by Liz Fielding
Well, Melanie Devlin, you walked right into that one. It was definitely time to put a serious curb on her tongue. Time to change the subject.
‘Gosh, this does look good,’ she said, brightly, picking up her fork. But that didn’t work. She had to put it down again immediately, or betray how much her fingers were shaking. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it had just been her fingers.
‘Well, Miss Devlin? Nothing more to say on the subject? Could it possibly be that it’s Mr Jameson’s lucky day?’ He didn’t wait for her response, which was just as well, she was utterly speechless. Apparently satisfied, he regarded his own breakfast. ‘You’re right, Cinderella,’ he said, ‘this does look very tempting. And swimming before breakfast certainly does something for the appetite.’
Swimming? She didn’t think swimming was responsible for the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. As she stared at her breakfast Melanie wished vehemently that she was back in a rain-soaked London gulping down a simple piece of toast before rushing off to scrub any number of floors.
She stirred. ‘I thought I might try snorkelling this morning.’
‘Is that what Mr Jameson suggested while you were cosied up together on that rock? Did he offer to teach you?’
‘Gus?’ She suddenly realized he thought she had been with Gus all that time, although why he should assume she was flirting... Was that why he had been so abrupt with the man? Could it be that he was just a tiny bit jealous? Of course not. Stupid thought.
‘Sadly, no. Perhaps he would have done if you hadn’t arrived just then.’
‘I’m sure he would. But it isn’t a problem, Mel, you have me. All day.’
‘I wouldn’t want to put you to any bother, Jack.’ She smiled. ‘I’m sure you have far more interesting things to do than play nurse-maid to me.’
He smiled right back. He wasn’t planning on playing nurse-maid. Now doctors and nurses... ‘Why should it be a bother, darling? You’re doing me the most enormous favour. The very least I can do is ensure that you have a good time while you’re here.’
‘Oh, I intend to.’ As she began to eat her breakfast, something occurred to her. ‘Did you know that people come here by yacht?’
‘There wouldn’t be much point in spending a fortune building a marina if they didn’t,’ he pointed out.
‘No, I mean just to eat at this restaurant? Apparently it’s known all over the Caribbean.’
He frowned. ‘Gus told you this, did he?’
Not Gus, but somehow she didn’t think Jack would be amused if he knew her father was anchored just a few hundred feet away from where they were sitting. She glanced down at the marina and saw Beau standing on deck talking to one of the crew as they prepared to cast off. They were just going to sail away.
It was too late to make her peace. Or was it? If she ran ... She half rose ... ‘Mel?’ Jack was looking at her a little oddly. ‘Is everything all right.’ As she watched the yacht edged out in the creek. ‘Mel?’
‘Fine,’ she said, subsiding into her seat. She’d see them at her birthday party. It was only a few days. No problem. They’d laugh about it. Probably. She turned back to Jack. He too was staring at the departing yacht and to distract him she said, ‘It’s just, I thought, if the restaurant is so well-known, why is the hotel in trouble?’
Something inside Jack snapped. ‘You’re the bright one, Melanie, you tell me when you’ve come up with an answer.’ He pushed back his chair, tossed his napkin on the table as he stood up, abandoning his breakfast. ‘In the meantime I’ll go and organise the snorkelling gear. Just in case there’s a sudden rush.’
Startled by Jack’s sudden loss of temper, Melanie watched him stride off in the direction of reception. What on earth had she said?
Then she grinned. She had got to him. She’d really got to him. Could it be that he wasn’t quite the wolf he liked everyone to believe? She pulled herself together. If he wasn’t on the prowl what was he doing in a place like this with an unwilling girl he’d dragged along to give him cover?
Unwilling? And a wave of guilt unexpectedly overwhelmed her. She had called Jack unscrupulous, but what about her? She was aiding and abetting him simply by her presence.
It wasn’t as if she had had to come along with him.
