Season of Shadows by Yvonne Whittal

had not glanced through
the open window to see the ocean sparkling so invitingly in the rays of
the rising sun.
    She went down to the beach a few minutes later wearing a
short towelling robe over her swimsuit. Anton sat smoking a cigarette
with his back resting against a rock, but when she approached he pushed
his cigarette into the sand, and rose to his feet.
    'I suggest we have our swim while we still have the beach
to ourselves,' he said, unintentionally making it easier for her to
face him by addressing a spot somewhere above her head.
    Without a word she dropped her towel on the sand beside
his and slipped out of her robe. She followed him at a running pace
into the sea with her hair flying loose about her shoulders, and when
the frothy breakers about her legs made her lose her balance, she
gasped as her body struck the icy water. After a few moments she found
the water exhilarating and swam about lazily, her body rising and
falling in the swell of the sea. Anton swam a little distance from her,
seemingly oblivious of her presence, and she felt quite startled when
she found herself trying to decide whether or not she liked his
inattentive attitude.
    Laura had a vague suspicion that she disliked the idea of
being ignored by him and, after a reasonable period had elapsed, she
swam towards the beach and walked across the sand to where she had left
her towel. She dried herself and rubbed her hair vigorously before
spreading out her towel and seating herself comfortably with her back
against the large rock. Taking her sun-glasses from the pocket of her
robe, she pushed it on to her nose, and tried to forget for a time her
disturbing thoughts concerning Anton's behaviour.
    Gordon's Bay lay in a natural cove at the foot of the
Hottentots Holland mountains, and although the sundrenched beach was
inclined to be rocky, it was apparently a fisherman's paradise, she
realised as she watched two men reeling in their catch from the rocks
some distance away.
    A movement to her left drew her attention and, turning her
head, her pulse leapt a little wildly. Tall and tanned, and with his
wet hair plastered to his head, Anton was emerging from the sea. The
water glistened on his muscled body, and a curious weakness invaded her
limbs at the memory of the physical closeness they had shared.
    She observed him covertly from behind the darkened lenses
as he picked up his towel and dried himself, but she found herself
staring at a remote stranger; a man who possessed her body, but not her
soul.
Never
her soul! she decided grimly. She
would make certain of that!
    Anton lit a cigarette and sat down beside her, but once
again she had that feeling that he could not care less whether she was
there or not. She could not imagine why she should feel hurt about it,
but she did, and, gathering up her things, she muttered some excuse for
returning to the cottage, arriving there a few minutes later in a blind
fury which was directed mainly at herself.
    Anton continued to treat her in the same manner he had
always done, and if, during that day, she succeeded in ridding her
memory of the intimacy they had shared, then she could very easily
imagine that they were not married at all. His customary cool
politeness had never troubled her before, but now it stung painfully to
be treated like a stranger, and that evening, when she joined him on
the verandah after dinner, she could no longer deny the inexplicable
yearning she felt for his touch. She despised her-self for it, but she
felt powerless to do anything about it.
    She sat beside him on the bench, aware of him with every
fibre of her treacherous being as they watched the incandescent moon
climb higher in the starlit sky. The sound of the surf mingled with the
chirping of the insects in the undergrowth as she and Anton talked
quietly, but their conversation remained impersonal and dissatisfying,
and she was finally driven to excuse herself for fear of making a
complete fool of herself by displaying her