‘But why would Mama keep it a secret? Wasn’t she proud of her sister?’
‘More proud than you can imagine. It’s precisely why she didn’t want their relationship becoming public. So she put Chekhov as her maiden name on the papers she was given when she came to Australia.’
He spun the chair around and straddled it. The pose strained the fabric of his shorts over his muscular thighs and she swallowed hard. It was difficult to keep her mind on the past when the present kept intruding so insistently.
She fixed her eyes on his grave expression. ‘What does this have to do with Tyler Thornton?’
‘He knows about the link between Marya and Lyudmila and he wants to make it public.’
A voice of protest rose inside her. ‘Just the sort of headlines Mama wanted to avoid.’
‘I’m afraid so. Thornton isn’t big on scruples when he senses a juicy story.’
Her lashes dropped over moist eyes. ‘Would it be such a big story now, with both Mama and her sister gone?’
‘Of course it would. The photo showed your aunt surrounded by the royal family. Think what the Press would make of that—and of you, too, and your “royal” relations!’
In spite of herself, a slow smile seeped across Lisa’s face. It was an odd feeling to think of having relatives, when she’d grown up with none. Then her expression grew pained. ‘Why did Mama tell you and not me?’
‘She had no choice. I stumbled on the photo when I was going through your father’s papers. When I tackled Marya about it she allowed me to delve into the story, provided I kept it secret during her lifetime.’
‘Surely the photo isn’t the only record of their relationship?’
‘It’s the only one we have access to, which is why Thornton wants to get his hands on it.’
She was still confused. ‘Why did he wait so long?’
‘My guess is that the story didn’t interest him until he found out I was working on a book. He and I crossed swords many times when we worked for the same paper. He probably sees this as the perfect way to get even, and make some money at the same time.’
Her hair had dried and fluffed around her head. She ran distracted fingers through it. ‘How can an old photo be valuable?’
His eyes darkened. ‘Scandal is always valuable. The more famous the person it attaches to, the higher the price the media is prepared to pay. Which is why we have to stop Tyler Thornton getting hold of it.’
So that Harry could use it first in his book, her tired brain supplied the rest. Once a journalist, always a journalist, she reminded herself silently. To him the story was all-important. If she needed one his wife’s death was a tragic reminder. ‘Why didn’t you tell me all this when I arrived?’ she asked, her tone accusing.
‘I had my reasons.’
She tossed her head defiantly. ‘Such as wanting the photo for your book?’
A grim expression crossed his face before the shuttered look returned. ‘Such as wanting you to enjoy the island, free of shadows from the past. Once you found out about the photo I knew you’d look at me the way you’re doing now, as if I’d just crawled out from under a rock.’
She hadn’t realised that her feelings were so transparent. But he was wrong about one thing. Her look of loathing wasn’t for him so much as for herself. Despite his warnings, she’d allowed him to make love to her, fooling herself that it could mean anything to him.
‘I don’t hate you, Harry,’ she said evenly. ‘One thing my parents taught me was the futility of hate. I am sorry that you weren’t honest with me.’ Unable to contain her restlessness, she jumped up and paced to the window, leaning far out to inhale the cleansing perfume of the rain forest.
When she had mastered her turbulent emotions she whirled on him. ‘Was it all true about Kim, or did you exaggerate the story to gain my cooperation?’
His breath whistled out between clenched teeth. ‘God, no. The whole thing’s on record if you want to check.’
She gave a wry smile. ‘I shan’t bother. Crazy as it seems, I trust you.’
‘You know I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.’
Perhaps not, but he would mislead her then charm her into behaving so recklessly that she squirmed to remember it. The thought of their bodies entwined on the sand made her writhe with mortification. She had known of his involvement with Thornton when she’d confronted him on the beach, yet she had still allowed him to make love to her. Worse still, she had enjoyed it so much that her body ached to feel his touch again. He had called her a fever in his blood, but he was an addiction to her. She shivered involuntarily.
