Tania looks up as Oliver enters the kitchen. ‘Good morning.’
‘Morning,’ he growls in response.
‘Want some coffee? I’ve just made some.’ She points at the cafetière.
‘Thanks. I need to be alert this morning,’ he says grimly. He pours himself a black coffee.
Biting into her buttered toast, Tania considers her guest. He looks pale and drawn.
Oliver pulls out a chair, its legs scraping noisily over the flagstone floor. The sound is alarmingly jarring in the quiet of the kitchen and he winces. Sitting, he runs a hand through his hair. He’s had a terrible night. It was so hard leaving Cara, but he fought his desire and returned to the farmhouse only to spend the rest of the night tossing and turning, finding no peace. He tried to meditate, but his body was hot-wired and his mind kept wandering to Sylvie and how to handle her this morning. Lifting his gaze, Oliver sees Tania studying him.
‘Haven’t seen you for a while,’ she says. ‘Everything OK, Ollie?’
He grimaces but says nothing. She joins him at the table.
‘What are you doing up so early?’ Oliver asks.
‘I’ve got some deliveries at the café to take care of,’ she says. ‘By the way, I had a strange encounter at The Corrington gig. I served a very odd woman. She was scarily weird!’
The hairs on the back of Oliver’s neck stand erect. ‘What did she look like?’ he demands.
‘Approximately mid to late thirties. Small, skinny, mousy-haired, wild-eyed! Definitely a bit unhinged.’
Sylvie was at the café!
‘She threatened me and told me I would never have you, as if I ever needed reminding of that!’ Tania says wistfully. ‘But more than that, she said you belonged to her and that you were forbidden territory. What did she mean by that? Who is she?’
Oliver groans.
This is getting totally out of hand!
‘My most ardent fan who just so happens to dwell in cloud cuckoo land.’
Tania stares at Oliver. His face is deathly white and there are dark circles beneath his sunken eyes.
‘Do you want some painkillers?’ she asks. Oliver shakes his head. Tania hesitates before continuing, ‘Ollie, I think she’s been to the farmhouse.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Oliver asks sharply.
‘Well, she commented on something she could only know about if she’d been here.’ Tania doesn’t elaborate. ‘Do you think she’s dangerous?’
If Sylvie knows where I’m staying and she’s been to the café, what else does she know? Does she know where Cara lives? Oliver breaks out into a cold sweat.
‘Do you, Ollie?’ Tania asks.
‘Do I what?’
‘Think she’s dangerous?’
Oliver feels the onset of panic. How can he protect both his family and Cara’s at the same time? There’s little comfort knowing that if Sylvie is in one place she can’t be in the other. Perhaps he should do what Cara suggests and go to the police. Maybe the press interest could be contained.
Fuck! If only I could discuss it with Deanna. Together we could work it out.
For what seems like the millionth time during his marriage, Oliver grapples with the familiar disconnectedness.
‘You really don’t look well,’ says Tania with concern.
‘I’m fine.’ Abruptly, Oliver rises to his feet. He has got to sort this out. ‘I don’t think she’s dangerous, Tan, but it wouldn’t hurt to be vigilant,’ he says in a serious voice.
*
Sitting on the outside decking overlooking Gyllyngvase Beach, Sylvie wraps her cardigan tightly around her body against the cool onshore breeze. It’s early, but already several families have claimed their patch of beach for the glorious summer day predicted by the weather forecasters. She looks repeatedly towards the entrance. He promised to meet her for breakfast and she congratulates herself on the way she manipulated this latest contact. It wasn’t the invitation she hoped for – he didn’t volunteer it – but at least he agreed to meet her. She glances at her watch again. Where is he? The café is popular and she’s had to fend off a number of people wanting to sit at her table. He’s not going to stand her up, is he? Suddenly a figure appears at the top of the slope. Even though he’s tried to disguise himself by wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, she would know him anywhere.
Oliver kicks himself for agreeing to meet Sylvie but, sick of her threats, he is determined to sort this out once and for all. The café is full, thank goodness! The more people about, the better, though he hopes there aren’t too many cameras. Oliver peers through the glass entrance door, but she’s not inside. He walks onto the decked verandah and sees her sitting at the first table overlooking the beach. She waves enthusiastically. Reluctantly, he approaches.
Sylvie jumps to her feet. Rushing towards him, she throws her arms around his neck and tries to kiss him. Averting his face, Oliver pushes her away.
‘Sylvie, sit down!’ he says in exasperation. He sits opposite and glances across the sand.