She could undoubtedly have found some other way to help Paddy. And if the local authority had remained difficult about letting them have the old house they wanted as a base for their co-operative, they could surely have found somewhere else? Not quite so perfect, or convenient maybe, but she hadn’t even hesitated.
It had all seemed so neat that she hadn’t even questioned her own motives for agreeing to the deception.
She stared out at the clear bright sea. It was a question she had been avoiding ever since she had been faced with the choice. And it had been easy to avoid in the rush of getting her hair done, having a manicure, packing. Cancelling the milk and the papers.
All those desperately important things that George would have happily done for her if she had asked.
Now honesty compelled her to confront the situation, face up to the truth. She had accompanied Jack Wolfe to the West Indies for no other reason than because she had wanted to.
From the moment in his flat when he had fastened his fingers about her wrist to stop her from leaving and without even turning to look at her, had suggested it.
All right, so she had turned him down, walked out on him. But she had regretted it the minute the words were out of her mouth. And when he had given her a second chance to say yes, she hadn’t hesitated.
For a moment she held her breath half expecting the world to come crashing down about her ears. But nothing happened.
Right.
Okay.
So?
So anyone could understand the appeal of an opportunity to seize her moment of triumph, let him see that Cinderella had been the Princess all along.
She drew in a sharp breath. Stop kidding yourself, Mel. That was nothing. It hadn’t even worked for heaven’s sake. Not really. Oh, she’d given him a surprise, but not enough of a surprise to justify this. And she could have set it up any time she wanted.
This was truth time. She hadn’t wanted to show herself in her true colours because once she had, she would have burned her boats. No more visits to his apartment. No more possibilities of flirting with danger. No more Jack Wolfe.
Ever since she had crossed Jack’s path she had felt the attraction even as she recognised the danger. But she had kept on crossing it.
But was it the danger she was addicted to? Or Jack Wolfe.
Silly question. She had been standing in the path of a runaway truck for days, weeks, just waiting for it to run over her. Now she realized that at some point it had, so how come she hadn’t noticed?
How on earth could she have been so stupid!
Easily. It had been happening since the dawn of time. Except then it would have been a runaway woolly mammoth.
Well, it was too late to do anything about that. But falling in love didn’t have to make her an accessory to Jack’s business deal. She didn’t have to stand idly by and do nothing while he destroyed a young man’s dreams. Not when she could do something about it.
One phone call to a journalist who would fall over himself to betray the secret honeymoon destination of Edward Beaumont would provide Gus with all the instant free publicity he could handle.
Jack would be none the wiser, neither would Gus. And Beau and Diana’s yacht was already disappearing into the distance. They would be long gone before the news hit the streets, so it couldn’t possibly hurt them. It was perfect.
And once her conscience was clear she could concentrate on playing chicken with her own personal truck.
Professional virgin? I don’t think so, Diana.
Jack had the right of it. It might just be Gus’s lucky day. It might just be everyone’s lucky day.
*****
An hour later Jack, perched astride an old and somewhat battered bicycle, one f
oot on the ground was waiting for her to follow his example and Mel had suddenly lost all desire to sing.
‘You can ride a bicycle, Mel?’ he asked, as she hesitated.
‘I don’t know. I haven’t tried for quite a while.’
‘Oh, come on,’ he said, taking her swimming things and putting them in her basket, impatient to be off. ‘No one ever forgets. Just get on and push off. The minute you start it’ll come back to you.’
‘Will it?’ She pushed back her hair and regarded the machine with distrust.
He looked back over his shoulder and straightened in the saddle when he saw that she had made no effort to do as she was told. ‘What’s the matter?’
She gave an awkward little shrug. ‘The last time I was on a bike it was pink. And it had training wheels.’
‘Training wheels?’
His grin displayed a lot of teeth. Not a bit wolf-like, though. Rather nice, straight, white teeth. But then everything about the man gave an impression of the same well-groomed strength, of rock-steady reliability.
He had the look of a man you could turn to if you were in trouble. It was a look that had undoubtedly contributed to his success in the treacherous waters of the financial world. Well, he wouldn’t be getting his hands on The Ark at a cut price, knock down rate. Not this time.
