Читать книгу Thunder On The Reef - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 5

MACY still felt restive as she showered and changed for dinner that evening.

She put on white silk trousers and a matching sleeveless, low-necked top, defining her slender waist with a favourite belt of broad silver links. Her hair she pinned up into a loose coil, and she hung silver hoops in her ears.

She looked like the ideal tourist, anticipating an evening of leisure and pleasure, she thought, grimacing at her reflection before turning away.

She’d spent a quiet afternoon in a sheltered corner of the hotel gardens, making herself think coolly and rationally about the best course to follow when she came face to face with Boniface Hilliard. How to make the best impression.

But in spite of everything, her thoughts kept turning compulsively back to Ross, although she knew she was a fool and worse than a fool to let him impinge even marginally on her consciousness.

She didn’t mention his presence when she left a message on her father’s answering machine about the latest development in the negotiations.

What Sir Edwin didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, she told herself defensively. She could imagine only too well how he’d react if he discovered Ross was within a thousand miles of her again.

But then they’d been oil and water from their first meeting, she recalled with an inward shudder. On almost every issue—personal, professional, and political—they’d been on opposite sides of a steadily widening gulf, with her, trapped between them, suspended over some bitter, bottomless pit of divided loyalties.

But she’d still hoped, with absurd optimism, that they might learn to get along for her sake.

But then I was very naïve in those days, she thought in self-derision. My father, of course, saw through Ross right away—realised he was simply on the make. Why couldn’t I have believed him instead of finding out the hard way?

In the thatched roof bar, adjoining the hotel dining-room, she chose a table overlooking the sea, and ordered a Margarita while she studied the menu.

Once again she knew she was the object of scrutiny, but this time no mental alarms were being sounded. She was simply encountering the usual speculative, semi-lustful attention that women on their own tended to be subjected to. And apart from closeting herself in her bungalow, or wearing a bag over her head, there wasn’t a great deal she could do except ignore it, and hope the hint would be taken.

The menu was heavily weighted towards seafood. Macy had noticed the huge conch shell displayed at the dining-room entrance, and conch was being offered cracked, frittered, as a salad or in the ever-popular chowder, along with grouper, snapper, and stewfish.

I wish I were going to be here to sample them all, she thought, wondering at the same time how long she was going to be kept dangling.

After due deliberation, she decided on asparagus tips in chive butter, baked in a pastry case, followed by lobster tails grilled with garlic and lemon juice, and accompanied by a bottle of crisp white wine.

As the waiter left, Macy realised uncomfortably that there’d been no relaxation in the attention she was attracting. In particular, she was being fixedly stared at by an overweight man with thinning red hair and the loudest sports shirt in the Western hemisphere, who was sitting at the bar with three male companions of similar age and build.

Macy delved into her bag and produced a paperback novel, using it as a barrier as she sipped her drink. Usually it worked. But not always, apparently.

An ingratiating voice said, ‘All on your own, sweetheart.’

The colours in his shirt were even more dazzling close at hand.

‘Yes.’ Macy kept her voice cool and level. ‘And that’s how I prefer it, thanks.’

‘Aw, come on, be friendly.’ The man put another Margarita down in front of her, then deposited himself in the opposite chair with his own beer. ‘Strangers in a foreign land, and all that.’

Macy’s lips tightened. She said quietly, with glacial emphasis, ‘Would you rejoin your friends, please? I didn’t ask you to join me, and I don’t want another drink.’

‘I’m under orders to bring you back with me,’ her unwanted companion said with a leer. ‘We’d like to buy you dinner, a few drinks, a few laughs—know what I mean?’

Only too well, she thought, her heart sinking.

Aloud, she said, ‘You’re beginning to annoy me. Would you please leave me alone?’

‘What’s the matter. Think we can’t afford you?’ He showed her a wallet, stuffed to the gills with Bahamian dollars.

‘Very impressive.’ Macy lifted her chin. ‘Now go away before I call the manager.’

He snorted. ‘Call who you like, girlie, and let them draw their own conclusions. Lookers like you don’t hang around on their own in bars for no reason.’

‘But the lady’s not by herself.’ Another voice, icily incisive, and all-too-familiar, cut into the confrontation. ‘She’s with me, and we’d both like you to leave.’

Macy’s lips parted in a gasp of astonished outrage as Ross bent, lightly brushing his lips across her cheek.

‘I’m sorry I’m late.’ His eyes smiled into hers, challenging her to deny him. ‘Has it caused problems?’

‘Nothing I couldn’t handle,’ she returned tautly, glaring back at him. This time her warning antennae had let her down badly.

‘So I noticed.’ He turned to Loud Shirt who was already making himself scarce, apologising volubly for any misunderstanding.

Ross watched him go, hands on hips, then turned back to Macy, who was struggling to regain her self-command. She could still feel the brief touch of his lips on her face as if she’d been branded there.

