Dancing In The Shadows of Love Read Online Free Page B

temper. No, never, not since Little Flower discovered she carried anger so deep it went beyond rage and slipped into the cunning heart of an ezomo .
    ‘You can say what you like,’ I said politely. ‘He doesn’t belong here.’ An almost imperceptible quaver revealed that I had a secret. It gave Barry power. I could see him flex his mind around the taste and feel of it. The stranger made me vulnerable and, like an animal foraging for food, Barry sniffed around.
    He moved to stand in front of me as I sat in the plush velvet-red armchair, my book open in front of me. I no longer even pretended to read but I refused to let his stance intimidate me. If I did, he would sense I was afraid. And Zahra would not show Little Flower’s fear. Not ever.
    ‘You haven’t visited Mother this week,’ he said.
    After all our years of marriage, he still tried to outwit me. He thought he was so clever, but I sensed the trap and defiantly faced my ezomo .
    ‘That’s right,’ I agreed. ‘Why don’t you telephone her and ask her if she’ll come for tea tomorrow.’ I gestured towards the bulky black handset; ugly like so much of the world after The War was ugly, but too convenient not to have. Then I struck. ‘You should ask her boarder to come as well.’
    Confusion, or perhaps disappointment, flitted across Barry’s pale eyes and, as tentative as a butterfly’s original flight, he asked, ‘Enoch?’
    ‘Who else but Enoch?’ I raised my brows. A sibilant flap, so soft and slow it gave Barry no clue how much effort it cost me to appear relaxed, and another page was in front of me, the lines a black blur. I consoled myself that the pain in my chest was heartburn from a luncheon too full of rich sauces. I could manage indigestion, but I suspected this was worse. Much worse: Little Flower had heard the name of her beloved. Deep within the waters of my soul, my essence, she stirred and I was unable to calm the ripples disturbing her torpid presence.
    • • •
     
    The rose garden was in full bloom, but this time I went myself. There I stood and scanned the bay. White caps danced innocently on a jade surface and a yearning to experience more than a good view of the sea filled me.
    Since the birth of my son, Barry the Third, I was unsettled and filled with strange fancies. The vista across the bay was what made this old mansion such a valuable piece of property. Why would I want to lose it by moving closer to the ocean, when I never swam anyway? A breeze from the bay brushed my face, but didn’t answer my question.
    ‘Ma’am Zahra?’ Elijah, dressed in his chauffeur’s hat and jacket, appeared silently at my elbow. I almost destroyed a rose in my surprise as his shuffle, along with his persistent cough, usually warned one of his coming long before he arrived.
    ‘Yes, Elijah?’ My irritation at the intrusion showed. He blinked that long slow blink of his, so like an artless child. Yet age and sorrow lined his face.
    ‘I have brought you this.’ He handed me a basket for the flowers. I filled its empty womb with the few roses I’d picked, nodding my thanks even as my gaze swung back to the sea.
    I thought he’d gone, until he coughed again, an old man’s cough that spoke of age and death. My Daddy had the same cough, even though the senility made him forget what caused it.
    ‘The sea, she is a good woman,’ Elijah said. ‘Ma’am Zahra must listen when she speaks.’
    ‘Stop speaking nonsense! The sea isn’t alive; it can’t speak.’
    A sudden gust of wind, no longer gentle, but sharp, tugged the ends of my braid as it brought a stronger smell of salt, perhaps even a hint of rain yet to come. It made me nervous enough to turn away from the sea and cut the roses more quickly. I wanted to fill the house with them. For artistic effect, I told Barry over breakfast, but Little Flower knew otherwise.
    Elijah, unasked, followed me. Every time I cut another flower, he held the basket out.
    ‘The ocean lives in all of