And it would all seem like chance - he would never know, or at least he could never be sure - that she had had anything to do with it. So why was she shaking?
Her subconscious gave a hollow laugh.
‘How old were you,’ he asked. ‘Three? Four?’
‘What? Oh, four.’
‘Well, you’re a bit big for training wheels these days.’ He propped his own machine against the wall and came back to her. Thankfully, she prepared to abandon her own machine. Too soon. He took it from her, placed it firmly in the centre of the path and said, ‘Come on. You’ll soon learn.’
Melanie regarded the bicycle with loathing. ‘I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.’ Just how far could it be to the other beach? ‘Why don’t we walk?’
‘Don’t be silly, Mel. Everyone should know how to ride a bike. It’s cheap, green-’
‘In London? With all those traffic fumes? I’ll stick to the underground, thanks, it’s safer.’
‘There isn’t any traffic here,’ he pointed out, taking hold of the handlebars and the rear of the saddle. ‘I won’t let you fall. Come on, climb aboard.’
‘You’re being horribly bossy.’
‘I’m allowed to be. I’m the boss.’ Jack regarded her with a certain detachment. No girl who had decided to make a fool of Jack Wolfe could be frightened of mere a bicycle. Could she? And if she was, maybe she should have a taste of what was in store for her. He grinned. ‘You’re not afraid are you, Mel?’
Absolutely petrified. Suddenly a runaway truck seemed safe by comparison. ‘You’d better run me through the basics,’ she muttered, unwilling to display her lack of courage in the face of something as unthreatening as self-propelled transport.
‘Put your right leg through there,’ he said, releasing the saddle so that she could do as she was told. He patted the saddle. ‘And your bottom on here.’
She placed her right leg as directed and slid up onto the saddle, balancing herself on tiptoes. ‘How’s that?’ she asked, looking up at him.
Such touching trust. Such innocent eyes.
‘You’re doing fine so far, Mel, but you’re going to have to take at least one foot off the ground and put it on a pedal if you want to actually go anywhere.’
‘I’m happy here,’ she assured him. ‘This is good.’
‘Well, it’s up to you of course. But you’ll get hot and uncomfortable if you stay there all day. And I thought you wanted to snorkel.’
‘I could do that in the pool,’ she said.
‘There isn’t anything to look at in the pool. This will be more fun.’
‘Says who?’
‘I do.’
For just a moment she thought she detected a note of something more than simple encouragement in his voice. What was it? Anticipation? Mel gave a little gasp and looked quickly down at her left foot, small, neat, sandaled in soft leather. She tried to lift it to the pedal; it remained firmly on the ground, refusing to co-operate.
‘You’d better remind my foot that you’re the boss,’ she said, with a slightly edgy little laugh, ‘it can’t have been paying attention.’
‘I can do better than that.’ Keeping one hand on the handlebars he bent and grasping her ankle, lifted her foot up onto the pedal. The bike wobbled and she squeaked nervously but he retrieved the saddle and held it easily, grinning at her as he stood up. ‘You see?’ he said. ‘It’s easy.’
‘As falling off a log.’ The foot on the pedal was shaking like jelly. In fact quite a lot of her was shaking like jelly, not least because of the way she was now cradled by his arms as he gripped the machine fore and aft, taking its weight. With her shoulder and arm and hip pressed close against him, staying where she was looked more and more attractive. After all, if they were going to play these dangerous games, they might as well do it in comfort, right here in the cottage. ‘Jack-’
‘Push off with your right foot,’ he instructed.
Oh, well. ‘You’ll hold me?’ she demanded. ‘You won’t let me go?’
‘Trust me.’
Trust him? Was he kidding? But he didn’t wait to see if she trusted him or not, giving her a firm push start before she could change her mind. The pedals went round, the wheels went round. Her right foot caught up with the free pedal and he released the handlebars, running alongside her as she gathered speed, still holding onto the saddle. She caught her breath, laughing as she half turned to him.