How dared he take advantage of the situation like that? she thought angrily. But she couldn’t tax him with it. The last thing she wanted Ross to know was that he still had the power to disturb her. Play it cool, she adjured herself, her stomach churning.

He was hardly recognisable as the man who’d accosted her that morning, she realised dazedly. The stubble had gone, his hair had been trimmed slightly, and instead of ragged denims he was wearing faultlessly cut grey trousers, fitting closely to his long legs, and a short sleeved, open-necked shirt, striped in charcoal and white. There was a thin platinum watch on his left wrist, too. He looked a combination of toughness and affluence.

Ross turned back to her. ‘You shouldn’t have any more trouble there,’ he said.

‘No,’ she acknowledged stiffly, adding a reluctant, ‘Thank you.’

His grin was sardonic. ‘I bet that hurt.’

She ignored that. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘This is a good restaurant. I like to eat.’

‘Oh.’ There was no real answer to that, she thought, nonplussed.

‘Also,’ he went on softly. ‘We have some unfinished business to conduct.’ He pulled up a chair and sat down, signalling the waiter to bring him a Bourbon and water.

Macy’s heart began to thud apprehensively. She said, ‘Rather an expensive place to do business, surely.’

‘Oh, I’ve been able to afford something better than hamburger joints for some time.’ The cool aquamarine gaze flickered over her, lingering openly and shamelessly on the thrust of her breasts against the white silk top.

Macey felt the breath catch in her throat, and the tremor of an almost forgotten weakness invade her stomach. She struggled to keep her voice level. ‘Of course. I was forgetting.’

‘No, darling,’ he said gently. ‘You haven’t forgotten a thing, and neither, I promise you, have I.’

Her uneasiness increased, and she was thankful to see the waiter approaching.

‘Your table’s ready, Miz Landin.’ He turned to her companion. ‘How yo’ doin’, Mister Ross. You dinin’ here tonight?’

‘Yes, with Miss—er—Landin here.’ Ross’s oblique glance dared her to object. ‘Just a steak, George, please. Medium rare with a side salad.’

When George had gone, Macy said thickly, ‘You have one hell of a nerve.’

‘Since childhood,’ he agreed. ‘But as I told your would-be admirer we were together, we can hardly eat in isolation.’ He paused. ‘Unless you’d prefer to join his party, after all. They look like a fun-loving bunch.’

Macy gave him a fulminating glance, and stalked ahead of him into the restaurant.

Their table, to her annoyance, was in a secluded corner, lit by a small lamp under a pretty glass shade. The centrepiece was orchids, cream edged with flame, swimming in a shallow bowl. Macy sat down, her lips compressed at the overt romanticism of it all, aware, also, of the resentful gaze of Loud Shirt and his friends a few tables away.

At least she’d been spared any further harassment from that quarter, she thought, but at what cost to her own peace of mind? Instead she had to dine with a man who’d rejected her love, and whose mercenary heartlessness was almost beyond belief.

‘So, why Miss Landin?’ Ross asked, as he took his seat. ‘Are you travelling incognito for some reason?’

Macy gave a shrug, trying to sound casual. ‘Not particularly. I like to use my mother’s name sometimes.’

‘I’m sure you do.’ There was an odd note in his voice which she found it impossible to decipher. But that was the least of her problems, she thought grimly.

Her appetite seemed to have deserted her, but to cancel dinner would give Ross some kind of psychological advantage, which she couldn’t allow. She had to convince him—and herself too—that his presence was a matter of indifference to her.

So, she’d eat this meal if it choked her. As well it might.

‘The chef’s name is Clyde,’ Ross said, watching her push her first course round her plate. ‘He’s a sensitive soul, and it’ll spoil his night if you send one of his specialities back to the kitchen.’

‘Oh.’ She gave him a hostile look and dug her fork into the puff pastry crust. To her annoyance, it melted in the mouth, and the asparagus tips were ambrosial.

‘I’d say this holiday of yours is long overdue,’ he went on. ‘You have that indoor look—very unhealthy.’

‘As a matter of fact,’ she offered curtly, ‘I’ve never felt better in my life.’

‘Then you should be extremely worried.’ Ross poured the wine. ‘For one thing, you’re like a cat on hot bricks.’

‘Is it really any wonder?’ She put down her fork. ‘I thought I’d made it clear you’re the last person in the world I ever wanted to meet again.’

He lifted his glass in a mock toast. ‘I apologise for my inconvenient existence.’ He paused, his glance speculative. ‘You sound incredibly bitter, Macy. They’re not all bad memories, surely.’

‘Not for you, perhaps,’ she snapped.

‘Or for you, my lovely hypocrite. ‘ A reminiscent smile played about the corners of his mouth. ‘We had our moments.’ He leaned forward, his eyes holding hers across the table. ‘Shall I jog your memory?’

