by Liz Fielding
His eyes met hers. ‘You don’t need a refrigerator, there’s a shower at the pool and if you want to sleep in comfort you could always weave yourself a hammock from wild vines.’
‘Thanks, but I don’t plan on stopping that long. The beach will do for tonight.’
‘I do hope, for your sake, that the wind doesn’t blow up.’ He picked up a handful of sand and let it trickle through his fingers.
A windy night would be uncomfortable but she wasn’t about to admit it. ‘You’ve obviously been here before.’ He didn’t answer. ‘When you’ve brought the owner here? Tell me about him. What’s his name?’ A thought suddenly struck her. ‘Surely he has some kind of house here? Maybe even a radio?’
‘Did you see any sign of a house?’
‘Since I had my head in my lap I didn’t see much at all.’ She shrugged. If there had been a house, a radio, he would have used it. ‘Do you think Zoë might have raised the alarm by now?’
‘Maybe.’ He sounded doubtful. ‘The trouble is, I didn’t tell her precisely when to expect us. Just some time before dark.’ He paused. ‘Or, if I had something to drop off at one of the other islands, maybe tomorrow morning.’
Maddy stared at him, not wanting to believe it but knowing only too well that in the laid-back, easy-going atmosphere of the Caribbean it was all too possibly the truth.
‘Tomorrow morning?’ she said, very softly, scarcely trusting herself to say the words out loud.
‘In fact, I don’t suppose she’ll actually begin to worry until the evening. My schedule was a little hazy when I spoke to her this morning.’
For the first time since they had made their unscheduled and somewhat precipitate landing, Maddy felt like screaming — just opening her mouth and screaming. But she didn’t. It was far more important to find out just what he meant by ‘hazy’.
‘Did you say tomorrow evening?’ she asked, with what she considered to be admirable self-control.
‘That’s not a problem, is it?’ he drawled, with a stunning lack of concern.
‘Problem?’ She stared at him in total disbelief. ‘Why on earth should that be a problem?’
She didn’t wait for him to answer but leapt to her feet and walked quickly down to the edge of the water. The sea swirled around her feet, sucking away the sand a little at a time, undermining her. Griff was doing that too — pulling away the certainties on which she had built her life, one by one: the certainty that she was firmly in control, the certainty that she knew exactly what she wanted, the certainty that she could never again feel anything.
‘Time for dinner.’ Griff’s voice at her elbow a while later made her jump. He had piled a neat helping of the grouper’s white flesh onto a piece of banana leaf and now offered it to her with mocking deference. The effect was somewhat sabotaged by his appearance. His shorts were oil-stained from his battle with the engine; he was wearing a fresh T-shirt, it was true, but the sleeves had been hacked from it without much consideration as to the aesthetics of the matter and his thick dark mop of hair looked as if it had been combed with his fingers.
‘I’m not hungry,’ she said, turning away, but he caught her chin and turned her back to face him so that the salty scent of the fish caught at the back of her throat.
‘Of course you are. It won’t hurt you to manage without cutlery and napkins for once.’
‘I’ve eaten with my fingers before,’ she said stiffly, lifting her chin away from his fingers.
‘Really?’ He sounded disbelieving. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell. The sea makes a pretty convenient finger-bowl.’
She gave him a cool glance, then shrugged and took the makeshift plate. ‘Thank you,’ she said, unbending slightly.
‘You’re very welcome.’
Maddy gave him a sharp look, but despite her suspicion that he was mocking her, he appeared perfectly sincere. She settled back onto the sand and began to pull the fish to pieces with her fingers. Griff stretched out beside her and followed suit. She tried to ignore him but, short of turning her back to him, that was impossible. He would still be there. Probably until tomorrow evening.
Better to try for some kind of truce.
‘The last time I had grouper it was an enormous beast coated in rose mayonnaise, decorated with cucumber scales and with stuffed olives for eyes,’ Maddy said, making an effort at neutral conversation but realising immediately that he would certainly take her words as a criticism of his efforts. She waited for Griff to make some disparaging remark. He said nothing and somehow that was worse. Maddy felt her hackles rise. ‘At a reception at the High Commission,’ she added, forgetting her attempt at a truce in an effort to provoke him to some response.
