Charlotte Lamb

by Charlotte Lamb

  Nadine met Sean's hard, glittering glance; he didn't like the idea of Luc painting her, she noted with a sort of angry satisfaction. Well, she was going to do it. While Luc was painting her Sean couldn't get her alone; she would be safe from him all day, and at night she would make very sure her door was locked, until Friday, when that plane arrived to take her off the island, and that was what she wanted, wasn't it? To avoid Sean until she could get away, and once she had escaped to make sure she never saw him again.

  CHAPTER SIX

  GREG ERROLL rang Nadine back next morning, early, to tell her he had made all the arrangements for her trip to Miami. 'The plane will arrive at ten in the morning, so please make sure you're there, waiting for it, because they can't hang around long,' he told her, and she promised to be there punctually.

  The sessions in the studio began next day in the afternoon. Right from the start there was a silent, fascinated audience who drifted in and out, watching Luc work. Their presence didn't seem to bother him and Nadine was used to being watched while she modelled, but she preferred it when, getting bored, most of the people drifted away. The atmosphere in the studio was more peaceful when there was just her and Luc.

  She had no problem keeping still or holding the pose Luc arranged her in: on a dais, one knee on a chair whose back she held with both hands, her head turned over her shoulder to gaze at Luc.

  Luc was an amusing companion: in fact he kept making her smile, and at first she said uncertainly, 'Is it OK if I smile? Only, if it isn't OK, would you please not be so funny?'

  He laughed. 'I want you to smile. Why do you think I keep talking to you? I want you relaxed, at ease, to be yourself, not to sit there like a dummy with a blank expression. I'm not just painting what you look like on the surface; I want to paint the Nadine behind that face, and I can only glimpse her if you talk to me.'

  She felt a quiver of alarm at that thought. 'Oh. That's... rather worrying. I'm not sure I like the idea of having my mind read!'

  He laughed. 'I'm not able to read minds; it's more the personality I'm trying to pick up. Stop worrying about what I'm doing, tell me more about your modelling. How did you get into that?'

  She told him about Jamie Colbert, avoiding her own reflection in the mirrors which had been set up around the room. They gave odd, partial, shifting reflections of her; Nadine found it disorientating at first but as the days went by she became so used to catching sight of herself in the mirrors that she hardly noticed them in the end.

  She wished she could forget Sean as easily, but he made it hard to ignore him. She kept busy as much as she could: painting in the mornings, modelling for Luc in the afternoon. Whenever she went on the beach, though, Sean seemed to find her, and the other guests always left the place next to her free for him, although Nadine wished they wouldn't.

  While she was having painting lessons he often played golf or tennis; his tan was deepening every day. Luc often held his painting class out of doors, in the garden, on the beach, but the sun was not as hot in the mornings, and Nadine wore a large straw hat. During the hottest time of the day she was always in the studio modelling for Luc, while Sean swam or sunbathed.

  Sometimes he wandered into the studio, and Nadine always felt her nerves jump at the sight of him.

  One afternoon when she did that Luc frowned and stopped painting. 'You've tightened up! What's wrong? Are you getting tired? Do you need a break?' He looked at his easel again, chewed on his lower lip. 'Well, I think that's enough for today, anyway. We'll stop now.'

  Nadine straightened, felt pins and needles in the leg which had been propped up on the chair, and in her shoulders. She shook her arms, moving her shoulder-blades to loosen up, flexing the tired muscles.

  'You need a little massage,' Luc said, coming up behind her. 'Sit down on the chair for a minute, I'll see what I can do.'

  She sat obediently before she thought about it, and Luc stood behind her and began firmly massaging her shoulders, his hands deft and soothing.

  She sighed with pleasure as her tense muscles relaxed. 'Oh, that's so...'

  'Good?' Luc said, laughing as he let go of her. 'Feel better now?'

  'I feel wonderful,' Nadine said, purring like a cat fed on cream, then Sean moved back into her line of vision, his face like thunder, blue eyes glittering and dangerous, jawline hard, mouth reined in and white with temper. Nadine's tension came back with a vengeance. She was grateful that Luc wasn't touching her any more and couldn't feel the way her muscles had knotted up again.

