COUNTERPOINT
An original romantic serialFrom Alina Adams the author of "When a Man Loves a Woman" (DELL 4/00), "Annie's Wild Ride" (AVON 8/98), "Inside Figure Skating" (METROBOOKS 11/00 & 9/99), "Thieves at Heart" (AVON 12/95) and "The Fictitious Marquis" (AVON 6/95)
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CHAPTER 40
For one thing, while Nicole was ducking to avoid the rain and leaves, Robin seemed to be reveling in it. He swerved their car from one lane of the road to the other, as if looking for the nastiest patches, and sat up, sentry-straight, in his own seat so as not to miss a drop. Every time a slimy twig slapped him across the face, Nicole could have sworn she saw Robin smile.
In addition, rather than driving towards downtown, and the clubs and bars they always frequented, Robin was driving in the exact opposite direction -- towards the beach, and a practically deserted stretch of coastline known for its tourist attraction sea-lions lolling about on razor sharp rocks. But, few tourists chose to view the spectacle in the middle of a particularly fogy, unseasonably frigid, rainy night.
Except for Robin. He swerved his car into the parking lot, skidding on a puddle so he ended up stopped across three diagonal spaces, and, without one word to Nicole, hopped out, leaving his keys in the ignition, and, disregarding the oozing mud soiling his leather shoes and the hems of his tailored pants, skated toward the edge of the water.
Nicole thought, "Weird...."
The sea-lions were too far out to see in such weather. They could only hear their cries, in conjunction with the foghorns, and the wind. Nicole considered stepping out of the car, and asking Robin what the hell he thought he was doing.
But, unlike Robin, Nicole only had one good pair of shoes.
And so she waited. Gingerly rubbing the fogged up window with her palm, she waited and watched as her husband, despite slipping more than once and falling to his knees in the mud -- up to his ankles and wrists he was as black as a minstrel -- kept moving down the beach, and towards a rocky stretch, like a coral reef, only much more jagged, that protruded away from the muddy coastline and straight into the Pacific Ocean.
Surely, he wasn't going to...
Oh, hell. It was Robin.
Of course, he was.
Arms out to the sides, like a tightrope walker, Robin stepped on the first, raw stone, staggering like a drunk from the combined resistance of the wind, and the slimy algae beneath his feet. He wavered, almost came crashing down on one knee, then, miraculously, found his balance, and, not even stopping to marvel at his generous fortune, took another step.
And then another.
And then another.
Despite the multiple obstacles, within a few minutes, he was a good four or five yards down the stone path. He was out so deep, that the waves crashing furiously on either side of him splashed high enough to lick his face with salt water.
And still Robin kept going.
Nicole rolled down the car-window, one arm raised to shield her hair from the elements, and impotently shouted, "Robin! What are you doing? Come back, here. Robin!"
She could barely hear herself over the wind and the rain and the waves. She doubted Robin would be able to.
Well, she'd done her best.
This was all way too creepy and disturbing and weird. Nicole had done enough. Rolling up her window, she, carefully, mindful of how tight her skirt was, eased her lower-body over the gearshift and climbed from the passenger side seat, into the driver's. It was a good thing Robin had left his key in the ignition. It meant Nicole didn't have to put up with this nonsense for another minute.
She started the car, and, just to be fair, did blink the headlights -- twice! -- in his direction. Robin ignored her.
There. Now, Nicole had done all she could.
She backed out carefully, keeping her eye on the rear-view-mirror the entire time, in case Robin finally came to his senses, and decided to join her. He didn't.
Well, fine, then.
Nicole rolled up Robin's window, as well, and, kicking up mud with her back wheels, began to drive away.
It was only at the last minute, when Robin was no more than a black dot on a dark blue horizon, that Nicole toyed with the notion that maybe she should be doing something more.
It didn't seem right to just leave him like that. Even if he was acting so bizarrely.
Nicole picked up the car-phone, and, after another pause and a guilty look back, called Victoria Morgan.
"You want him, Miss Morgan?" Nicole Simonge's voice hissed over Victoria's phone. "You can have him." She rattled off their location, then snorted, "There's not enough money in the world to make me put up with him like this."
And then she hung up.
Victoria's mind slowly analyzed the situation. She weighed her options, and she pondered the pros and the cons and the wisdom of what she might possibly be getting herself into.
Victoria's body, however, was long out the door.
At least Nicole hadn't lied. Robin was exactly where she'd said Victoria could find him. Only now, he'd made it even further down the pathway. He stood on the furthest rock possible, hands behind his back, his hair and clothes whipping around his body, so that, through the mist, he looked as if the wind were tearing him to pieces. And yet, in spite of the assault, Robin remained still, staring off into the murky horizon like a lighthouse searching for its lost ship. He was dangerously close to the edge. Another two or three steps, and he'd be swimming in the frigid water. Or, to be more precise, his numb and frozen body would be smashing, over and over again, against the barbed and slimy stones.
Victoria didn't stop to think. Slogging through the wet sand, the prickly granules instantly slipping into her shoes and rubbing raw blisters everywhere they touched, she rushed across the beach, and onto the rocky trail.
Close-up, the stones were much taller than they'd looked from the safety of a beach away. The lowest one stopped at Victoria's waist. In order to climb on top of it, she had to grind her palms and elbows into the rock, and pull up with all her might, her feet slipping impotently in a vain attempt to help her scramble. Once vaulted, she landed face first, her ribcage and breasts smacking against unforgiving granite. She tasted salt-encrusted grime along her bottom lip. Her hair smacked her face from both sides.
But, hey, looking on the bright side -- she'd conquered one rock. Only seventeen thousand and eight more to go.
Victoria scrambled to her feet, instinctively smoothing down and shaking the dirt off her sweater and pants, before she realized the empty futility of her gesture, and with a self-mocking roll of the eyes, gave up the Ghost-of-Tidiness-Past.
Instead, she focused her energy on Robin. On reaching him. Or, at the very least, getting him to see that she was there. As things stood, Robin seemed unaware of any other living person on Earth. Victoria wasn't even certain that he still counted himself among them.
A gust of wind sledded off the water, slamming into Victoria with such potency, she felt one leg slip out from under her. She thrust out her arms, teetering precariously along the edge, her one foot clinging so desperately to land she felt her toes curling, as if to bypass her shoe and dig directly into the stones, while her shoulders dangled and shook over the pounding surf, and, in spite of knowing that he was too far away to hear or do anything to help her, Victoria instinctively cried out, "Robin!"
Just before she lost her footing and tumbled into the water.