Читать книгу The Englishman's Bride - Sophie Weston - Страница 8

KIT powered through the water until she got out to the open sea. She knew she had passed the last sand bar because the water was cooler and the waves had begun to slap against her face.

She stopped and trod water, looking back. She was startled to find how far she had come without realising it.

‘Life is just one new experience after the other,’ she muttered with irony.

She paddled herself round to face the bay.

The main hotel building was brilliant with lights. Stretched out along the shoreline there were little pockets of illumination. Mentally Kit traced the map of the island: beach barbecue; swimming pool; bower bar; wedding temple. Higher up the cliffs, there were the individual lights of the guest cottages themselves. Paths up to the cottages were lit by pale stretches of party lights, hanging in swathes from tree to tree. They looked like diamond necklaces pinned out against green velvet.

It looked pretty and welcoming and safe.

Safe, Kit told herself. New experiences, fine. But basically I’m safe.

The tall stranger had laid hands on her. OK. But he had not grabbed. He had not held her with the terrible force that made her feel she could not breathe. And he had let her go without a moment’s hesitation when she pulled away.

And she had touched him first.

That was the newest experience of all. Kit had not let any man touch her since Johnny had held her and shaken her, shouting at her that he did not love her; he never had. And tonight—

She drew a shaky breath. It brought too much salt water with it. Kit flapped her arms, coughing.

Oh, the stranger had kissed her, sure. But hadn’t she kissed him back?

She cleared her throat and drew several deep, recovering breaths. She had to work hard to stay upright against the waves.

Oh, yes, she had kissed him back. How long since that had happened? She had clung to Johnny like a thing possessed. But when he kissed her, all she had been aware of was terror that, if she did not put on a good show of arousal, he would leave her.

Which of course he did, in the end. Kit shivered.

A breeze riffled the water. In spite of the warmth of the night, she felt goose bumps rise on her shoulders where they were exposed to the air. This was not the time to think about Johnny. It was time she was getting back.

She began to swim to the shore, suddenly recognising how tired she was. Swimming in the municipal pool did not prepare you for this, thought Kit. She conserved her energy and concentrated on maintaining a steady stroke.

By the time she got there, her arms were shaking with tiredness and she could hardly move her legs any more. It did not stop her looking for the stranger. Or being disappointed when she saw that he had gone.

‘Just as well,’ Kit told herself grimly. ‘Enough new experiences already.’

But she could not curb a faint feeling of frustration as she squelched along to the swimming hut to retrieve her clothes.

She did not tell Lisa. Neither what had happened nor what—more startlingly—she wished had happened.

Kit was not sure why she kept her own counsel. Normally she told Lisa everything. Well, nearly everything. Not about Johnny. Not about the other, unbearable, thing. But everything else. She had had to keep secrets from her anxious mother. But Lisa knew all that there was to know—or at least all that Kit could bear to tell.

But tonight she was not even tempted to confide. Maybe because Lisa showed no interest at all in how she had spent her solitary evening.

In fact, Lisa was monosyllabic. Kit had showered and changed in her luxury cottage, then wandered up the cliff to say goodnight to her sister and brother-in-law before taking her jet lag to bed.

But there was no sign of Nikolai. Lisa was sitting alone in the dark on the little terrace outside her cottage. In fact, Kit nearly did not see her. If it were not for the squeak of the rattan rocking chair, she would have thought the cottage was deserted.

‘Lisa?’ said Kit tentatively into the murmurous night.

At first she thought Lisa must have fallen asleep. Or was not going to answer for some reason. She was even on the point of turning away.

And then Lisa said, ‘All right, you’ve got me.’ She sounded weary. ‘You’d better come up.’

There were spiral steps from the pathway up to the terrace. Kit went up them carefully. She was halfway up when a match scraped and Lisa appeared at the top, carrying a storm lantern. One look at her face and Kit ran the rest of the way.

‘What is it?’ she said involuntarily.

Lisa had been crying. No doubt of it. Even in the uncertain light of the oil lamp, her eyes were swollen.

Lisa folded her lips together. ‘Not feeling too well. Sorry.’

