by Anne Mather
‘What do you want?’ she asked, untying the apron which she had worn over her orange pleated dress.
Damon's eyes travelled the length of her body, and then returned to rest on her mouth for a moment, unconsciously disturbing Emma's emotions. Despite his age, there was more power and vitality emanating from him than from any of the younger men in the other room, and beside him they seemed almost youthful and unsophisticated and very inexperienced.
Then he shrugged, and drew out his cigar case. ‘Actually, I came to assure myself that you were keeping your side of the bargain,’ he remarked casually, and in so doing arousing Emma's annoyance. ‘Johnny will have told you his mistakes have all been rectified.'
‘He hasn't mentioned it,’ replied Emma shortly. ‘In any case, I have no doubt that you've kept sufficient evidence to implicate him should I do anything to baulk you at this stage.'
‘You're so right,’ he said mockingly. ‘However, I gather this is in the nature of a farewell party. I called round earlier to see you, and when I could get no reply I happened to bump into one of your neighbours who was only too willing to supply me with the details.'
‘How convenient for you,’ said Emma. ‘Well, is that all?'
‘Not quite. I'm leaving for Hong Kong in the morning. That's why I'm here tonight. I shan't see you again before you leave. Miss Weldon tells me you have all the necessary literature and you know my cousin Chris will meet you in Nassau.'
‘Yes.’ Emma's voice was flat.
‘Good.’ He nodded and straightened. ‘Don't look so miserable, Emma. I guarantee you won't find life boring. Sainte Dominique is near enough to New Providence to provide as much entertainment as you could find anywhere in England.'
Emma's eyes flashed angrily. ‘You won't accept that I might prefer this cold, dull island, will you?’ she exclaimed. ‘To me, London is home. I don't want to go to the Caribbean, however glamorous you make it sound.'
He smiled derisively. ‘What shows your ignorance of such things,’ he remarked lazily. ‘In this, as in other matters, Emma, you think you know best. Do you really believe that still?'
Emma's cheeks burned painfully. ‘Please go,’ she said, in a muffled voice.
‘With pleasure,’ he nodded, and swung open the door.
After he had gone, Joanna came to Emma's side.
‘Is that your new employer?’ she cried in astonishment.
Emma nodded.
‘But, darling, he's marvellous, isn't he? Good lord, if I were in your shoes I'd be whooping for joy. No wonder poor old St. Benedict's had to take a back seat.'
Emma shook her head. ‘Oh, Joanna, it's not like that at all…'
Joanna looked sceptical. ‘My dear, if it's true what they say, that you and he were once like that,’ she twisted two fingers together as she spoke, ‘then if I were you I'd try my darnedest to get the ball rolling again. After all, darling, you are twenty-five, and most girls are married by then.'
Emma managed a smile. ‘I'm a career woman, Joanna. Didn't you know?'
But when she was alone in bed that night Emma found scalding tears rolling treacherously down her cheeks. If only Joanna had known what she was saying; if she were aware of what Emma had turned down. She would never have tormented her by chiding her about her age when seven years ago Emma had had every opportunity for happiness, but had not been able to take it.
CHAPTER THREE
THE arrangements for her flight to Nassau were less than exacting. An afternoon flight to New York brought her down there at four in the afternoon New York time, and a booking had been made for her at an hotel close by the airport where she spent the rest of the afternoon and that night. Then the following morning she flew on to Nassau, arriving there at lunch time.
Most of the passengers on the flight from New York were elderly business men and their wives, on their way to spend a few weeks in the sun, but although they did not know who she was, or her circumstances, they were very kind to Emma, and she was not short of conversation on the flight.
When they landed at New Providence's International Airport, she said good-bye to her new-found acquaintances and emerged from the Customs building alone.
It was a marvellous day, with a clear blue sky overhead, and the white-clad stewards and porters about the airport looked cool and comfortable, which was more than Emma felt. She was still wearing the Donegal tweed suit she had worn when she left England, and apart from changing her blouse that morning she was dressed for a much colder climate. Her llama coat was slung over one arm, and her suitcases had been deposited beside her when she refused the services of a porter.
