A Masterful Man

by Lindsay Armstrong

  'I wouldn't dream of it!' He stood up. 'A lot of people prefer to enjoy their misery.'

  Davina stilled with her hands around the silver platter, and was briefly tempted to hurl the remains of the roast at him. She said instead, coldly, 'But I'm not miserable, that's what you don't seem to understand. Not all women can only find fulfilment in the arms of some man, and before you take that the wrong way-'

  'I wouldn't dream of doing that, either,' he said with his lips quirking, 'but before this discussion gets out of hand, I think I'll forgo the pleasures of your cheese-board if you'll forgive me-I have some work to do- but I wouldn't say no to a cup of coffee. I'll be in the study'

  Davina stared at his tall frame with narrowed, frustrated eyes as he walked away, and counted to ten beneath her breath.

  They had no further conversation that evening, beyond the basics, and she retired to her chalet feeling thankful but curiously wrought-up. It took a while to fall asleep.

  'Have the rest of the day off, Davina.'

  It was nine-thirty in the morning, a beautiful cloudless morning with sunlight sparkling on the sea.

  'Oh, that's not-'

  'Look, just do it,' Steve Warwick said irritably as he stood in the kitchen doorway juggling his car-keys. It had been obvious from their first encounter of the day at breakfast that he was not in a good mood-at least, he'd been terse and preoccupied. 'You might not get another opportunity,' he continued, 'and from the look of the place it's all hunkydory.' He looked around, but not as if his clean, gleaming home gave him much pleasure. 'I'm eating out tonight, anyway.'

  'Well…'

  'And lunching out,' he said sardonically and added, 'If you would care to have a precise timetable of my movements today, I'm also-'

  'Don't bother,' Davina said shortly and turned away to hide the anger in her eyes.

  'It is what you wanted to know yesterday, however,' he said cuttingly.

  She swung back to him, her violet eyes cool and ironic now, as she said, 'Only in the interests of doing my job, Mr Warwick. You could go to…the moon today, for all I care.'

  'And you can go to hell too, Mrs Hastings, which is what you really wished for me,' he replied and walked away leaving Davina with her mouth open for two reasons. Because he was right; she had been sorely tempted to tell him to go to a hotter nether region and because it was unbelievable how things had a habit of boiling up between them…

  Not, she thought, as she sat down at the kitchen table rather suddenly, that I could be accused of starting the hostilities today. It's really no wonder he hasn't married, he's got to be the most temperamental man, it surely can't just be me that arouses this reaction? Can it?

  She stared at nothing for about two minutes, then shook herself and tried to direct her thoughts elsewhere-such as what she was going to do with the day. And she remembered a little booklet she'd found in her chalet called The Rambler's Guide to Lord Howe, and went to get it.

  Which was how, half an hour later with some sandwiches, a drink and her camera packed into a back-pack, she embarked on the Goat House walk up Mount Lidgbird. She'd chosen it because it was described as the next best thing to climbing Mount Gower, which you couldn't do without a guide, and because it sounded too taxing for an eight-year-old. Halfway up, she saw that they were right. It was very steep, the path was very narrow and littered with roots, it was slightly slippery from the rain of two days ago and, because of the dense foliage and cover, she felt almost as if she were exploring some Amazonian rain forest. It was difficult to find anywhere to stand her tripod, so rough was the terrain, but anyway the lack of light was a problem so she contented herself with simply getting to the top.

  But once out of the forest, with the grey, bare, basalt upper cliffs of Mount Lidgbird before her, it became intensely worth the effort. She stopped for lunch beneath those eerie cliffs, perched on a clump of grass at an acute angle and admired the northward view of Lord Howe as it lay literally at her feet. The crescent-shaped lagoon side of the island with its turquoise water towards Malabar and Mount Eliza and the rocky, bay-studded eastern side. She could pick out Steve Warwick's house and the airstrip and Intermediate and Transit Hills in between. She could see birds wheeling over the wrinkled blue of the ocean and hear them calling.

