CHAPTER SIX
She leaned her elbows on the balcony rail, ostensibly looking down, but not seeing the colorful scene ’round the swimming pool area, or the swaying casuarinas and coral sand lapped by the sea. All she could see was Paul’s face, set hard in contempt and determination.
The man was a nut case, and her brain couldn’t be working to normal capacity or she’d take no notice of what he said and catch the next plane home. But if she did it would be the end of Allycats, leaving them in a worse plight than before. Her mistake in accepting the commission would cost dearly. She would have to recompense Paul for the clothes she’d bought for the trip and her air fare, and she had no guarantee that Ally hadn’t already drawn on the money she’d deposited in the bank. Even if Paul agreed to give her time to pay off the debt, it wouldn’t solve everything. She felt that it had been her misjudgment, not Ally’s, so she should be the one to pay. But would Ally let her? Knowing Ally, she’d insist on sharing the burden, and Ally had enough on her plate as it was. A blow like this could tip the balance; she might decide to give up the struggle to keep Samantha and let Ray’s parents take control—in Samantha’s best interest. But it wouldn’t be, and Catherine knew without a shadow of a doubt that it would break Ally’s heart to have to give up her daughter. A deep sigh escaped Catherine’s lips. All things considered, she couldn’t back out. It seemed that she was stuck with Paul, with his roaming hands and condemning looks and sharp tongue, and his undeniable magnetism and charm. Had he been repulsive she would have stood a much better chance of fending him off. As it was . . .
She still couldn’t get over his cheek in thinking he could get away with such monstrous behavior. She had been right about him from the beginning. Feminine worship had ruined him. He was so used to women falling over backward for him that he was stunned when one held out against him. Like an overly indulged child, he couldn’t bear to be thwarted. She could think of no other reason for his strange manner toward her. It was pathetic, really. She hadn’t ever considered herself to be a head-turner, the type that left men gasping. At best, he must see her as some kind of challenge merely because of the indifference she was clinging to by the skin of her teeth. Once he overcame her scruples she would have no further attraction for him, and what kind of mess would that leave her in? As if she didn’t know! She had never before met anyone quite like him and she could only rue the day that some perverse mischance of circumstance had put her so completely in his power.
Oh, well—nothing was going to be solved by futile repining. She might as well make the best of her unexpected day off and take a look ’round. Not being the type to find joy in lounging around swimming pools, she dug out a comfortable pair of walking sandals.
Before leaving the hotel she bought a postcard for Ally, which she filled out, tongue in cheek, in the lobby. Just a few hastily written lines to say that she’d arrived safely and all was well. She left it to be mailed at the reception desk, and then swung out the hotel door and made for the heart of the shopping area.
She looked in awe and admiration at the exquisite workmanship that had gone into making the popular crafts: straw goods, wood carvings and shellwork. She wandered into a courtyard where paintings and pottery were for sale, along with bolts of fabric in colorful island designs. She didn’t buy anything, although the temptation was great, feeling it wiser, in the circumstances, to save her money.
Inevitably, the crush and the heat, her policy not to buy and her love of the sea drove her down to the beach. It was cooler there, but the heat was still overpowering. She succumbed to the appeal of a long, ice-cold, refreshing fruit drink, which she purchased from a beach bar, and soaked up the stunning difference of everything.
She had always thought that the sky was the same everywhere, a little bluer in some places, grayer in others. But this sky bore no relation to the sky back home. Nor did anything else about the place. The trees were different; the birds were different; the flowers were different. Even the air didn’t smell like air as she knew it. It came pure on the wind, washed clean by the miles of ocean, and she would have been perfectly happy just standing there, breathing it in all day.
She saw Joseph, the Bahamian porter at the hotel, and she waved to him. He grinned back at her. His face reflected his way of life and exhibited the same look of contentment she had noticed on the faces of all the locals, a look which the holidaymakers hoped would rub off onto them.
