Englishman's Bride (9781460366332)

by Weston, Sophie

  Just five minutes, he promised himself.

  The girl got there first. She must have heard his approach. She trod water, turning towards the sound.

  ‘Who’s there?’ Her voice was husky, hurried, a little alarmed. ‘Lisa?’

  It was not fair to alarm her, just for the pleasure of watching her carefree play in the water. And he was, he reminded himself with faint bitterness, always fair. Wasn’t he?

  Suppressing his reluctance, Philip stepped out of the shadow of the palm trees. ‘No.’

  She drew a little startled breath. He supposed she would be justified in being fearful at the sudden appearance of a solitary stranger. This hotel was on the edge of a war zone, after all, for all its international luxury.

  He said in his calmest voice, ‘Don’t be afraid. I’m staying here. Just taking a walk before dinner.’

  ‘Oh.’

  The calm tone worked its usual magic. Her alarm appeared to subside. She trod water, her head on one side.

  ‘Are you a naturalist?’

  Philip hesitated. It was a long time since he had been with anyone who didn’t know exactly who he was, why he was here and what his attitude was going to be to any subject that might be raised. Now he realised that he would relish anonymity, however brief. He didn’t answer her question.

  She swam towards him. Her languorous strokes set up sparkling fireworks in the water. He went onto one knee and leaned down to stir the lagoon as it lapped softly against the sand bar. It glittered, swirling.

  The girl reached him. She looked down at the underwater sparklers, laughing.

  ‘Crazy, isn’t it? I don’t know what makes it do that.’

  ‘Bio-luminescence,’ said Philip.

  She stood up. The water reached her waist, rocking gently. She moved with it, seeming wholly at one with the water.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Micro-crustacea. They give off light the way fireflies do on land.’

  ‘Really?’ She was polite but not quite certain that he knew what he was talking about.

  Philip grinned unseen and decided to pull the stops out to impress her.

  ‘Unless they’re euphausiacea. In that case they have built-in searchlights,’ he told her, deadpan.

  She was not easy to impress.

  ‘Are you laughing at me?’

  Good girl, thought Philip, surprising himself.

  ‘No. You can look it up. Try eucarida in the encyclopaedia and work from there.’

  He could see that she would do exactly that.

  ‘Eucarida,’ she said, committing it to memory. ‘How do you know that? Are you here with the conservation group?’

  Conservation group? Philip hesitated. He vaguely remembered the security report on the other groups in the hotel. Now he thought about it, he was not surprised. This was an area that was rich in uncodified species as well as wild men and wars.

  ‘No,’ he said regretfully, ‘I’m not with the conservation group. But once—a hundred years ago—I thought I might be a marine biologist.’

  She tilted her head in the darkness. It was a perfect shape, under the long mermaid’s hair that curved onto her shoulders. Her shadowed body looked as if it had turned smooth and streamlined in the sea, so that was the element to which it now naturally belonged. He had a sudden almost overwhelming longing to run his hand down that smooth curve from the crown of her head to her unseen toes.

  But she was saying, amused, ‘A hundred years ago? You don’t sound that old.’

  Philip was disconcerted. In spite of the darkness—or maybe because of it—she seemed to sense it. She laughed again and began to dance a little in the water.

  ‘You’re not that old, are you?’ she teased.

  She had a husky voice with a slight catch in it, as if she was constantly on the brink of tears or laughter. It fascinated him.

  ‘What makes you say that?’ he parried, wanting to keep her talking. Even though she could not see him, he smiled at the beguiling shadow.

  ‘Well, if you were, you wouldn’t be standing here talking to me, wishing you were in the water too,’ she said softly.

  This time he was more than disconcerted. He was struck to the heart. He had not known he was wishing any such thing. But he was. He was.

  Philip’s smile died.

  I can’t afford this, he thought.

  The girl did not pick up his turmoil. She did a little boogie on the spot. Those unseen toes were deliberately stirring a thousand shooting stars into zipping through the turbulent water.

  ‘Come on in. It’s lovely and warm.’

