Jenny sensed his mood and she, too, found it difficult to talk of trivial things. She drank her wine, then ran a finger around the rim of the glass.
"Luke," she said, breaking the silence between them. "I don't want to go back to the Centre tonight."
He looked at her in surprise. It's perfectly safe there, Jenny. The whole area's floodlit, it's surrounded by troops. There's no possible danger."
"It's not that. I am afraid, yes, but I know it's safe. I haven't slept too well the last couple of nights, knowing the forest has been infested. It'll never be the same for me again."
"It's over now, Jenny. They're gone."
"Are they? Can we be sure?"
We will be in a couple of weeks' time. That's all it will take to search the area. Then you can go back to your work without any fears."
"I don't think so. The forest used to be a wonderfully pure place to me, somewhere I escaped to; now it's different. It's tainted."
He sighed. "I'm sorry it's been spoiled for you."
She took her eyes away from the glass and looked directly at Fender. "I want to stay with you tonight, Luke," she said.
A strange sensation ran through him: a thrill, but not of the triumphant kind. He realized he was deeply touched.
"Jenny, I..." he began to say.
"Please, Luke."
He reached for her hand. "Jenny, you don't have to say please to me. I should be hopping up and down with lecherous glee, but..."
'... but you're not. I know that, Luke. I know your feelings towards me." Her eyes went back to the glass again. "At least, I think I do,"
she added.
He gripped her hand tightly and smiled. "My feelings are confused just at this moment, Jenny. There's so much going on and I have to admit my nerves are a little frazzled. But one thing's for sure: there's no way I'll let you leave me tonight."
Her eyes lifted and she smiled back at him. His depression evaporated and he felt he could sink into that smile. Her hand trembled in his, just slightly, and he knew she, too, experienced the same confusion of emotions.
"Vie Whittaker, Jenny?" he forced himself to ask.
Her face became serious, her eyes almost earnest. There's been nothing between us, please believe me. Some understanding, some mutual sympathy, but nothing beyond that. If Vie felt there was more, then it was in his own mind."
"And us? Is it just an understanding?"
"No, it's not just that. We're both aware there's more to it. Just how much is something we have to find out."
"Okay," he said. "Let's not try to analyse it. Let's just see what happens."
Now it was her turn to grip his hand tightly. "One thing, Luke," she said. "No games. I'm not playing games."
"Jenny," he replied, and her name felt good to say. "I couldn't be more serious."
They left the dining-room and Fender felt his weariness begin to disappear. They climbed the stairs and he let her into his room, thankful that, at Ratkill's expense, he always booked himself a double room when on field trips. Jenny placed her shoulder-bag on the floor and stood in the centre of the room waiting for him to close the door and switch on the light. Then she was in his arms, looking up at him, examining his face as though for the first time. His lips reached down for hers, but the movement was slow, almost tentative, both of them giving the moment its full meaning. When their lips joined, the kiss was soft, moist. Then it became firm and they felt themselves swimming into each other, seeking but becoming lost, plunging until their probing was done and they had found each other. All in a simple kiss, and Fender was almost afraid of it. Never had he felt so vulnerable.
He was suddenly aware of the crushing tightness with which he held her and the pain in his bruised back told him her grip was just as tight.
She felt the sudden flinching of his muscles and realized she was hurting him.
"I'm sorry, Luke," she said, relaxing her hold.
But he was smiling at her and she wasn't surprised to see the mistiness in his eyes, for she looked at him through her own blurred vision. She rested her head against his chest, conscious of his heartbeat, feeling small in his arms. He kissed her hair and ran a hand beneath it, touching her neck, caressing the skin behind her ears. Her arms encircled his waist and this time he cried out as she squeezed him.
"Oh, Luke, Luke, I'm so sorry."
He laughed and held her away from him. "Me too, Jenny. It looks like I'm going to be a disappointment to you."
We'll see," she said, smiling wickedly. "Let's try and do something about your wounds first, shall we?" She reached down into her bag.
Take off your jacket and shirt and let's have a look at you. I brought some ointment from the medical supplies that should do your bruises some good."
Fender winced as he shed his jacket, slowing the operation down to cause the least movement in his sore limbs. She watched him struggle, concern on her face.
"Here, let me help you." She eased the jacket from his shoulders and laid it over one of the room's two armchairs. Then she began to unbutton his shirt.
"Oh God, Luke. They really did get at you."
His shoulders and back were covered in small, red weals where the rats'
teeth had sunk into the material of the protective clothing and pinched his skin together. Still in evidence, but to a lesser degree, were the long undefined scratch marks where the creatures' claws had raked him.
Much of the skin around his shoulders and upper arms was turning a sickly purplish yellow and there were clear indents made by sharp teeth on either side of his wrist.
"Why didn't you say it was this bad?" Jenny said. "You must have been in agony."
"I didn't realize myself. It's only now it's really beginning to hurt."
"I'm going to run a bath for you. That should stop some of the bruising." She made for the bathroom. "Get out of the rest of your things. I'll rub the ointment in after you've bathed."
"I'll look forward to it," he said, grinning.
He heard the sound of running taps and looked down at himself sheepishly. He shrugged, then whipped off his shoes and trousers. His underpants barely disguised his feelings. Sitting on the bed, he stripped off his socks, then sat there, feeling a little awkward. A towel came sailing from the bathroom.
"Use this if you're feeling bashful," Jenny's voice called out.
He pulled the towel from his head where it had landed and stood, tugging briskly at the last garment as he did so. The towel was round his waist within seconds. Fender looked up to see Jenny smiling at him from the doorway, steam from the hot water billowing over her shoulders.
"My, my, such modesty," she said.
She came towards him and her expression changed to one of concern once again.
Tour poor legs. Lucky you were wearing the protective clothing you'd have been eaten alive if you hadn't."
Jenny touched his shoulders, his arms, his chest, her fingers gentle.
He pulled her close and she said, "Careful, Luke," but her words were smothered under his kiss. When their lips parted, she was breathing sharply, an urgency in her eyes. Her hand reached up to his cheek and he could feel himself pressing into her, the rough towel threatening to loosen and fall at any moment. His lips sought hers again.