Islanders

Mr Murchkin was a portly expat, with red hair and a bluff manner. He had Tim sent to his office and interviewed him on his educational ideas for about fifteen minutes. When he had satisfied himself they were not unsound, he said, "So what do you do with the language?"

"Do?" Tim asked amazed. "What do you mean?"

"Hmph, I mean that any idiot can tell a group of children the rules of the game. I want people who have something over - call it Begeisterung - people with a truly marked enthusiasm for their thing. What do you do with the language?"

"Er, I write."

"Poetry? Prose?"

"Both, actually."

"Right. Anything you can show me?"

Tim pulled a face. "I've got a few poems on me - but they're a bit personal..."

"I'm not a fifteen-year-old girl," Muchkin said. "You can show me."

Tim handed him the notebook; he read the poems and smiled broadly. "Does she live on the island?" he asked.

Tim nodded.

"Excellent," he said. "You're hired."

When Marguerite met Tim that afternoon he told her all about his interview with Mr Murchkin. He was very excited about it, and he talked her ears off. He was going to write a letter of resignation, and he'd have his possessions shipped, he would go back to England during mid-term and sell his house... Marguerite felt to her dismay that he wouldn't. She tried to decide whether she should tell him, but she was so upset about it that she didn't. She kept silent for so long that Tim asked her if she was opposed to it.

"No," she said, "of course not," and she kissed him hard - but with a sinking feeling it took all her energy to hide.

The dream returned the next night. If possible it was even more vivid, and she thought she would be able to hear what Tim's father said if she listened hard enough, and then she woke up.

When she told Tim about it the next day he said, "It's the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil. It's just a dream."

She looked at him dubiously. "I hope so," she said. She was practically certain it was not just a dream, and she was thinking hard about the consequences if it wasn't.

Then she shook herself free from those thoughts for the time being.

When the dream returned again that night she did hear Tim's father's words. He asked for Tim's help, and he sounded completely desperate. She woke up again, convinced there was something terribly wrong. She saw with complete clarity what Tim should do, and what the consequences would be if he didn't, and she went straight to "Bougainvillea" in the morning.

"Tim," she said, "I'm so sorry - but you will have to go back. Your parents are failing and they need you. You just can't stay."

Tim looked at her and turned absolutely white. "But I want you - and you only," he said. "I cannot go away; I have to stay. I can't go!"

"No," she said, "you must, Tim. If you want me, you'll still do so at the world's end. And no woman could be happy with a guilt-ridden man. Don't worry. I'll wait for you."

Tim looked completely crestfallen. Marguerite put her arms around him and hugged him.

"Tim," she said, "I want you as much as you do. But I won't have you unable to live with yourself. It would kill you, and it would turn sour what we feel for each other. You must go home. When is your flight due?"

"In four days' time," he said, almost inaudibly.

"Then we have three days left - let's make the most of them! Come, pack your things. We're going to spend them at my house."

Tim did as he was told. He felt completely dazed, and he was close to tears. He didn't want Marguerite to see, and he packed his belongings into his suitcase fast and efficiently.

They left Bougainvillea within ten minutes. It wasn't quite light yet, and when they passed a small field they saw a white horse standing in the shadow of some trees. It echoed his feelings perfectly; with its dark eyes in its eerily white face it reminded him of a Chagall nightmare.

Marguerite opened the door for him. "Come," she said. "Let's take your stuff to my bedroom."

She had a big, light room with a large double bed, and she showed Tim where to put his stuff. She stood looking at him all the while he was unpacking, close to the bed, and when he was done she remained silent for a moment.

Then she said, "Tim, er... would you like to take off my dress?"

He went to her almost mechanically - but when he felt her lips on his it was as if the spell lifted and the day grew bright. He smiled at her and undid the zipper at the back, and she put down her arms to let it slide to the floor. She wore no bra, and her breasts stood proudly on her chest. She had areolas the size of an Eagle, and big nipples. She stepped back to give him a look. She looked more beautiful than anything he could imagine, and he told her so. She smiled happily at that, and hooked her fingers in the elastic of her panties.