But, as she looked around her, she could see no one who might conceivably be Damon Thorne's cousin, Chris. If this girl was a relation of Damon's she would most likely resemble him, but there were no dark-haired girls in the vicinity, and only a tall, slim, fair-haired man was standing watching her speculatively.
Becoming embarrassed by his scrutiny, Emma turned away, wondering whether she ought to report to the information desk that she was going for a cup of coffee and would they contact her if anyone came looking for her. There was no point in her taking a taxi into the city; she had no idea where she should go.
Lifting her cases, she turned towards the airport buildings again, but the man suddenly came to life, and walked swiftly towards her. As he approached, Emma wondered who he could be. Dressed in a lightweight tropical suit of a biege material, his almost silvery hair lifting slightly in the faint breeze, he looked about thirty, and was certainly very attractive.
Reaching her, he said: ‘I'm sorry if you were beginning to resent the appraisal, but I've finally decided you must be Emma Harding, am I right?'
Emma stared at him in relief. ‘Yes, I'm Emma Harding. Have you come to meet me?’ At his nod she continued, ‘Oh, thank goodness. I was half afraid… Mr. Thorne's cousin had forgotten all about me.’ She hesitated only a moment over his name.
He grinned. ‘Didn't Damon tell you I should meet you? I mean, I thought at first you couldn't be the girl I was waiting for simply because you never gave me half a glance.'
Emma smiled. ‘Are you Chris Thorne?'
‘Of course.'
She laughed. ‘I don't know why, I was expecting a girl. You know, “Chris” being short for Christine.'
He took her cases, and started to walk across to where a low slung white sports car was parked. ‘It's also short for Christopher,’ he said, slinging her cases on to the back seat, and helping her into the car. ‘And you're not quite what I expected, either. You're much younger, and much more attractive.'
Emma blushed. ‘Why, thank you,’ she said, sliding into her seat. ‘I feel better already.'
The drive to Nassau, with Christopher Thorne, was a memorable experience. He took the coast road, giving her the full benefit of the magnificent scenery. Emma thought she would never be able to describe the place to Johnny, and Joanna, back home, without sounding exactly like a travel brochure. But despite her assertions that the Bahamas held no appeal for her, she was unable to prevent a thrill of purely physical anticipation when she saw the fabulous pink-tinged beaches and creaming coastline. The names of the beaches were inviting too; Love Beach, Paradise Beach; Emma shivered expectantly.
Christopher Thorne glanced at her and indicated a famous golf course on their right. ‘There's plenty to do,’ he said lazily. ‘Swimming, water-skiing, skin-diving. Can you swim?'
‘Oh yes, but I'm afraid the other two things you mentioned I've never tried.'
‘You will,’ he remarked, smiling. ‘I'll teach you myself.'
Nassau was teeming with people at this time of day, but Christopher managed to ease his way between the swarms of cyclists, the taxis and the horse-drawn Surreys to swing into the forecourt of a huge hotel. The building was all white, with lots of windows with jalousies, and balconies overlooking the whole of Nassau. Christopher handed the car-keys to a waiting attendant, and then called the boy to take in Emma's cases.
He
helped Emma out, and said: ‘Come on, your room is booked. I guess you could use a shower and a change of clothes.'
‘Could I not!’ exclaimed Emma, nodding, and preceded him into the hotel.
She left Christopher downstairs and went up in the lift with one of the boys who conducted her to her room. It was a magnificent place with modern Swedish-designed furniture and cream and green walls and coverings. Adjoining it was a bathroom for her own personal use, and she wondered why Christopher had gone to the trouble of booking her a room like this when they would be leaving after lunch for Sainte Dominique.
She bathed in the deep step-in bath, towelled herself dry, and then sought about in her cases for a change of underwear. Finally she donned a pale blue shift of thin Tried jersey which outlined the rounded curves of her slim figure. She ran a comb through her thick, silky hair which swung against her shoulders and a coral lipstick completed her toilet.
