A Masterful Man

by Lindsay Armstrong

  'Well, that's fine with me,' he broke in, 'so long as it isn't… anything to do with the taking off of your clothes.'

  'Do you know,' she managed to say almost thoughtfully, she wasn't sure how, 'your preoccupation with that subject leads me to wonder about you, but you will really just have to accept my guarantee on the subject; I can say no more.' And she kept her gaze supremely steady as it rested on him.

  'OK.' He shrugged. 'I guess if I expect you to take me on trust, I shouldn't mind doing the same.' He smiled suddenly and it was quite a devastating smile, full of life and wry humour, and with a further shaft of fear Davina realised that S. Warwick could be a devastatingly attractive man when he chose. 'Unfortunately,' he added, 'I have to go out, I have a meeting, but that might give you the opportunity to potter around by yourself and get to know the place-you have carte blanche and there's plenty of food in the kitchen to make yourself a meal. By the way, don't feel nervous; there's no crime on the island.'

  'I notice you don't even lock your front door,' Davina said involuntarily.

  'No. You can lock yourself in here, though, if you're

  so minded.' Davina said nothing, although she still returned his gaze steadily.

  'Well,' he murmured after a moment, 'goodnight, Mrs Hastings.'

  'Goodnight, Mr Warwick.'

  He turned to go but turned back. 'What does the D stand for?'

  'Davina,' she said coolly.

  'May I call you that?'

  'You can call me what you like.'

  'I see,' he said softly. 'I gather it would be no good offering to return the compliment?' He raised a lazy eyebrow at her.

  'I don't know what you mean.'

  'I mean I'm quite sure were I to ask you to call me Steve, that you would persist in addressing me as "Mr Warwick" with all the hauteur you're capable of.'

  'You would be quite right, Mr Warwick.'

  'I thought so. Goodnight, Davina. Sleep well.' And this time he left, closing the door gently behind him.

  Davina took a deep breath then picked up a small cushion from the chair beside her and hurled it quite uselessly at the door.

  Half an hour later she'd unpacked and was inspecting the main house. There were four bedrooms upstairs, all unusual, interestingly shaped rooms with steep ceilings and window-seats but three of them lacked any linen on the beds or in the en suite bathrooms. Steve Warwick's, which she looked into briefly, was done out in masculine fittings and the colour scheme was cream and green.

  Downstairs she discovered that the gleaming kitchen was a cook's dream, with every kind of appliance one could wish for, all looking unused. There was also a breakfast-room-cum-sitting-room, a study that was entirely businesslike and contained a VHF radio, and a den with a television set. The laundry, which held a huge freezer, a shower cubicle and a linen store, was in an annexe-together with the four bicycles. She surveyed them for a long moment, then went back to the kitchen where she made herself a simple meal of scrambled eggs on toast.

  Not long afterwards she took herself to bed and, despite the eerie quality of an almost silent night with just one strange bird calling mournfully, fell asleep quickly.

  'Ah, Davina, you're up bright and early.'

  Davina looked up from the breakfast she was making to see her employer lounging in the kitchen doorway. He had on khaki shorts, a white 'I-shirt, his hair was damp and tousled and his feet bare. She also wore a pair of long khaki shorts, a neat pink blouse tucked into them with a narrow leather belt around her trim waist and polished leather moccasins. She'd tucked her hair behind her ears and had only put moisturiser on her face and a touch of soft coral lipstick. The effect, nevertheless, because her thick hair shone and was well-cut, her skin smooth and fresh, her nails perfectly manicured, was one of good grooming and an air of purpose.

  Steve Warwick took this all in as she merely nodded at him and told him that she'd taken the liberty of making him bacon and eggs this first morning.

  He glanced at the pan she was tending. 'Bacon and eggs suit me fine.' He strolled into the kitchen and pulled a chair out from the table which was laid for one and had a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice on it. 'It seems to me that you've settled in rather well,' he remarked.

  'Well, there are one or two things we'll have to discuss,' she murmured, and put a plate in front of him containing not only bacon and eggs but fried tomato and banana. 'Uh-do you like coffee or tea for breakfast?'

  'Coffee, thank you,' he replied politely.

  Davina set the percolator on the stove and put fresh toast in a rack on the table. 'What about you?' he added.

