Читать книгу Exorcism - Пенни Джордан, PENNY JORDAN - Страница 6

THEY flew out to St Lucia three days later. His ketch, Stormsurf was moored there in Castries harbour, Simon informed Christy laconically and they would sail from there to the tiny island of St Paul’s on which he was based.

Mentally blessing the fact that she had kept the clothes she had used for India the summer before, Christy spent a hectic morning going through them, packing those she thought might be useful.

‘Swimsuits, shorts, jeans, that sort of thing,’ Simon had told her in reply to her query as to what she would need. ‘Don’t bother about any diving gear, we’ll get you fixed up with that there—saves air-freighting it out and waiting for it.’

Now they were West Indies bound, Simon immersed in some papers he had brought on board with him, and she still did not have a much clearer idea of exactly what they were going to be doing. He wanted to find a sunken wreck he had told her, giving her some brief background details about the man he intended to make the main character of his new book. There hadn’t been time for her to do any reading up herself, and wishing she had had the forethought to buy some magazines at the airport, she lay back in her seat and tried to relax. Flying had never been something she enjoyed, although it was the take-offs and landings she really loathed.

‘Sorry about this …’ Simon raised his head from the papers he was studying to smile at her. Christy had already noticed the covert glances their stewardess had given him; hardly surprising really. He must easily be the most attractive man on board. The tawny eyes narrowed suddenly, and Christy wondered if he had picked up on her thoughts. Hardly, she derided herself, he was a man, not a mind-reader. The trouble was, although she was loathe to admit it, she hadn’t shaken off entirely the old teenage worshipful awe of him. Oh, consciously she had, of course she had, but her old emotions occasionally sneaked up on her, surprising her, shaking the foundations of self-confidence she had built up so painstakingly. All the more reason to be on her guard, she told herself, acknowledging his apology with a cool smile.

‘Jeremy dumped these on me at the last minute.’ He picked up the folder and grimaced faintly. ‘Tour details from Dee Harland … Jeremy knows I prefer to go through them myself. Oh, Dee is the publicity agent Jeremy uses in the States …’ he added by way of explanation.

His laconic assumption of her ignorance infuriated Christy. ‘You don’t need to explain who Dee is to me, Simon,’ she told him sweetly. ‘Actually Dee and I have met.’

She watched the faint narrowing of his eyes, and thought sardonically that she doubted that the relationship he had had with the glamorous American P.R. woman, had been anything like as cool as hers. ‘I haven’t spent the last six years pining away in the country, Simon,’ she added. ‘Dee and I met the last time my mother was in the States. I went with her.’

It had been one of his more cruel taunts that she was nothing but a child who had seen and done nothing, and she felt a brief stab of satisfaction in underlining the fact that she was no longer that child. In point of fact although she had enjoyed the experience of her mother’s American publicity tour, she did prefer the calm of the English countryside, but there were other ways of broadening one’s mind apart from travel. Reading for instance … All second-hand knowledge, she taunted herself. What had she really discovered or learned by her own experience?

What she had learned from Simon had been enough, she defended herself mentally. Was it really a crime to be without any ambition other than to live peaceably and content? Hers was a spirit that desired quietude; she found no pleasure in adrenalin-pumping excitement, in confrontation or competition; she never had. Perhaps it was arrogant to feel satisfied with the standards and goals she set for herself, instead of being concerned with meeting those set by others … perhaps after her experience with Simon she had deliberately opted out.

‘What deep thoughts are you thinking, I wonder?’ Simon’s voice checked her.

‘I was just wondering what we’d get for lunch,’ she returned blandly, meeting his eyes.

‘Never.’ She could see a hint of laughter in them, and something else; a sharp alertness that warned her that he suspected her of deception and would enjoy accusing her of it, simply for the challenge. ‘Your eyes never glow such a deep amethyst for anything as mundane as food.’

He was too astute; saw and knew too much. She must not forget that he was a writer, his mind attuned to the emotional nuances of others.

‘Perhaps not at eighteen,’ she agreed lightly.

‘You’re very anxious to persuade me how much you’ve changed.’

Christy held her breath for a few seconds. This was getting dangerous. ‘Am I?’ She made a pretence of studying his jibe and then said judiciously, ‘I don’t think so. You’re the one who keeps making comparisons.’

He said nothing but his smile made prickles of alarm race across her skin, and she was glad when he changed the subject, talking about India and asking her for her impressions of it.

For the next hour they talked amicably. Simon was a skilled conversationalist, neither hogging the conversation nor letting it drag. Christy had absorbed a good deal during her weeks in India. Working alongside Miles and helping with his research had been something of a challenge initially, but she had loved every minute of it. History had always been one of her favourite subjects, and at one time she had considered taking her degree in it, but the fields open to students with history degrees were very limited and she had concentrated instead on her art.

Listening to him she had to suppress the temptation to sketch Simon. His features were so strong; his bone structure so positive that drawing him was always a visual pleasure. She had sketched him in the past, of course—but all those sketches, drawn with adoration and love, had been destroyed after he had left her. Now her trained eye detected the small differences in him she had noticed on their first meeting, and she studied him covertly.

He seemed to have lost a little of the restlessness which had once been such an integral part of him. She remembered that that summer there had not been a day when he had not taken her somewhere; wanted to do something. He had rarely been content to simply sit and watch. Unlike her he had always been a keen participator in life, never an onlooker. His face had hardened slightly, too; the cynicism in his eyes more noticeable. He was a man it would always be easy for her sex to love, Christy thought perceptively, and yet very hard to know. She knew very little about his background. Six years ago she had been content simply to adore … she asked for nothing … questioned nothing.