‘No,’ she said hoarsely. ‘I don’t...’

‘That sexy French film we went to see,’ he said softly. ‘My God, you were so turned on, you practically dragged me back to the flat. We were undressing each other on the way up the stairs.’

‘Stop it,’ she hissed desperately.

‘And then there was that evening at the bistro round the corner,’ he went on relentlessly. ‘When the guitarist played all your favourite love songs, and a girl came round, selling roses.’

He touched the edge of one of the orchids with the tip of his finger.

She remembered the rose he’d bought her, crimson and long-stemmed. In bed that night he’d teased her nipples with its dusky velvet petals...

Her throat closed.

‘Enjoy your trip down memory lane,’ she said harshly. ‘It does nothing for me.’

‘No?’ His smiling gaze shifted again to the revealing outline of her breasts. ‘You don’t seem entirely unmoved, darling.’

‘You disgust me.’ She pushed her plate away.

‘Then I’ll try and control my baser urges for the rest of the meal, at least.’

He paused. ‘So—why Fortuna, Macy?’

Her heart jumped. She had not, she thought grimly, been expecting that. She swallowed. ‘Why not? I’ve been working very hard. As you say, I needed a break.’

‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But unless you’re into big-game fishing, the island hasn’t a great deal to offer.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that.’ I’m after a different kind of game, she added silently. Mr Boniface Hilliard himself. She shrugged, allowing herself a negligent smile. ‘But maybe I’m just easily pleased.’

‘No,’ he said gently. ‘I don’t think so.’ He sat back giving her a reflective look over the top of his glass. ‘You haven’t told me yet what you do to earn this arduous crust of yours.’

Macy hesitated. The last thing she wanted was to mention her connection with Gilmour-Denys.

‘I’m involved with the Landin Trust now,’ she returned neutrally.

‘A heavy responsibility, indeed.’ His tone was ironic.

‘As you, with your fondness for money, would be the first to appreciate,’ she bit back, and saw his mouth tighten.

‘You’ve always found cash the answer to everything yourself, my pet. Let’s not forget that.’ He paused. ‘I hope it hasn’t been your only means of fulfilment over the past years.’

‘By no means,’ she said sharply, and he lifted an eyebrow.

‘Why, Macy,’ he drawled. ‘Are you telling me you’ve been unfaithful?’

‘I’m telling you nothing,’ she said.

‘You’re denying my right to know?’

‘You have no rights where I’m concerned,’ she said. ‘Not any more.’

He looked at her bare hands, clenched in front of her on the table. ‘You seem to be overlooking one salient fact, darling,’ he said. ‘Whether we like it or not, you and I are still legally married.’

‘That is a mere formality.’ Her voice shook. ‘Which I intend to dispense with shortly.

Ross was silent for a moment, toying with the stem of his wine glass. Then he said mildly, ‘Do I take it you’re here to ask me for a divorce?’

‘I’m not here to ask you for anything,’ she said. ‘I don’t need to. In another year, I can end our so-called marriage, even without your consent.’

‘How convenient,’ he said. ‘I’m only surprised you didn’t set the ball rolling long ago.’

She looked down at the table. ‘You forget, I didn’t know where to find you.’

‘Of course not. But I imagine Daddy’s tracker dogs would have managed it without too much trouble.’

Macy moved quickly, restively before she could stop herself, and his voice sharpened. ‘Unless, of course, you still haven’t told him. My God, Macy, is that it?’ His laugh held disbelief. ‘You’ve kept our marriage a secret all this time?’

She said tightly, ‘Who wants to make public a serious error of judgement?’

‘Touché,’ he said drily. ‘Clearly your next choice will be based on sound common sense and good fiscal principles. I wonder if I can make an educated guess at his identity.’

‘There’s no one. I simply want my legal freedom.’

His brows lifted sceptically. ‘You mean Daddy hasn’t been able to persuade you to make Cameron Denys a happy man at last. You amaze me.’

Macy bit her lip angrily, aware of a faint betraying flush. Cameron’s unswerving pursuit of her, with her father’s encouragement, had been a bone of contention between them particularly in the last year. ‘Don’t be snide about my father,’ she said curtly. ‘He managed to see through you without much difficulty.’

‘And I found him equally transparent. Not that it matters. I never gave a damn what he thought of me. The only opinion I cared about was yours.’

For a moment, she was very still.

She said, ‘That must be one of the most cynical statements I’ve ever heard. You—walked out of my life with a golden handshake of one hundred and fifty thousand pounds. That’s how much my—opinion mattered. That’s how much I was worth to you.’

Ross’s mouth twisted. ‘It seemed a pre-emptive offer,’ he said, ‘leaving no room for negotiation. You have to want to be rid of someone very badly to put up that kind of money.’

