Dark Pirate

by Devine, Angela

  'Well, time to light a fire, I think,' he announced. 'We can move into the sitting-room and get cosy.'

  Half an hour later they were sitting in front of the roaring blaze while the rain drummed noisily on the roof and the sea was hidden in a grey haze.

  Rose gazed pensively into the heart of the crackling orange flames, trying to work up the resolve to tell Greg of her decision. That she must leave Cornwall soon and see a lot less of him in future. The trouble was that she didn't trust herself to explain why without getting upset. While she was still brooding over the matter, Greg suddenly took her by surprise with an unexpected question.'

  'What do you like to do in winter?' he demanded.

  Rose looked mildly perplexed. 'I've never really had a winter,' she replied.

  'You don't if you live in the tropics.'

  'Have you ever seen snow?' asked Greg.

  'No.' Rose's eyes were suddenly wide and shining, like a child's. 'Actually, it might be rather fun, especially at Christmas.'

  'It will be fun,' insisted Greg, as if he were daring it to be anything else. 'I'll tell you what we'll do: I'll buy the biggest Christmas tree you've ever seen and we'll have roast turkey and plum pudding and carols, and if it doesn't have the decency to snow in Cornwall I'll take you to Scotland for Christmas. We'll have a wonderful time, my love.'

  We. Rose's heart began to hammer furiously at that simple little word. Half of her felt touched and excited beyond measure that Greg was already making plans months ahead, plans which included her. Yet the other part was deeply suspicious, with a wariness born of disillusion. Greg hadn't given her the slightest clue about the terms on which he saw her travelling to Scotland with him and it wasn't going to be altogether easy trying to find out. Oh, she could ask, but would he tell her the truth? And what could she say without feeling utterly ridiculous? Excuse me, Greg, but could you just clarify that suggestion for me? Were you thinking of a quick proposal of marriage before we left? Or do you want me to go as your mistress? Or—oh, that wonderful standby of scheming males!—are we going to be 'just good friends'? Trip to Scotland, indeed! No, snow didn't seem quite wonderful enough to justify the risk. Much better to keep a safe distance from Greg's little plans...

  'That's very kind of you,' said Rose calmly. 'But I don't know if I'll even be here at Christmas time.'

  'Why not?' demanded Greg with a frown.

  'I might go to London and look for a job now that my mother is properly settled in.'

  'Why would you do a crazy thing like that?'

  'It's not crazy!' retorted Rose, stung by his tone. 'We're not very well off, you know. The bed-and- breakfast trade is fine at the moment but it's bound to drop off once the summer is over. In the meantime we've both got to live and I've got a bank loan to repay. I can only do that if I get a job. That freelance work I was doing for Martin's company is finished now too, so I've got to find a new source of income.'

  Greg's face darkened at the mention of Martin's name and he gave an exasperated snort. 'Look, if it's only a question of money, my love,' he said impatiently, 'you've nothing to worry about. I'm guarantor for your house loan and that's nothing but a drop in the ocean to me. And if you and Fay need money to live on, you've only to say the word and--'

  'No!' shouted Rose. 'I've got my pride.'

  'I know you have. Too damned much pride,' growled Greg. 'Why won't you let me help you?'

  'Because...because...I'm nothing to you. We're just...friends...and...oh, leave it, Greg. Let's just say I want to live in London.'

  Greg dismissed that idea. 'You wouldn't like London,' he said rudely.

  The assertion infuriated Rose. 'How do you know?'

  'Because you're so starry-eyed about village life. Anyway, I know you fairly well by -now.'

  'Do you just? You're very sure of yourself after only a couple of months, part of which time we weren't even speaking to each other.'

  'It doesn't matter. First impressions are what count. Anyway, I'm a good judge of character.'

  'Really?' purred Rose. 'So what judgements have you reached about my character?'

  'That you're old-fashioned and simple,' said Greg triumphantly. 'And much better suited to staying in Cornwall than in London.'

  Old-fashioned, simple? Next he'd be expecting her to knit him socks or hand-churn butter! Rose gave him a burning look. 'Thanks for the character reading,' she said sceptically. 'Do you do palmistry too, by any chance?'

  'I could,' agreed Greg with a provocative glint in his eyes. 'And if I did, I'd tell you that your future lay with a tall, dark stranger and a sea voyage.'