  Oh, but he was tempted. He could not remember ever being so tempted before. To slip out of the grey suit, the tie and the good manners and slide into the water with her. To swim and play like seals. Not responsible to anyone. Not responsible for anyone. Just abandoning himself to the moment and the lovely, uncomplicated girl.

  He was already discarding the lightweight grey jacket, standard garb for negotiators in tropical climates, when she put both hands on the sand bar and lifted herself out of the water. The water streamed off her in an unearthly glow. Long legs, long hair, limbs that were supple and warm and headily female. Philip’s body responded instantly and unequivocally.

  She was unaware of that too.

  ‘They leave the swimming stuff in a hut under the trees.’

  ‘Do they?’ His voice sounded odd even to himself.

  ‘Yes, it’s amazing. Like a tree house only on the ground. There were a lot of sky-blue birds with tails like saloon dancers’ skirts zipping around it earlier.’

  ‘The Asian fairy bluebird,’ said Philip, in his most detached tone. His palms were wet. He clenched them, fighting for self-control. ‘You’re very observant.’

  How long before she observed the effect she was having on him?

  He saw a flash of white teeth in the darkness. ‘Thank you,’ said the husky voice, laughing. ‘Come on. I’ll show you where it is.’

  For a moment he had a vision of them both swimming, playing out in the bay as she had been doing earlier. It was so clear, that vision. It was as if he had always known there would be this night, this moon, this girl.

  If only—

  Then the accustomed discipline struck. It staked him to the ground like fallen masonry after an earthquake. Remember your duty, his grandfather would have said.

  Duty. Dignity. Appropriate behaviour. Good judgement. Responsibility.

  ‘No,’ he said in a strangled voice.

  ‘But it’s just over there.’

  ‘No.’

  He had better command over his voice now, though he stepped unobtrusively away from her damp body. She was silver in the moonlight.

  All he could think of was that she must not detect the effect she was having on him. That it would spoil a perfect moment.

  ‘I’d better not. I’ve played hooky long enough.’

  She seemed disappointed. Blessings on her beautiful, spontaneous head, thought Philip. She actually wanted him to enjoy himself.

  ‘Not even for five minutes?’ she coaxed, that enchanting catch in her voice making it sound as if she really cared; as if her disappointment was real.

  His head was still whirling. But his self-command was practised and he could switch it on at a moment’s notice.

  ‘Not even for five minutes,’ he said regretfully. ‘In fact, I must go. They’ll come looking for me if I don’t get back.’

  ‘Oh.’ More than disappointed; almost bereft.

  He allowed himself to take her hand. Her fingers were long and slim and surprisingly warm after her swim.

  ‘Anyway, I’ve had my indulgence for the night,’ he said teasingly. ‘I met a water nymph.’

  Her hand twitched in his.

  Philip was annoyed with himself. Now, why did I say that? It makes me sound like an elderly classics master.

  Maybe it was to prove to himself as much as her that he was not an elderly schoolmaster that he forgot about not spoiling the perfect moment. Ha
rdly realising what he was doing, he pulled her towards him.

  He heard her startled breath. He felt smooth shoulders and the damp stuff of her swimsuit over the glorious warmth of breast and hip. He felt bone and muscle and curving flesh. Even then, he might have stepped away.

  But then he felt her response.

  For a tiny second she was his, mouth to fierce mouth.

  Then, like water, she slid out of his arms and dived back into the lagoon, powering away for the open sea.

  Behind him, there were voices.

  ‘Sir Philip? Are you there?’ The minder, slightly ruffled, as if someone had taken him to task.

  ‘Are you all right, sir?’ That was his aide. Presumably the one doing the taking to task.

  And the restaurant manager. ‘Can we seat the guests now, sir? We can start to serve the meal as soon as you like.’

  Responsibility! Here it comes again, thought Philip. Back in the cockpit and off we go for another trip round the same old sticking points.

  But they were his sticking points. And his responsibility.

  He turned and went to do his duty.

  But he sent a last, lingering glance after the silver trail flickering away from him, never to return.