‘Or have a fairly accurate assessment of their level of greed.’ She waited for an explosion of anger, but none came.

Ross merely shrugged. ‘They say everyone has their price,’ he countered. ‘Why argue?’

For me, she thought in sudden, swift agony. You could have argued for me—fought for me—told my father to go to hell and take his insulting offer with him.

But you didn’t, Ross—you didn’t...

Aloud, ‘Why indeed?’ she said calmly. ‘As a matter of interest, would you have gone for less?’

‘Probably, in the circumstances.’ He sounded almost casual, she realised, pain slashing at her. ‘I hope you’re not expecting a refund, Macy.’

‘Certainly not,’ she retorted briskly. ‘It was money well spent.’

‘I’m glad you think so,’ he said evenly, signalling to the hovering George to bring their main courses. ‘If they ever have to open you up for surgery, darling, they’ll find a bank statement where your heart should be—and showing a credit balance.’

Macy digested that, smarting, while they were being served.

‘So—what did you do with your own credit balance?’ she asked, once they were alone again. ‘Waste it—gamble it away?’

He was silent for a moment. ‘I made good use of it,’ he said at last.

‘To further your career as a photographer?’ She despised herself for asking.

‘No.’

The flat monosyllable was uninviting, but she persisted. ‘Do you still take photographs?’

‘Yes, but I’m commissioned these days. Thanks to you, I don’t need to pursue the precarious freelance existence your father objected to so strenuously.’ He drank some wine. ‘I’m obliged to you.’

‘Don’t be.’ Her bitten lip felt raw. ‘All the same, I’m glad for you.’

‘Are you?’ He sounded sceptical. ‘Why?’

She put down her fork. ‘Because you were good,’ she said slowly. ‘I always thought you’d be in some wilderness, making a record of it before the bulldozers moved in and spoiled it. Just as—you always planned.’

She’d nearly said ‘we’, she realised with a pang. Because it had been a mutual and cherished dream, or so she’d thought. One of the many, she reminded herself, that had died when he’d walked out on her.

‘How flattering,’ he said softly, ‘that you do remember some things at least.’

‘Not really.’ The last lobster tail tasted like poisoned leather. ‘Someone who hurt me as you did isn’t easy to forget—however hard one may try.’

‘And I’m sure one has tried,’ he said courteously. His voice hardened. ‘Just what the hell did you expect, Macy? That I’d turn down the money? God knows it was an offer no one could refuse. Wasn’t that the whole point of it?’ He paused. ‘Or were you just testing me?’

She shook her head. ‘No, it was quite genuine. You’d have been a fool to walk away from it.’

A fool for love, as I was. I trusted you, Ross. Even when my father told me you were for sale, I didn’t believe him. Even when I saw the evidence with my own eyes...

‘That’s what I thought,’ he said. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, as he ran a hand over his chin. ‘When you saw me earlier, you thought I was down-and-out, looking for handouts, didn’t you, my sweet? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m doing fine, which is why I’m so glad to be able to buy you dinner tonight. As a small thank-you for showing me the way—giving me my start in life.’

He shrugged. ‘As they say, I’d never have managed it without you.’

‘Think nothing of it.’ The night air was warm, but Macy felt deathly cold.

‘And now George is on his way to ask if you want dessert,’ Ross went on. ‘I recommend the Key lime pie.’

Macy shook her head. ‘Nothing more for me,’ she said. ‘I—I seem to have lost my appetite.’

‘Oh, don’t say that.’ There was mock concern in his voice. ‘You have to be able to keep up with Daddy, Cameron and the rest of the carnivores.’

‘How dare you say that?’ Macy, trembling, pushed her chair back. ‘You have no right. You’re not fit to—to...’

‘Lick their boots?’ Ross supplied silkily. ‘Quite right. There are whole gangs of far better qualified people hanging round Gilmour-Denys to do just that. But I never thought you’d be one of them, Macy. What a disappointment.’

‘Damn you.’ She got to her feet, her breasts rising and falling swiftly under the force of her tangled emotions. ‘Damn you to hell, Ross Bannister.’

‘Too late, darling. You already did that—four years ago.’ He rose too, and came round the table to where she stood. He took her by the shoulders, pulling her towards him. For one endless moment, she felt his mouth on hers, without gentleness, without mercy. An act of stark possession.

And somewhere, buried in the depths of her being, she felt a sharp, unbidden flicker of totally shameful response.

Then, just as suddenly, she was free, staring dazedly up into his cool, aquamarine eyes.

He said expressionlessly, ‘Goodnight, Macy. I’ll be seeing you.’

Shaking, totally oblivious to the interested stares from the adjoining tables, Macy watched him cross the restaurant, pause briefly to scribble his signature on the bill, then disappear out into the night.