The Innocent and the Playboy

by Sophie Weston

  Then he said idly, ‘You reassure me.’

  Still not looking at him, she wrapped glasses in the napkins Ben had provided and stowed them carefully. A thought occurred to her. She gestured to the picnic basket. ‘Would you like something?’

  ‘Well...’ His voice became a drawl. ‘Maybe I would, at that.’

  Rachel was surprised but she peered inside the basket, inspecting the remains.

  ‘Cheese, breadfruit, pineapple—Oh!’

  He had reached out a lazy hand and pulled at her shoulder. Not expecting it, Rachel fell back onto the sand in a tumble of flying hair. She was twisting her head, brushing hair from her eyes and mouth when the sky above her went dark.

  ‘Pass on the pineapple,’ said the pirate, leaning over her. He was amused. He bent forward.

  She had been half braced for it all day but now that it was happening it came at her out of the blue. Really, she had the sophistication of a six-year-old, Rachel castigated herself. What was more, now the moment had arrived, she had not the faintest idea what to do about it.

  ‘Oh, Lord,’ said Rachel, shutting her eyes.

  It was not a demanding kiss. He feathered his mouth over her lips, her brow, her eyelids. He took his time and seemed to enjoy it. Rachel thought she could feel him smiling. She swallowed and tried to relax.

  He made a small sound of satisfaction and turned her head so that he could kiss the soft, vulnerable place below her ear. Rachel quivered. Suddenly she did not have to try any more. She was relaxing spontaneously. Her limbs felt as if they were melting, moulding themselves round him. She felt lazy, luxuriously alive to her fingertips.

  She thought of the boys she had kissed or wanted to kiss at the occasional party she’d got to in London. It had never felt like this. She was not quite sure where the difference lay but she knew it had felt a world away from this. In London she had felt hot and anxious, terrified—of doing the wrong thing, of being laughed at, of being hurt.

  If she was terrified now, thought Rachel dimly, it was not of anything the pirate might do. It was of the way he was making her feel.

  He kissed her jaw, so lightly that it felt as if he did no more than breathe on her. Unbidden, Rachel’s body jackknifed into an arch. He gave a soft laugh, his hands gentling her down again onto the sand. He slipped the straps of her swimsuit away so that he could kiss her warm bared shoulders.

  Her eyes drifted half-shut. She was breathing rapidly. Her head tipped back in an agony of expectation. At last—at last—he found her mouth. This time his kiss was shockingly far from gentle.

  So far that, in spite of her own body’s hunger, Rachel was frightened. Her muscles locked, quite beyond her control. She felt suffocated. She tried to turn her head away.

  For a moment he would not let her. His body was fierce on hers. Then, abruptly, he let her go and swung away from her.

  Rachel lay there for a moment, fighting for breath. Beside her, the pirate sat up and stared out to sea.

  ‘Crossed wires, I think,’ he said at last drily.

  Rachel was embarrassed. That annoyed her.

  ‘You mean because you jumped on me?’ she snapped unfairly. ‘Why on earth did you do that?’

  He shrugged, looking bored. ‘Jumped on you? It’s called a kiss. You should know that by now, even if you don’t use them. As for why... Because I wanted to. Don’t you ever do things just because you want to?’

  Rachel stared up at him, arrested. Her bad temper evaporated, taking embarrassment with it.

  ‘No,’ she said slowly, recognising the truth even as she said it.

  He looked down at her then. The heavy eyebrows rose. ‘You serious?’

  She pushed herself away so that there was no chance of touching him and sat up. ‘Yes.’

  She pulled up the straps of her swimsuit, brushing the sand off her arms and shoulders. He watched her through narrowed eyes.

  ‘You going to tell me why?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why you don’t follow your instincts,’ he said patiently.

  Rachel shook her head. She felt odd. That must be why she’d told him the straight, unembroidered truth. Up till then she had not even recognized it herself.

  She gave a short laugh. ‘Oh, instincts. Something else I’ve heard about and don’t use. As you must realise.’

  She kept her head proudly high but she did not quite manage to meet his eyes. The pirate sat bolt upright. He looked at her broodingly.