When she was naked she put her hands on his shoulders, pulled him towards her and shoved his T-shirt over his head. She pressed her breasts against him and found the fastening of his trousers while she did something magical with her tongue. Tim's left hand was in her hair, and the right one had found her breasts.

"I have longed to touch these ever since you stretched yourself on the beach," he confessed.

"I wanted you to touch them just as long," she said, and then she sat on her haunches and pulled his trousers down his legs. "Wow, you're hard." She pulled his underpants away from his cock and it sprang forward; it almost touched her face. She quickly removed the last article of clothing, and then she took the pins out of her hair and let it fall down, tickling his chest and his cock - and she planted a kiss on its tip before she rose and pressed him into her. She took his hands and put them back on her breasts, and he took her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and rolled them, softly but insistently.

"Ooohh," she sighed. "Ooh yes - come - take me, and be good to me."

Tim dropped a hand to her pussy. He cupped it in his hand to enjoy its warmth and then he pushed the outer labia apart. He ran his fingers through the rills between the inner and the outer ones, and Marguerite became more and more impatient for him to touch her inner pussy and her clit. When she felt she couldn't take it any more he did, and she almost fainted with delight.

"Oh yes, please... please, Tim, stop teasing me... please..." She almost cried when he pushed two fingers into her waiting warmth and found her clit with his thumb. "Please..."

She felt between them for his cock and started to masturbate him while he teased her, and he had been waiting so long for her that he knew he wouldn't last that way.

"Come," he said. "Lie down."

She went and lay down on the bed and Tim got up with her.

"Please," he said. "Let me look at you for a moment." She lay back expectantly, and he sat on the foot of the bed, looking at the woman he wanted more than anything else in his life. She was beautiful. His eyes went from her lovely face to her breasts, and from there to her navel - she was a little on the plump side, and her navel was a beautiful, tempting dip in the soft curve of her belly, and he bent over and stuck in his tongue. It made her moan with desire, and he smiled at her and sat up to look at her pussy. The skin around it was purplish and darker than the rest, and her pubic hair looked soft and tempting. Her inner labia were quite swollen and stuck out well between the outer ones, and he could see a hint of the ruby skin inside. He bent over and kissed her just above her slit; then he entered it with his tongue. He hoped he was doing it right - and judging by Marguerite's reaction he was. Her hands were in his hair, and she pushed his face down into her soft folds as he eagerly lapped away at her juices. She tasted wonderful, and the smell of her arousal was in his nose and in his heart - he had seldom felt so happy before.

He heard Marguerite's breathing go ragged. She moaned, and called his name, and when he looked at her face he saw she'd closed her eyes, and her mouth was half open. He nibbled on the edges of her pussy lips, and pulled them into his mouth, and when he caught her clit between his lips and moved the tip of his tongue across her nub, fast, she almost flattened his head between her legs and she screamed.

He stopped, and stroked her pubic hair. She opened her eyes and looked at him, and she smiled at him so warmly that it almost made him cry. "Hhhoh," she said, still panting. "Phhh. .. That was really good." She extended her arms to him, and he crawled her way on the bed. She put her arms around him and pulled him down on top of her.

"This was lovely for starters," she said. "Now let me have your cock - please!" She grabbed his bum and pulled him towards her. "There," she said. "That's where I want you, boy!"

Tim needed no prompting. "I hope I will last," he said as he spread her legs, put the tip of his cock against her opening and guided himself in.

He waited a moment to see if it was alright with Marguerite, but when she smiled at him encouragingly he lowered his weight and slid easily into her waiting pussy.

"That's it, boy," Marguerite said. "Now give it to me!"

He sighed deeply. Then he, too, smiled as she began to move her pelvis, and he fell in with her motions. She took his left hand and put it on her breast, and she rolled the muscles of her pelvis - and her actions triggered Tim on no end. He moved in and out of her slowly, enjoying the motions and her counter movements and the feeling of her body against his, and he tried to move in a slow arch as he entered her, rubbing all the intimate places. He stroked her breast and felt her nipple grow rubbery and hot, and then he bent her way and touched her lips with his, and when she kissed him back he really let go, to her great delight.

