Sally Wentworth - The Sea Master
She hadn't intended to become a stowaway.
Running away from her fiance's crude advances, Michelle plunged from bad to worse—literally. Her misadventure included a chill dunking in the Thames and a narrow escape onto a moored yacht, where she collapsed in exhaustion.
When she finally awoke she had another shock. The vessel was far out to sea, bound for Bermuda. And she was totally alone with the autocratic captain, Guy Farringdon.
Michelle smoldered at Guy's ultimatum—that she work for her passage. But she didn't dare accept his alternative suggestion…
CHAPTER ONE
It was eleven o'clock. Michelle Bryant looked at the clock and knew that her mother wasn't coming. She turned away, her mouth set into a false smile, but inwardly she was cursing herself for a fool; she had never really believed that her mother would come, even though she'd promised several times over. But there had always been a small, lingering hope that the engagement party of her only child would be a sufficiently special enough occasion for the famous Adele. Verlaine to put in an appearance. But earlier that evening Michelle had received a telephone message from her mother's secretary saying that the rehearsal for her new play was running late and she would try to get down later.
But of course she hadn't arrived. She never did. Michelle had received the same type-of excuse dozens of times before: at school parents' days, when she was waiting to be taken on a promised outing, and often even on the day before long looked-for-ward-to holidays. All cancelled at a moment's notice, leaving her as a child bewildered, and weeping, and as a teenager with tight, set face and a hurt that showed only in her eyes. Even now, at nineteen, when she should have been used to it, the hurt was still there, hidden behind the bright smile; that, and increasing humiliation.
'My dance, I think, m'dear.'
Mr Milner, Peter's father, came to put a proprietorial hand under her elbow and led her on to the dance floor. Michelle smiled at him and tried to look as if she meant it as he took her round in a rather ponderous waltz.
'Doesn't look as if your mother's going to be able to make it after all,' he remarked with real disappointment in his voice. 'Damn shame,' he went on, 'But then she's so dedicated, such a professional actress. Not many women would be prepared to forgo their daughter's engagement party for the sake of their art.'
'No,' Michelle agreed drily. 'Very few, I imagine.'
But he wasn't listening. 'Remarkable woman, your mother. Never met anyone quite like her. Definitely the most charming woman I've ever met.'
Oh, yes, she was charming all right, Michelle thought bitterly as he went rabbiting on. Her mother's beauty, Warmth and vitality had a stunning effect which won people over and made them her ardent fans for life. A talent which had captured and held theatre audiences the world over and helped to make her one of the most famous and sought-after actresses of the decade. The charm, too, carried over into Adele Verlaine's private life; Michelle could remember time and time again falling under its spell as her mother effusively apologised for a broken promise, showered her with expensive toys and made lots more solemn promises which she. never kept. And even now nothing had changed; she still used gifts as a substitute for love. Michelle looked sourly at the diamond bracelet on her wrist, a companion to the pendant round her neck and the pair of stud earrings given to her the day before by her mother's secretary with a verbal message. She hadn't even found the time to send a note with them. No, Michelle was one of the two people in the world on whom her mother's 'charm' had worn very thin.
'Have you decided on a date for the wedding yet?'
Michelle tried to give Mr Milner her attention— after all, it wasn't his fault that her mother had let her dawn on one of the most important days in her life, and he and his wife had really been very kind, taking over this Thamesside night club for the evening and inviting so many of her friends as well as all Peter's friends and family.
'Not yet,' she answered. 'Though we did think perhaps September, in about four months time.'
'Splendid,' he enthused. 'Not too long for you young people to have to wait but still giving plenty of time to make all the arrangements.' He hesitated for a moment and cleared his throat. 'I wonder, perhaps you might have a word with Adele—with your mother—and ask her if she'd like to leave all the wedding arrangements to us? I know how busy she is, you see. She told me so when she very kindly sent us the tickets for her last play and invited us backstage to meet her. All she need do really is to get together with us once or twice, over lunch or dinner perhaps, and let us know what she wants done, give us her list of guests that kind of thing. It would be a pleasure to save her all that boring work.'
Well, that at least was true, Michelle thought with increased bitterness; she would certainly find arranging her daughter's wedding a bore.
But Mr Milner's voice was growing animated as he went on, 'I expect there are a great many of her friends, actors and playwrights, that she'll want to invite. And .then there's your father—he's in America, isn't he?'
'Yes, he lives there permanently now.'
'You'll have to give me his address so that I can write to him. He's bound to want to know that you're
marrying into a respectable family and what Peter's prospects are. And we must offer to put him up when he comes over for the wedding.'
Michelle made some non-committal reply, not at all certain that her father, whom she hadn't seen for several years, would want to come to her wedding.
When the dance ended Peter came to claim her and introduced her to a couple of his old school friends who had been in the rugger team with him. They were interrupted after only a few minutes, though, by a waiter bringing round a tray of champagne, and the music stopped as Peter's father made a speech welcoming her to their family and then proposed a toast to the betrothed couple. Michelle smiled dutifully as everyone drank to them, but would have been better pleased if Mr Milner hadn't mentioned her mother's name three times and her father's twice.