  Finally, he said ruefully, ‘It looks like I’ve got more than I bargained for as well, doesn’t it?’ He put out a hand as if to touch her face and then changed his mind. ‘Want to tell me about it?’

  Rachel let out a breath she had not known she was holding.

  ‘Not a lot to tell,’ she said carefully. ‘That’s rather the point.’

  She did meet his eyes then. He was taken aback but he did not pretend he did not understand.

  ‘So why haven’t those instincts of yours had an outing before? What have you been doing?’ he said lightly. ‘Living on a desert island? Hiding in a convent?’

  Rachel gave a choke of laughter. ‘Just about. Going to a girls’ college and working for exams.’

  ‘Ah. Working.’ He nodded, as if he really did understand then. ‘You can do too much of that.’

  ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,’ agreed Rachel. ‘So my stepmother keeps telling me.’

  At that he did touch her—not her face but her upper arm—running the back of his hand down her warm skin, almost as if he could not help himself.

  ‘So you’re at the Villa Azul to learn to play.’

  ‘No.’ Rachel sounded appalled.

  He flung back his head and laughed.

  She was confused, blushing. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. Not the way it sounded.’

  ‘Yes, you did,’ he contradicted her, still chuckling. ‘Nothing wrong with that. They’re not exactly role models, Anders and his cronies. I should have remembered that. Now, what you need is—’

  But Rachel was not to hear what the pirate thought she needed. Ben had appeared, slithering down the slope to them.

  ‘You finished, Mr Rick?’ he asked.

  The pirate hesitated. Then he shrugged and got to his feet.

  ‘I guess so.’ He looked down at Rachel. ‘For the moment.’

  The manservant gave him a quick look. He said without expression, ‘Mr Lemarck been asking where you are.’

  ‘I’ll bet he has.’

  ‘You want to talk to him, better be quick. Got a big party tonight. Guest’s birthday.’

  Rachel stood up too. She held out her hand to the pirate. ‘Better be going, then. It takes everyone long enough to get ready for the small parties,’ she said wryly.

  He took her hand but he did not shake it. He held onto it. ‘I guess you’re right. I’ll see you this evening.’

  Ben’s expression became wooden.

  Rachel said hastily, ‘I’m not sure. I’ve had a lot of sun today. Maybe I’ll just—’

  The hand holding hers tightened. ‘I obviously didn’t make myself clear,’ said the pirate softly. ‘Let me lay it on the line for you. I’ll see you at the party. If I don’t, I come get you. Your choice.’

  Under the manservant’s expressionless gaze, he pulled her towards him and gave her a brisk kiss. It was neither passionate nor seductive but it shocked Rachel to the core. It spoke of total possession.

  Then he hoisted the picnic basket and set off up the sandy slope. Startled out of his perfect training, Ben exchanged one stunned look with Rachel and then dashed after him. Rachel could hear them arguing about who carried the basket until the engine of the shooting-brake started up.

  She gathered up her towel and book. As soon as she was sure that the engine noise had died away and they were not coming back for any reason, she toiled up the slope. The faint evening breeze was just beginning to whip up from the sea but it was not because of that warm current of air that she was trembling when she r
eached her cabin. She closed the door and leaned against it, trying to collect her wits.

  The cabin was at the very far end of the Villa Azul’s grounds, half-hidden behind a hedge of bougainvillea and a huge hibiscus bush. A pretty maid, about her own age, came every day to change the linen. Apart from that daily visit, Rachel had been left severely alone, with her palm trees and her sea views. It had suited her very well up to now. This evening, for the first time since she’d arrived, Rachel would have given anything for the company of one of her friends.

  But there was no one to discuss the pirate’s strange behaviour, still less her own uncertain reaction to it. So Rachel, being a practical girl, climbed out of her swimsuit and into the shower. She was washing her salt-encrusted hair for the second time when she heard the door rattle.

  For a moment she froze. Then she heard her name called. It was a woman’s voice.

  ‘I’m in the shower,’ she called back.

  ‘I’ll wait.’ It had to be Judy, thought Rachel in surprise.

  ‘Just let me rinse my hair and I’ll be out.’

  She did so and padded into the main room, wrapping her hair turbanwise in one of the Villa Azul’s daily clean towels. She was swathed in another. Her stepmother was sitting at the elegant dressing table, peering at herself in the mirror. When Rachel came out of the bathroom, she swung round.