"Oh yes - yes - that's it!" she moaned into his mouth. She loved to feel him move in and out, touching her pubic arch with his pelvis - she held him close and found his ear with her mouth, and she softly nibbled on his earlobe and whispered sweet words.

"Oh, darling," he said when she started to milk him with her pussy - it was a new, wonderful sensation to him - and he contracted the muscles at the base off his cock to respond. She smiled when she felt it, and she found his mouth again and sucked his tongue into hers as far as it would go.

He panted and moaned as he fucked her harder, with her breasts pressing into him and her nipples rubbing against his chest. Then she let go of his tongue and whispered, "Oh please, Tim, come with me - give me your sweet come..." She squeezed his buttocks hard, and she pushed her pelvis up to meet him so hard that she drove him straight over the brink. When she felt his semen spurt into the depths of her pussy she came with a shudder. "Ohhh, Ted..." she panted, and she lay back and smiled, a small, private little smile, while the waves of her delight washed over her.

That morning they didn't leave the bedroom - Marguerite taught Tim a thing or two about the things she liked, and he went down on her pussy twice while she whispered to him how to use his tongue to even more effect, which made him go hard again almost immediately. The second time she'd asked him to lie down so she could squat over his face, and when his mouth was safely on her pussy she took his cock into her mouth and sucked him to the brink - It made Tim feel he must be in heaven, and he explored her buns with his hands, touching every square inch of flesh lovingly. His face was plastered with her juices, and when she came over his face her smell was so overpowering that it almost made him come.

But Marguerite knew what she was doing, and when she felt it was almost too much for him she turned around and stuffed his cock into her pussy. She was so slick with her juices that she slid down on him without any friction and firmly dropped onto his hips. She rode him like a rodeo hand, her breasts swinging up and down, covered in perspiration.

"Oh yes," she panted, "oh yes, I can feel you touch my cervix - oh Tim, please - yes, that's it, answer my strokes, please - yes - yes - yes -"

Tim lay back and tried to push upwards every time she slumped down on him. He could see his cock come into view when she lifted her bum, glistening with her juices, and her pussy lips stretched round his cock, and he reached for her clit and touched it with a trembling fingertip.

"Oh yes," Marguerite panted, almost inaudibly, "oooohh..." and then she came wetly around him, pulling him along with her, and he spewed all of his feeling for her into her waiting womb.

"Oh my love," she whispered, "this was so good - oh Tim, I love you so much!"

When eventually she felt him slip out of her, she sat upon his stomach.

"It's strange," she said and looked at him lovingly, "but now it all just feels really alright - probably because I know now where my qualms came from."

They had breakfast at one. That afternoon they went to Evelina, who was now quite visibly pregnant, and told her about their situation. Evelina commiserated with them, and wished them luck for their future, and Tim asked her to promise him she would write if something happened to Marguerite, a promise she readily made. They went to the beach as usual, and talked long and tenderly about their feelings, and Tim took her to Linda's for dinner, but they were back in Marguerite's bedroom before nine thirty, and they didn't leave it until it was nearly noon.

Then they showered together and Tim went to town to tell Mr Murchkin he had to go back, to that gentleman's great regret, and he went to the airline company's office to reconfirm his flight. He bought some local rum, and he found a bottle of perfume for Marguerite, and a set of underwear he really liked.

When he returned with his gifts she almost flattened him in her embrace, and she took him to the bedroom straight away to try on the scanty clothes. She looked at herself in the mirror. "Oh," she said, "you make me look very sexy this way, naughty boy!" She sprayed some perfume between her breasts, and then she held out her arms and took off Tim's clothes, and allowed him to remove hers, and they made slow, sweet love, which lasted a long time before their love boiled over and their juices mingled in the sultry tropical afternoon.

That night they only talked and they lay together touching and kissing, but they didn't fuck. They couldn't sleep - Tim was to fly that day and they were both filled with the sadness of his imminent departure. But when they were in the shower together Marguerite turned her beautiful bottom his way and rubbed her buns into his pubic area, and Tim felt himself go hard and she pulled him into her. She knew it was her last chance for a very long time and she thought it might cause fewer tears if they didn't make love face to face. It was a short, fierce joy, tainted a little by the impending separation...

