She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. He was a philosopher. She turned the television off. Something with iron resolve the father had kept hidden all these years in the lonely citadel of his heart. Brendon’s guests,” she said, “and I scarcely think it would be nice of me to leave him alone with Sydney. ’ Gerald turned and came back to her.
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