Feeling more ready to face the world, she went downstairs again. It was after one o'clock, and she was feeling quite hungry. To her relief, Christopher was waiting in the foyer, and came to meet her eagerly as she emerged from the lift.
‘Come on,’ he said, grinning appreciatively. ‘I'm starving!'
‘So am I,’ replied Emma, and allowed his fingers to link with hers as they walked through to the restaurant.
Their table, which Christopher had reserved earlier, was situated on a terrace overlooking the harbour. They had Martinis first and then Emma allowed Christopher to choose what they would eat. They ate fresh melon, followed by shellfish and green salad and french fried potatoes, and completed the meal with a fruit salad and fresh cream topped with nuts. Coffee was of the continental variety, and Emma had two cups.
She leaned back, replete, and accepted a cigarette from Christopher. When he had lighted hers, and his own, he said: ‘You enjoyed that?'
‘You know I did.’ She smiled. ‘Did I seem to have an enormous appetite?'
He laughed, and shook his head. ‘No. I like to see a girl enjoy her food, instead of only picking at things which aren't fattening. I should say you had no worries on that score.'
‘Not at the moment, although I'm afraid this life won't be so demanding as my work at the hospital, and I may find myself putting on a couple of inches here and there. I shall have to be careful.’ She smiled.
‘What did you do in England? I mean, I know you were a nurse, but what were your hobbies? Did you go out a lot?'
Emma shook her head. ‘No. Not really. I attended lectures sometimes, and I enjoy the occasional visit to the theatre. I like concerts, most kinds of music, and I adore reading.'
Christopher looked interested. ‘Do you now? And what do you like to read?'
She shrugged. ‘Most anything. I enjoy thrillers, romances, really anything that holds my interest.'
‘Have you heard of Christmas Holly?'
‘Christmas Holly.’ Emma frowned. ‘Of course, he's that private investigator Michael Jeffries writes about.’ She laughed. ‘They're rather good. I think I've read two or three of them.'
Christopher grinned at her. ‘Two or three!’ he exclaimed mockingly. ‘I'v written twenty-seven, I'll have you know!'
Emma was astonished. ‘You're Michael Jeffries!’ She drew on her cigarette incredulously. ‘How marvellous! Imagine meeting Christmas Holly's inventor. What a wonderful name, by the way. Wherever did you think of it?'
‘Well, Christmas is not so very different from Christopher, and Holly has thorns. Rather corny, isn't it, but at least it goes together. And my full name is Christopher Michael Jeffrey Thorne, so that explains the rest.'
‘Well, anyway, I think this is terrific,’ said Emma enthusiastically. ‘Writing after all is the necessary forerunner to reading, and I've never met a writer before. Do you live on Sainte Dominique?'
‘No,’ he shook his head, and she looked disappointed.
‘I live on Sainte Catherine, which is quite close by. Only a couple of miles from Sainte Dominique actually, so we'll be near neighbours. It will be a change to have someone to talk to who is interested in my work.'
‘That's good,’ Emma smiled. ‘Who lives on Sainte Dominique – apart from Annabel, of course?'
He shrugged. ‘Well, there's Tansy, she's Annabel's old nanny. I think you'll like her. She used to be Damon's nanny years ago. Then there's the other servants, of course. And Louisa Meredith, she's Annabel's governess.'
Emma was astounded. ‘But surely, if Annabel has a nanny, and a governess, she doesn't need me!'
Christopher looked thoughtful. ‘I wouldn't say that,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘Tansy is too old to take a six-year-old very far, particularly one in Annabel's condition. As for Louisa – well, she's a bit useless. Oh, she teaches Annabel to read in Braille, and she has conversations with her. I suppose Annabel is learning quite a lot, but as far as being a companion to the child is concerned, she's no help. To talk to a child, one has to treat them as equals, not talk down to them. Louisa could never forget herself sufficiently to romp with the child. She's far too reserved.'
‘I see.’ Emma sighed. ‘Who has been looking after Annabel?'
‘Brenda Lawson. She was a woman in her thirties. She's married a retired American businessman who has decided to make his home in Spanish Wells.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Are you ready?'