  'Well, thank you, Luc, now I think I'll go and have a shower and rest before dinner,' she said, walking away.

  Sean followed her. Nadine waited until she had almost reached her room, then, when she was sure nobody else was around she turned on him.

  'Leave me alone, Sean! I'm tired and I've had enough, I can't take any more.'

  'This is the first time I've seen you alone today,' he retorted angrily. 'You made sure of that, didn't you? Don't think I haven't noticed how you make sure you're surrounded by people all day so that I can't get near you; and don't pretend it's a coincidence, we both know it isn't. It's quite deliberate.'

  Her chin lifted defiantly, and she shrugged. 'I wasn't going to deny it! I don't want to see you alone if I can help it.'

  He was watching her intently, his blue eyes like the gleam of Caribbean waters. 'Scared, darling?' His voice had changed suddenly, become husky, intimate. It sent a shiver of sensual awareness down Nadine's spine and she swallowed.

  'Scared of what?' she managed without her voice cracking, and Sean smiled at her; a crooked, mocking smile.

  'Having an affair with me.'

  Her colour became a wild rose, she felt the heat in her face and was furious with herself.

  'No,' she burst out, and the mockery in his face grew.

  'No, you aren't scared of having one? Or no, you won't have one?'

  She found it very hard to think clearly while he stood so close, his blue eyes wandering over her in that disturbing fashion.

  'Both!' she muttered, and his eyebrows rose.

  'Both? No to both? You aren't scared of having one, but you won't have an affair all the same? That doesn't quite add up, does it, darling?'

  'Stop calling me darling!'

  'You always used to like it,' he said; he put a long, brown finger on her cheek and ran it very, very slowly down her throat, sending fierce tremors through her.

  'And don't touch me!' She pushed his hand away and saw his eyes flash.

  'You didn't say that to Luc Haines when he was fondling you just now, did you?'

  The shock of his tone was like having a bucket of cold water flung over her. She jumped violently. Her nerves were as tight as a bow-string, her body rigid with tension, eyes dilated and enormous. She had known he was angry over Luc massaging her shoulders—that was one reason why she had just picked a row with him. She had been attacking before she was attacked, hoping to defuse the situation, distract him into thinking about something else.

  When she recovered her powers of speech she protested shakily, 'He was massaging my shoulders! Not fondling me!'

  'Whatever you call it, he was enjoying doing it to you, and you were practically purring!' Sean said with acid distaste. His eyes were cold to the point of cruelty and Nadine shivered.

  'I was tired and my muscles were aching! Yes, I enjoyed being massaged, why shouldn't I? Luc has almost magic hands..

  Sean's mouth twisted. 'And you loved having them touch you!'

  Her hazel eyes darkened. 'You're putting your own vile interpretation on it! There was nothing personal in what happened, nothing sexual. You're making it sound...'

  'Intimate,' said Sean curtly. 'That's how it looked. Very intimate. You were leaning back against him and he was handling you as if he was used to doing so.'

  Her face burned. 'Well, he isn't! Luc is a happily married man, he and I are just...'

  'Don't say "good friends", please! Spare me the old, old cliches!' Sean snapped.


  'Why not? It's the truth! I like Luc, he's a nice man, but I'm not interested in him sexually, any more than I'm interested in Jamie Colbert. I don't want to go to bed with either of them.'

  Sean stood very still, watching her intently. 'Don't you?'

  'I just told you I didn't, and I meant it!' she said, staring back angrily, her chin up.

  There was a brief silence, then Sean said softly, 'What about me, Nadine? Do you want to go to bed with me?'

  The low huskiness of his voice made her catch her breath, her pulses beating like jungle drums. He had caught her by surprise with that sudden change of mood and her hazel eyes filled with unguarded passion. She had to look away, look down, to hide it, her face burning; and she heard Sean's intake of breath.

  He put a hand around her throat, his fingertips caressing. She felt his hand enclose her neck and was afraid he would pick up the drum of her pulses, but a moment later he put pressure on the back of her neck to force her towards him in a sudden, possessive movement, his fingers winding themselves into her long, rich chestnut hair to hold her captive and stop her struggling free.