‘I can do it!’ she exclaimed. He wasn’t there. He was about twenty feet behind her, grinning with a self-satisfied “I-told-you-so” expression.
Melanie began to wobble. Then she gave a little scream as her foot slipped from the pedal. After that everything happened very fast. From a distance, the clipped glossy leaves and huge pink flowers of the hibiscus gave an impression of cushiony welcome. The cushion, she discovered to her cost as the bicycle tossed her into it, was stuffed with sharp little twigs.
‘You rat!’ she exclaimed, furiously, trying to push him away as, making no attempt to hide his amusement, he picked her effortlessly out of the bush, set her on her feet and dusted her off, examining her for damage. ‘You let go!’
‘You were doing fine without me. Are you hurt?’
‘Yes,’ she declared. ‘I’m scratched to death.’
‘Really?’ He looked her over, apparently unimpressed. ‘Well your vocal chords seem to have survived intact.’
As if to prove him right, she yelped as he plucked a leafy twig from the front of her vest. ‘Don’t do that!’
He broke off the slightly battered hibiscus and tucked it behind her ear. ‘Ready for another go?’
‘No.’ She glared at him and then at the bike. Her initial reaction had been more than justified.
‘No one is born knowing how to ride a bike, Mel. Everyone falls off. The trick is to get back on again, straight way.’ And he picked it up, holding it for her, apparently expecting her to do just that. No argument.
She approached the loathed machine with the utmost reluctance, but it had now become a challenge, something personal between them and she remounted without a word. For a moment he stayed with her, his arm behind her, his chest hard against her back until she was away, wobbling a little as she realized she was on her own, then as she picked up speed and steadied she gave a whoop of sheer exhilaration.
The path curved through a thick plantation of jungle-like vegetation, a mine-field of unexpected obstacles for the unwary.
A bright lizard shot out in front of her and she screamed. A couple of chickens squawked nervously and flapped furiously along the path in front of her desperate to escape but not quite sure how.
She would have stopped, but was having the same trouble a
s the chickens. Her feet and her brain were not connected.
‘Jack,’ she pleaded desperately as she began to wobble again. ‘How do I stop this thing?’
‘Use the brakes,’ he called, from his own machine a few feet behind her.
Brakes? She looked down at her feet. What brakes? He caught up with her as the path dipped towards the cove, grabbing for the back of her vest to slow her down.
‘The brakes,’ he repeated, guiding his bike alongside her as the path widened. ‘They’re on the handlebars. Just squeeze them gently.’ And suddenly her mind unlocked and she remembered, the bike slithering to a halt just inches before she ran out of path. She put a foot down, but her leg was shaking so much that he had to catch her. ‘Fast learner aren’t you?’ he said, holding her against him. She looked up and he was smiling. Not laughing at her, but truly smiling with eyes that crinkled up at the corners, a mouth that widened into tiny creases. ‘If there were any cars on this island I could be persuaded to teach you to drive.’
It was her turn to smile. ‘I don’t have any trouble with cars. They have a wheel at each corner and stand up all by themselves. I learned to drive when I was ten. Truly,’ she said, as she saw his disbelief. ‘Luke put blocks on the pedals of an old mini as a present for my tenth birthday and let me loose in the bush.’
‘Luke?’
‘My uncle. I passed my test first time.’ She snapped her fingers carelessly. ‘No problem.’
‘Only with bikes.’
I wish, she thought. ‘I broke my arm when I was little and no one made me get back on.’
‘That was a mistake.’
‘Well, I did tell you I was spoilt.’
‘So you did.’ And his look changed subtly, the smile no longer teasing, but searching.
The trembling had long since ceased, there was no good reason for her to continue to cling on to him no matter how much she might want to, so she stepped back, pushing her hair back from her face. She encountered the hibiscus and laughing awkwardly, removed it. It was as if she was thirteen, awkward, shy, out of her depth when a good looking boy smiled at her but wouldn’t make the first move because she was already famous.