Her father had business interests in the Caribbean and they had stayed in Barbados for a couple of days. Maddy, eager to get to Mustique had found it all rather irritating at the time, but the contrast between that event — the beautiful gowns of the women, the attentive, well-groomed young men eager to dance attendance on her every whim — and her present situation couldn’t have been more spectacular.
‘How did it taste?’ he asked.
‘Taste?’ she asked absently.
‘The fish?’
‘Oh, the fish.’ She considered the remains of her food. ‘Not as good as this,’ she admitted with some surprise.
‘I don’t suppose you’d worked as hard for it.’
She stiffened at the implied criticism. ‘I certainly hadn’t been in a plane wreck and hacked down half a jungle, if that’s what you mean.’
‘What else could I mean?’ There was a teasing lilt to his voice and it was difficult to ignore the inviting way his eyes crinkled at the corners but Maddy did her best. ‘You’ve the makings of a fine alfresco cook,’ he said.
She had no wish to be thought a fine cook of any kind. ‘I didn’t do anything.’
‘I’ve known women who could burn water,’ he assured her.
‘Really?’ What women? How many? She slapped the errant thoughts away. ‘Ah, well, there’s a bit of a knack to water. I’m sure they had other talents that more than made up for it.’
He grinned. ‘True,’ he said, and stood up, unfolding himself from the sand with the power and grace of a large cat. ‘I think I’d better get the coconuts.’
Maddy bent to dip her hands into the sea to wash the fish from her fingers. The light was dying from a sky deepening rapidly from rose to purple. The swiftness of the Caribbean night never failed to startle or excite her. Already stars were appearing — glittering spots that would cluster and thicken in the intense darkness, so different from the pallid London sky that she was used to.
She turned as she heard Griff’s feet on the sand behind her. He hefted a huge nut still encased in the thick green outer husk and with one swipe of the machete neatly sliced the top off. He handed it to her with a mock bow. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to manage without a straw.’ She pulled a face, then while he repeated the action with the second nut she tipped hers to her lips. Some of the milk made her mouth, most of it went down her chin.
‘Next time I’ll fly a scheduled airline,’ she spluttered, attempting to capture the drips in her palm. ‘They carry all the necessities. Straws. Napkins.’
‘But they’re so predictable, so boring.’ He took the nut from her and hacked a chunk of husk away to make it easier to drink from.
‘You mean they fly to a schedule and don’t strand you on a desert island?’
‘Not without the statutory eight gramophone records to keep you entertained for the duration. You could ask for a packet of straws as your luxury,’ he said, referring to a long-running radio programme. ‘Would you like me to sing to you?’
‘That depends. How good are you?’
‘I’m certainly the best baritone on this island.’
‘How about “Show me the way to go home”?’ she suggested.
‘London? In December? No, thanks.’ He lay back on the sand, staring up at the stars, his hands linked behind his head. ‘Most p
eople dream of living like this, in paradise. For the moment, it’s all yours. Why don’t you relax and enjoy it while you can?’
‘Relax? I’ve never worked so hard in my life.’
‘But that’s part of the pleasure. This is the reward.’ Above them the stars had clustered thickly, seeming almost close enough to touch against the velvet darkness of the night. She followed his example and lay back against the sand. ‘Money can’t buy this.’
‘Easy for you to say. I’ll bet whoever owns this island would tell a different tale.’
‘You really shouldn’t judge other people by your own standards.’
‘At least I have some...’ A shooting star streaked across the sky but before she could say any more Griff had seized her hand.
‘Don’t waste your wish, Maddy,’ he warned. ‘You’ll be rescued soon enough.’
‘I’ve nothing else to wish for.’
‘Nothing?’ Griff demanded, rolling over and propping himself upon his elbow. He stared down at her, a small crease furrowing his brow. ‘I think that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.’
‘Nonsense,’ she said a little defensively. ‘What’s sad about it? I’ve everything that I could ever want.’