  Alarmed, she broke out hoarsely, 'No! Sean... no...'

  Then his mouth came down and silenced her, his kiss hot and demanding, and Nadine began to shake. She couldn't keep her eyes open. She had entirely lost control; she wanted him so badly she was past caring about all the sensible reasons she had for not letting him back into her life. Her mouth began moving hungrily in response she couldn't hold back, her body yielding and pliant as his arm went around it and pulled her hard against him, the softness of her breasts crushed against his chest, his hard-muscled thighs pushing into her.

  When Sean finally broke off the kiss it was like waking from a deep, dark dream. She groaned in protest, leaning on him because her legs were trembling, she felt weak, as if she had some strange tropical illness. Her lids fluttered back; she was blinded by the light, for a second she could barely see him, then she met those brooding blue eyes and her heart turned over.

  He was looking down at her, his face tense, darkly flushed, his mouth a little apart, his breathing thickened.

  'Come to bed, darling,' he whispered, and Nadine almost couldn't breathe.

  She wanted to go to bed with him so much that it hurt. Dry-mouthed, she tried to say yes; her lips moved, silently, and Sean watched them with fixed attention.

  'Say it, darling,' he muttered. 'Say yes.'

  Nadine took a deep, painful breath, wanting to say yes, but knowing she mustn't. Slowly she shook her head.

  She saw him whiten, the colour draining out of his face and leaving his eyes seeming almost black with a mixture of emotion: pain, disbelief, shock, rage.

  'You want me!' he threw at her, and she couldn't deny it.

  'I can't risk it again, Sean,' she whispered, tears in her eyes. 'I got hurt so much last time. We're a disaster together. Whether you call it an affair or marriage, it's still you and me, us together—and that spells disaster.'

  His arms had dropped away. He was watching her, white-faced, tense, his eyes like a black hole in space, deep, cavernous, empty.

  'I'm sorry,' Nadine said, and walked past him to her room. This time he didn't try to stop her. She unlocked her door and went in, shut the door behind her and bolted it, walked shakily to her bed and fell on it as if poleaxed.

  She lay on her face, sobbing silently into the cover, her whole body shuddering, for minutes on end. She had had to say no to him, but it had cost her more than Sean would ever guess.

  It was half an hour before she could force herself back to her feet. Walking unsteadily she went into the bathroom, showered crisply, towelled herself dry, and put on a thigh-length yellow towelling robe. She went back into the bedroom and sat down on the bed again to paint her toe-nails coral-pink. The room-maid had raised the blind, and drawn lace curtains across the open French windows. The curtains had begun to quiver in a welcome breeze off the sea which had sprung up while Nadine was in the bathroom.

  While her nails dried Nadine lay on her stomach, gazing through the lace curtains, half sleepy, half weary, listening to the tropical sounds of the gardens, the croak of frogs, the whisper of the lush palms, the splash of guests in the blue swimming- pool, the clink of glasses at the pool-side bar, laughter and voices, and at a distance the soft murmur of the Caribbean rolling up on the sands.

  She had never been anywhere so magical, but it was a dangerous magic because it was seeping into her, making her weaken towards Sean, when she needed to be strong.

  She drifted into a light sleep, woke up some time later to realise she had to get dressed for dinner. She put on a chiffon dress which had half a dozen soft layers beneath the top one which was printed with delicate pale blue and pale pink flowers on a white background. When she walked the short skirts flared and floated around her bare tanned legs, and she had put high-heeled white strap sandals on her bare feet.

  Sean was already at the table and the only empty place was next to him. She paused, hesitating; her skin prickling at the way he watched her. There was a hard, implacable edge to his face tonight: he made her very nervous.

  While she dithered, he stood up and drew back her chair, gestured peremptorily. Everyone was watching them; she had no choice. She slid into the chair reluctantly, and felt his hands brush her back as he pushed her chair towards the table again before he sat down again.

  'Good evening,' she said politely, glancing around the table at the other guests.

  'Last one down again, Nadine,' said Karen, one of the other women from the art class, a sharp- tongued blonde in an off-the-shoulder silver- spangled dress which glittered every time she moved.

