing is even more intense than it was.
The alarm sounds again.
‘Sebastien!’ I scrabble in my pocket and find my phone. ‘No, no, no, no, no.’
He sets me back on my feet. ‘What?’
‘I have to update the log.’
I race to my backpack for my iPad, set the camera on the tripod and crouch on the ground, entering details of temperature, wind direction and all the other things I’ve recorded every second day since I arrived.
When I feel his eyes on the side of my face, the warmth infusing my body has nothing to do with air temperature or—
He crouches next to me. ‘Let me help.’
‘It won’t take long.’ Then we can go back to what we were doing before? My body wants that. Even the sensible, rational, not demented by lust part of me wants that.
‘I’ll wait.’ When Sebastien stands, his knee cracks.
I’m shaky then jittery, so the usual twenty minutes of identifying six tagged pairs of penguins and recording what they’re up to turns into thirty.
One female has left her mate sitting on the chicks she hatched two days ago.
Another continues to sit on her eggs while her mate, ramrod straight like a proud protective father, waits for them to hatch.
Pairs three, four, five, six. All accounted for.
All doing what’s expected. I check the temperature again.
Since eight this morning, it’s reduced five degrees.
After I shut the iPad and rub my hands together, Sebastien holds out a hand and pulls me to my feet.
‘You’re cold.’ He kisses my thumb then lifts his head, stroking my cheek with a finger before running his hand down my arm. ‘You wear this jumper.’
His jumper reminds me of him. I suspect he knows that, but he doesn’t force me to admit or deny it.
There’s a hint of a smile in his eyes as he scoops my coat off the ground and holds it out.
When I pull on the coat and cross the panels over my front, he frowns.
But then, with a grumble, he pushes my hands out of the way and fastens the press studs down the front.
‘Do you have wool against your skin? A thermal?’
‘Yes.’
‘You should have two jumpers.’ After glancing at the thickening clouds, he pulls down the cuffs of my coat to my knuckles. We talked and we kissed and now we’re a mix of intimate and awkward. When a plop of rain falls on his cheek, I bravely wipe it away.
‘One is enough.’
‘Your work, Lisse.’ He checks another press stud. ‘You have too much.’
‘I’m behind with the journals, but I’ll catch up.’
‘I’ve made a decision.’ Frowning, he searches my face. ‘You won’t like it.’
‘I hope I’m not on trial again.’ I aim for a smile, but he doesn’t match it.
‘The journals. Dougie will take over.’
I take a jerky step back. ‘What did you say?’
‘You’ll continue your other work.’
My heart crashes against my ribs. ‘The UN agreed to fund my position so I could work on the journals. The work Professor Johnson allocated when I arrived was always in addition to the UN work.’
‘As the professor is no longer here, you have his work too.’