Taking his hand, Sarah pulled him over to a window opening and looked at him in triumph. 'There, Thomas, is it not worth the climb to see this?' In the clear dusk the twinkling lights of Macao spread away over the hills, fairy-like from this height. The dense, wafting fragrance of the Orient enveloped him and Kydd knew he would never forget that night. The moment hung mysteriously, enigmatically.
'Ah Lee will not be long,' Sarah said, in her matter-of-fact way. 'She will not stay, though, she dislikes being here.' She drew him back inside, and they sat in the hard chairs, the lantern hooked to a beam overhead.
'Where do you come from, Thomas?' she said politely.
By degrees his hot desire subsided. He had misread the situation, and if he were to press his attentions now he would suffer a stinging rebuff. Yet she had already compromised her reputation by being alone with him - he wondered why she trusted him, then remembered that she had called him 'a nice man'; he didn't know if he should take this as a compliment or resent it.
The tapping of footsteps on wood began far below. 'Ah Lee,' said Sarah unnecessarily. The conversation tailed off until finally Ah Lee appeared with a big tray.
Kydd jumped to his feet to take the tray but was stopped by a warning cough and meaningful frown from Sarah. He sat down again in an awkward silence, while Ah Lee patiently laid out the table, her eyes surreptitiously flicking from one to the other. It was a Chinese meal, many small dishes holding hidden pleasures, and in the middle what looked like a flower vase.
'Fa tiu’ Sarah said, pouring an opaque liquid the colour of varnish into delicate porcelain cups. 'A Chinese wine, best served hot.' She smiled at him over her cup, and he raised his own to her and sipped. It was dense and cloying to his taste, but he felt the glow begin to spread.
Ah Lee left quietly; they heard her steps rapidly diminishing until once more they were alone together.
Sarah's eyes fixed on his face and she spoke levelly. 'Do you know, Thomas, that with half a thousand bachelors out here, there isn't one I'd call a man - not a real one who's big and strong, daring, handsome.'
Kydd stirred in his chair. Did this mean she really . . . 'Damn you, Thomas, do you make me beg?' The tone was shrill, and had an edge of hysteria.
'Sarah . . .' he began hoarsely, but she was the opposite side of the table and he hesitated.
She breathed deeply, then got abruptly to her feet, in the process sending the table and its contents to one side in an appalling crash of china. Kydd stood up in horror.
At first he could not respond to the passionate assault. The kiss was deep and hungry, her mouth taking his vio-lently, her body pressed into him without restraint. They swayed, clamped together. 'Thomas!' she whispered, drawing away slightly. 'My darling, sweet Thomas! My dear sailor man! Do you not know we're meant to be one, my love?' Her eyes were huge and lambent in the lantern's glow.
Kydd held her in an intoxicated trance, not daring to move. Her leg interposed slowly, caressing between his thighs in an excruciating sensual invasion; his hands in response moved down her back.
'Thomas — I've never been with a man,' she blurted. Her hands slid down his body and discovered his arousal. She gasped, her breath came fast and ragged; he lowered her gently to the floor.
As with a stranger's eyes he saw her tear off her shoes, and with a flood of sexual feeling he saw her pull up her dress to the white of knees and upper thighs. She lay on the carpet, writhing and vulnerable.
'Please, Thomas, my love, my love . . .' Her words were nearly incoherent but Kydd was not listening. He knelt between her legs, his head roaring at the sight of her under him, and he tore at his breeches. His hard manhood got in the way and in a rage of frustration he ripped the cloth.
They came together, hard, savagely, their bodies moving together in tidal surges of sexuality. The climax was explosive and uncontrollable. She clung to him while the spasms spent themselves. 'My darling, my dearest/ she murmured, over and over, clasping his body in hers with an immovable grip.
At last she released him; he drew apart and lay next to her. Wonderingly he gazed across at her, her body still racked by dying shudders, his own knowing only a beautiful, deep satisfaction. They lay there unmoving.
Kydd reached out for her, his arm across her bodice. There was something infinitely endearing in the sight of the trusting pale nakedness of her lower body, but he was becoming aware of the night's chill, cooling the hot wetness, and he clutched at his breeches.
Sarah stirred. 'My God’ she said brokenly. 'What have we done?'
Puzzled, Kydd propped himself on his elbows and tried to make out her expression.
'What have we done?' This time it was a harsh, tearing sound, sending cold shafts of fear into him.
'Sarah?' he asked gently.
She sat up suddenly, plucking feverishly at her dress. Her eyes showed their whites, like a frightened horse, and his unease grew. She lurched over to one of the straight-backed red chairs and sat with her head in her hands.