  ‘I’ve been swimming,’ said Rachel, instantly defensive.

  Judy looked resigned. But all she said was, ‘I hope you brought enough conditioner. Sea-water is terribly drying.’

  Rachel was even more surprised. Judy did not bother herself with her stepdaughter’s appearance even in London. Here at the Villa Azul she had done her best to ignore her existence.

  Judy read her expression. Briefly, she looked uncomfortable. She started fiddling with the trinkets on the dressing table.

  ‘You’ll want to look your best tonight. It’s going to be a big party.’

  ‘Even bigger?’ Rachel asked drily. She sat on the bed and curled her legs under her, watching her stepmother’s reflection interestedly.

  Judy ignored the barb, if she noticed it.

  ‘Yes. Anders has got Corporal Lili to play. And the local steel band, of course. Some guitarist for later. Dinner is formal and then there’ll be dancing on the lawn.’ She drew a long breath and came to what was clearly the ultimate in these delights. ‘Lots of Press, of course.’

  She sent Rachel a quick look in the mirror and gave a little laugh. It sounded false.

  ‘Of course, I know it’s not your sort of thing. No disco or teenage yobs. But it will be a once-in-a-lifetime experience for you. You can’t pass it up. Not a party like this.’

  Rachel’s eyes narrowed. She knew quite well that she could not pass it up. Not unless she wanted a pirate to come looking for her in her private quarters—with consequences she was certain that she was not equipped to deal with. But she did not tell Judy that. She was wondering exactly why Judy wanted her there. She was prepared to be devious to find out.

  So she stretched and said, ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She did not try telling Judy she had had too much swimming and sun. She gave Judy an excuse she would believe. ‘I haven’t got the clothes for a jet-set party.’

  Judy stopped playing with the dressing-table trinkets and swung round.

  ‘I know,’ she said eagerly. ‘I thought you’d want to borrow. I brought a couple of things over.’

  She nodded at the wardrobe and Rachel realised the door was supporting hangers draped in silk and glitter that had not been there before. She considered them for a moment. Then she shrugged.

  ‘I’m not a sequin sort of girl.’

  Judy’s face darkened. ‘Don’t be difficult, Rachel. They’re both designer names.’

  Rachel plumped up the pillows and settled down into them. She was enjoying herself.

  ‘Maybe I’m not a designer girl either.’

  Judy’s fists clenched. But she knew that Rachel was winding her up. ‘If you want to turn up in your jeans, that’s up to you.’

  Rachel smiled. ‘I don’t want to turn up at all,’ she pointed out.

  Judy looked alarmed. ‘You’ve got to.’ Her voice rose unattractively. She brought it under control. ‘You’re as much a guest here as I am. It would be unforgivable if you cut Anders’ big party.’ Her eyes hard, she said with deliberation, ‘People would talk.’

  Rachel raised her brows.

  Judy drew a deep breath. ‘Look, it’s my birthday.’

  For some reason it sounded like a confession. Rachel stared uncomprehending. Then, suddenly, she saw.

  ‘It’s not Anders’ big party at all, is it?’ she said slowly. ‘It’s yours.’

  Judy looked away, shrugging.

  Abruptly Rachel stopped enjoying herself. She sat up. ‘What’s going on, Judy?’

  Judy looked back at her. Her eyes were bitter, though her painted lips stretched into a smile. ‘Oh, come on, Rachel.’

  All Rachel’s suspicions suddenly became a certainty. She felt slightly sick.

  ‘You’re having an affair with Anders, aren’t you? You’re not even trying to be discreet about it.’

  ‘You noticed!’ Judy mocked.

  ‘So why on earth did you want me along?’ Rachel cried.

  ‘Why on earth do you think? To keep your father quiet, of course.’

  Rachel’s lip curled. ‘You mean you still have a use for him?’

  To her surprise, Judy did not lash out at that. Instead her eyes fell. For a moment, for all the exquisite make-up and the elegant clothes, she looked haunted and almost old.

  ‘You don’t know what it’s like,’ she said, half to herself. ‘Wanting him so much. Never knowing ...’

