The Wall by Amanda Carpenter Read Free Book Online Page A

way.'
    'And do you think you've found yourself again?' She turned her head
    to look at Greg.
    'I think so. I'm not sure. I guess so, if you count gaining back some
    measure of calm and peace. I'm still looking for my self-respect—I
    really misplaced that one.' Silence settled on them for a time. Sara
    felt reluctant to move. The peace that she had mentioned came to her
    now and settled on her like a comforter, warming her with serenity.
    She felt so good, sitting on the beach with this man. She felt more
    comfortable with him than she had ever felt with Barry or any of her
    musicians or acquaintances. There he was, like some black monolith
    in the night, and she didn't know a thing about him, but his
    understanding questions and gentle touch had meant more to her than
    any overtures that she had been the recipient of for the past six years.
    It was because he gave them straight from himself to herself. There
    was no barrier, no underlying motive stemming from who she was, or
    how influential she could be with the company she worked with—-or
    was there?
    She kept very still on the sand as her brain started to click over
    certain things with an uncomfortable suspicion. Suddenly she
    remembered the odd way that Greg had looked at her when she had
    first arrived on the scene that morning and had built the sand castle.
    His gaze had been very keen and piercing. Sara knew that her face
    was extremely well known, and the bone structure so prominent as to
    make her face probably distinctive enough to make one wonder. And
    he had admittedly 'checked up' on her residence. Just how far had that
    check-up gone? If he had enquired into her past work position or
    residence, then he would have come up with a complete blank. Sara
    Carmichael didn't really exist in a practical sense, for Sara Bertelli
    had lived for six years in California. If Greg had made the least push
    to find out what she did for a living, he would have her, for she had
    no work history, and her landlord knew nothing. If he got suspicious
    enough to check that far, then the fact that Sara Carmichael didn't
    really exist as far as records go would be enough to make him turn
    ugly with suspicion—for he was so wary of strangers that he must be
    hiding something, what she didn't know, but he was definitely hiding
    something— or it would be enough to push his memory to the truth.
    Without her heavy make-up she could fob off casual glances her way,
    but she couldn't hope to do it with a discerning eye.
    One thing that had struck her about Greg was that he had a definite
    discerning eye. He noticed everything, like a hawk.
    It was a suspicion on her part, but it was such a strong suspicion, and
    she had taken so much pleasure in thinking that they had dealt well
    together, just themselves with no pretence or pressure, that she closed
    her eyes against it. It was too late, however, and had been too late the
    moment the thought had entered her mind. The unpleasant part about
    the whole thing was that she felt so naked, so completely vulnerable
    now, that she would not feel comfortable around him whether he
    really knew or not. Just that she would suspect it was enough to
    destroy whatever natural attitude she had been able to adopt around
    him, because she knew that she could never ask him for the truth.
    She sat up, staring out in the early evening, blinking like a
    sleepwalker newly awakened. The night lost all of its magic and its
    peace and a perfect day was ruined.
    She mumbled, 'I'm going home,' and stood, looking around her and
    trying to remember just where she had put her camera bag. It was so
    dark that she couldn't see landmarks very well.
    'This is abrupt,' he said, and stood also. Looking down at her and
    trying to catch a glimpse of her face, he asked her. 'Something
    wrong?'
    She was twisting around, trying to keep her face hidden from him,
    and she asked him, 'Can you remember where I left my camera bag?'
    She walked away from him in a way that suggested