Kit looked at her narrowly. Lisa was never ill. Or she never had been until this winter.

Lisa looked away. ‘How’s your cottage?’ she said with a palpable effort.

‘Very luxurious. Lisa, what’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Where’s Nikolai?’

Lisa shrugged. ‘Having a drink with other boffins, I suppose.’

Kit was concerned. ‘Why didn’t you go too? Not because you were waiting for me?’

Lisa shook her head. ‘Didn’t feel like it.’

Kit’s concern grew. ‘But surely, Nikolai must have wanted you with him.’

‘Who knows what Nikolai wants?’ said Lisa with sudden bitterness. ‘Oh, forget it! Tell me how you like your cottage. Found out how the fans work yet?’

Kit gave up. Lisa would tell her what was going on in her own good time if she wanted to.

So she said cheerfully, ‘Yup. Sussed the fans. Sussed the electric blinds. Got rid of the television and the mirrors.’

Lisa gave a rather forced laugh. ‘You and your anti-mirror campaign!’

Kit grinned. ‘I’ve been beaten by the one in the bathroom. It’s fixed to the wall.’

Lisa managed a better laugh this time.

‘Anyway, if it weren’t for all the drawer lining paper with wedding bells on, I’d really feel at home now.’

Her attempt at a joke was partly rewarded. Lisa threw back her head and laughed uninhibitedly.

‘Oh, they do like their wedding bells,’ she agreed. ‘They’re quite convinced people will start getting married here again as long as they don’t admit that they ever had a reason to stop. Have you seen their brochures? You can’t go on a fishing trip without it being called a honeymoon cruise!’

Kit pulled a comical face. ‘Even the basket of shampoo and stuff in the bathroom has got a gift tag in it. For the Bride,’ she said in disgust. ‘It feels as if I’m here under false pretences.’

Lisa’s smile died.

‘You and me both.’

There was a nasty silence. Kit waited for her sister to retract—or confide what was wrong. She did neither.

Instead she got up and went to the balustrade. She stood there scanning the horizon. She had obviously bought a native sarong locally. It stirred gently in the sea breeze.

‘It should be the ideal place for a honeymoon,’ she said almost to herself.

‘Or a love affair,’ said Kit. She was not quite sure why she said it. ‘My cottage is as near isolated as you can get and still be fifteen minutes’ walk from breakfast. A classic lovers’ hideaway.’ Her voice sounded odd, even to her own ears.

Lisa seemed to notice that at last. She turned, looking at Kit with sudden concern.

‘Are you all right with that? I didn’t think. You’re not jumpy about being on your own?’

‘I’m jumpy about being in a room full of strangers,’ Kit said drily. ‘On my own I can handle.’

‘Because you could always sleep here if you are,’ said Lisa, not attending. ‘Unhappy about being alone, I mean.’

Kit shook her head in undisguised horror. She could see where this was going. It had to be stopped—and soon.

‘Look,’ she said frankly, ‘I said I didn’t want to be a gooseberry. Well, I don’t want to be a buffer zone either. You and Nikolai have your problems, you sort them out on your own.’

Lisa did not answer for a moment. Then she said in a low voice, ‘You’re right. Sorry, Kit, I shouldn’t have tried to involve you.’

‘What is it with you two?’ said Kit, torn between exasperation and sisterly sympathy.

But Lisa made a little gesture, silencing her. And soon after she said she was tired and wanted to go to bed.

So Kit wandered back to her cottage on her own. The cottage that she’d said herself was a dream of a lovers’ hideaway.

She gave a little superstitious shudder as she remembered that. What on earth had made her think of that, much less say it?

‘You’re suffering from evening-class withdrawal,’ she muttered to herself bracingly.

But really it was not something she found easy to laugh about. In the privacy of the scented night she could almost—almost—imagine it.

If she half closed her eyes she could pretend that there was a man walking beside her. She knew he was tall but his features were shadowy. She knew his voice, though. It was a deep voice that seemed to reach through to the core of her.

Her lips parted. She knew that voice all right. It was so calm, so controlled. And beneath the control? Kit’s breath came faster.