She was enchanted by it all. The color, the atmosphere, the fringe-topped surreys drawn by horses wearing straw hats. One stopped, spilling out a boisterous, rowdy threesome. Two boys, clean-cut individuals in their early to middle twenties, one dark-haired, the other a ginger nut, the freckles on his laughing face burnt deep into his skin. And a girl, a tall, voluptuous blonde wearing tight-fitting pale blue pants and a twist of material supplying minimum coverage up top, who yelled, ‘Catherine!’
Simultaneously, Catherine greeted her in spontaneous delight. ‘Deirdre!’
‘This is Piers and this is Jock and they’re both fantastic guys, sweetie, so you can’t go wrong.’
‘Let her make up her own mind,’ the dark-haired boy, obviously French and therefore Piers, said in accented English. ‘She can go wrong any time she wants to with me. Enchanté,’ he said, bending over Catherine’s hand and sliding her a look of warm familiarity.
‘Naughty boy, Piers,’ Deirdre chided with a giggle. ‘Catherine’s not like that.’
‘You stick with me, Catherine,’ Jock said. For all his fiery hair his Scottish burr was soft and full of charm.
Catherine had no intention of sticking with any one of them. She suspected that they had been drinking. At least, Deirdre and Piers had; Jock seemed sober enough.
‘We’ve had the most fantastic time,’ Deirdre said, tugging Catherine’s arm and commanding her attention. ‘We’ve been to the Queen’s Staircase—sixty-five steps hewn out of coral rock to provide swift passage for the troops from the fort to the sea. That’s history, Catherine. Isn’t it something! The queen was Charlotte, wife of George the third. And that’s enough culture for one day. Now we’re going for another little drink. Why don’t you come with us?’
‘Thanks, but no. I’ve just had a drink, and I don’t want another.’
‘Now let me guess what potent concoction that would be,’ Deirdre said irrepressibly. ‘Water laced with water?’
‘Fruit juice, actually. That’s what you ought to be drinking.’
‘Oh, don’t be so stuffy,’ Deirdre said, tossing her blond head. ‘I’m on holiday. If you can’t let go a bit on holiday, what’s the point in coming? Do yourself a good turn, kid; join us and have some fun.’
It wasn’t Catherine’s idea of fun at all, but she thought she might have it on her conscience if she let Deirdre go off with the two boys by herself. They looked harmless enough, even the hot-eyed Piers, because she thought there was a lot of bravado in his attitude, and Jock seemed quite steady. On the other hand, Deirdre had only just got there, so she couldn’t know them very well. Perhaps, Catherine decided, she’d tag on for a while and see what happened.
When they passed the beach bar she thought they’d forgotten they were going in search of a drink, and didn’t bother to remind them. It never occurred to her that they were going farther afield in pursuit of their quarry, and she was surprised to find herself being taken to the landing stage, where a launch was tied up which they seemed to have a proprietorial interest in.
‘Is this your boat?’ Deirdre inquired.
‘Not ours by right of ownership, worse luck,’ Jock admitted. ‘It belongs to our boss. Come on, girls. Let’s have you aboard.’
This was obviously for Catherine’s benefit, as Deirdre needed no persuasion.
As Catherine hesitated, Deirdre giggled impishly. ‘The boys promised to take me for a run in her.’
‘Don’t you fancy that?’ Piers turned to Catherine and asked.
She did. It appealed to her immensely. A trip out to sea sounded li
ke heaven. She couldn’t think of anything she’d like better. It would be cooler away from the land and the prospect of feeling the clean sea air blowing on her face was an irresistible temptation. The launch was new and of the luxury class. The fact that the boys’ employer had entrusted them with it surely had to be a recommendation of their characters. Their boss had to think they possessed a high sense of responsibility.
But still something held her back; some tiny nucleus of doubt made her hesitate. Something niggled, a scruple yet to be overcome.
It was ironic that Deirdre should find it and say with taunting accuracy, ‘Afraid that gorgeous hulk of man you work for might object? I know he wasn’t very taken with the idea of your chumming up with me. That stood out a mile. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he hasn’t banned you from seeing me. That’s it, isn’t it?’ she squealed in triumph when Catherine wasn’t quick-witted enough to deal with the look of dismay that came to her face at Deirdre’s spot-on assessment of the situation.
