That Special Touch

by Anne Beaumont

  'You'll have a regular salary and living conditions a darned sight better than you're used to,' he replied, as though she didn't know what was good for her. 'Hold on.'

  The warning was just in time as he turned down a pot-holed track, densely hedged with myrtles. Startled blackbirds fled with shrill, indignant cries, and Elisa would have followed them if she'd had half a chance. She hung on for dear life as the Land Rover bucked and jolted like a rodeo horse, gasping, 'What happens if we meet a car coming the other way?'

  'I'll probably swear.'

  'I already am.'

  He snatched a second to look at her. Elisa thought she saw amusement in his eyes. She took a chance and smiled. He smiled back. She felt a glow of warmth— and shyness—and looked hastily back at the track. She was more confused than ever.

  For a moment, just a fleeting moment, she felt they'd established real contact at last. Nothing to do with the flesh, more to do with the spirit. The track evened out, and with it her emotions. She no longer felt panic of any kind. Since she'd first set eyes on him he'd humiliated, enraged and scared the life out of her, then with one swift smile he'd put everything right.

  It was crazy, but so was the whole situation. She couldn't analyse it, so she might as well be philosophical about it. Take it as it comes, she told herself. If he says you're safe, then you must be. After all, he seems to know exactly what he's doing, which makes one of you!

  They rounded a bend and there was the sea, kingfisher-blue, flat as a mill pond, what breeze there was too faint with the heat of the sun to ruffle the surface. It made Elisa aware of how hot and dusty she felt after the bucking-bronco ride.

  Rafe parked at the end of the track and switched off the engine. Elisa sat spellbound. Trees crowded down to the very edge of a crescent-shaped beach. A low-roofed peasant's house nestled among lemon trees, and a man and woman were repairing the thatch of a rickety-looking loggia built to one side of it. A few tables under the loggia were the only sign that tourists occasionally strayed into this mini paradise.

  In front of the house, a rough and ready pier stretched a short way into the sea. A rowing-boat was moored to it and, a little farther out, a fishing-boat was moored. A hill rose steeply behind the lemon grove, and a glimpse of pink or white revealed where other little houses hid among the trees.

  'It's perfect,' Elisa breathed. 'Absolutely unspoiled.'

  'Feel flattered, I don't bring many people here.' He sounded abrupt. Elisa frowned at him. He wasn't going back to being grim and grotty, was he? If so, what was the point of bringing her here? He must have followed her line of thinking, because he said more pleasantly, 'The food's basic but good, and it's quiet. A good place for talking.'

  'I had you down as a five-star man,' she murmured. 'Nothing less than the Ritz.'

  'I suggest we forget wrong impressions and start again.' He came round to her side and helped her out. She was longing for a swim, but thought better of suggesting it. Rich wouldn't have hesitated to plunge in in his shorts but Rafe—well, whatever he said he was still an unknown quantity.

  'One wrong impression you appear to have is that I want to work for you. I don't,' she told him as they walked towards the house. 'I like to be my own boss whenever I can.'

  He didn't answer. The man and woman had stopped working and were coming towards them, beaming and with hands outstretched. They greeted Rafe like a long-lost friend, exclaiming and patting him as though they wanted to reassure themselves he was real. Elisa, whose Greek was confined to a few brief phrases, couldn't follow what was said, but Rafe spoke the language like a native.

  Eventually, Rafe turned to her and said, 'Elisa, this is Spiro and Christina. I've known them since I was a little boy. It was Spiro who taught me how to swim.'

  There were smiles and handshakes for her. They welcomed her in broken English and she replied in fractured Greek, which they listened to with approval rather than the amusement it deserved. Then they went into the house and Rafe led her to a table. He held a chair for her before he seated himself, and she said 'You live on Corfu, then?'

  'No. My father built a villa in the hills in the fifties when Corfu was relatively undiscovered. I spent most of my school holidays here.'

  'You don't like the trippers, do you?' she asked.

  'Nobody likes change. I'll admit I preferred the island as it was, but the tourist industry has been good for the Corfiot economy. My father must have known what was coming when he built up in the hills. We don't see many tourists up there.'