  'I've had breakfast, thank you.'

  A gleam of amusement lit his eyes. 'Won't you at least join me for a cup of coffee? We could discuss whatever it is we need to discuss at the same time.'

  'All right.' But she waited until he'd finished and cleared his plate away as the coffee bubbled gently and filled the kitchen with its delicious aroma. She poured two cups and sat down opposite him, hesitated, then decided to plunge right in. 'I've found that it's usually helpful to everyone to have a timetable for meals and, if there need to be any variations, if you'd let me know the evening before, I can make the necessary adjustments. I don't-' she paused and smiled faintly '-mean that to sound as if I'm some sort of martinet who'll be making everyone's life a misery if they're two minutes late for dinner.'

  Steve Warwick wiped his long fingers on a gingham napkin. 'Not at all,' he drawled. 'I think it's an admirable suggestion. Go on.'

  Davina warned herself against being entirely fooled by this compliance. 'But breakfast is a bit different when you're on holiday,' she continued, 'so-'

  'Loretta and my grandmother only eat fruit and toast for breakfast. They can help themselves to that whenever they like. Candice and I usually eat breakfast together at around about this time. Otherwise make it twelve-thirty for lunch and seven for dinner.'

  'Good,' Davina murmured after a moment. 'I see the bedrooms aren't made up-will Candice and her mother share or-'

  'No.'

  'OK. I'll fix them up the day before they arrive. What about food in general-any preferences? And would you like three-course dinners, for example, hot lunches? Does Candice join you for dinner?'

  He shrugged. 'Yes, she does unless it's a dinner party and on those occasions three courses would be in order. Lunch you can make quite simple, cold meat and salad, that kind of thing-I leave it up to you.'

  'So only two courses when you aren't entertaining?'

  'Uh huh. We also catch and eat a lot of fish-are you good at cooking fish, Davina?' He raised an eyebrow at her.

  'How nice for you-extremely good,' she said mildly. 'I noticed a barbecue outside-would it be in order to light it on the odd fine night? I'm even good at barbecuing fish.'

  'Perfectly in order-is that the lot?' he said gravely, and Davina took a breath and set her teeth because it was back again. As he himself had put it, they were- albeit with the utmost politeness-fencing with each other once more.

  And for the life of her she couldn't help herself as she said innocently, 'I think so. Are you about to rush off somewhere? Please don't let me detain you if so.'

  'I'm about to take you on a tour of the island,' he replied equally as innocently.

  She stood up, 'There's really no need for that, Mr Warwick. I found the bicycles so I can take myself, besides which, I ought to get to know your cleaning lady-'

  'You can do that later, Davina. It so happens that this is the only free time I have at the moment.'

  'But-'

  'And I am quite determined to show you round the island, to introduce you to the local shopkeepers where you may shop for food or whatever you need on my account-there's also another Land Rover in the garage you can use-and to indicate to you the places you could visit with Candice so that you wouldn't be stumbling around in the dark, so to speak.'

  Davina bit her lip as their gazes held and she perceived the bright irony in his. She sighed inwardly and reflec
ted that the resolution she'd made on waking this morning, to do with somehow terminating all such exchanges between them, had failed. 'I'm sorry,' she said quietly. 'I'm ready whenever you are.'

  He narrowed his hazel eyes but, and she couldn't believe it was to allow her to save face, said no more than, 'Give me ten minutes.'

  Mounts Lidgbird and Gower presented quite a different image as they drove off. The sun sparkled on them, a few white clouds floated around their peaks, and Davina caught her breath.

  Steve Warwick glanced at her with a lifted eyebrow.

  'They just-get to me,' she said. 'Can you climb them?'

  'Gower yes, but with a guide. Lidgbird is virtually inaccessible beyond the Goat House which is a bit over halfway up and so-called because it's a cave where the few wild goats left on the island shelter.'

  'Are they indigenous?'

  'No. They were put on the island to provide meat for any callers. Because of the damage they caused to the local flora they were then marked down for eradication.' He changed gear and turned on to the road over a cattle-grid.