‘What will you do now?’ he asked, regarding her intently.
The slow burn of anger caught her by surprise. ‘I’m going back to Cairns to turn my flat upsidedown until I find that photo.’ The hard planes of his face didn’t alter but she sensed his growing tension. ‘If I find it I shall destroy it,’ she finished flatly.
Reaction flickered in his gaze. She had expected fury but was startled to see something very like respect in his eyes. Then it was gone. ‘You can’t destroy the truth, Lisa,’ he told her.
Disappointment knifed through her. She had been hoping he would approve of her decision. It would mean that she was more important to him than the story. Would she never learn?
‘I have to try,’ she went on. ‘I can’t take any more of this media tug of war around me. For once I want to be an ordinary person. Not the daughter of Nikita and Marya Alexandrov, but plain old Lisa Alexander, daughter of Nick and Mary. Can’t you understand what it feels like to grow up as a media freak show?’
His lip curled derisively. ‘Poor little Lisa. Are you telling me you never once used your background to get something you wanted?’
‘I didn’t…’ she began, then couldn’t meet his eyes any longer.
‘Never?’ he drawled. He swung his leg over the chair and joined her at the window. His touch on her arm was light but irresistible. Her head came up. ‘What about your present job?’
She squirmed uncomfortably. ‘I didn’t want Simon to use my background. It was his idea.’
‘It’s what I expected. I’ll bet he makes sure your clients know who they’re dealing with?’
She nodded miserably. It was a bone of contention between her and Simon that he had mentioned who she was in a local Press release when she was hired. When she’d asked him outright if it was the reason why she’d got the job his evasiveness had answered her question. Yet she hadn’t resigned.
‘And what about your father’s share of the book proceeds which you inherited?’ Harry went on relentlessly. ‘Don’t you regard it as tainted money?’
‘No,’ she said, her voice almost inaudible.
‘You can’t have it both ways, sweetheart. It’s no use blaming the media for exploiting you unless you’re prepared to send the cheques back.’
His palms crossed in a slashing movement. ‘Hell, Lisa, we all have problems with our family history. It’s up to you to make the best of what you are instead of railing against it. Self-hatred will get you nowhere.’
In spite of herself, she was forced to concede that he made sense. All her life she had longed for the anonymity her school-friends enjoyed. Running away from Tyler Thornton and threatening to destroy the photo if she found it were the latest steps in a pattern of running away.
‘And another thing,’ he continued, pressing home the advantage he sensed he’d gained, ‘but for who you are, I would never have met you.’
She managed a shaky smile. ‘Under the circumstances, maybe it would have been a good thing.’
‘No.’ His denial cut through the air like a whipcrack. ‘Don’t even think it. I wouldn’t have missed knowing you for the world. I hope you feel the same.’
Would it ease his conscience if she did? The fact was she couldn’t feel as casual about sex as Harry could. Lines from a poem danced into her mind: ‘man’s love is of man’s life a thing apart, ‘tis woman’s whole existence’. Try as she might, she couldn’t make it
‘a thing apart’.
All the same, she couldn’t regret what had happened either. No matter what sort of woman it made her, she was glad—joyously, recklessly gladthat she had known Harry’s love. If it was all they ever had she intended to hug it to her like a guilty secret for as long as memory endured. Her shy smile reflected this secret knowledge. ‘No,’ she admitted with absolute candour, ‘I wouldn’t have missed knowing you for the world.’
His eyes searched her face. ‘No regrets?’
Those she had were for the future, not for the past. ‘Not about what happened,’ she confessed. Before he could probe deeper and reveal how fragile her assurance really was she asked him, ‘What will happen if the photo never comes to light?’
‘Thornton’s story falls flat, and there’s a hole in my book,’ he said.
‘Would you mind?’
His slow grin gave her the answer she needed. ‘There’ll be other books.’
Her spirits soared. Maybe he was telling the truth when he said he wanted her on his island for her own sake. She began to hope the photo would never resurface.