  She consulted her rambler's guide before making the final assault on the actual Goat House cave and then climbed and edged and hung on by her finger nails until she made it. She discovered the view was even better from the shallow cave in the cliffside but the stench of goat manure was rather overpowering, although there was not a goat to be seen. She stopped to take some photos before edging round on a tiny path with a sheer drop beneath her until she gasped with sheer delight as Ball's Pyramid to the south-east came into view, floating just like a storybook castle in a sea of pale blue shimmering ocean.

  It then became necessary to find a niche where she could sit in some comfort and get her tripod set securely. That done, not exactly comfortably but the best she could manage, she lost herself in trying to capture the marvellous spectacle spread out before her. And when she'd finally filmed enough of Ball's Pyramid and the western side of Lord Howe and the birds wheeling and patrolling the cliffs, she consulted her guide again and turned her attention to some of the plants only found at this altitude like the mountain rose and bush orchid, the island apple and pumpkin tree, most of which were sturdy, twiggy and squat as befitted their station in life-clinging to the side of an exposed mountain.

  She started to inch her way back at last, feeling a glorious sense of adventure, space and fulfilment-to be greeted by a sight that made it all flee rather suddenly. Dark clouds coming from the west that looked set to deposit heavy rain on the island.

  She swore beneath her breath. The path had been tortuous, steep and slippery enough on the way up; it would be impossible in pouring rain…

  But that was what happened. A little less than halfway down the rain came, the already limited light was further reduced and the path became a ribbon of mud. I'll get lost, she thought in some panic. At least that, if I don't slip and break a leg or fall down the cliff and kill myself; as it is I'm a mess already. She sat on a rock and grimaced down at herself, liberally coated in mud already from places where the only viable way to proceed had been on her bottom. And, she thought, they're right when they say very steep places are harder to come down than get up…

  She took some deep breaths and looked around at the dark, silent, dripping jungle. Even in full daylight, such as it had been on the way up, the path itself wasn't well defined and she'd had to depend on the red arrows nailed to trees or the splotches of red paint on their trunks that were guide marks-now she couldn't even see them. She closed her eyes, then suddenly remembered she always carried a torch in her camera-bag, so she fished it out, felt slightly comforted by its yellow beam-and told herself with gritted teeth that she could do this, very, very slowly and carefully.

  She did, but it took her nearly four hours, which was double the time it had taken her to get up, and when she finally came to the end of the walk and out into blessed flat open only about a quarter of a mile from the house, she was exhausted, aching in every muscle, limping, sodden and looking rather like a chocolate soldier. It was half-past six, she saw as she forced herself to go on-if she stopped she might stay stopped, she thought. But hopefully I'll avoid my employer, she also thought; he'll probably be gone by now…

  He wasn't. As she limped up the drive she was bathed in a pair of headlights-Steve Warwick driving down it in the Land Rover.

  He pulled up abruptly and jumped down without turning the lights off.

  Davina halted in her tracks and sighed heavily. It was still raining.

  He said reverently, stopping a foot in front of her, 'Holy mackerel! Is that really you, Mrs Hastings?'

  She gritted her teeth. 'It is indeed, Mr Warwick, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't say another word!'

  'Right.' That was all he said but, although he retraced his steps to the Land Rov
er, it was only to turn the lights off, then he loped towards her again and quite silently picked her up, ignoring the discomfort of her back-pack to both him and her, and headed for the house with her in his arms. Davina gasped. 'What are you doing?' She felt his chest jolt and knew it was with laughter. 'Am I allowed to speak?' he queried. 'Yes.'

  'I'm going to deposit you in the laundry where you can strip your clothes off with impunity and make use of the shower there to get all the mud off yourself without worrying about fouling up any of your impeccable bathrooms, then I shall convey you to your chalet where we can check you out for any damage. Any queries?'

  Davina bit her lip because it was exactly the course of action she'd planned. The shower recess in the laundry had obviously been put there for these kinds of occasions. But she said, 'You don't have to…have anything to do with it, Mr Warwick, however. I'm not significantly damaged, only a bit stiff and sore-'

  'Well, Davina,' he broke in, 'I'm afraid you're just going to have to accept my having something to do with it. The alternative might not appeal to you.' 'W-what alternative?'

