To Play With Fire

by Flora Kidd

  The edge to his voice warned her that he didn't like being asked personal questions, but she had learned so much in answer to the few she had asked that she was determined to try one more.

  `Which part of England do you come from?'

  'I'd have thought you'd have guessed by now, lover,' he replied with a grin as he deliberately emphasised the burring accent of his speech.

  Lover. It was the casual endearment used by people from the West Country, and now Tory thought about his first name, it should have given her a clue. It was an old British name still used in the ancient stronghold of the Celts, Cornwall.

  'Do you come from Fowey, Falmouth, St Austell or St Ives?' she asked.

  `You know the Duchy, then?' he countered cautiously.

  'Not really. I went to stay with a friend once. Her parents owned a farm near the Helston River. Which town do you come from?'

  'Not a town, just a fishing village. You wouldn't know it.'

  'In other words you don't want me to know,' she challenged.

  'Right, and I'm quite happy with your vague north of England,' he retorted.

  'So now I can only assume you left England because something unpleasant happened to you which you'd rather forget,' she murmured, provocative in her turn.

  He laughed, a cheerful rollicking sound which showed her exactly what he thought of her suggestion.

  'You're really hung up on those Victorian novels, aren't you?' he jeered. 'But weave no romantic fancies about me. Keep them for your admirable professor. I left England because I wanted to leave, because adventure called. I'm here now because I want to be here. Maybe one day adventure will call again and I'll move on:

  'Alone?'

  'Now that, Victoria, is a leading question,' he retorted with that devilish twinkle dancing in his eyes. 'It depends on whether I find someone I'd like to come with me.'

  They were both leaning on the counter, not opposite to each other but slightly to one side so that the elbow of her bent right arm was touching the elbow of Denzil's right arm. The calmer pace of their conversation, the exchange of information about each other had created a relaxed intimate atmosphere which was emphasised by the shady warmth of the room. Tory discovered that she had forgotten her earlier hostility towards him and was feeling surprisingly at home.

  Turning, she found she was so near to him that she could smell his skin, a tantalising tang which was a mixture of salt and sweat. She sensed the warmth of his strong body through the thin stuff of his T-shirt. She could see how thick were the whorls of wiry dark hair against his head, how strong and vigorous the growth was. Above his right eyebrow was a narrow scar; a dark red line showing the marks where stitches had been. Scarcely aware of what she was doing, she touched the scar, tracing the length of it with a forefinger.

  'It's healed well,' she murmured.

  'It wasn't a very deep gash to start with,' he replied softly, turning his head to look at her so that she felt

  the warmth of his breath waft across her lips.

  At once she had a sudden urgent desire to be kissed by him. Her glance went to his mouth. It was well-shaped. The long upper lip had an amused curve to it while the lower lip thrust forward in a determined sensual line. It was, she decided, the mouth of a man who liked to love dangerously and passionately.

  She could have moved away, but she didn't. She stayed quite still, knowing that by not moving she was offering a deliberate invitation to him.

  His mouth touched tiers gently at first, then more insistently. His fingers caressed her throat and slid round to the back of her neck. Once again the feeling of having been touched by fire flashed through her in a series of shocks which fused into one intense throbbing sensation. Eyes closed, lips parting under the pressure of his, her breasts feeling as if they would burst open the buttons of the too-tight blouse, she found herself wishing quite hard that the counter wasn't between them so that she could press herself against his hard solid body and slide her hands under his T-shirt to caress his warm bare skin.

  Instinctively her arms went up to hold him captive, but one of her hands hit the edge of the counter and the sharp rap of wood against flesh and bone jolted her into awareness of what was happening to her, or rather what she was allowing to happen to her.

  Reaction set in violently, like a fast ebbing tide. What was she doing, embracing a man she hardly knew in this manner? He wasn't the man she loved. He was a stranger with a doubtful character. So instead of holding him closer she put her hands against him to push him away. He withdrew at once and without looking at him she slid off the stool.

