by Penny Jordan
When Simon had been down five minutes over his hour she checked her watch carefully, and then reached for the life-line giving the prearranged signal. She knew how easy it was for one to misjudge time when underwater, and felt no particular alarm until Simon failed to respond to her signal. She waited another five minutes, all of which passed with excruciating slowness, before tugging again, but when she touched the line it was disconcertingly slack, and fear trembled through her, visions of Simon being attacked by a shark, perhaps in other equally dangerous difficulties, flooding through her. She was just on the point of going for her her own wet-suit when he broke the surface several yards away, swimming powerfully towards the ketch, the loose line held in one hand.
Although she was tense with apprehension Christy waited until he was on board and had tugged off his oxygen cylinders before questioning him.
‘The line snagged on some coral,’ he told her. ‘I thought I wasn’t going to be able to get it free so I unclipped it. That’s what delayed me.’
‘I gave the signal but you didn’t respond.’
‘I managed to work it free, but lost hold of it. That’s when you must have tugged. Nothing to panic about,’ he told her laconically, adding roughly, ‘Stop looking so concerned—you might give me ideas.’
Too over-wrought to monitor her own reactions, Christy demanded rawly, ‘What sort of ideas?’ Tears weren’t very far away, a revelation so disturbing and unexpected, shattering her peace of mind that it was all she could do not to get up and run as far away from him as she could. In those few seconds before he had surfaced she had been awash with fear for him—and not merely the fear anyone would have for the safety of a friend or companion, but the fear of a woman for the man she loves. She still loved Simon! Strangely enough she was not shocked. It was almost as though some part of her had always known the truth. Was this why she had feared to come with him; why she had hidden her feelings away behind a wall of bitterness and anger…why she had responded so passionately to his touch?
‘What’s the matter, Simon?’ she demanded harshly, lashing herself into a state of anger, intent on protecting herself and her vulnerability from him. ‘I already know that you like to walk alone…Just because I’m worried about you doesn’t mean that I’m still an adolescent, stupid enough to fall in love with you.’
Just for a moment she was frightened that her very denial might have betrayed her, but Simon’s expression reassured her. His face had closed up, his mouth tight and angry. ‘If you want someone to worry about try worrying about your friend Miles,’ he told her grittily. ‘He’s the one who’ll appreciate nursemaiding—not me. I don’t need a mother substitute, Christy…nor do I want to play mock-father. I want a woman who I can meet on equal terms.’
‘You mean someone who’s prepared to accept sex in the place of love,’ Christy threw at him bitterly, too blindly caught up in the anger that seemed to be consuming them both to be concerned about what she was saying. It seemed impossible to believe that they were quarrelling like this…that the friendship and respect she had believed was growing between them could be so easily destroyed. How false it really must have been…
‘I’m going below to get changed,’ she told him thickly. ‘With a bit of luck there might be time for me to get in one more dive. I want to look at that coral formation again.’
His mouth compressed. ‘It’s too late for that today. While I was down there I thought I felt the current pick up. It looks as though the weather might be changing faster than I’d hoped. I need to get further weather checks, so we’ll call it a day now.’
Christy knew that he was speaking sensibly, even so she longed to escape from his presence. The discovery that she still loved him had knocked her off balance. She needed time to come to terms with it…to explore her feelings and readjust her own perceptions of herself. How had she managed to deceive herself so thoroughly that she was over him? Why had she never suspected that her denial of any feelings for him had been too vehement? Perhaps because she hadn’t wanted to, she admitted, going down to the galley intent on busying herself with some preparations for their evening meal.
She heard Simon come down to the main cabin, and then go through to his own room. The shower ran and she imagined him standing beneath it the water glistening over his tanned skin. Tremors shook her body, her hand shaking so much that she could only lean against the tiny sink, willing herself to find some measure of self-control. Dear God, why couldn’t she have discovered how she felt before she had agreed to come to the Caribbean? If she had suffered before at eighteen, it was nothing to what she was going to suffer now. It would be so easy to go to him and tempt him into making love to her…part of her craved the physical satisfaction that would bring with it a wildness she barely recognised as belonging to her, but there was a reverse side to that coin; there was pain and rejection and the inevitable self-contempt she must suffer in knowing that it was not purely his physical lovemaking she wanted. Before, she had loved him as an adolescent; content almost to worship and adore, now she loved him with all the sharp pain of a woman. She shuddered deeply, fighting for composure as she heard his door opening.
She sensed his presence behind her without turning her head. ‘Christy, these drawings…’ She sensed a note of wonder in his voice and dared to turn round, wishing she hadn’t when she realised how close to her he actually was. ‘Stop what you’re doing,’ he commanded her, ‘and come in here.’