He had been so cool with his talk of wildlife. So removed from the allure of the night when his busy companions had called him back into the bright hotel rooms. But the mouth on hers had been fiery hot. And he had not found it easy to let her go.

What am I thinking? Have I cast him in the role of my lover, then? Kit stopped dead, shaken. Even though it was only in her imagination, she did not like it. She knew just how dangerous imaginings like that could be. She fought for common sense.

‘If you have exciting dreams tonight, you have no one but yourself to blame,’ Kit told herself with irony. ‘You’ve got to get a hold on that imagination. You can’t go to pieces because you’re in a tropical paradise.’

Paradise was just about it. The night was full of noises. Birds squawked. She wondered if they were the iridescent blue ones she had seen earlier. What had the tall stranger said they were called? Fairy bluebirds?

‘Never mind paradise. This is turning into Fantasy Island,’ Kit told herself crisply. ‘Get a grip, for heaven’s sake.’

But it was not easy when insects chirruped a lullaby. Leaves rustled. But Kit had told Lisa the truth: she was not afraid of the sound of nature or of her own company. It was people—their demands and then their careless, unthinking cruelty—that frightened her.

And yet she had kissed that man as if she was not frightened at all.

‘I must have been out of my mind,’ Kit muttered.

Her body gave a little remembering shiver of delight that told her she still was.

Jet lag or not, it was a long time before she got to sleep.

The banquet was interminable. Philip was sitting next to the development minister. The minister had been at university in Michigan and was full of cheerful stories.

Philip tried to concentrate. He really did. But his mind kept slipping sideways to the girl. Her husky voice. Her seal-smooth body. Her sheer joy in the water.

Her mouth under his.

He shifted in his seat and found the minister was laughing expectantly. He clearly wanted Philip to agree with something he had just said. Long experience had taught Philip how dangerous even a noncommittal nod could be. He really had to get a handle on this evening.

He said with his usual gentleness, ‘I’m sorry, Minister. I missed that.’

The minister sobered. There was something oddly intimidating about that quiet courtesy.

He forgot the joke he had been telling. He said sharply, ‘You do realise this is all useless? Without Rafek, no agreement will be worth the paper it’s written on.’

To the minister’s fury, Philip nodded as if he had just made a brave stab at a crossword clue.

‘Good point.’

‘Well, what are you going to do about it?’ said the minister belligerently.

Philip gave him one of his diplomatically inscrutable smiles.

The minister gave up.

But it made Philip concentrate for the rest of the evening. It was only after the toasts had been made, the compliments exchanged and the honoured delegates packed off to bed after a ceremonious goodnight that he had time to think about the girl again.

He and his team were sitting among the ruins of the banquet while hotel waiters began the process of clearing up. Philip leaned back in his chair and flexed his shoulders. The contracted muscles at the back of his neck flexed gratefully.

‘Do we know who else is staying here?’ he asked his personal assistant idly.

The PA knew how lucky he was to work for the youngest, most successful negotiator the UN had had in a long time. A PA’s profile depended on that of his boss and Fernando was ambitious. So he did not complain that it was an unfair question. Though it was.

Instead he opened his briefcase and fished among its bulging papers.

‘I gave you the list Security provided when we arrived, Philip. Do you want me to update it? Basically it’s the Aid Agencies group and the conservationists, as far as I know. Journalists, of course. But not many of them are here for the duration. They’ll fly back in for the final Press conference, of course.’

Philip nodded.

‘So who would a tall blonde be, Fernando? Red Cross? Endangered-species lobby? Girl swims like a fish. Except, now I think of it, she didn’t know about micro-crustacea.’ He was talking to himself. ‘So she won’t be a conservationist.’

Fernando and Philip’s locally appointed bodyguard exchanged glances. Fernando stopped riffling through his papers.

The bodyguard repeated the only word that made sense. ‘Girl?’

‘Oh, I just bumped into her,’ said Philip, at his vaguest.

Neither was deceived, though their reactions were different. Fernando looked worried. And as for the bodyguard—

‘You want a woman?’ he said practically.