  'Except the occasional stray on a scooter,' Elisa reminded him with a smile.

  'That turned out to be a good thing.'

  Was it? Elisa wondered. Right now she was happy but, with Rafe Sinclair, it wasn't a feeling she expected to last. Sooner or later the antagonism would flare and they'd be at each other's throats again. She hoped it would be later, but she'd no intention of being meek to prolong the peace. She said, 'After that grope-that-wasn't-a-grope back there, Mr Sinclair seems a bit formal. Shall I call you Rafe?'

  'Please do. It's important we appear friendly when you work for me.'

  Elisa opened her mouth to argue, but Spiro reappeared, wearing a clean white shirt and black trousers. Rafe asked, 'What would you like to drink?'

  'Something long and cool and a little bit wicked for this time of day—an ouzo and lemonade.'

  'In the same glass? That's not the way the Greeks drink it.'

  She smiled at his disapproval. 'I know, but I'm just a happy tripper. I have what I like, not what I ought to like. I left my inhibitions in England—about food and drink, I mean,' she added hastily.

  'Penny tells me you're an art teacher. Are you on a working holiday, or what?'

  Elisa looked away. She was going to lie to him and she couldn't do it looking into his penetrating eyes. Briefly she told him about her 'year of freedom', concluding, 'I've picked grapes in Crete, cut down bananas in Israel, taught at the school where my friend is in Athens. I've had a fortnight here so far supporting myself by sketching, and saving towards a trip we plan to make to the smaller Ionian islands and perhaps some in the Aegean as well. So, you see, I really don't need a job.'

  She was about to ask what job he had in mind when Spiro brought out their drinks, a deep red wine for Rafe and her opaque mixture of ouzo and lemonade in a tall, delightfully cold glass. Elisa began to drink thirstily, then stopped. In the tourist resorts she was normally served an inch or so of ouzo topped up with lemonade. Spiro, however, appeared to believe in half and half.

  The spirit was too potent to be drunk like that. She put the glass down, resolving on a cautious occasional sip with her meal. When Spiro went away, Rafe said, 'The food won't be long.'

  'You've already ordered? You don't know what I like.'

  'There isn't a choice.' He pointed to the jetty. 'Most of the trade comes from the small excursion boats. Time here is limited, so the demand is for drinks and quick snacks, not meals. We'll be eating what the family eats, and Christina is a very good cook.'

  'Oh.' Her indignation died. 'I've told you about me, but what about you? Are you on a working holiday, or what?'

  'I've been running my father's firm of consultant architects since he retired a few years ago, and expanded it into several European countries. At the moment I'm setting up a subsidiary here on Corfu. I don't like the building boom, but it's inevitable. Having a say in how the island looks in years to come seems more constructive than sitting back criticising.'

  Elisa looked at the idyllic little beach and admitted, 'Change isn't always for the better. Are you an architect yourself?'

  'Of course.'

  There was nothing 'of course' about Rafe, Elisa thought wryly. There wasn't anything about him that she cared to take for granted! An ordinary conversation was as hazardous as crossing a minefield in the dark.

  His fingernails tapped restlessly against his glass. 'I'm still recruiting Greek architects, and I'm putting the finishing touches to a design for a luxury holiday complex on th
e west coast. By next month the pressure will be off, but this crisis couldn't have come at a worse time— which is why I need you.'

  'What crisis? I'm an artist, not an architect.'

  'A professional disaster I can cope with,' he said scathingly. 'This is a personal one.'

  'There's no need to snap my head off. I didn't invite myself here.'

  They glared at each other. After a moment he said, 'Sorry.'

  She retorted huffily, 'I'm as fed up with hearing that as you must be with saying it. Look, Rafe, whatever trouble you're in, I'm the last person to help you out of it. We're trouble enough all by ourselves. I'm surprised you don't think the same.'

  'I do,' he told her grimly. 'It's Penny who thinks differently.'

  'Penny? What's she got to do with this?'

  'Everything. I think we could get along all right if we had to, which we do.'