  'The one,' he said pleasantly, 'where I lose my temper and tell you that only a bloody idiot would get caught on Mount Lidgbird in this kind of weather because you could kill yourself that way, and where I tell you never to go off like that again without leaving some indication of your plans because I was just about to mount a search-and-rescue operation.' And, so saying, he shouldered the laundry door open, put her on her feet and switched the light on.

  Davina swayed unsteadily where she stood, her poor strained knees showed an alarming tendency to buckle, and shock darkened her eyes. 'But…but,' she stammered, 'why should you have worried about me? For all you know I might have… I might have… just stayed out for dinner or something like that.' She stopped and he put his hands about her waist as she swayed again. 'I thought of that, but you would hardly have walked and all the bikes are here as well as the other Land Rover. Besides which, I had this intuition,' he said drily. 'Now will you take your clothes off or shall I?'

  'Don't you dare,' she retorted, but with not a great deal of menace, and raised her hands to deal with her shirt buttons only to realise she still had her back-pack on. She made a frustrated sound and was horrified to discover she had tears of exasperation in her eyes. 'Just go away, will you?' she begged. 'I simply can't cope with you and all this at the same time!'

  Steve Warwick surveyed her sodden, dirty, bedraggled person for a moment then said, with a twist of his lips, 'Don't feel embarrassed, Davina. I've never seen anyone look half as good as you do in the circumstances. I'll get you a drink while you have a shower. I'll bring it to your chalet.' And he left.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The warm water of the shower gushing over her body did improve things physically, she discovered, although she was still going darkly over Steve Warwick's last words in her mind. What had he meant? That her vanity was wounded? Well, he was quite wrong; the very last thing she cared about was how she looked in his eyes and…so what had she meant? she pondered, tilting her face to the water. That I hate to look a fool in his eyes? The kind of fool who takes silly risks?

  Probably, she acknowledged gloomily, and stepped out of the shower to wrap herself in a thick bath-towel- there was nothing else. And it's just as well the linen cupboard is in the laundry, she reflected, otherwise…oh, damn! What a day. I've still got to get back to my chalet and face him-in a bath-towel.

  But she was grateful for the sense of irritation that all this provoked as she filled a laundry tub and dropped her clothes in to soak. Just let him say a word!

  He said several. He was in fact waiting for her, as he'd promised, with two drinks. 'Still a drowned rat but a clean one. Care to tell me exactly what did happen, Mrs

  Hastings?'

  Davina clutched the towel closer. 'Would you mind very much if I put some clothes on first?'

  'Be my guest,' he murmured.

  She tossed her wet head and went into the bedroom and closed the door firmly, thinking, I suppose I do owe him an explanation but he'd better not make too many wisecracks-I just could bite!

  She came out five minutes later wearing jeans and a jumper, her hair brushed and her eyes cool.

  'Thanks,' she said quietly, as he rose and handed her a drink and waited until she'd sunk gratefully into a chair before sitting down himself and stretching his long legs out. 'I'll make this brief because I've just remembered your dinner-date,' she continued. 'I climbed up to the Goat House this morning in absolutely perfect weather and the views were so wonderful up there I must have stayed for a couple of hours taking photos and it wasn't until I started down that I realised the weather had changed-from the eastern side you couldn't see it,' she said with a little gesture, and sipped some heavenly brandy.

  'No, you wouldn't.'

  'I'm glad you agree,' she said with irony, then grimaced. 'All the same I'm-sorry to have worried you unnecessarily.' The brandy and soda was working its way down and she laid her head back thankfully. 'Where were you when it started to rain?' 'About three-quarters of the way up.' 'Davina,' he said compellingly, and waiting until she lifted her head and looked into his grim hazel eyes, 'you do realise you could have killed yourself, don't you?'