  'It's an incredibly beautiful island,' Davina said as they turned away from the mountains and she could see the lagoon with its turquoise water that hugged the western side of Lord Howe. 'Has your family always lived here? I'm afraid I don't know any of the history of the place.' 'Ah.' He grinned. 'Well, very briefly, it was discovered in 1788 by Lieutenant Lidgbird Ball when he sailed past on his way from Sydney Cove to Norfolk Island which became a penal colony. But until 1834 no one lived here although there were frequent visits from whaling ships and ships en route to Norfolk. The first settlers existed by trading provisions with passing ships and then in the late 1800s the Kentia palm, which is indigenous here, came wildly into vogue in European drawing-rooms and a flourishing trade in the sale of seeds became the island's main income-it still is today, together with tourism.'

  Davina sighed and smiled. 'It's amazing, isn't it? I mean these islands of the South Pacific, Norfolk and Pitcairn, Norfolk with its awful history as a penal colony and both of them with their descendants of Fletcher Christian-and Lord Howe. It's a romantic part of the world.'

  He grimaced. 'Are you a romantic, Davina?'

  'In that respect, I guess I am,' she replied after a moment.

  'Well, this is the airport, as you no doubt remember, and across the road here, up that incline and down the other side is Blinky Beach. If you're a good surfer it's great, but there are more protected beaches for kids.'

  An hour later Davina had seen all there was to see by road of the island and had indeed been charmed. She loved the fact that there were no high-rise buildings, very few shops, an almost total lack of commercialisation and that most of the guest-houses and private dwellings were screened from sight behind luxurious, tangled foliage and the beautiful, tall, sometimes unbelievably tall, Norfolk pines. She loved the lush paddocks studded with yellow daisies and white clover and the lovely, secluded little beaches. She was introduced to the Kentia palm and saw her first white tern as they drove down Lagoon Road between towering walls of trees, and was amazed to be told that they laid their eggs on a bare branch, no nest, no nothing.

  She was beguiled by the tiny community hall and the radio station alongside the only jetty the island boasted and she itched to don a back-pack loaded with her camera and explore the walking trails to places with bewitching names such as the Clear Place, Malabar, Mount Eliza. And everywhere on Lord Howe, she discovered, there were birds, from the island's distinctive landbirds like the plump, busy as a housewife emerald ground-dove, the Golden Whistler and the pied currawong to all the migratory species Steve Warwick had told her about-birds that performed unbelievable feats, to her mind, such as returning each year to the Arctic Circle or the North Pacific.

  Another thing he'd been right about was the bicycles, and not only that, but the bicycle racks that were placed at every entrance and at the start of all the mountain trails and walks.

  'It's amazing,' she said with a laugh as they inched past yet another group of cyclists all wearing crash helmets-the speed limit she'd noticed was twenty-five kilometres. 'And everyone wears a helmet!'

  'Oh, our local policeman is very strict about that!'

  'How is the island governed?' she asked curiously.

  'Well, it's part of New South Wales but we have a local island board and an administrator who lives here. Since the island was inscribed on the World Heritage List, everyone's main aim has been to keep it as undisturbed as possible so that everything unique about it can flourish. That's why the tourist ceiling is set at four hundred, why there are no giant complexes and casinos et cetera. There are also no freehold titles on the island.'

  Davina looked surprised.

  'A rather sore point with some,' he said wryly.

  'So you don't own your land?'

  'Not freehold, no. We have a system of perpetual and special leases for islanders only, which is designed to protect the island as well as the locals. For example, if you wish to sell your lease it has to be valued and offered to island residents first, at that valuation. Only if it's not purchased by a resident may it then be offered for sale on the open market.'

  'I suppose, then,' she said slowly, 'a lot of it is passed down from generation to generation.'

  'You suppose right.'

  'So-I asked you this before but we got sidetracked-'

  'Yes, my grandfather was descended from one of the early families to settle on the island.'

  Davina was silent for a time. It was obvious that Steve Warwick was a very well-respected resident of Lord Howe Island-everyone they'd spoken to had made that quite clear-and that he had a finger in a lot of pies. He'd shown her his two tourist boats that made sightseeing trips round the island, and fishing trips to Ball's Pyramid. He also owned a shop, a restaurant and a guesthouse. She glanced sideways at him involuntarily and found herself wondering why he'd never married. Because, if you were anyone else but her, you would have to admit he had an awful lot going for him. There was so much inherent ease and lightly held authority in his dealings with all the people they'd met, you could be forgiven for imagining him being-well, anything, she mused. There had been, only yesterday, evidence of how dangerous it was to cross him. There was the cultured way he spoke and his lovely house. And there was that unmistakable assurance of a man who was exciting to women…

  'You were thinking, Mrs Hastings?'