  'I must go and find Carla,' she muttered, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth as if by doing so she could wipe out what had happened.

  'What's the matter, Victoria? Did you get burned?' Denzil scoffed, and she glanced sideways at him. He was still leaning on the counter, and the hard bright light in his eyes mocked her.

  'Not burned, just a little singed,' she retorted as lightly as she could, trying to ignore the trembling in her limbs. 'It sometimes happens when I'm conducting an experiment.'

  'So that's what you were doing.' His voice was dry. 'I hope you learned something in the process.'

  'Oh, I did,' she replied sweetly, 'but I really must go now. Thanks again for the sail and the tea. Goodbye.'

  She was across the room and in the long living room before he had replied. Almost running, she went through the screen door and blundered down the wooden steps and along the shady pathway. When she emerged from the shade into the glare of sunlight on pale gravel she groped automatically for her sunglasses, and discovered that she was still quivering with reaction.

  She shoved the glasses into place and pretended that it was the glare which had caused tears to rush suddenly into her eyes, and she didn't turn when she heard Denzil's voice behind her calling her name and asking her to wait, but went on towards the car park and the comparative safety of the cream car.

  The edges of the car key were sharp against the moist softness of her palm as she inserted it into the lock of the door. She turned the key, heard the lock slide back and pulled the key out, but before she could put her hand on the handle to open the door another hand was there, a big hand which was tanned the colour of teak, a hand she recognised only too well.

  She stood and waited, not looking round.

  'You forgot something,' he said quietly, and surprise forced her to look round and up. Beneath the slanted peak of his yachting cap his eyes shone with the same hard brilliance as he looked down at her. He was holding out his other hand, and in it was a roll of money. When she didn't move to take it from him he leaned forward and stuffed it in the breast pocket of the too-tight blouse. As his knuckles brushed against her breast another flash-fire flame seemed to streak through her.

  'Your winnings,' he added. 'You bet I'd find you as good a sailor as I am. I took you on for the hire of the dinghy. You won.'

  Tory was glad of the protective screen of the sunglasses, because once again those stupid tears were gathering in her eyes. His face looked rather blurred, but she saw his brows slanting together in a frown as she hesitated, and knew she must make an effort to appear cool and in control of herself if she didn't want him asking her what was wrong again. So she smiled, rather tremulously,

  'Thank you,' she said.

  'I knew I'd like it when you Smiled,' he murmured gently. "Bye, Victoria.'

  He waited until she had started the car and had driven it to the entrance. As she stopped there to look out for any passing traffic she glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw him walking away towards the pontoons.

  Tory didn't drive into Port Anne to look for Carla as had been her intention when she left the marina, because she was too disturbed by what had happened between herself and Denzil, so she turned left and took the winding road over the hill to the valley, back to the Director's house, back to the botanical laboratory and the experiments over which she had more control.

  Never. again would she go to the marina
to see Denzil! Never again would she risk close contact with

  him. Considering how that close embrace had brought to life her female instincts, turning her on in a way that had never happened to her before when she had been kissed by a man, it would be safer for her to avoid him. No, never again dared she risk playing with the fire of physical passion.

  What irritated her most, she found, was that she had more or less asked him to kiss her. She had behaved with most unusual abandon, first by touching the scar on his face and then by responding to his kiss, and there was no doubt in her mind what would have happened if the counter had not been between them. She would not now be driving back to the Botanical Gardens!

  What had made her invite him to kiss her? As she drove almost blindly round the swinging curves of the road, safe in the knowledge that no traffic would be coming the other way, Tory searched her mind frantically for a reason and came up with one. Propinquity, that had been the reason. Being so close to him, sensing the comfort his warmth and strength offered, she had wanted to make contact. But why? Because she was lonely?