  She sat up then stood up convulsively and put her glass down with a snap. 'Look, I've spent the last four hours virtually crawling down Mount Lidgbird on my hands and knees-backwards, terrified I'd get lost and fall down a precipice-of course I realise…all sorts of things, nor am I proud of anything, it was just-' her voice rose '-one of those unfortunate things that happened!

  Why don't you…take yourself off to your dinner, Steve Warwick,' she spat, 'so I can get myself something to eat and go to bed!' She turned away furiously. 'I've cancelled my dinner.'

  'Oh, hell,' she muttered wearily, all the fire draining from her, leaving her feeling as limp as a wet rag, and turned back to find him standing right behind her. Her eyes widened as she looked up into his and her lips parted to say she knew not what but something because the moment had suddenly become incredibly charged, and in the second before it happened, she equally suddenly knew why.

  'Don't,' she whispered.

  But he did. He took her in his arms, pressed her head firmly into his shoulder and simply held her close. And, after a few moments of shock, her stunned mind made the startling discovery that it was exactly what she needed to still the horrors of the past few hours, to soothe the insidious trembling that had started to rise in her body which was probably only a natural reaction, but all the same… Just some human warmth and comfort, she thought dazedly as she gradually relaxed against him and started to let go. But not much later it began to dawn on her it wasn't any old human warmth and comfort she was enjoying and being healed by-it was the unique blend of warmth and protection that Steve Warwick's arms had offered her before, and only the day before… But how can it be? she wondered, anguished, and moved her cheek restlessly against his shirt. All I want to do is attack him and just this morning all he wanted to do was more or less the same…

  She swallowed and lifted her head and framed her lips to say something about being fine now but, as their gazes caught and held, she was arrested and all the fine hairs on her body stood up because she knew she was about to be kissed, and knew there was not a thing she could do about it but, worse, wasn't sure if she wanted to, anyway.

  But I must, she thought, and her lips parted and her lashes fluttered agitatedly, causing a cool, absent smile to twist Steve Warwick's lips as he murmured, 'This won't hurt in the slightest.'

  'I… that's not…' But she got no further, as he bent her slightly backwards over his arm and slid his fingers through her hair, and his lips sought not her own at first but the satiny hollows at the base of her throat-and surprise held her stock-still for a moment. Why? she wondered dazedly. Because it was infinitely tantalising? Because it made her so aware of the curves and hollows of her body and aware that to have him touch her most secret, sensitive places, if he did
it with this light, caressing touch, would create a kind of rapture that would have her reeling with delight and ready to do anything for him…? But how could a man as forthright and often bloody-minded as he was, as strong and powerful, be so…? She couldn't put it into words, she found, but her lips parted again in wonder and this time he did claim her mouth and his hand left her hair and both hands moved on her body in what felt like all the right places, stroking, gathering her closer, but never once compelling. And she moved into him as she'd been once before and felt the softness of her breasts press against his chest, her hips touch his-and all the while he kissed her more and more deeply.

  So when it ended she was as breathless as if she'd run a mile and he was breathing unsteadily too, as he watched her reaction with half-lowered lids and his long fingers traced a devastating little path of delight round her ear and down the slender column of her neck.

  She closed her eyes in disbelief that any man could do this to her, let alone this one, and said huskily, 'After all the things you said, how could you…?' She opened her eyes and he was so close that she could see the faint freckles on his skin, the little lines beside his mouth, the way his tawny hair grew from his forehead, the clever eyes.

  A glint that was part mockery, part amusement lit those eyes as he spoke. 'You said a few, too, Mrs Hastings, you said quite a few. You also kissed me back and it quite felt to me as if your body was revelling in the closeness we shared.' His hazel gaze dropped to her breasts as if he knew without fear of contradiction how tight and expectant they felt.

  Davina gasped, then with a sudden movement wrenched herself out of his arms. 'So I did-I must be mad-'

  'No,' he said consideringly. 'Not-'

  But she'd had enough. 'Yes, mad,' she said bitterly. 'I don't like you and you don't like me. I don't want to… to get into anything with you or anyone else. Why can't you just believe that and leave me alone!'