Sparkling in the sunshine, the sea is a wonderful shade of blue, and the air is filled with the sounds of happy families. It’s too beautiful a day to be anything less than joyful, but Oliver feels only despondency and gloom.
‘Can I get you anything?’ asks a pretty, young waitress.
‘Coffee, please, black.’ He smiles and the girl returns his smile. Oliver watches as she disappears inside the café. Turning his attention to Sylvie, he removes his sunglasses and observes her dispassionately. ‘So, Sylvie,’ he says in a flat voice, ‘what are we going to do?’
Sylvie stares at him, rocking slightly. Having seen the loving way he looks at Cara, she doesn’t like the coldness in the eyes that meet hers. Folding her arms on the table to still her movements, she says, ‘You haven’t phoned.’
‘I told you, I’m busy,’ Oliver says impatiently. ‘I also told you I would phone you from time to time, Sylvie. Time to time…’
‘But you haven’t.’
Oliver groans. He so doesn’t want this.
‘And as you haven’t phoned me, I thought I’d come to you instead!’ Sylvie says, as if cleverly providing the perfect solution to a perplexing conundrum.
‘But why, Sylvie? What in God’s name makes you think I want you to come to me?’
The waitress arrives with his coffee. Setting it down on the table, she flashes him a dazzling smile before moving on to the next table. Sylvie scowls. How dare that little tart smile at her man, as if she weren’t even there?
Noticing Sylvie’s look of hatred directed at the waitress, Oliver snaps her attention back to him. ‘Sylvie, answer me.’
Her eyes grow large. Why is he talking to her so harshly? Of course he wants her to come to him. She is his lover!
‘Because you love me.’
Oliver gives a hollow laugh. ‘How wrong you are. Listen to me.’ Slowly he accentuates each word. ‘I_ do_ not_ love_ you!’
‘But you loved me in Scotland.’
Feeling sick at the memory, Oliver sips his coffee. It’s hot and scalds his mouth but he welcomes the pain, distracting him from the unwelcome vision of Sylvie writhing on top of him. He looks at her again with eyes of steel.
‘What do you not understand, Sylvie? I have never loved you and never will. I love my wife and family and that’s all there is to it.’
Sylvie rocks to and fro, blinking rapidly and chewing her cheeks. This is not the romantic breakfast date she envisaged. Suddenly she grows perfectly still. Relaxing her jaw, she looks challengingly across the table at Oliver.
‘If you love your wife and family so much, what were you doing with that blonde from the cliff bungalow?’ Sylvie spits out the words.
Dear God, she does know where Cara lives!
Oliver turns pale and his blood runs cold. How dare this woman stalk him and threaten all those he cares for?
‘Yes, I saw you, smooching up to her and kissing her. What would your wifey think of that, Oliver?’
‘Sylvie,’ he growls menacingly, ‘it has nothing to do with you how I conduct my life or what my wife thinks.’
Sylvie hesitates, thrown by his tone. Quickly she changes tack. ‘But I love you so much, Oliver,’ she says in a girly voice. ‘Why are you being so cruel?’
Oliver watches as tears run down her face. ‘Are you on medication?’ he asks more gently.
She shakes her head and then nods.
‘Is there anyone you can talk to?’ He remembers the woman with her on Holy Isle. ‘Your aunt, perhaps?’
Wiping her face with the back of her hand, Sylvie nods. This is good. He’s looking at her in a much more kindly way now. Keep the tears falling.
‘Why don’t you phone her? Maybe your medication needs adjusting. If so, you will feel so much better. It will help you see life from a different perspective.’
Sylvie bites her lip and Oliver glances at his watch. He’s had enough of this. Putting on his sunglasses, he wedges a fiver under the saucer.
Sylvie looks on in alarm. ‘Don’t go, Oliver,’ she pleads.
‘I have to.’
‘No!’ she shouts.
As he rises from the table, so does Sylvie. With a desperate lunge she grabs him around his waist and falls to her knees. ‘I’d do anything for you!’
‘Don’t do this, Sylvie,’ he says, shaking her off. ‘Don’t demean yourself.’
Sylvie falls prostrate to the floor. Several tables now watch the unfolding drama with interest.
‘I love you,’ she sobs.
‘Rubbish, Sylvie. Get some help,’ Oliver growls, as he walks briskly away.
‘But I do, Oliver. I love you,’ she screams.
He doesn’t look back.
Sylvie watches him as he climbs the slope and disappears down the road. Turning to collect her handbag, she glares at the people inquisitively staring.
‘What are you dumb suckers looking at?’ she shouts.
No sign of tears now…