  'Meaning you on a sailing boat from Polperro to Fowey?'

  'Why not? You'd certainly enjoy it more than moving to London. You and I have something special going, Rose, and you know it. So stop talking rubbish, my dear, and tell me how much you want.'

  He had actually reached into the inner pocket of his jacket which was lying over a chair and pulled out a cheque-book before Rose could find words to reply. The arrogance of it, the sheer, breathtaking confidence that the whole disagreement was about money and could be settled with the stroke of a pen, almost choked her. Couldn't he see that what she wanted from him wasn't a financial settlement but a settlement of the gnawing emotional doubts that were driving them apart? A simple, honest statement about what his feelings and intentions towards her were? And a reassurance that he wasn't involved with Ingrid?

  'I don't want anything from you!' she shouted. 'And as for your fortune-telling skills, how do you know my future doesn't contain a tall, fair stranger and an air trip to Australia?'

  'What's that supposed to mean?' Greg's voice was suddenly hushed and oddly dangerous.

  Rose was already beginning to regret her impulsive words, but some madness drove her on. 'I still have an open return ticket to Australia and I might decide to use it if I don't like England. Martin's not married yet, only engaged. And he's been writing to me. He might change his mind and marry me.'

  'In a pig's eye, he will!' sneered Greg. 'Don't kid yourself, Rose. He'll never marry you in a million years. You're too ordinary.'

  'Thanks very much!'

  She was so angry and hurt by his taunt that she had to bite the back of her hand to hold back the tears. Suddenly Greg swore under his breath and grabbed her arm.

  'You are the most exasperating woman,' he growled. 'Are you crying?'

  'No. I'm just taking deep, cleansing breaths while I reflect on your simple wisdom, Greg. It's so refreshing of you to remind me that I'm too ordinary and boring for anybody ever to want to marry me.'

  Greg swore again, more violently. 'Don't be a fool, I didn't say that.'

  'A fool too, thank you. Ordinary, boring and a fool.'

  'Rose,' shouted Greg, transferring his grip to her shoulders and shaking her.

  'Shut up! I didn't say that you were too ordinary for anybody to want to you, I said he wouldn't.' His voice was full of loathing as he spoke the word 'he'.

  'Why wouldn't he?' cried Rose.

  'Because if he didn't see the value of what he had while you were in his arms... and his bed, why the hell would he see it now? You're a wonderful person, Rose, warm and loving and tantalising with a unique sense of humour, but I doubt if that swine Inglis ever appreciated you or is ever likely to.'

  This grudging rush of compliments delivered in a rapid, angry burst had a surprising effect on Rose. She took a swift, unsteady breath and looked up at Greg with wide eyes and quivering lips. He gave a low groan, and for an instant something fierce and stormy and possessive blazed in his eyes. In that moment she could easily have melted into his arms and yielded totally to him. Astonishingly, since he had always seemed only too anxious for

  such a union, Greg suddenly snatched his hands away from her shoulders as urgently as if he'd been stung.

  'I'm not going to fall into the same trap twice,' he muttered under his breath.

  'Get your things, Rose, and I'll drive you home.'

  Rose's heart
was still thudding tumultuously when they reached the cottage at Pisky Bay and a swift glimpse of Greg's granite profile did not reassure her. What did he mean about 'falling into the same trap twice' and where did they go from here? With the violent animosity seething between them at the moment, it hardly seemed likely that it would be 'business as usual' next weekend. She was still biting her lip and stealing unhappy glances at Greg, when a figure came hurrying down the drive in the soaking rain. It was Fay with a huge black umbrella over her head. Rose opened the car door, letting in a rash of chill air and the smell of sodden earth and plants.

  'Oh, there you are, my love,' cried her mother in a worried voice. 'Hurry up and come inside. There's a long-distance phone call for you from Australia.

  Rose...it's Martin!'

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ROSE'S heart was beating unevenly with apprehension as she picked up the telephone receiver. 'Hello?' she said warily.

  Martin's voice came booming down the line. Usually it had a fruity, confiding tone, but the telephone gave it a rather hollow ring.

  'Rose? Wonderful to hear your voice, sweetie. Martin here. Did you get my letter?'