  It was an assumption that nettled Elisa. 'I don't have to do anything,' she reminded, 'and I don't intend to. We'll never get along all right. We have this basic problem—I speak and you don't listen. I thought you wanted me to do some sketches or something, but it doesn't really matter. I don't want to work for you in any capacity.'

  'Not even if Penny needs you? She's under the impression you're her friend. If she's wrong, say so, and I won't bother you any more.'

  'That,' Elisa told him bitterly, 'is a low blow.'

  'I'll strike anywhere I have to for Penny's sake.'

  His sincerity didn't add up. If he doted on the child, how come she was so repressed? Feeling she was sliding down the slippery slope to involvement, she still couldn't stop herself asking, 'Why should Penny need an almost total stranger? It doesn't say much for you as a father.'

  'No, it doesn't,'' he agreed harshly.

  Elisa was dumbfounded. Everybody defended themselves against attack. It was human nature. Either he'd just proved he was less than human, or his arrogance was greater than even she'd imagined. Did he consider himself above mortal criticism?

  Spiro gave her time to regain her scattered wits by serving lunch. It was moussaka. Nothing unusual about that, except that it had the novelty of being served in aubergine shells. Even in her confounded state, she registered that it looked and smelled delicious. There was a side salad, too, and bread. She said, 'Thank you, Spiro. It looks marvellous.'

  He might not have understood her words, but there was no mistaking her smile, and he beamed before going back into the house. Automatically, she began to eat. It was the real stuff, not the bland, heated-up mixture that passed for moussaka in some restaurants.

  The silence that had fallen made eating difficult. She didn't see why she should break it. One the other hand, she didn't like feeling awkward. She sneaked a glance at him and found he was looking at her. 'You don't like me, do you?' he asked.

  'No, I don't.'

  He nodded, as though that was understandable. 'There's no reason why you should.'

  She was taken by surprise again, and knew that was why he always had the edge on her. He was about as easy to unravel as a Chinese puzzle. She told him bluntly, 'It might help if you'd stop half saying things and explain what this is all about.'

  'I'm trying. It isn't easy.'

  It was only then that it dawned on her he was feeling as awkward as she was. It simply hadn't crossed her mind that a man like Rafe Sinclair could feel awkward. Her ready compassion stirred, although she didn't know why because he didn't have any compassion for her. 'The beginning, as they say, is the best place to start. It saves a lot of confusion.' She hesitated, then added, 'I am a teacher. I'm used to parents with problems.'

  Rafe grimaced. 'God, you sound like an agony aunt.'

  'I've been sounding a lot like an aunt lately. It's very depressing,' she told him mournfully, hoping to lighten the drama a bit so they could at least talk to each other normally.

  He smiled, and when Rafe Sinclair smiled he was devastatingly attractive. Elisa caught her breath. He should carry a government health warning. He was bad for her but she couldn't resist him, she just couldn't. Excitement surged over her like a wave, washing away her judgement and common sense.

  Suddenly it didn't seem so inexplicable that they could be fiercely antagonistic one moment and on the verge of intimacy the next. It was the way lovers were sometimes, before they surrendered to the inevitable.

  Lovers...surrender...she must be going off her head. Perhaps he was, too, because he said with a softness she wouldn't have believed him capable of, 'You're an unusual girl, Elisa.'

  Her pounding heart awakened every last slumbering part of her, generating a warmth that glowed in her face, her eyes, her answering smile. It was his turn to catch his breath, and he switched off the smile she had responded to so readily.

  'Unusual,' he repeated, 'and plenty of charm with it. A lethal combination.'

  Only he wasn't joking. He made it sound like one of his accusations. Elisa, her emotions exposed and vulnerable, was hurt as she'd never been hurt before.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Elisa was saved from making a complete fool of herself by Spiro returning to clear the table. By the time he'd served dishes of luscious wild strawberries and gone back to the house, she'd mastered the ache in her throat and surreptitiously blinked the mist from her eyes.

  Stupidly, she'd lulled herself into thinking Rafe had a warm and human side. Even more stupidly, she'd responded to it. A clearer case of self-deception she couldn't imagine.