Fernando winced.

For a moment there was a glacial silence.

‘I can arrange,’ the bodyguard offered, cheerfully impervious.

Fernando held his breath.

Damn, thought Philip. How could he have forgotten? Chief negotiators were not supposed to have feelings. Appetites, yes. No matter how sordid, the system could cope with the animal urges of its delegates if it had to. Just not feelings.

He should never have mentioned the girl. He must certainly not do it again. Meanwhile he had to turn down the unwanted offer politely. The bodyguard was seconded from the local military. He could not offend him. The peace process needed all the local friends it could get in this cauldron of plots and bad faith.

‘I think not,’ he said at last, with icy sweetness.

Fernando let out a long, relieved breath. Philip could be crushing when he wanted. The bodyguard had not deserved a Hardesty tongue-lashing.

‘Cool,’ he murmured in Philip’s ear.

Philip acknowledged the compliment with the slightest lift of an eyebrow.

‘Well, we have work to do. I’ll just take a walk along the shore before I get back to it.’ He stood up.

The bodyguard stood up too.

Philip shook his head. ‘Alone, I think.’

But the bodyguard had been briefed at the highest levels.

‘You should not walk alone, even on this island. Rafek has sympathisers everywhere. It would be a great coup for him if he kidnapped you.’

For a moment Philip rebelled. ‘That’s hardly likely, surely? Coral Cove is a private island.’

The bodyguard sucked his gold tooth. ‘Been done before,’ he said reluctantly. It clearly hurt his professional pride.

‘But what about all those discreet surveillance cameras along the beach?’ said Philip.

The bodyguard shrugged. ‘Someone on the inside takes out a stretch of the lighting. Looks like an accident. Then Rafek’s men come ashore in dinghies. They take who they want and go. No lights, no outboard motors until they’re out to sea. No one knows until someone is missing from breakfast. There are just too many places to come ashore.’

He saw that Philip was frowning and misinterpreted.

‘You’re fine as long as you stick close to the main hotel,’ he said encouragingly. ‘And I’m never out of earshot.’

Philip ground his teeth silently. He could not ask about her! Now he could not even take a walk where he might bump into her! At least not without being observed. Was he to have no privacy?

But then he remembered the briefing that he too had read. To say nothing of the fierce men he had encountered in Rafek’s jungle stronghold only last week. His cool professional head told him that his subordinates were right.

And just at the moment people’s lives depended on him using his cool, professional head.

He nodded, reluctantly.

‘All right. No solitary stroll. You can walk me back to my cabin. Then I’ll work on the agenda for tomorrow. Fernando—can you let me have your minutes of that last meeting before you go to sleep?’

‘Yes,’ said Fernando, without resentment. He knew that Philip himself would be up long into the early hours, thinking about the issues.

Really, it was crazy that the bodyguard should have thought, even for a moment, that Philip Hardesty was looking for a woman. As long as he was working, Philip Hardesty had no time and no interest in anything but the project in hand. The man was a machine, thought Fernando, half-envious, half-repelled.

One thing was certain. Until the negotiation was successfully concluded, Philip Hardesty would not waste a second thought on any woman, thought Fernando. He waved the bodyguard away with a minatory frown and smiled reassuringly at his chief.

‘I’ll walk with you now, Philip. That should keep away the belly dancers.’ And he gave a conspiratorial laugh.

It was written all over his assistant’s face, Philip thought. He was rueful.

He thinks I’m not the sort of man to waste my time on feelings. And he’s right, God help me. It was not a pleasant thought.

And then, as he went into his cottage and locked the door behind him, I wonder if it’s terminal?

It was early when Kit first stirred. Hot dreams plucked at her. She turned restlessly, pushing the confining sheet away.

Still half-asleep, she thought she was in the sea. A sea god had come up the beach and carried her off. Not that she minded. She wanted to go. She loved the sensation of being in his arms, the power of it and the total trust. She went into the water with him, laughing.

Only now her feet were caught. They had tangled in some weed. She could not get free to follow him.