They had breakfast together in silence. When the time arrived they took a taxi to the airport.

Tim checked in, and then he took Marguerite in his arms and held her close. She looked at him earnestly. "I'm not going to write to you," she said. "It would make life more unbearable for you, and you might give up on what you ought to do."

"Do you mind if I write to you sometimes?"

"No, that is ok. I'd love to get your letters. I'll be waiting for you here, no matter how long it takes."

Tim kissed Marguerite goodbye just before the customs area. She had tears in her eyes, and when he had passed through customs and looked back she had gone. He heaved a deep sigh and went to the gate straight away.

It was a joyless flight back, and he arrived tired, grumpy and cold. England had lost its shine; it looked no way like the Caribbean. He took a train from Heathrow to Lymington, and he crossed to Yarmouth. He was met by his neighbour, and on the way home he informed him of the situation of his parents. "They didn't want to contact you so you wouldn't get worried," he said.

Tim learnt how bad it was. His mother had had a stroke; she was unilaterally paralysed and completely wheelchair-bound. His father had taken it hard, and he had to take heart tablets since. Moreover, he had lost any self-confidence, and was looking forward eagerly to his son's return...

Marguerite had been right - as usual, he thought with a sad smile. He would have felt more than guilty if he had left them to cope. He went to bed straight away, got up early and went over to his parents' house. It was a good thing he'd been prepared; it still was an immense shock to find his parents in so bad a state.

His father was almost pathetically grateful to see him again, and he felt overcome with remorse for having thought for a moment he didn't want to return. He hugged him hard, and held him close, and told him it was all right, and then they sat down and his father unburdened his heart. He was completely lost without his wife, who had lost the capacity of speech altogether - he didn't even know for certain if she still understood what he said. All the love they'd had together was completely out of reach, barred, locked, or that was how it felt, now that they couldn't communicate any more, and he was desperately trying to make some kind of rapport, but it didn't work out. Tim had never in his life seen his father in tears before; it was heart-wrenching.

He made all necessary arrangement that very day, and he fell into the old routine of teaching and writing when he had the time, which was increasingly less often; there were people to take care of his parents in the daytime but he was on for most of the remainder of the day, which sometimes meant he hardly had the time to mark his pupils' work.

As soon as he found the time he recorded the LP with their song onto a cassette, and sent it to Marguerite with a long letter about his parents, and the situation at school, and he included his latest poems.

He thought a lot of Marguerite. Her absence hit him especially hard when he lay in bed, or when he saw the sun go down over Tennyson Down... Her promise kept him going, and he sent her some poetry regularly, and letters, and greetings at Christmas - she'd never told him when her birthday was, and he never asked.

Marguerite didn't admit to herself that she missed Tim awfully badly, but she always looked in her letterbox whenever she passed it, and she always felt a pang of disappointment when it was empty. She loved the poetry he sent her, and the letters, and the occasional little presents; and she slowly acquired a reading habit. She played the cassette so often that it became slightly worn; but by that time she knew her song by heart.

A few weeks after Tim had left she was certain she'd got pregnant. She'd felt it might be very long before they'd see each other again, and as she was certain they would meet again she wasn't taking any chances... She had given a lot of thought to the question if she should write and tell Tim about it; but she'd decided against it. He would feel even worse about their separation, she thought.

She spent a lot of time with Evelina, who knew how it felt, although she wasn't so sure if she'd ever see Bunny again - he had sent her letter from the States twice, but the last on was seven months ago...

Evie got a son, a big baby with kinky hair and a broad nose. She called him Louis, after Louis Armstrong. Marguerite felt very glad for her, and Evie was obviously happy as a lark.

Marguerite gave birth five months later. Her mother had come to help out, and she delivered Marguerite's daughter with tears in her eyes - she'd not expected to become a grandmother any more. It was a daughter. Marguerite lay looking at her with a quiet smile; Tim would love her, she knew. She had her eyes - eyes of amber - and her mouth, and Tim's hands. She was a beautiful baby, and Marguerite knew immediately that she would be called Amber, as that was where it had all started... And then her mother had to hold and cuddle her when Tim's absence became rather too much for her, and she cried, and cried, and cried...