  The awkwardness she'd imagined he was suffering from a few minutes ago could have been no more than his ego cracking. He was an arrogant man accustomed to ordering, not explaining. No wonder he hadn't known where to begin. Whatever crisis it was that had driven him to her, he was incapable of making a simple request for help. To him it would seem too much like grovelling.

  As for his smile... Elisa flinched as the dull ache of misery within her sharpened into real pain. She didn't want to think about his smile. For all she knew, a tiger might smile like that before it struck a helpless victim. If only she hadn't been beguiled into letting her guard slip and showing him how strongly she was attracted to him.

  He must have thought she was flirting with him and needed putting in her place—wherever that place was supposed to be, she thought bitterly. How brilliantly he'd succeeded must have shown on her face. She'd been stricken, and so unexpectedly that there'd been no time for a cover-up.

  Presumably this second awful silence he was permitting to lengthen between them was to let the lesson sink in, to be sure she realised how much he had the upper hand.

  Or so he thought.

  'To hell with it—and with you, Rafe Sinclair,' she said suddenly, pushing away her bowl of strawberries and preparing to stand up. 'As the Americans would say, I need you like I need a hole in the head. I'd like to say thanks for the lunch, but the words would choke me. Don't bother to move. I can find my own way up to the road.'

  His hand shot out and seized her wrist. He used just enough pressure to keep her in her chair without hurting her, but she knew from yesterday how much strength he had in reserve if she didn't sit still. She looked pointedly from his hand to his eyes. 'One of us is living in the wrong century,' she mocked, 'and I don't think it's me.'

  'You're not going anywhere until you've heard my offer,' he told her harshly. 'I'll pay you five hundred sterling for looking after Penny for two weeks. All you have to do is keep her safe and happy. I'll also cover your living and sightseeing expenses, so your salary will be pure profit. Given your style of travelling, you should be able to see all the islands you want on that.'

  He must be crazy. The island was full of girls who would jump at the job for a fraction of the pay. She voiced her thoughts. 'That's not a salary. It's a bribe.'

  'Yes.'

  She wished he wouldn't agree with her when she wanted explanations. She fell back on the question that was beginning to haunt her. 'Why me?'

  'Penny asked for you. It's the first time she's ever asked me for anything, that's why I'm
not quibbling about what it costs to get you. For five hundred pounds you should be able to forget your --' for the first time he hesitated as though unsure of himself '—antipathy towards me.'

  Elisa's mind was reeling. There was a lot more involved here than he was letting on. She burst out, 'It doesn't make sense. Penny's afraid to ask you even for a ride on a pedalo --'

  'I know,' he broke in savagely. 'That's why it's so important she gets what she wants now.'

  'Yes, but why is she afraid?'

  'If you can find that out, you'll have more than earned your salary. If you need any further inducement to take the job, I can promise you won't see much of me, and once I'm home in the evening you'll be free to follow your --' again there was a hesitation, followed by a slightly contemptuous '—social life.'

  Apparently convinced that she was so open to bribery she wouldn't run away, he released her wrist and put her bowl back in front of her. 'Eat your strawberries while you think about it. Christina will feel obliged to offer you something else if you don't, and she probably hasn't anything ready.'

  Elisa hated pandering to his arrogance by doing as she was told, but it would be spiteful to take out her resentment on Christina. Besides, she needed time to think. The strawberries were in their natural state, without sugar or cream. She picked one up and ate it, brooding on his startling offer.

  He hadn't started at the beginning, as she'd suggested. She was confused, to say the least, and her mind was teeming with questions. She asked the most obvious one. 'What's happened to Miss Tilson?'

  'For a sensible woman, she's been extremely foolish. She's been suffering from a stomach upset, or so she told me, and drugging herself to kill the pain. That's how Penny managed to stray. Late last night she was doubled up, and I had to all but force her into the car to get her to the clinic in town. Appendicitis was diagnosed, and she was flown back to England by air ambulance this morning for an operation. She still didn't want to go.'