Mutely she followed him into the main salon, and stood watching as he opened a drawer and removed a roll of photographs. ‘Now, look at these,’ he commanded softly. The trauma of her own feelings became of secondary consideration as she studied what he had put in front of her. Almost detail for detail the photographs and the sketches she had done matched…
‘It’s…it’s almost unbelievable…’
‘It’s more than that…It’s a bloody miracle.’ His hands grasped her waist as he swung her round almost lifting her off her feet. ‘Christy. Christy it’s a breakthrough…What you’ve drawn convinces me that I’m on the right track…that that is Kit Masterson’s ship down there. All we need now is some actual physical proof.’
She could feel his tense excitement…catch his euphoric mood as the man gave way to the writer, totally absorbed in his work. She wanted him to be right, she admitted inwardly, and not just because she, too, was caught up in the excitement of proving the legend of Kit Masterson, but also for his own sake.
The excitement suddenly died from his eyes and he studied her almost broodingly. She sensed that he was about to kiss her and much as she longed for the warm possession of his mouth against her own she had enough instinct for self-preservation left to pull back from him.
‘Ah no…I forgot…your kisses are all reserved for Miles, aren’t they?’
It was almost as though he was waiting for her to deny it, but caution warned her not to do so. Let him think she was involved with Miles if that would stop him from wanting to make love to her. It was safer that way, she told herself bleakly, turning away without vouchsaving him any answer, other than a cool, ‘I’d better go and get on with dinner…I expect you’ll want an early start in the morning.’
She was relieved when he took his cue from her, although she mistrusted the sardonic twist of his mouth that accompanied his laconic affirmative. This wouldn’t be the first time Simon had shared the ketch with a woman, and a knife-like jab of jealousy stabbed through her as she imagined what it would be like to be one of the women he had loved. No, not loved, she amended cynically, simply wanted. Some impulse she couldn’t name made her ask tersely, ‘Simon, have you ever loved anyone…really loved them I mean?’
The dark eyebrows rose, his mouth twisting again. ‘Why? Are you using me as a Father Confessor, Christy…wanting to compare emotions and experiences, so that you can tell yourself that what you feel for Miles is the real thing?’ His bitterness shocked her.
‘Yes, I have loved,’ he told her harshly, ‘but I doubt that my experienc
e of it matches anything you could feel. Love as I’ve known it isn’t a pleasurable experience, and if you take my advice you’ll give it a wide berth.’
His words hit her like blows, devastating her, completely overturning all she had thought she knew about him. There was no doubt that he spoke from the heart, even she could recognise the bitter sincerity of what he was saying, but Simon in love…loving a woman who to her was a complete stranger…she wanted to know more. To demand to know the name of this woman who was foolish enough to turn down the rare gift of his caring, but the words simply would not come. She was too raw with pain to voice them. All she wanted to do was to escape from the overheated tension of the small enclosed space that held them. Simon in love…having loved and known the pain of that emotion. She could only feel relief when she felt him move away from her and then heard the brief slam of his cabin door.
When she finally brought herself to move she was shaking so badly she could not contain it. Pain washed over her in sheeting waves, almost destroying her. Simon loved someone else…Until that moment, until he had made that revelation, she had not known how hard she had been clinging to the frail hope that by some miracle he might actually care for her. Now that fragile support was gone and she felt as though she were lost, drowning in a vast boiling sea of agony from which there was no chance of escape or rescue.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AT first when she woke up Christy couldn’t imagine what had disturbed her, and then she remembered her dream and struggled to sit up. Stormsurf rocked gently in the early morning calm sea and sky, both a soft pale blue as she looked out through her cabin porthole.
She had been dreaming about Kit Masterson and his vessel…She had dreamed that she had been on board on that fateful voyage…she had heard his voice calling to his men above the lash of the storm, harrying them, willing them, into helping him to save his ship until at last he had had to admit defeat and command them to abandon the vessel.
Even now, fully awake she shuddered, still gripped in the aftershadow of her dream-fear; still able to taste salt on her lips and to hear the vicious scream of the wind…It wasn’t the first time she had experienced such a vivid dream, but it was the first time she had ever been so involved in an author’s work that she had actually dreamed herself into the fabric of his story.
She glanced at her watch. Still not six o’clock, and yet she knew she would never get back to sleep. Somewhere below them lay the Golden Fleece, or what was left of her, and as she closed her eyes she re-lived again that dream moment when the waves crashed down over the deck; the sickening crunch of wood against coral; the Fleece sinking fast, her hold flooding. Shivering, Christy got up and showered, a sudden tense excitement gripping her. Without being able to analyse why she knew that today they would find something that would prove that that coral-encrusted outline was the Fleece. She had to dive…she couldn’t wait for Simon to wake up.
Even knowing that she was disobeying everything he had said didn’t stop her from donning her wet-suit. Mechanically she went through the double pack on to her back and then going through the familiar pre-dive rituals. The sea was still calm, almost ominously so, but she put to the back of her mind all Simon’s concern about adverse currents. The sea closed over her, enveloping her as she sank slowly downwards. She found the coral outline without too much difficulty, slowly swimming along its length, not knowing what she was looking for but impelled by some instinct so powerful that she had no thought of denying it. Tiny fish darted in panic past her and once she saw the dark shadow of something much larger, but she felt no fear; the compulsion driving her was too strong to admit it.