‘Everything?’ His frown deepened. ‘You’re a healthy young woman. Have you no desire for a family of your own?’
‘How typical,’ she declared, sitting up abruptly, and, pulling her hand free, she hugged her knees. The question was too personal, too intimate; it touched a raw and empty place within her. ‘How typical of a man to believe that all any woman wants from life is a chance to wash his socks.’
‘I doubt you’ll ever have to wash anyone’s socks,’ he said with just a touch of sarcasm.
‘The socks were metaphorical,’ she said crushingly. ‘It’s the attitude—’ She broke off, rather afraid that the small sound that had escaped his lips might have been stifled laughter. ‘Besides, I have to find the right man first.’
‘One with metaphorical feet, presumably.’ He turned away and began to pick up small shells and toss them into the sea. ‘What was the matter with the guy you turned down the other night?’
‘You wouldn’t understand,’ she said.
‘You could try me. We’ve nothing else to talk about.’
‘We could talk about you for a change. What brought you to the Caribbean, for instance?’
‘A job. The chance to do what I love most.’
‘Flying? Don’t you miss home?’
He turned to her. ‘This is my home.’
‘But you’re English.’
‘I’ve nothing to go back to Britain for. My father died in a mining accident when I was seven, my mother worked herself to death to give me an education—’ He stopped abruptly. ‘You’re not getting off that lightly. You’ve a wish to make.’
She felt she had touched something, come close to what drove Hugo Griffin but his face was shuttered and barred.
‘I wish I had a cup of tea.’
He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Make it a pot, I’d enjoy a cup, as well.’
‘It’s my wish,’ she said primly, then stretched back on the sand and closed her eyes. ‘If you want a cup of tea, you must wish for one yourself.’
‘You’d enjoy it more if you shared,’ he advised her, making her feel rather small. ‘Besides, I’ve already made my wish.’ This unexpected admission startled her into opening her eyes. He had rolled onto his stomach and was looking down at her, staring most particularly at her mouth, and her lips began to throb in time with her heartbeat.
‘What?’
‘If I tell you what it is, it won’t come true. But I promise you I didn’t waste it on a cup of tea.’ His voice was velvet- rich and, to Maddy’s ears, heavy with meaning. For a dangerous moment, she was certain that he intended to kiss her and for a dangerous moment she wanted him to do just that. ‘You mustn’t wish for money,’ she said quickly, with just a touch of panic in her voice. ‘It has to be something totally impossible. A dream...’
‘I know the rules and I’m very much afraid I’ve complied with every one of them.’
‘An impossible dream?’
‘“If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desir’d and got, t’was but a dreame of—”’
He stopped abruptly, but Maddy didn’t notice. She had seen something out of the corner of her eye and leapt to her feet, showering him with sand, oblivious to his furious exclamation.
‘The fire,’ she said. ‘We’ve got to light the fire.’ Without thinking she grabbed his hand. ‘There! Look, a light...’
‘It’s very faint.’
Barely there at all. A tiny light that came and went with the motion of sea. It was probably miles away. ‘But it might be a yacht!’
‘It might just be a fisherman in a dinghy. Whatever it is, it’s a long way away, Maddy,’ he warned. ‘But if we can see them, they must be able to see us.’
‘Only if they’re looking.’
Still he hadn’t moved and time was passing.
‘We have to try!’ she insisted, groping in her pockets. ‘Where’s the lighter?’
‘You used it to light the fire.’ He was right but she didn’t have it now. Had she dropped it? Her heart was beating too fast. Too fast to think clearly. Why wasn’t he doing anything? ‘Did you leave it in your shorts?’
Had she? She threw a panic-stricken glance out to sea. Was the light still there? She searched frantically and then saw it once more. Further away?
Ignoring Griff’s sharp exclamation, the jab of pain as her foot snagged against a shell half-buried in the sand, she turned and pounded along the beach to the pale smudge where her shorts were draped over a rock to dry.