  CHAPTER TWO

  KIT powered through the water until she got out to the open sea. She knew she had passed the last sand bar because the water was cooler and the waves had begun to slap against her face.

  She stopped and trod water, looking back. She was startled to find how far she had come without realising it.

  ‘Life is just one new experience after the other,’ she muttered with irony.

  She paddled herself round to face the bay.

  The main hotel building was brilliant with lights. Stretched out along the shoreline there were little pockets of illumination. Mentally Kit traced the map of the island: beach barbecue; swimming pool; bower bar; wedding temple. Higher up the cliffs, there were the individual lights of the guest cottages themselves. Paths up to the cottages were lit by pale stretches of party lights, hanging in swathes from tree to tree. They looked like diamond necklaces pinned out against green velvet.

  It looked pretty and welcoming and safe.

  Safe, Kit told herself. New experiences, fine. But basically I’m safe.

  The tall stranger had laid hands on her. OK. But he had not grabbed. He had not held her with the terrible force that made her feel she could not breathe. And he had let her go without a moment’s hesitation when she pulled away.

  And she had touched him first.

  That was the newest experience of all. Kit had not let any man touch her since Johnny had held her and shaken her, shouting at her that he did not love her; he never had. And tonight—

  She drew a shaky breath. It brought too much salt water with it. Kit flapped her arms, coughing.

  Oh, the stranger had kissed her, sure. But hadn’t she kissed him back?

  She cleared her throat and drew several deep, recovering breaths. She had to work hard to stay upright against the waves.

  Oh, yes, she had kissed him back. How long since that had happened? She had clung to Johnny like a thing possessed. But when he kissed her, all she had been aware of was terror that, if she did not put on a good show of arousal, he would leave her.

  Which of course he did, in the end. Kit shivered.

  A breeze riffled the water. In spite of the warmth of the night, she felt goose bumps rise on her shoulders where they were exposed to the air. This was not the time to think about Johnny. It was time she was getting back.

  She began to swim to the shore, suddenly recognising how tired she was. Swimming in the municipal pool did not prepare you for this, thought Kit. She conserved her energy and concentrated on maintaining a steady stroke.

  By the time she got there, her arms were shaking with tiredness and she could hardly move her legs any more. It did not stop her looking for the stranger. Or being disappointed when she saw that he had gone.

  ‘Just as well,’ Kit told herself grimly. ‘Enough new experiences already.’

  But she could not curb a faint feeling of frustration as she squelched along to the swimming hut to retrieve her clothes.

  She did not tell Lisa. Neither what had happened nor what—more startlingly—she wished had happened.

  Kit was not sure why she kept her own counsel. Normally she told Lisa everything. Well, nearly everything. Not about Johnny. Not about the other, unbearable, thing. But everything else. She had had to keep secrets from her anxious mother. But Lisa knew all that there was to know—or at least all that Kit could bear to tell.

  But tonight she was not even tempted to confide. Maybe because Lisa showed no interest at all in how she had spent her solitary evening.

  In fact, Lisa was monosyllabic. Kit had showered and changed in her luxury cottage, then wandered up the cliff to say goodnight to her sister and brother-in-law before taking her jet lag to bed.

  But there was no sign of Nikolai. Lisa was sitting alone in the dark on the little terrace outside her cottage. In fact, Kit nearly did not see her. If it were not for the squeak of the rattan rocking chair, she would have thought the cottage was deserted.

  ‘Lisa?’ said Kit tentatively into the murmurous night.

  At first she thought Lisa must have fallen asleep. Or was not going to answer for some reason. She was even on the point of turning away.

  And then Lisa said, ‘All right, you’ve got me.’ She sounded weary. ‘You’d better come up.’

  There were spiral steps from the pathway up to the terrace. Kit went up them carefully. She was halfway up when a match scraped and Lisa appeared at the top, carrying a storm lantern. One look at her face and Kit ran the rest of the way.

  ‘What is it?’ she said involuntarily.

  Lisa had been crying. No doubt of it. Even in the uncertain light of the oil lamp, her eyes were swollen.