  ‘Don’t!’ Rachel’s voice was harsh. In spite of herself, she was curious. ‘Why didn’t you marry him?’

  Judy’s incredulous look was answer enough.

  ‘So you still need my father to pay your bills.’

  ‘No. Well, not only that. I need—a place in the world. I’m not like you. You’ll have your degree, a career. I haven’t got any of that. If I’m not a wife, I’m nothing.’

  Rachel’s laugh hurt. ‘And I thought you were a rich man’s mistress.’

  Judy shook her head. Her chandelier earrings jingled. ‘Holiday fantasy, darling. Real life is back in London, waiting. At least—’

  ‘As long as you don’t burn your boats out here,’ interpreted Rachel.

  Judy was smiling again. ‘Of course. Which is why you must turn up this evening. Too many gossip columnists not to. What do you think the papers will say if my stepdaughter isn’t there? Do you want your father to read that?’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘You mean you want me there for the press call,’ Rachel said at last.

  Judy laughed. ‘If that’s the way you want to put it...’ She went over to the wardrobe and took down the hangers. ‘Try them on. You’ve never worn anything like this. Come on, Rachel; you’re a woman, aren’t you? Live a little.’

  Rachel just looked at her. Judy lost her temper. She flung the clothes across the end of the bed.

  ‘Please yourself. And if your father doesn’t like the gossip—’ her tone was suddenly malicious ‘—you can tell him exactly why you fell down as a security guard.’

  She stamped out. Rachel felt sick and rather dirty. She went and stood under the shower again until she felt better. When she came out, her hair conditioned and smelling of orange-flowers, the abrupt Caribbean night had fallen.

  There was a knock on the door. Warily Rachel went to answer it. But it was only Stephanie, one of the maids.

  ‘Oh, it’s you. Come in.’

  Stephanie smiled. ‘I came to see if you wanted any help.’

  Rachel was suspicious. ‘Did my stepmother send you?’

  Stephanie looked surprised. ‘Nobody sent me. All the ladies want their dresses pressed, taken up, taken down. I thought you might too. What are you wearing?’

 
Rachel looked with dislike at the multicoloured heap on the end of the bed.

  ‘Oh,’ said Stephanie, intrigued.

  ‘Borrowed. From God knows who. Not Judy—she’s the wrong size. I’m assured they’re very expensive.’ Even to herself she sounded savage.

  ‘Oh,’ said Stephanie again in tones of complete understanding. ‘Perhaps you would prefer something else?’

  ‘I’d prefer not to go at all.’

  But if I don’t, she thought, and the papers pick it up as Judy thinks they will, Daddy will read it and be hurt. I can’t do that to him. Not after the year he’s had. Oh, why did he send me along? It’s crazy, expecting me to chaperon a woman twice my age.

  ‘Then why not stay here?’

  ‘Family obligations,’ Rachel said with a ghost of a smile.

  ‘Ah.’ Diplomatically Stephanie did not comment further. Instead she was rummaging at the bottom of the chest of drawers. A strong smell of lavender filled the room. Stephanie gave a cry of triumph and stood up with her prize. Rachel stared.

  ‘What’s that? It looks like a counterpane.’

  Stephanie threw the material away from her. It billowed up and floated down onto the bed, in shades of smoke and copper and gold.

  ‘A sarong,’ she explained.

  Rachel picked up a corner. ‘It still looks like a counterpane. What do you do with it?’

  Stephanie showed her, whipping the fine stuff round her over her green-cheeked uniform and knotting it between her breasts. Rachel regarded it dubiously. Without the green-checked dress, she thought, it was going to be terribly revealing. She said so.

  Stephanie laughed and picked up the nearest hanger. She held the sequinned top against Rachel. It was evident that the neckline plunged dangerously low.

  ‘I see what you mean,’ Rachel admitted.

  ‘You are not so pale any more. And if you put that wonderful hair on top like this...’ Stephanie showed her in the mirror, warming to her theme. ‘You need long Bangles. A gold chain or two.’

  Rachel turned away from the sarong material, sighing. ‘No jewellery. Sorry.’

  Stephanie was not put out. ‘I will borrow. You do not need anything valuable. Just the things that the ladies would wear to sit by the swimming pool. I will ask.’

  And she was gone.