“SHE THINKS YOU KILLED SANTO.” ALAN DIDN’T MAKE THE stunned declaration until they were well away from Adventures Unlimited. He’d manhandled Kerra out of her mother’s bedroom, marched her along the hotel corridor and down the stairs. She’d struggled and snarled, “Let me go. Alan! Let me God damn go,” but he’d been obdurate. He’d been strong as well. Who would have believed that someone as wiry as Alan Cheston could be so strong?
He’d taken her out of the hotel entirely: through the dining room door, onto the terrace, up the stone stairway, and along the promontory in the direction of St. Mevan Beach. It was too cold to be out there without a pullover or a jacket, but he didn’t stop to fetch something to protect them from the rising sea wind. In fact, he didn’t look as if he was even aware that the wind was brisk and soon to be biting.
They went down to the beach, and at this point Kerra gave up her struggle, submitting herself to be led wherever he was leading. She didn’t give up her fury, however. She would unleash it upon him when they got to where he’d decided to take her.
This turned out to be the Sea Pit, at the far end of the beach. They climbed up its seven crumbly steps and stood on the surrounding concrete deck. They looked down into the sand-strewn bottom of the pool, and for a moment Kerra wondered if he intended to throw her into the water like some primitive he-man taking control of his woman.
He didn’t. Instead, he said, “She thinks you killed Santo,” and then he released her.
Had he said anything else, Kerra would have gone on the attack: verbally, physically. But the statement demanded an answer that was at least marginally rational because the tone of it was both confused and frightened.
He spoke again. “I’ve never seen anything like that. You and your mum. That was a brawl. It was the sort of thing one sees…” He didn’t seem to know where one would see such a sight, but that would be typical. Alan was hardly the type to frequent locations where women got into hair-pulling, body-scratching, screaming-and-shrieking engagements with one another. Neither was Kerra if it came to that, but Dellen had pushed her to the breaking point. And there was a reason for what had happened between them. Alan would have to admit to that at least. He said, “I didn’t know what to do. That was so far beyond what I’ve ever had to cope with…”
She rubbed her arm where he’d held on to her. She said, “Santo stole Madlyn. He took her off me, and I hated him for that. Dellen knows it, so it was easy for her to go from that to saying I killed him. That’s her style.”
Alan looked, if anything, even more confused. He said, “People don’t steal people from other people, Kerra.”
“In my family, they do. Among the Kernes, it’s something between a knee-jerk reaction and an outright tradition.”
“That’s rubbish.”
“Madlyn and I were friends. Then Santo came along and gave her the eye and Madlyn went mad for him. She couldn’t even talk about anything else, so we ended up…Madlyn and I…We ended up with nothing because she and Santo…and what he did…And God, it was just so typical. He was just like Dellen. He didn’t want Madlyn. He just wanted to see if he could get her away from me.” Now that she was finally putting it all into words, Kerra found she couldn’t stop. She ran a hand through her hair, grasped it hard, and pulled, as if pulling it would cause her to feel something different from what she’d felt so long. “He didn’t need Madlyn. He could’ve had anyone. So could Dellen if it comes to that. She can have anyone. She has had anyone, any time she’s felt the itch. She doesn’t need…She doesn’t.”
Alan stared at her, as if she were speaking a language whose words he understood but whose underlying meaning was foreign to him. A wave hit the side of the Sea Pit, and he flinched as if surprised at its strength and proximity. The spray from it hit them both. It was fresh and cold, salty against their lips. He said, “I’m completely lost.”
She said, “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.”