  Lisa folded her lips together. ‘Not feeling too well. Sorry.’

  Kit looked at her narrowly. Lisa was never ill. Or she never had been until this winter.

  Lisa looked away. ‘How’s your cottage?’ she said with a palpable effort.

  ‘Very luxurious. Lisa, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Where’s Nikolai?’

  Lisa shrugged. ‘Having a drink with other boffins, I suppose.’

  Kit was concerned. ‘Why didn’t you go too? Not because you were waiting for me?’

  Lisa shook her head. ‘Didn’t feel like it.’

  Kit’s concern grew. ‘But surely, Nikolai must have wanted you with him.’

  ‘Who knows what Nikolai wants?’ said Lisa with sudden bitterness. ‘Oh, forget it! Tell me how you like your cottage. Found out how the fans work yet?’

  Kit gave up. Lisa would tell her what was going on in her own good time if she wanted to.

  So she said cheerfully, ‘Yup. Sussed the fans. Sussed the electric blinds. Got rid of the television and the mirrors.’

  Lisa gave a rather forced laugh. ‘You and your anti-mirror campaign!’

  Kit grinned. ‘I’ve been beaten by the one in the bathroom. It’s fixed to the wall.’

  Lisa managed a better laugh this time.

  ‘Anyway, if it weren’t for all the drawer lining paper with wedding bells on, I’d really feel at home now.’

  Her attempt at a joke was partly rewarded. Lisa threw back her head and laughed uninhibitedly.

  ‘Oh, they do like their wedding bells,’ she agreed. ‘They’re quite convinced people will start getting married here again as long as they don’t admit that they ever had a reason to stop. Have you seen their brochures? You can’t go on a fishing trip without it being called a honeymoon cruise!’

  Kit pulled a comical face. ‘Even the basket of shampoo and stuff in the bathroom has got a gift tag in it. For the Bride,’ she said in disgust. ‘It feels as if I’m here under false pretences.’

  Lisa’s smile died.

  ‘You and me both.’

&
nbsp; There was a nasty silence. Kit waited for her sister to retract—or confide what was wrong. She did neither.

  Instead she got up and went to the balustrade. She stood there scanning the horizon. She had obviously bought a native sarong locally. It stirred gently in the sea breeze.

  ‘It should be the ideal place for a honeymoon,’ she said almost to herself.

  ‘Or a love affair,’ said Kit. She was not quite sure why she said it. ‘My cottage is as near isolated as you can get and still be fifteen minutes’ walk from breakfast. A classic lovers’ hideaway.’ Her voice sounded odd, even to her own ears.

  Lisa seemed to notice that at last. She turned, looking at Kit with sudden concern.

  ‘Are you all right with that? I didn’t think. You’re not jumpy about being on your own?’

  ‘I’m jumpy about being in a room full of strangers,’ Kit said drily. ‘On my own I can handle.’

  ‘Because you could always sleep here if you are,’ said Lisa, not attending. ‘Unhappy about being alone, I mean.’

  Kit shook her head in undisguised horror. She could see where this was going. It had to be stopped—and soon.

  ‘Look,’ she said frankly, ‘I said I didn’t want to be a gooseberry. Well, I don’t want to be a buffer zone either. You and Nikolai have your problems, you sort them out on your own.’

  Lisa did not answer for a moment. Then she said in a low voice, ‘You’re right. Sorry, Kit, I shouldn’t have tried to involve you.’

  ‘What is it with you two?’ said Kit, torn between exasperation and sisterly sympathy.

  But Lisa made a little gesture, silencing her. And soon after she said she was tired and wanted to go to bed.

  So Kit wandered back to her cottage on her own. The cottage that she’d said herself was a dream of a lovers’ hideaway.

  She gave a little superstitious shudder as she remembered that. What on earth had made her think of that, much less say it?

  ‘You’re suffering from evening-class withdrawal,’ she muttered to herself bracingly.

  But really it was not something she found easy to laugh about. In the privacy of the scented night she could almost—almost—imagine it.