‘He said nothing of the sort,’ Catherine declared with bravado, but because it didn’t come easy to her it was a weak lie and merely served to widen Deirdre’s grin.
‘I don’t believe you,’ the blond girl challenged.
‘Even if he did sort of hint at something of the sort,’ Catherine admitted unhappily, ‘you don’t think I’d allow him to dictate what I do or who I see in my free time, do you?’
‘I won’t know that,’ Deirdre said slyly, ‘until I see whether you get on the boat or not.’
It didn’t help to notice that Jock and Piers were watching with amused speculation. Feeling outmaneuvered, not to mention annoyed with herself for aiding and abetting Deirdre and the boys by talking herself into trouble, Catherine knew she couldn’t show herself to be spineless by walking away. With her chin held high, in direct contrast to the sinking sensation that she felt inside, she gave her hand to Jock and allowed him to assist her onto the boat.
Taking her place beside Deirdre, Catherine shrugged her shoulders in a gesture expressive of, ‘I’m here now, so I’ll make the best of it.’
Piers took the controls, opening up the throttle as they cleared the jetty with a roar of sound that attracted attention from the shore. Catherine wondered if one of the lifted heads belonged to Joseph and if he would let it slip to Paul that he’d seen her going out to sea in a launch with a blond girl, whom Paul would immediately identify as Deirdre, and two men. Too late to bother about that now, she decided philosophically. In any case, the exhilaration of riding the waves, feeling the wind whipping her hair into a streaming pennant, was so wonderful that it overrode her stirrings of unease.
Deirdre left her seat to stand by Piers and was immediately invited within the circle of his arms to take the wheel, which she did with alacrity. Catherine was duly asked if she would like a turn, but she declined, saying she was happy where she was—savoring the beauty all around her, watching the swirling folds of blue, aquamarine, green and crystal water frilling in their wake. Or looking to where the brilliant blue ocean burst into waves of white spume upon the glistening white beach of yet another islet or cay floating like a mirage in a shimmering heat haze.
Catherine was staring enthralled at just such a spectacle of delight, a crescent-shaped island with swaying mop-head palm trees and bleached white sand, when Piers pointed to it, announcing, ‘That’s it. Won’t be long now.’
What did he mean? It was obvious that he was turning in to land.
‘That isn’t New Providence,’ Catherine protested.
‘Who said it was?’ Piers replied. ‘It’s Coral Cay.’
‘So why are we stopping here?’
This time Deirdre answered, leaving Catherine in little doubt that she’d been in the know from the beginning. ‘Their boss has a house here. Isn’t that the most fantastic thing? Imagine anyone being well oiled enough to own a retreat like this!’
Catherine refrained from commenting on that. She was too busy wishing she’d asked more questions at the onset. ‘Who is their boss?’
‘Gus Strindberg, the film producer,’ Deirdre said with awe in her voice. ‘Don’t be a wet blanket, Catherine. Don’t spoil it for me.’
Deirdre had a dreamy look in her eyes, that caused Catherine some dismay. Did she hope to be spotted? Deirdre had seen too many movies. Didn’t she know that stardom didn’t come that easily? Things like that just didn’t happen in real life.
‘Deirdre, I don’t know for sure what’s going on in that head of yours, but—’
‘Don’t start preaching, for goodness’ sake,’ Deirdre cut in petulantly.
‘I won’t, if that’s how you feel. But I do think you could have told me where we were going. I thought you were only going for a drink. You sprang the boat trip on me, and now this.’
‘It was put to me in much the same way. Piers and Jock asked me if I’d like to go for a drink. I said where. They said first we’d go for a spin out to sea if I fancied it, and on the way back call in at their boss’s for a drink. All perfectly square and above board. Nothing at all underhanded, if that’s what you’re suggesting. You’re too suspicious, Catherine,’ she chided. ‘You want to watch that. It’s not a very nice character trait, and it’s not fair what you are trying to do. You seem determined to spoil my day. Ordinary people don’t get chances like this every day of the week and you should think yourself lucky you’re included, instead of dropping insinuations all over the place and looking horribly wronged.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Catherine said in contrition. Feeling that up to a point Deirdre’s criticism of her was just, she tried to inject a bantering note into her voice. ‘I see that it’s my own fault I’m here. When you invited me to come for a drink with you I should have done what you did—asked where.’
