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to tune, so they tell me.'
'He, er, isn't exactly given to conversation,' Cliff went on, 'Oh, um,' - and
she blushed as though Bartholomew was a personal embarrassment to her - 'he
can't He's deaf and dumb. Simple in the head, too. But he never bothers
anybody, so nobody can do anything about him. Not that they want to anyway.'
With that she swept on to the next table and began collecting dirty crockery.
'Bartholomew, eh?' Cliff reiterated when she was out of earshot. 'Everything
about this business gets creepier and creepier. I wish you'd stay behind
tonight, Pat, and let me go it alone.'
'Well, I won't.' She spoke adamantly as she tackled her food, wrinkling her
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nose and then pushing the crab to one side and concentrating on the salad.
'Ugh!' She shuddered. 'Crabs give me the shudders. I'll never eat one again!'
Tm only going on reconnaissance,' Cliff went on. 'Just to have a look. I'm not
going to do anything.'
'All the more reason for me to come,' Pat interjected. 'Furthermore, Cliff
Davenport, if you don't let me come with you, I'll go alone!'
'All right,' he conceded. 'We'll go together. But we'd better get some rest
this afternoon. It could be a very long night -particularly if nothing shows
up.'
It was after eleven o'clock when they left Mrs Jones's private hotel. The
night was warm and the moon was just beginning to come up over the mountains,
casting its silvery glow across the whole countryside.
Cliff Davenport had a sports jacket over his open-necked shirt and was wearing
flannels and pumps. Pat Benson wore a polo-necked sweater and jeans. They did
not take the car, preferring the lengthy walk to Shell Island through the
moonlit countryside.
'What a beautiful night,' Pat remarked as they passed alongside the
barbed-wire fence which enclosed War Department property. 'If only we didn't
have to worry about giant crabs!'
Cliff pulled her closer and kissed her.
'Maybe we won't have to,' he said with more conviction than he felt. 'Probably
it'll turn out to be a white elephant after all and the marks in the sand were
made by Bartholomew searching for mussels.'
Pat laughed; but she felt uneasy. Bartholomew certainly hadn't made those
prints in the sand. As they crossed the island they could see oil lamps
burning in most of the tents, as the campers prepared to turn in for the
night. Transistor radios were playing. Somebody started to sing. A dog barked.
They moved on, making a detour to avoid the tents, and eventually arrived at
the top of the sand-dunes. Rabbits scuttled away in the long grass.
Then they paused to take pleasure in the sheer beauty of the scene which lay
before them. Less than three hundred yards away the silver sea was claiming
the wide, empty stretch of sand, each breaker bringing it nearer and nearer to
the line of heaped seaweed and washed-up debris that was its boundary except
in times of high tides.
There was not a soul in sight. At that moment they felt that they might have
been the last two people remaining upon earth.
Gradually the sound of radios and singing died away in the distance. Shell
Island slept. Any time now the crabs would walk.
Chapter 5
THEY settled down in a hollow similar to that in which they had made known
their feelings towards each other that morning. Indeed, it might even have
been the same one.
Cliff glanced at his watch. He could see the dial plainly in the bright
moonlight. It was just half-past twelve. He turned to Pat.
'We'll be all right here,' he, said. 'It's nice and sheltered and we've a good
view of the whole beach. If anything moves we can't fail to spot it.'
Her reply was two warm lips seeking his and groping hands that were far more
daring than they had been earlier on that day. He felt his manhood stiffening
under her touch.
God! He hadn't come all this way just to do that. They could have stopped at
Llanbedr and been comfortable in bed. All the same he was aroused now, and no
man could have withstood such an advance.
They rolled back into the grass, lying side by side, facing each other.
'I haven't done this for a long time,' Pat breathed, feeling at his hardness
through his trousers. His hands came from behind her and travelled slowly up
the inside of her sweater until they reached the clasp of her bra, unfastening
it with an expertise he had almost forgotten, and then feeling the tenderness
of her swelling nipples. She moaned softly with delight, then lay back with
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her eyes closed.
Her fingers were active, though. Cliff felt that thrilling sensation of his [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]