‘Hungry?’ he asked.
Suddenly she was. Determined to enjoy their remaining time together, she volunteered to cook. While Harry harvested fresh salad vegetables, she grilled thick slabs of barramundi fish from Harry’s freezer.
After dinner they took their drinks out to the terrace and sat admiring the canopy of stars which seemed close enough to touch. In the distance the sea became a flaming band of reflected light, gathering ribbons of pink and gold from the sunset sky.
The night sounds no longer frightened her. The flapping noises she recognised as the leathery wings of the fruit bats as they wheeled across the sky, dipping down to drink from the freshwater spring.
When it was fully dark clouds of ghostly luminescence drifted across the landscape. Harry told her they were fireflies. To her they looked like Christmas fairy-lights. She hoarded the sights and sounds greedily, wanting to be sure she could conjure them up again when she returned home.
Home. A pang shot through her. Where was home now? It should have been her flat in Cairns. Now she wasn’t sure. Since coming here she’d undergone some sort of emotional transplant. The idea of leaving wrenched at her. It meant leaving Harry. She hoped that when the time came she would have the strength to make a graceful exit.
As the silence lengthened Harry regarded her with concern. ‘Are you sure you’re all right, Lisa?’
Her smile was forced but convincing in the shadowy light. ‘I’m fine. I have a lot on my mind, that’s all.’
‘Your aunt, you mean?’
In truth she’d hardly given what he’d told her about her aunt a thought. It was a relief to know why Tyler Thornton was interested in her, but it hardly made a difference to Lisa herself now. She had more pressing concerns.
When she kept silent he stalked to her chair and dropped his hands lightly on to her shoulders. The touch electrified her and it took every ounce of willpower not to show it. ‘I think I know what’s on your mind,’ he said in a soft voice.
‘You do?’ Her reply was revealingly high-pitched.
He was behind her, so she couldn’t see his face, but she heard the anxiety in his voice. ‘When we made love I wasn’t thinking too clearly. I didn’t do anything to protect you. But if anything comes of it I want you to know that you can rely on me. I won’t let you down.’
Despite the evening’s warmth, a chill shook her. His charity didn’t extend to an offer of marriage, she noticed. Bitterness threatened to choke her. ‘You needn’t worry; there’s no chance of my becoming pregnant.’
He should have been relieved but he seemed angry as he moved away. ‘I should have realised, because of you and Simon.’
Harry couldn’t know it, but her confidence stemmed from fortunate timing, not from any precautions she’d taken on Simon’s behalf. He was more than willing to deepen their relationship, but so far she’d resisted, instinctively knowing that he wasn’t the man for her.
That man was right here beside her, but he might as well have been on the moon for all the good it did her. Maybe she should give Simon another chance. At least he wanted her.
She stood up. ‘It’s been a long day. I’m going to bed.’
‘Goodnight, Lisa. Sleep well.’ He had retreated into the shadows, his voice sounding world-weary. He didn’t follow her when she went inside.
For what seemed like an age she lay under the mosquito netting, staring into the darkness and wishing fervently for sleep. When it came she dreamed of being chased by men with miniature tape-recorders which they kept thrusting into her face, demanding information.
More and more of them besieged her until she could hardly breathe for the howling mob pressing in on her. Suddenly they were flung aside like broken dolls and a path opened in front of her. In the centre of it stood Harry, his commanding figure haloed by light. He held out his arms to her.
As she moved towards him the light intensified until she threw an arm across her eyes to shield them. When she pulled it away the dream dissolved into the fierce light of the morning sun, shining full into her eyes.
A muffled sound caught her attention. Instantly she became aware of another presence in the room. Jolting upright, she thrust the netting aside to greet the spectacle of Harry riffling through her luggage. ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded.
He straightened. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’
‘Obviously not. You’re looking for that photo, aren’t you?’