Then it was Peter's turn to make an answering speech, which he did after some shouts of encouragement from the guests and one or two modest refusals on his part. He took her hand in his while he spoke, her left one with the brilliant new engagement ring on the third finger. He began by saying, 'Oh, dear, this is a complete surprise,' then went on to make a very good 'impromptu' speech; but Michelle had lived among actors all her life and knew a prepared piece when she heard it. She watched him as he spoke; quite fair, quite tall, quite handsome, and proud as Punch with himself. Well, he had reason to be, didn't he? Michelle told herself roundly. At twenty-two he already had a middling University degree behind him and could look forward to a safe career as first an assistant and then a partner in- his father's stock broking firm in the City. Everything had always gone well for him all his life without too much effort on his part; just brainy enough to get into university, just good enough to get into the first rugger team, and just handsome enough to get engaged to Michelle Bryant, the only, child of the brilliant theatrical couple Adele Verlaine and Sir Richard Bryant. No matter that the famous husband and wife team had split up and been divorced years ago, they still acted together often enough for their names to be linked in me minds of theatre and cinemagoers the world over.
There was another burst of applause after Peter's speech and then someone handed her a glass of champagne so that they could drink to each-other. He smiled warmly down at her as he did so and Michelle tried to make her smile in return just as warm, but somehow it didn't quite come off. But Peter didn't notice because all the younger guests were calling for him to kiss her. He laughed, bending her back to kiss her on the mouth, harder and far longer than was
necessary, so that his friends gave whoops of encouragement and the rest of her champagne spilt on the floor. At last he let her go, flushed and laughing.
Michelle's face, too, was flushed, from embarrassment. She knew that it had been just bravado in front of his friends, but she didn't appreciate Peter's using her like that in public. Quickly she moved away from him and held out her empty glass for a waiter to refill and rather defiantly drank it down in a couple of swallows. The rest of the evening settled down into dances with men she'd just met that night, chats with their wives and daughters, polite smiles and laughter, constantly hearing Peter's parents dropping her mother's or her father's name, and enough glasses of champagne so that she didn't much care anyway.
'When was it your father received his knighthood,
my dear?' Mr Milner asked her. 'Just after his brilliant performance in Othello at Stratford, wasn't it? Yes, I'm sure it was. 'He turned back to the people he was speaking to without waiting for her to answer and went on with his monologue on her father's career.
Michelle groaned inwardly; it was just pure bad luck that Peter's people should have turned out to be such ardent theatre-lovers. They had been over the moon at the news of the engagement and had really caught the celebrity bug since they'd been introduced to her mother. That they had only met on the one occasion and Adele Verlaine, recognising the symptoms, had kept them at the end of a long telephone line ever since, didn't seem to make any difference at all; they still brought her, parents' names into the conversation whenever possible. As she stood there listening, it gradually dawned on Michelle that this party hadn't been arranged for Peter's and her own pleasure at all, but merely in the hope that her mother would put in an appearance and perhaps bring some of her famous friends with her, possibly even Patrick O'Keefe, the volatile Irish actor that rumour had it she was contemplating marrying. Not that she ever would; sharing the limelight once had been enough to peel off most of Adele Verlaine's , layers of charm so that her husband had seen through her; she would never make that mistake again, Michelle knew.
Feeling an arm go round her waist, Michelle turned and saw Peter by her side.
'Come and dance,' he said possessively.
Obediently she finished off the glass of wine she was holding and let him take it from her and lead her on to the dance floor. He pulled her close against him and she stumbled a little, then giggled as she put her hand on his shoulder to support herself. Peter laughed and pulled her closer. His face was still flushed and she could smell whisky on his breath.
'All my friends keep asking me when we're going to get married,' he said in her ear. 'But I told them that's only a formality. God, who waits till their wedding nowadays?'
'Oh, Peter, really! You don't have to tell everyone, do you?'
He laughed again and kissed her clumsily on the cheek. 'There's nothing to tell yet, is there?'
The band changed to a fast beat number, coloured psychedelic lights threw patterns on the ceiling and walls of the darkened room and most of the guests, old and young alike, crowded on to the floor to let their hair down in their own way. Michelle swayed and gyrated in the crush until Peter caught her arm and-pulled her towards the edge.
'Come on, let's get out of �here.'
Picking up a full bottle of champagne and a couple of glasses from a nearby table, he propelled her towards some French doors leading on to a lawn which sloped down towards the river. There were already one or two couples standing in the shadows, locked in close embrace, but Peter pulled her round the angle of the building and towards the car park at the side.
'Wait! Where are we going?' Michelle found it difficult to keep up with him in the long tight dress she was wearing.
'To my car. Come on.'
She stopped and tried to pull away. 'Peter, we can't! People will notice we've gone.'
'No, they won't—they're all too busy dancing. And anyway, what does it matter if they do?'
'Because it's supposed to be our party, that's why.
No, Peter, they're bound to notice.'
He moved towards her and put his free arm round her waist. 'Just five minutes, then. Conic on, darling. We haven't had any time alone together all evening. I haven't even had a chance to tell you properly how lovely you look.'