  She lonely? Here on this lovely island, where she was working with the man she admired most and with whom she wanted to be most of all? The whole idea was ludicrous and she did actually laugh as she drove between the stone gateposts that marked the entrance to the Gardens.

  As always, the sight of graceful white poinsettia trees drooping gracefully above the shimmering blue pool soothed her. A group of brazenly pink flamingoes ruffled their plumage as she drove past and high against the blue sky the blossoms of the pink poui tree echoed the colour of their feathers. The big white house was dreaming in the yellow glow of the late afternoon sun

  and it was with a sense of having reached a peaceful haven after being tossed about on the stormy sea of passion that Tory went up the steps and entered the cool hallway.

  Mrs Dunnet was there, crossing the shining wooden floor on her way from the stairs to the kitchen. She paused when she heard Tory enter and her eyes brightened.

  'Dat girl is back home,' she said. 'She stayed de night with Mrs Campos, so I guess dat's okay?'

  'Who is Mrs Campos?' asked Tory, making her way to the stairs.

  'She's an old school friend of Mrs Jarrold's, and she and her husband have a place up on the coast, north of Port Anne.'

  Evidently Mrs Dunnet felt she had said enough because she gave one of her bird-like nods and scurried away into the kitchen.

  Tory ran up the stairs to her room. There she changed into a green and white striped cotton dress and brushed her hair which was now completely dry. Then, picking up Carla's blouse, she went along to the girl's room. Her knock was answered by a request to enter and she went in to find Carla sprawled on the bed listening to rock music on her transistor radio. When she saw Tory and the blouse, she flicked off the radio and sat up with a bounce.

  'That's my blouse,' she said in her abrupt manner. 'Where did you get it?'

  'At the marina. You left it there.'

  'What did you go there for?' Carla demanded, scowling suddenly.

  'To look for you. You might have let me know that you were going to stay out all night. It would have saved me a lot of bother,' replied Tory curtly. She was becoming very tired of Carla's lack of manners.

  'I've told you,' said Carla with a long sigh of weariness as if she were also tired of dealing with someone as dense as Tory appeared to be, 'that you have no authority over me. I didn't have to tell you that I wouldn't be home.'

  'But you could have told Mrs Dunnet,' retorted Tory. 'She prepared meals for you, and I would have liked to have known because I promised your father I'd keep an eye on you.'

  'And of course you have to keep in his good books, don't you?' jeered Carla. 'It would be too bad if his new protégée slipped from grace because she failed to keep an eye on me; Her slanting black glance raked Tory. 'You might as well give up trying to win me over to your side, you know, because it won't work. I don't like you, I'll never like you and I don't want you here. You could never be a substitute for my mother, which is the position you're aiming for, so will you please get out of my room and leave me in peace?'

  Anger scorched through Tory and she was very tempted to let fly with a few home truths. Just in time she saw the glint of malice in Carla's eyes and realised that was what the girl wanted her to do; get involved in a slanging match which would be reported to Magnus and add to the anxiety he already felt about Carla.

  So, tightening her lips on the hot words which she longed to fling at the girl, Tory turned and left the room, thinking how glad she would be when Magnus returned the next day.

  And she was glad, although the feeling was not as intense as she had expected it to be. It seemed to have lost some of its joyousness, because the sight of his tall slight figure, boyish features and longish rust-coloured hair did not have the same impact as usual.

  That was because he had not been away for very long and because she was more used to seeing him, she

  decided, refusing to believe that possibly he was no longer attractive to her.

  He had been back only a day and she was with him in his study, working on the book, when the door crashed open and Carla came storming in, her hair bouncing and crackling as if each strand of it carried a live electrical current, and her dark eyes flashed sparks. Ignoring, as usual, her father's mild and ineffectual remarks that she should knock before she entered when he was working, she turned on Tory.

  'What did you say about me to Denzil when you were at the marina?' she demanded.

  'Very little,' retorted Tory coolly. 'Why do you ask?' 'He says I'm not to go swimming any more at the pool. He says I'm not to hang around there.'