It worked. The atmosphere lightened miraculously and Catherine didn’t even seem to be carping as she asked, ‘What time will we get back to New Providence?’
‘Are you in any particular hurry?’ Piers questioned casually, sending her a smile of Latin charm.
‘I’d appreciate it if you’d get me back to my hotel in time for dinner.’ That way she wouldn’t be missed. She wasn’t exactly afraid of what Paul would do if he found out, it was just that it would be less unpleasant if he didn’t.
Catherine told herself that Piers didn’t answer because he needed every scrap of concentration to dock the boat. He even sent Deirdre away. ‘Be a good girl and go sit down. I mustn’t have any distractions now, chérie.’
Even Catherine’s inexperienced eye saw that there was no natural harbor and that entry to the island, which at first glance seemed to be totally inaccessible by boat, surrounded as it was by the razor-sharp coral of the encircling reef, was negotiated through a narrow channel, a task which took up every last particle of Piers’ expertise.
The maneuver was completed and they were safely inside; then Piers spat out something in French that sounded suspiciously like a swear word. Following the direction of his gaze, Catherine realized that it was the helicopter parked by the side of the house that was responsible for his agitation.
Jock’s mouth gaped in dismay. ‘What’s the chopper doing here?’
‘Obviously there’s been a change of plan,’ Piers replied tersely.
Deirdre’s head jerked back and she inquired urgently, ‘What are you getting into a stew about?’
‘Nothing—nothing we can’t handle,’ Piers said, his smile back in place. ‘With a bit of cooperation from you.’
‘Cooperation? Doing what?’ Deirdre asked, a puzzled frown coming to her face.
‘Doing nothing. Keep quiet and do nothing, and perhaps you won’t be seen.’
‘What do you mean by that? Seen by whom?’
‘The boss. Gus Strindberg, of course.’
‘But you said you’d introduce me to him,’ Deirdre spluttered. ‘You promised.’
Piers shrugged his shoulders. ‘Shame on me. A little white lie, chérie. What you call bait to get you to come.’
Catherine thought that it was about time she added a word. ‘Would you mind explaining what’s going on?’ she demanded coolly.
‘I should have thought that was obvious,’ Piers replied insolently, without apology. ‘Little Miss Star-Struck here thought she was going to meet the famous movie producer who would take one look at her magnificent body and wave a big fat contract under her pert little nose.’
‘Only he wasn’t supposed to be here,’ Catherine supplied flatly.
‘Correct. We took him to New Providence this morning. That’s what we were doing there. He had a meeting with the man who’s directing his next picture and the two leads, and he was staying overnight. Our instructions were to pick him up in the morning. As we understood it he was bringing the director and his current girl friend and the two stars back with him.’
‘It doesn’t have to be Mr. Strindberg who’s hired the helicopter,’ Jock put in hopefully. ‘Does it?’
‘Cut it out, Jock. Who else would it be?’
‘I don’t know. I guess you’re right.’
‘You can’t win ’em all, Jock. It’s just rotten luck that something’s happened to bring him back ahead of time.’
‘Rotten luck for you,’ Catherine said. ‘I’d say that his unscheduled return could be a fortunate turn of events for us.’
‘Mmm?’ Piers smiled contemplatively. Catherine hadn’t trusted him from the beginning, but every time she glanced his way in suspicion, he had been adept at covering up. Now that the game was up he had no need to disguise his thoughts. His eyes washed over her and his voice was silky and deliberately sensual. ‘A matter of opinion, ma petite.’
‘You lousy swine!’ Deirdre screamed at him, having only just found her voice again after the shock she had received.
‘What language, chérie,’ Piers tut-tutted. ‘I’m sorry that I set out to fool you, but I swear you wouldn’t have been too disappointed. You would have had a good time, with no lasting harm done. I’m confident that you would have enjoyed it, if it hadn’t misfired.’
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