  'Yes, sorry, I must have gone to sleep after my shower,' Nadine said, picking up the menu.

  'That's such a beautiful dress,' one of the men from the art class said. 'So feminine and romantic.'

  'Thank you,' Nadine said, smiling at him. Johnny Crewe was an accountant, he had confessed: a very ordinary man in his thirties, with hair beginning to recede slightly, pale blue eyes, and a job he found dull but which paid too well for him to risk giving it up. He was on the art course because he yearned for romance, excitement, a very different way of life. Under her smile he turned rather pink and Nadine felt Sean stiffen beside her.

  'Have you chosen your meal yet?' he asked tersely, clicking his finger and thumb to summon a hovering waiter.

  Nadine looked at the food on Sean's plate. 'What's that you're eating?'

  'Sweet potato pancake,' he said. 'It's very good.' He forked a piece up and offered it to her. 'Try it.'

  She was reluctant to; Sean pushed the fork between her closed lips. 'You'll like it.' It was almost an order. You will like it! he was telling her, and somehow making a public statement of ownership, telling the other men at the table that she belonged to him and ate what he told her to!

  Flushing crossly, she would have liked to spit the food back out again, but he was watching her through half-closed lids, a glimmer of threat in his eyes, and eventually she ate the piece of pancake. She could not face a public scene.

  'Nice, but too fattening,' she said after swallowing it. 'I think I'll have melon, and then I'll have a swordfish steak and salad.'

  The waiter smilingly went off to get her first course, and Karen leaned across the table towards her, eyes enviously flicking over Nadine's dress. 'I suppose models get their clothes free?'

  'Not very often, but we can usually get them at cost price if we've worn them on a shoot,' Nadine said coolly.

  Johnny Crewe asked Sean, 'When are you going to put your beautiful wife in one of your films?'

  'When hell freezes over,' Nadine said, and wasn't being funny.

  Sean shot her a veiled glance. 'Nadine can't act, I'm afraid,' he drawled. 'But as you probably all know by now she's about to launch a new career in television, as a chat show hostess.'

  Word had got out; nobody looked amazed. Johnny Crewe asked her an eager question, and Karen murmured spitefully, 'How did she get
that job, I wonder?' implying by her tone that it had been Sean's influence that got the job for her.

  The waiter returned with her melon, which was sliced thinly, arranged in a fan-shape, piled high with tropical fruits, flavoured with some liqueur or other, and topped off by one of the hotel's little paper umbrellas.

  Nadine began to eat and Luc took charge of the conversation at the table by beginning a long anecdote about an eccentric painter he had been at art school with who had gone on to become famous by painting for films.

  'Whenever Hollywood does a film about an artist it's Jack Hurley they get in to paint the pictures. He must have the most famous hands on celluloid, but nobody has ever heard of poor old Jack because his own work simply doesn't sell. Have you ever used him, Sean?'

  'Once, yes. He painted what I wanted him to paint and it looked OK on film, but actually it was crude and garish. I've no idea what happened to it afterwards.'

  'Talking about afterwards,' said Luc, 'we're having a display of limbo-dancing down on the beach after dinner for anyone who's interested!'

  There was an excited murmur. 'Will we be able to have a shot at doing it?' asked Johnny Crewe. 'I've always wanted to do limbo-dancing.'

  'Of course,' said Luc, looking amused.

  When the meal was finished the guests all drifted down to the beach bar and sat around, drinking, at tables set out facing over the sands. The limbo- dancers were a noisy, lively bunch in white cut-off jeans fringed at the ends, and psychedelic shirts, violet, acid-green, explosive yellow and orange. They danced to their own music, played by a trio of drummers, on hammered steel drums, building up the crescendo of noise and movement with practised skill, making their audience laugh and shout out for more. One of the men was a fire-eater; the climax of his act was when he danced around the circle of faces watching him, juggling with fire, tossing his flambeau high into the air and catching it, drawing shapes in the air with fire, before finally dancing under the limbo bar eating fire at the same time. The hotel guests went wild with enthusiasm as he stood erect, bowing, afterwards.