'Oh, all right.' Michelle let him lead her along. ''But only for five minutes, mind.'
'Of course.'
They reached his blue hatchback that had been a twenty-first birthday present from his parents, and he quickly took the keys from his pocket and opened the door. Once inside, he immediately opened the bottle of champagne, and they both laughed as the cork banged against the roof and the liquid frothed out and splashed them.
'Here's to us,' Peter toasted. 'Come on, drink it all down in one go.'
Gigglingly Michelle did as she was told, and as soon as her glass was empty Peter took it from her and put it on the floor, then took her in his arms and began to kiss her possessively, his hands hot and clumsy as they fumbled with the straps of her dress. He pulled them down and then his hands were- on her breasts, stroking, exploring. Michelle returned his kiss, letting him do what he wanted until he squeezed too hard and hurt her:
'No!' She pushed him away. 'Peter, you said just five minutes!'
'We've hardly been here two yet. Come on, let's have another drink.'
They drank more champagne and he got her laughing before he started to make love to her again. Michelle's head felt strangely as if it was a long way above her neck, and this time she didn't fight him off until he'd lifted her skirt and tried to put his hand up it. Peter sat back, his breathing heavy and his hands shaking. He poured himself another glass of wine-and drank it-down in one gulp, then insisted she do the same.
'No, I don't want any more.'
"Yes, you do. You've had hardly any yet. And we might as well finish the bottle.'
By bullying and persuasion he got her to drink another two glasses and by then Michelle could hardly even see straight
'Michelle—oh, darling, you're so sweet. I love you, darling.' His hands seemed to be everywhere, and she gasped as he let down the back of her seat and rolled on top of her.
'No, Peter. No!' She tried to protest as he pulled her skirt up round her waist, but her voice wouldn't come out the way she wanted it to and her hands seemed to have no strength in them when she tried to push him away. His hand pulled at her underclothes and she moaned as he touched her. For a while sexuality took over and she stopped fighting, but then she gave a violent, explosive, 'No!' as she jerked up into a sitting position and pushed him violently away.
'Get away from me, or I'll scream tile place down she yelled at him, real fright and panic in her voice.’
'Come on, you know you want to,' Peter persisted, trying to kiss her again.
'No, I don't! You keep away from me!'
'Aw, for heaven's sake, Michelle!' Peter sat up and raised a trembling hand to push his hair out of lib eyes. His voice was shirred and unsteady, his forehead wet with beads of perspiration. 'You promised we could do it when we got engaged.'
'But I didn't mean in the middle of our engagement party,' Michelle told him angrily, 'And I sure as hell didn't mean on the front seat of a car either!'
'Well, if that's all you're worried about we can go down to the river. There are some bushes there and we won't be seen by…'
'No!' Michelle said furiously. 'Can't you understand? I don't want to.'
'Yes, you do. You know you do really.' He started to kiss her again, forcing her head back, and his hand groped for her breast.
'Leave me alone!' She tried to push him away, but he was stronger than she was and she couldn't move him.
'Please, Michelle, please.' His breath was hot and alcoholic near her face, his hands once again trying to pull up her skirt. 'I want you so much, darling. And I love you, I really do, Don't you love me?'
'Oh, Peter, you know I do.'
'Well then, prove it to me.'
'No. Not here, not like this.'<
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'Just this once. We'll do it properly in a bed next time, I promise.'
'No! Haven't you any feelings?'
But he refused to listen, using all his strength to push her down again, clawing at her clothes. With a sob of anger and fear, Michelle realised that she couldn't fight him off no matter how much she hit out at him and tried to push him away. Tears began to run down her cheeks when he wouldn't listen to her protests, and her head felt so strange, as if it didn't belong to her any more. Feebly she tried to push, him away again, and for a moment thought that she had been successful as he drew back, but then she realised that he was fumbling with his trousers, pulling them down.
Panic-stricken, Michelle groped for the door handle, found it, and almost fell out of the car, losing one of her shoes in the process.
'Michelle! Don't! What the hell are you doing?' Peter made a grab for her and caught her dress, tried to pull her back.
With a tremendous effort that sent her reeling, she managed to pick herself up and pull away, the material of her dress tearing in the desperate tug-of-war. Still sobbing with fear, she ran out of the car park, down towards the darkness of the river bank. Her one high-heeled shoe impeded her and she had to stop to take it off, her heart beating crazily in case Peter caught her. But then the shoe was off and she was running down through the soft grass, away from the glare of the night dub's lights towards the blessed darkness where she could hide among the bushes.
She'd hardly reached them and cowered down among their foliage before she heard Peter calling her name. He was still some distance away, near the car park, she judged, and wondered why it had taken him so long to come after her. Then she felt an insane impulse to giggle hysterically as she realised that he'd literally been caught with his pants down. Hastily she stuffed a hand into her mouth, but laughter soon gave way to fear again when she remembered that Peter had suggested they go to these very bushes to make love. This was the first place he would come and look for her and he would be bound to see her in her white dress. And if he found her here she wouldn't be able to stop him—and the dress wouldn't be virginal white any longer.
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