  'Yes,' said Rose.

  'I just wanted to tell you that I'm very pleased with your work. That stock-control program that you wrote for us is already saving us a mint, but I've also got a business proposal that I want to discuss with you. Now listen; I'm opening a UK branch of Inglis's in the new year and I'll be flying over to London this week to do some preliminary investigation of warehouse sites and so on. I'm going to need a good systems manager to work for me and I thought the job might possibly suit you. Would you like to have lunch and talk about it?'

  Rose gave a soft gasp as a feeling of complete turmoil swept over her. She was annoyed at Martin's cool presumption that they could pick up their business relationship with no reference whatsoever to their shattered personal one. All the same, she felt professionally flattered by his approval of her work, and the prospect of earning some money was certainly tempting. But antagonism and wounded pride were certainly uppermost when she replied..

  'Lunch?' she said noncommittally. 'I don't know about that, Martin. Where do you want me to meet you?'

  'In London, of course,' he said with a touch of impatience. 'You can leave your eggs and bacon and your bed-making for a day or two and catch a train up, can't you?'

  His patronising reference to her bed-and-breakfast business hit a raw nerve and Rose felt a sudden flash of annoyance. Why should she go traipsing halfway across England just to please Martin, when he had treated her so badly?

  'It's not quite that simple, Martin,' she said curtly. 'Actually I'm rather busy at the moment.'

  'All right, then,' growled Martin. 'I'll come down and visit you in Cornwall. I suppose I ought to take a look at the place anyway while I'm in England.

  Does Friday suit you?'

  Rose glanced around for a pen and pad and became suddenly aware of Greg lounging against the hall wall with his arms folded. From the intent expression in his eyes, she felt sure that he was shamelessly trying to eavesdrop and the resentful scowl on his face left her in no doubt that he was jealous. The thought gave her enormous pleasure. After all the heartache he had put her through over Ingrid, it would serve him right to suffer a few pangs of uncertainty himself.

  'That would be fine, Martin,' she said with more warmth in her voice. 'Let's say lunch this Friday in Looe. That's the closest town to where I live. You can get a train from Paddington in the morning and I'll meet you at Looe station at about twelve-thirty.'

  'Great,' agreed Martin. 'I can't wait to see you again, gorgeous.'

  Rose smiled sceptically at that. 'Tell me, Martin, how are the wedding plans coming along?' she shot back.

  There was a gloomy sigh at the other end of the line. 'They're not,' growled Martin. 'It's all been postponed.'

  'Postponed?' echoed Rose in shock. 'But why?'

  'I'll tell you about it on Friday. Look, I'd better go now. Goodbye.'

  'Goodbye,' murmured Rose, putting down the phone.

  Greg and Fay both gazed at her expectantly.

  'What was that all about?' demanded her mother.

  Swiftly Rose explained the gist of her conversation with Martin.

  'You're not seriously thinking of going to work for him in London, are you?'

  snapped Greg.

  Rose tossed her head defiantly. 'Why not?' she asked in a hard voice.

  "There's no real future for me in Cornwall, is there?'

  For a moment Greg looked as if he was about to speak, then he flashed a swift glance at Rose's mother, gritted his teeth and remained silent. It was left to Fay to twitter around and make objections.

  'Rose, are you sure you want to have lunch with him? I know he paid you very well for the computer programming, but he treated you so badly in Australia. I don't like to think '

  'Mum, it's my business and there are important matters I need to discuss with Martin. Now can we please drop the subject?'

  It was another dismal, rainy day when Martin arrived in Looe to have lunch with her. A grey mist lay in long, trailing scarves along the green hilltops, a fine rain was drizzling down and the sea was as dark as beaten pewter.

  Rose's spirits were as dismal as the weather. It had been nearly three months now since she had last seen Martin and, to be painfully honest, she hadn't really thought about him much in that time, but now his imminent arrival had woken all the old turmoil inside her. How would she feel when she saw him? Would she still want to run and put her arms around him and claim him as her own, even though he was engaged to another woman? Would she still feel the same pain and betrayal and anguish that she had felt when he had first told her about Delia? Or had the anger and hurt pride died down? The uncertainty, the fear of making a fool of herself, the mingled hope and elation and resentment made her pace restlessly backwards and forwards on the wet platform, until the elderly train finally made its unhurried arrival into the station. And then she saw him. Tall, blond and imperious, muffled

  in a thick camel-hair coat, he stepped off the train and sniffed the damp, salt air with a discontented expression.