The sea god did not notice. He surged ahead of her, out to the open sea. Away. Leaving her.

‘Don’t go,’ she called after him.

But her voice was lost in the great distance between them.

She tried again, louder. ‘Don’t leave me…’

And woke herself up.

Kit jerked upright, breathing hard.

She couldn’t have said that. She couldn’t. Not even in a dream. It was what she had said to Johnny. She had promised herself she would never say it again.

She made to get out of bed—and found that her legs really were trapped. She half fell out of bed and only recovered her balance by hopping on the spot.

‘Typical,’ muttered Kit. ‘Start off tragedy. Turn to farce. Story of my life.’

Still, she felt better about the dream after that. She unwound the sheet, showered and dressed. Then she called Lisa.

Her brother-in-law answered. ‘Glad you’re here, Kit. Sorry I didn’t manage to catch up with you again yesterday.’

‘That’s OK. Lisa explained you were busy.’

‘Did she?’ His voice was dry. ‘Well, come up and have breakfast with us now. Unless you want to swim first?’

Kit looked at the sea. It was just twenty yards from her terrace and silver in the morning sun. It was wonderfully enticing. Except that there were two boats in the bay and a couple of figures running along the beach.

In theory the stranger had seen her in her swimsuit last night. But they had been in the shadows. He had not had the chance to look at her properly. The girl who did not look at herself in mirrors was not yet ready to appear in a swimsuit in front of other people, not even a couple of joggers so distant they looked like matchstick men.

‘No, my swim can wait. I’ll come up now.’

‘Great. I’ll order breakfast for three.’

But when she got there her hospitable brother-in-law was clearly on his way out after all.

One look at Lisa and Kit wished she hadn’t come. It was obvious they were in the middle of a row. Lisa had her bad-tempered terrier look and Nikolai’s brow was thunderous.

‘Hi, Kit,’ he said curtly. ‘I’ll see you later, Lise. This is the last day of the conference, I promise.’

Lisa shrugged her bare shoulders. Kit thought she had never seen a sarong look less alluring.

‘Suit yourself. No skin off my nose.’ She switched her attention to Kit ostentatiously and nodded at the breakfast set out on the terrace table. ‘Mango juice?’

Kit nodded, feeling helpless.

Nikolai hesitated. Then he bent to kiss his wife. Quick as a snake, Lisa turned her head. His mouth just brushed her cheek.

He straightened. A muscle worked in his jaw. ‘Tonight,’ he said levelly.

Lisa did not answer that at all. She sat staring out to sea as Nikolai stamped out.

Kit’s heart sank.

Lisa lost her terrier look. She leaned back in the rattan rocker and closed her eyes. For a moment Kit wondered if she really was ill. She looked very pale.

Eyes still closed, Lisa said wearily, ‘That’s what he says every morning. And every evening he comes back and says, “Just one more day, Lise.”’

Kit was uncomfortable. She was in awe of her formidable brother-in-law but she liked him.

‘Well, I suppose conservation is important.’

Lisa’s laugh cracked. ‘More important than his wife?’ She opened her eyes. They were wet.

Wisely Kit did not attempt to answer that.

Lisa answered it herself. ‘I know. I know. There is an ecological crisis here. If he thinks he has a chance to do something about it, he has to keep trying. But…’

I’m so lonely. It was what she had said to Kit on the telephone to London. She did not have to say it again. It hung in the air between them.

Kit thought suddenly: it’s probably the first time she’s been lonely like that in her life. She could always get any man she wanted. Maybe for once I know more than Lisa does about something.

She said slowly, ‘You have to talk to him about it, you know, Lisa. Sulks won’t get you anywhere.’

‘Sulks?’ Lisa was so outraged that her tears subsided. Kit saw it with relief. She did not really know what to do with a tearful Lisa. ‘That’s great, coming from a girl who didn’t open her mouth all through my birthday party.’

‘That’s not fair,’ protested Kit.

‘Yes, it is. Every one of Nikolai’s family tried to make you welcome in France. They wanted you to have a nice time. But you wouldn’t swim, wouldn’t ride, wouldn’t even join the dancing at the end of the harvest. What was that if it wasn’t sulks?’