Emma nodded, and allowed him to help her to her feet, and walked with him out of the restaurant. In the entrance hall of the hotel, he paused.
‘How is your room?'
‘It's fine.’ Emma frowned. ‘Are we staying overnight?'
Christopher grinned. ‘That was the idea. Do you mind?'
‘That's not the point, surely,’ exclaimed Emma, involuntarily. ‘I mean, I understood from my instructions that we were leaving for Sainte Dominique after lunch.'
‘Damon's instructions,’ remarked Christopher dryly. ‘Look, he may be the big man back in England and the States, but here he's just my cousin, and I say what goes. Don't you want to stay?'
‘Well, of course my feelings are immaterial,’ Emma said, sighing. It was very flattering to know that this attractive man should be enjoying her company, but she couldn't help but feel that Damon would be furious if he knew.
Christopher was beginning to look a little annoyed. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You decide.'
Emma bent her head. ‘Please,’ she said, ‘I don't want to cause any trouble.'
‘All right, we stay. Good heavens, girl, no one's going to tick you off here. You're not in your hospital now, you know. Life proceeds at a much more sensible pace here. Besides, I want to show you the island. New Providence is quite a place.'
And so it was. Emma soon forgot her anxiety in the pure enjoyment of the places Christopher took her to see. He insisted she brought her swim suit with her, and afterwards she was glad she had.
First of all they explored Nassau itself. Christopher showed her the Straw Market, and provided her with a huge straw hat to shade her eyes. He bought himself a straw hat, too, but his was much more conservative in design and she laughed when he tilted it extravagantly and did an impression of Maurice Chevalier.
Bay Street provided them with plenty of window shopping, but they did not buy anything. Emma had no desire to arrive on Sainte Dominique already loaded with gifts to take back home.
In the harbour, boats of every kind were moored, from small sailing vessels used for fishing, to sleek catamarans gleaming with chrome and white paint-work.
They hired a Surrey and toured the city in true tourist style, the sleepy back streets a reminder of days when pirates swaggered through the town. Emma could hardly believe some of the anecdotes Christopher related to her, but the island's history interested her so much that she determined she would buy some books about it at the first opportunity.
Afterwards they sought the beach, and the creamy warmth of the blue-flecked waters. Emma had never bathed in a sea so warm, or so inviting, and she was tempted to stay in the water for the rest of the afternoon
. But Christopher teased her mercilessly by continually ducking her, so that at last she walked up the beach with him and lay back on the towels he had provided. Her straw hat shaded her eyes, and she felt wonderfully content. She could almost believe she was here of her own volition, and not because Damon Thorne had given her no other choice.
Christopher was a very good companion. His literary background had provided him with the gift of creating interest out of the simplest things, and his knowledge of the area was extensive. He had travelled throughout the Caribbean, and knew Jamaica and Trinidad very well indeed.
Emma was a born listener, and lay on her stomach now looking down at him as he told her about the slaves who had come to the West Indies.
‘Poor devils,’ he said, his eyes half closed against the glare. ‘They left one sort of slavery for another. At least in the southern States they could be assured of food and shelter. Some of them were hard pushed to stay alive here in the beginning.’ He sighed. ‘And the white population in those days considered the Africans a people who required leadership and discipline to survive. They wouldn't believe they were capable of providing for themselves.'
Emma made a move with her lips. ‘I'm surprised you don't write about the islands. Your books are always set in the States.'
Christopher grinned and propped himself up on his elbows, so that his face was only inches from her own.
‘Tactics, honey, tactics,’ he said cheerfully. ‘My books sell very well in the States, and as it's my bread and butter, who am I to disappoint my fans?'
‘Mercenary creature!’ Emma wrinkled her nose at him, and then lay back again. It was very warm, and she was feeling quite drowsy.
Christopher looked down at her now. ‘Aren't you glad we didn't go back to Sainte Dominique today?’ he asked.
Emma opened her eyes. ‘If you mean am I enjoying myself, you know the answer is “yes”,’ she replied comfortably. ‘But I have a distinct feeling of guilt every time I really consider it.'