  'Martin!' cried Rose and hurried across to meet him.

  He looked a shade plumper than she remembered and she noticed for the first time that his blond hair was beginning to recede around the temples and that there were tiny, broken red veins scattered across his nose and cheeks.

  When Rose had first met him five years ago he had had the bronzed, muscular physique of an athlete and sportsman. Now too much high living had begun to blur his clean-cut appearance. With a slight feeling of shock she realised that although he was only twenty-eight years old he was beginning to look a good eight or ten years older. But there was no mistaking the gleam in his green eyes as he flung his arms around her and kissed her warmly on the mouth.

  'Rose! Great to see you, sweetheart! But I thought this was supposed to be summertime. Feels more like winter to me.'

  'It's been lovely up until now,' retorted Rose with spirit. 'And it's still very pretty, even when it does rain.'

  'Humph,' scoffed Martin. 'Well, give me a nice Gold Coast beach any day of the week. All right, now where can we get a taxi to take us to this restaurant?''I thought we'd walk,' said Rose. 'It's only a few hundred yards and most of the streets are closed to traffic. I've brought an umbrella, so we won't get too wet.'

  Martin rolled his eyes, but allowed her to put up the umbrella over his head.

  They walked along beside the river in silence, except for the hiss of car tyres on the wet road and the occasional, mournful cry of a seagull. When they reached the bridge and plunged into the maze of tiny streets and quaint old houses that led down to the seashore, Rose waited expectantly for Martin to exclaim over the picturesque beauty of the old town of East Looe. Instead he simply shook his head disparagingly.

  'It could do with a bit of modernising, couldn't it?' he demanded.

  'Martin!' cried Rose indigna
ntly. 'It's the old, traditional atmosphere that gives it its charm!'

  Martin grinned. 'Oh, well, you always were a sucker for tradition, weren't you, Rosie? So are we going to eat in some medieval hovel where I'll hit my head on the ceiling when I stand up?'

  'Yes,' snapped Rose. 'But it's not a hovel. It's a wonderful little tavern with lots of atmosphere.'

  But even the oak beams, mullioned windows, cosy wooden booths and crackling log fire failed to impress Martin. Watching him gaze around the tavern with a martyred expression, Rose could guess perfectly well that he would much rather have been in some showy new restaurant full of glass and chrome. Had their tastes always been so different? Or had she simply changed since moving to Cornwall? Suddenly she felt a desperate need to understand what was going on.

  'So what happened between you and Delia?' she asked as they came to the end of their meal of delicious roast beef, crusty Yorkshire pudding and baked vegetables.

  Martin dabbed his mouth with a napkin and leaned back in his chair before picking up his beer mug again. He was getting a bit of a paunch, Rose noticed.

  'It was your doing, really,' he said thoughtfully, after taking a long gulp of beer.

  'My doing?' echoed Rose incredulously. 'What do you mean? How could it be my doing?'

  Martin gave a gusty sigh. 'Well, you know what women are like,' he complained. 'Somebody spilt the beans to Delia about how I'd been involved with you and she hit the roof. Called me a two-timing bastard and said she wasn't going to marry me.'

  'Good for her,' said Rose coldly.

  Martin stared at her, aghast. 'Oh, come on, Rosie,' he pleaded in an injured voice. 'It was just a bit of fun between you and me. We never meant anything serious by it. She should have understood that.'

  Rose almost leapt to her feet in indignation and then her rage was swept away by a half-hysterical urge to burst out laughing. What did it matter anyway? Had she ever really believed herself in love with this self-satisfied fool who was sitting here expecting her to be patient and understanding? All those occasions when she had soothed Martin's wounded pride over some ridiculous incident at work suddenly rose before her and she felt a shaky sense of relief that she no longer had to bother with him, no longer had to pretend. Had he always had this childish belief that the universe revolved around him? Had he always been so selfish and uncaring of other people's feelings? Yes, he had! They why had it taken her so long to see it? Well, now that she had, he would no longer have the power to hurt her ever again.