  'So what's wrong with that?' said Tory, still calm, wondering why Denzil had taken action. 'The pool is for the use of people who keep their yachts at the marina or for people chartering boats. It isn't open to the public.'

  'Tory's quite right,' Magnus said. 'Now will you please go away, Carla? We're very busy.'

  'I don't care if you are,' cried Carla, her eyes bright now with the sparkle of tears. 'It's all your fault,' she almost shouted at Tory, `if you hadn't gone there and said something to Denzil about me he wouldn't have done anything about it. Now I've nowhere to go, nothing to do. Oh, I wish Mummy were here.'

  She whirled and ran suddenly from the room. The door crashed closed behind her, and for a few moments there was silence in the room. Then Magnus pushed his glasses up on to his head, leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes with the tips of his fingers.

  'I'd no idea you'd been to see Hallam,' he said with a touch of weariness. 'You didn't tell me.'

  'I didn't think it was necessary to tell you,' she de-

  fended. She had decided not to mention the fact that Carla had stayed out for the night while he had been away, so as not to worry him. 'She was missing one day, so I went to look for her. I tried the marina first.'

  'Did you find her there?'

  `No, Mr Hallam said he hadn't seen her all week. He wanted to know why I'd gone there to search and I told him how you felt about Carla visiting the place.'

  'That was very brave of you, Tory,' Magnus said, removing his fingers from his eyes and smiling at her. 'I hope he wasn't rude to you?'

  'Well, he wasn't very pleased, and he told me that he regards Carla only as a teenager who's looking for companionship of her own age, and that she'd found it at the marina, so he'd turned a blind eye and allowed her to go on using the pool.'

  'Thus encouraging her to defy me,' he put in.

  'But he didn't deliberately encourage her, he told me that, and the fact that he's told her not to go again shows that he appreciates how you feel about her going there, doesn't it?'

  'Yes, I suppose it does.' His mouth tilted wryly. 'Doesn't it seem odd to you that Hallam has more control over my daughter than I have myself? That he's been able to achieve at one meeting with her what I couldn't achieve during the past few months?'

  `He has a way of speaking ..
.' Tory began by way of explanation.

  'I know. He's the masterful type and I'm not,' he said with a touch of bitterness. 'Well, your effort to help seems to have produced some rather violent results, judging by her behaviour just now. I expect she's going to treat us to a few days of the sulks, and living in this place will become unbearable. Did you ever find out where she actually did go?'

  'Yes, to a Mrs Campos. Mrs Dunnet seemed to know

  of her and was quite satisfied.'

  'Oh, so Lise is back, is she? I must have a word with her. She and my wife went to school together. She, like Rita, is a member of one of the old Portuguese families who came to Airouna years ago to help grow sugar and found trading centres. She has a couple of teenage children—in fact her daughter must be about the same age as Carla, but not, I suspect, such a problem. Whatever am I going to do with her?'

  It was an appeal for more help than Tory was able to give, because she knew now that Carla and she would never hit it off. For a moment she stared at him as he sat, head in hands, elbows on his desk, obviously worrying quite ineffectually about the girl and not having the slightest idea of how to deal with her.

  'Could I make a suggestion?' she asked tentatively. 'Of course, my dear.'

  'Is it possible for Carla to go and stay with Mrs Campos for a few days? A change of scene and company might help her to recover from the disappointment of not being able to go to the marina anymore.'

  'Tory, you're a marvel,' Magnus smiled his relief. 'I don't know why I didn't think of it myself. I'll get in touch with Lise straight away ... or at least as soon as we've finished those notes.'

  And so it was arranged, and Carla went off to stay with Lise Campos and her daughter for a week. Peace and quiet descended once more on the Director's house. Days slipped by, always sunny, with the occasional rain shower brought by the steady trade wind that kept the temperature from soaring too high.