‘Finding it is the only way to make Tyler Thornton leave you alone,’ he said.
She bit her lip so hard that she tasted blood. ‘Funny, but he isn’t the one going through my things.’
He gave an impatient shake of his head. ‘Would you have agreed if I’d asked permission?’
‘Asking never crossed your mind. At least be honest with me this once, Harry. You want the photo as much as Thornton does, not to protect me but to score journalistic points off a rival.’
‘Is that what you think I’m doing?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? You said yourself that you two have old scores to settle. All this stuff about setting the record straight is a convenient cover—admit it.’
The burning anger in his face caught her by surprise. Muscles worked in his throat and his hands clenched tightly at his sides as if he would like to lash out at someone. ‘I’m delighted you have such a high opinion of me, Lisa.’
Her own anger was more than a match for his. ‘Well what do you expect—undying gratitude?’
His eyes blazed. ‘Hardly. But trust would be a start.’
‘I did trust you and this is the thanks I get.’
With a sob she pulled the covers over her head to blot him out of her sight. The oath which split the air shocked her rigid. With words as his stockin-trade Harry normally didn’t need to swear. But why was he so angry? It could only be because she had caught him in a dishonourable act and he didn’t like it. She heard him say something about going to work on the boat, then he slammed out of the house.
Slowly she lowered the sheet and used a corner to blot her moist eyes. She had been fooling herself that she could transfer her affection to Simon. If only she could! But how could you give away something which already belonged to another? Whether or not the gift was welcome made absolutely no difference.
She was shaking as she got out of bed and pulled on a shirt and jeans. She hardly glanced in the mirror as she pulled a comb through her tousled locks then threw the comb across the room. What was the point of taking pains with her appearance when there was no one to appreciate the result?
Her eye fell on the small silver-framed photograph of her parents on their wedding-day. It was one of the few personal possessions they had been able to carry out of Russia, and Lisa treasured it as a rare link with the past. It accompanied her everywhere. Now she picked it up, gazing into Marya’s madonna-like face under the antique lace head-dress.
‘Why didn’t y
ou tell me about Aunt Lyudmila? You told Harry.’ Her mother’s expression remained frozen in bridal serenity. ‘You could at least have told me where to find the photo, then none of this would have happened.’
Suddenly she missed her parents more than at any time since they’d died. Pain clutched at her and she thrust the photo back into her bag. Hungry, she was hungry.
In a daze, she stumbled to the kitchen. Emptiness gnawed at her. There must be something here which would fill it.
Frantically opening and closing cupboards, she piled food haphazardly on to the counter-top. Bread and butter, cheese and jam, dried fruit, biscuits and tinned goods were dragged out.
She took bites of bread, a sliver of ham, some dried apricots and a spoonful of ice-cream. Then she began to assemble a sandwich to rival Harry’s doorstep variety. Mayonnaise. It needed mayonnaise.
She chewed on dried apricots while she hunted through the shelves until she found the mayonnaise, then added a dollop to the sandwich before cramming more bread on top.
More ice-cream jarred her teeth before she was ready for the pièce de résistance. She had taken her first huge bite from the sandwich before she realised what she was doing. Horror flooded through her. Suddenly the food felt as if it were choking her and she rushed to the sink to rid herself of it.
For long moments she stood at the sink, numb fingers gripping the cold metal edges while she fought to control the heaving in her chest.
No amount of food would assuage the hunger gnawing inside her. Trying to eat away her problems would only destroy her health and appearance, as they had so nearly done in her teens. Recovery had needed both counselling and painfully acquired selfknowledge. What was she doing, throwing it all away now because her foundations had been shaken?
It came as a shock to discover that her old insecurities were so near the surface. She couldn’t even blame Harry. She had let him think that she took his lovemaking casually, too proud to admit that Simon wasn’t her lover. And Harry had warned her about getting involved with him. Putting his story ahead of her feelings was natural to him. He couldn’t know that it had almost destroyed her.
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