  Davina twitched her gaze away and felt her nerves prickle once more. You couldn't call the confines of the Land Rover cramped but it was impossible not to be aware of things like his hands on the wheel, the width of his shoulders, the length and strength of his legs, not to mention a rather powerful intelligence from which it was a little difficult to hide… She decided not even to try. 'I was wondering why you'd never married, Mr Warwick,' she murmured. He lifted a wry eyebrow. 'What brought that on?'

  Davina waved a hand. 'You seem to have a small empire here; you seem,' she paused, then went on deliberately, 'to have a lot of things going for you.'

  'Are you saying that from the conviction that I should at least share it with a woman?'

  'No. I don't hold those kind of convictions,' she replied calmly. 'But it is the accepted convention, if you like, for very normal reasons, and more so here than otherwise, I would imagine-keep the island in the family kind of thing.'

  He grimaced, but said, 'Well, the answer is quite simple. I've never met a woman I-couldn't live without.'

  'Dear me.' Davina had to smile. 'Are your standards impossibly high?' He shot her a narrow, glinting little look. 'Perhaps.' 'Or are there times when you're just so-abrasive that no woman has been able to put up with you?' 'That could be true, too,' he agreed blandly. 'Well, you have got a problem, Mr Warwick.' 'Davina,' he said gently, 'don't concern yourself with it. I realise most women's minds tend to run along that track, they simply can't help themselves it seems, but the more obvious they are, the less-interested I tend to get.'

  Davina kept a hold on her t
emper and replied smoothly. 'I do apologise-I was talking generally but you obviously mistook it for a personal interest in the matter. Perhaps I didn't make myself very clear.'

  'Perhaps not,' he drawled.

  'Oh, for heaven's sake!' Her temper eluded her. 'Do you seriously imagine I'm now making plans to- somehow inveigle a wedding-ring out of you?'

  'You did bring the subject up,' he pointed out. 'And your generalities did have a personal touch, despite your denial. You mentioned my abrasiveness and impossibly high standards-'

  'And I should never have opened my mouth,' she said bitterly. 'There are some men who just can't help taking anything one says in a personal context. You're obviously a prime example.'

  'And you, Mrs Hastings,' he said softly, 'are obviously somewhat intrigued.'

  'Oh, no, I'm not,' she countered. 'The very last thing I intend to do with my life, Mr Warwick, is to allow some man to have any say in it-so put that in your pipe and smoke it,' she added, and leant against the door frame with a hand to her brow and a weary look of defiance in her eyes.

  Steve Warwick drove in silence for about five minutes. Then he said, 'So, he was a right bastard?'

  Davina looked out of her window.

  'How did he get you in in the first place?'

  'How do they all-?' She stopped and clenched her teeth. 'Please, don't say any more.'

  'OK.' He shrugged good-humouredly. 'There's one thing we haven't discussed-your time off.'

  'I don't need any set time off.'

  'What about your photography?'

  'What I usually do on these jobs is just take the time when it comes, if it comes.'

  'I see.'

  'You don't approve?'

  'I'd be a fool not to approve,' he replied drily, and turned the Land Rover off the road and across the cattle-grid.

  'Thank you very much for the tour,' Davina said stiffly. 'Would you care to let me know your plans for the rest of the day? Will you be home for lunch et cetera, in other words?'

  Steve Warwick pulled the Land Rover up beside the house and turned to her with all the wicked mockery he was capable of glinting in his hazel eyes. 'Do you know how that sounded?' he queried. 'Like a much-maligned wife conducting a domestic dispute with her errant husband-we'll have to watch ourselves, Mrs Hastings. Uh-I'll be home for dinner, so you can have the rest of the day to yourself. Well, you and Maeve, my cleaning lady, that is. Good luck with her.' He leant over to open her door and added, 'Off you go, Davina. I know you'd love to hit me, but if I know Maeve she'll be spying on us from somewhere.'