Her fumbling fingers missed the cheap little plastic throwaway tube that might save them and she was certain that the only means of signalling her presence on the island was lost somewhere in the sand. Then her fingers closed about the lighter and relief surged headily through her veins.
‘Found it?’ She hadn’t heard Griff come up behind her and she jumped, quite literally, and for an instant, the lighter wobbled precariously. His hand closed about her fingers, steadying them. ‘Give it to me.’
He gathered the sprawled heap of palm fronds, scattered where he had kicked at the heap she had so neatly arranged, and Maddy fumed at the delay as he gathered a few pieces, broke them up to make kindling. Then she heard the snap of the lighter. There was a spark, but no flame.
‘Come on,’ Maddy urged.
‘The lighter’s wet,’ he said, trying again. ‘Let me try,’ Maddy demanded impatiently. ‘I did it before.’
He looked up, staring out to sea for a moment before handing over the lighter. She clicked it and it immediately burst into a bright flame but her shaking fingers couldn’t make the kindling catch.
‘Leave it, Maddy.’ Griff’s voice was gentle. Too gentle. He touched her shoulder. ‘Whatever was out there has gone.’ She refused to give up, holding the flame to a frond. ‘The light has gone,’ he repeated, then sank down onto his heels beside her and caught her hand, taking the lighter from her. Then he put his arm about her and pulled her to her feet, leaving the dark sea to confirm what he’d said.
She stared beyond him, scouring the surface of the water, determined that he should be wrong. But only starlight silvered the tips of the gentle waves.
‘Oh.’ The word was a little gasp as she realised just how much her hopes had leapt at the possibility of rescue. ‘I’ll organise everything better tomorrow. If only the lighter hadn’t been wet.’ She frowned. ‘It worked when I lit the cooking fire.’
‘These throw-away jobs can be temperamental.’
‘I suppose so. It doesn’t matter,’ she said, lifting her chin a little to hide her disappointment. ‘We’ll be missed sooner or…’ The gentle hiccup of a sob broke through her brave words and somehow, before she knew what had happened, she was enfolded in a pair of strong arms and held against Griff’s shoulder, his fingers tangli
ng in her hair as he attempted to comfort her. Heaven knew, she wanted to be held and comforted.
‘Not quite as hard-bitten as you thought?’ he murmured, but she shook her head. He didn’t understand. She was very far from being hard-bitten, and right now the desperate see-sawing of her emotions had left her quite beaten. ‘You’re tired, Maddy. You need to get some sleep.’
‘Sleep?’ The impossibility of sleeping under such circumstances appeared to have escaped him. But she didn’t argue, allowing herself to be half led, half carried up the beach to the little lean-to hut he had built.
She was oddly reluctant to let go of him. It was dark and the little noises of the Caribbean night reached out from the forest, the ardent call of a bullfrog overlaying the stridulation of a million tiny creatures that from the fortified, nature-defying terrace of the Mustique beach house would have sounded charming. Here everything was so much closer, and as he set her down on the sand, she clutched at him. ‘Don’t leave me.’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ he said a touch wryly as he detached her hands from his shoulders. ‘Go on now. Go to sleep.’
She slid beneath the dark thatch of the makeshift hut and curled up into a defensive little ball like a miserable child. He had laid something — a towel, perhaps — over the sand. To her weary limbs it felt as soft as a feather bed. She lay there, conscious of tears welling in her eyes as she wondered whether her father was safely home. He would phone Zoë, expecting to speak to her.
What would Zoë tell him?
Her brief descent into self-pity filling her with disgust, she rubbed angrily at her wet cheeks. She never cried. Griff was right — she should try and get some sleep. Everything would seem better in the morning.
Maddy eased off her trousers and rolled them up to make a pillow and then stretched out. Tomorrow they would be rescued and all this would just seem like a dream, she decided as she was caught out by an unexpected yawn. A very bad dream. Then she closed her eyes.
* * *
Maddy woke to a brilliant light shining in her eyes. She blinked, trying to think where she was and why the bed was so hard. Then as she half turned to ease herself one thing became startlingly apparent. She was not alone.