Time ceased to exist; there was only the coral and this driving urgency that possessed her. And then she stopped, her attention caught by something…a darker patch on the uniformity of the coral. She swam up to it, her heart thudding slowly in tense excitement as she saw the narrow fissure. It could be anything…anything at all…she could be completely wrong in believing that the coral masked the hull of the Golden Fleece but something carried her onward, urging her to investigate the narrow aperture.
Normally she would not have contemplated involving herself in such danger, but today things were different. Her slim body only just fitted through the gap and she felt the drag of the sharp coral against her wet-suit as she manoeuvred her upper body with its burden of air tanks through the small space.
Once she was through, her excitement grew. This was no mere gap in a coral wall, but a totally enclosed space; almost totally without light, other than that which seeped in through the opening. Could she be in what had once been the hold of the Fleece? Christy was convinced of it, just as she was convinced that somehow there was a link between her dream and her discovery of the opening. Perhaps it was merely a complicated working of her subconscious; perhaps part of her brain had registered the aperture the previous day without her being conscious of it, and then during the night her dream had been the trigger to release that knowledge into her conscious mind; she did not know. Excitement gripped her, possessing her to the exclusion of everything else. If only Simon were down here with her. He was more knowledgeable than her…he would know what to look for…She wished she had brought some means of illumination. Now that she had swum a few yards she couldn’t see a thing, everything was so dark. Something brushed against her skin and she recoiled, chiding herself. It was probably no more than a frond of seaweed, but in this eerie darkness the sensation of being touched by something unseen was not a pleasant one. Exhilaration gave way to fear, and suddenly she longed for sunlight and air. She felt stifled; breathless almost and it was several seconds before she realised why. She was almost out of air. Quickly she switched to her second tank, cursing herself for not being more careful, but it was impossible to believe that she had been underwater for so long. She must go back and tell Simon what she had found.
She turned round, relieved to see the pinprick of light ahead of her that denoted the opening she had swum through, and for the first time as she swam towards it she acknowledged how foolhardy she had been in coming here alone. Something brushed her arm, and she pushed it away, panic coiling and exploding inside her as, instead of being free, she suddenly found her arm was trapped. In the thin light from the aperture she saw the writhing shape that held her captive and terror froze her as she realised she was imprisoned in the snake-like embrace of a large octopus.
Later she realised that it was her very panic that saved her. The octopus, thinking it had immobilised its prey, momentarily released the tentacle it had wrapped round her arm, and as though someone had pressed a panic button inside her, Christy swam desperately for the opening and its life-giving light. With every stroke she fully expected to feel the unbreakable grip of a tentacle, but it never came. Fresh panic seized her when it seemed she wasn’t going to get through the opening; narrower on this side than it was on the other, and at last desperate with fear she reached blindly for the harness securing her oxygen tanks, tearing it off, and praying that she would not destroy the mechanism, as she eased first herself, and then the tanks out into the open sea. The relief she felt then was something she would never forget. It made her tremble from head to foot, so weak that it took her precious minutes to put back her tanks.
When she did she was horrified to discover how little air she had left. Telling herself she must not panic she swam back along the coral wall, now becoming familiar enough for her to be able to pinpoint the place where she should go to the surface. The desire to get there as fast as she possibly could was something she had to fight, forcing herself to take things slowly and professionally, and when at last she broke the surface and saw the Stormsurf rocking easily at anchor less than fifty yards away her relief was so great that she felt weak with it.
She was within feet of the ketch when she saw Simon, and her heart turned over uncomfortably as she saw the uncompromising anger on his face. There was no gentleness in the way he hauled her on board, only savage fury banked down in his eyes as he took the tan
ks from her, and registered how little air she had left.
‘I’ve found a way inside the coral wall.’ How tired and far away her voice sounded; and suddenly she felt almost weak with exhaustion, but if she had expected Simon to praise her she was disappointed.
In a clipped voice he bit out harshly. ‘You’ve gone against every thing I told you before we came out here. You dived without telling me you were going. You took no safety line…you stayed down well over one hour.’ His control snapped and he reached for her, shaking her until she felt her legs could no longer support her. ‘Just what the hell do you think you’re doing? This isn’t a game, Christy…’
She wanted badly to cry…so badly that she used up her last reserves of energy in breaking the hold he had on her and stumbling along the deck, down the companion way to her cabin.
Once inside she sank down on her bunk, giving way to the shudders of reaction coursing through her, knowing that her tears sprang more from the release of fear than Simon’s angry words. After all he had every right to be angry. She tugged off her wet-suit, and was just reaching for her robe when the door to her cabin crashed open and Simon stood framed in the doorway, his eyes skimming briefly over her nude body before they settled grimly on her face.
‘I hadn’t finished.’ His voice was implacable, warning her of the anger he was only just holding under control.
Desperate to change the subject Christy said wildly. ‘Do you normally walk into women’s rooms uninvited?’