Kit shifted her shoulders irritably. ‘Well, they’re grand.’

‘They’re my in-laws,’ corrected Lisa.

‘They’ve got titles,’ muttered Kit.

Lisa sighed. ‘So have I now,’ she pointed out reasonably. ‘I’m a countess. Are you going to stop talking to me because of it?’

‘Don’t be silly, of course not.’

‘But you won’t talk to Nikolai’s grandmother because she is a countess too. You are such a snob.’

‘I’m not. I just felt out of place at the château.’

‘Oh, so you admit it now.’

‘No, I don’t admit anything,’ said Kit with heat.

They glared at each other. After a moment, a reluctant smile dawned.

‘You always did fight dirty, Lisa. All right, maybe I sulked a bit. Doesn’t make any difference to what’s going on here, you know. Refusing to kiss Nikolai goodbye isn’t going to sort anything out.’

Lisa gave a little explosive sigh. ‘When did you get to be an expert?’

Kit did not say ‘When I refused to listen when Johnny wanted to talk to me’. That was an episode Lisa still did not know anything about.

Instead she said, ‘What about that mango juice?’

‘Oh, all right.’

Lisa poured two glasses for both of them. She flung herself back in the rattan rocker.

‘I blame this place.’

‘But it’s beautiful,’ protested Kit, startled.

Lisa’s mouth tightened. ‘Exactly. Beautiful and stuffed with all the trappings of happy honeymoons. It just rubs it in when you’re not. Happy, I mean.’

Kit’s green eyes widened. ‘Oh, Lisa,’ she said, her heart going out to her sister.

‘Don’t sympathise with me,’ Lisa said dangerously. ‘Tell me I ought to count my blessings. Don’t let me cry, for pity’s sake.’

‘All right,’ said Kit obediently. ‘Look at the bougainvillea on the wall. It’s so bright it hurts your eyes. And you’ve got a lovely tan. And it’s going to be a gorgeous day.’

She turned her face into the soft breeze from the lagoon. It caught a few long strands of her newly washed golden hair and wafted them gently against her cheek. The breeze smelled of flowers. Kit stretched sensuously.

‘And the nights. I couldn’t believe it when I walked back last night. Have you ever seen such stars?’

Lisa bared her teeth. She looked ready to bite, like a blonde terrier scenting rats. It was alarming. ‘Don’t talk to me about the stars.’

Kit grinned, unalarmed. ‘All right. What have you got against the stars?’

The terrier look went out of Lisa’s pretty face. She shook her head, so that the fashionably sculpted hair flew.

‘Oh, it’s no fun looking at them by myself, I suppose,’ she said with a flickering smile. She sighed. ‘You’re right, of course. Nikolai promised and—Well, I guess I’m not cut out to be the well-behaved little wife waiting while he does the important stuff.’

Kit choked. But she managed to keep a straight face. ‘No,’ she agreed in a strangled voice.

Lisa narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re laughing at me.’

‘Who, me? I wouldn’t dare.’

‘Yes, you would.’ Lisa gave a quick shrug, as if she was casting off the bad temper. She gave Kit a rueful smile. ‘Quite right too. Your first time in a tropical paradise, and all I can do is spoil it by moaning! Laugh all you want.’

Kit said comfortingly, ‘He said his meetings would be over today.’

‘And pigs might fly. Meanwhile I’ve got to put up with being called the bride in Orchid Cottage,’ said Lisa with feeling.

Kit laughed. ‘Ah, well, I can tell you about that. I was talking to one of the gardeners yesterday. He said that this place was all set up for people to have the last word in luxury tropical weddings. Only then the war broke out. These days all the guests they get are men in suits. So every time they see a woman, they think, wow, here come the good times again.’

‘Oh,’ said Lisa, her ferocity dying. ‘I didn’t think of that. Poor things.’

Kit grinned. ‘They’re demoralised. They’ve got a bunch of economists who told them to stop the music at dinner so they could talk.’

Lisa appreciated that. She gave her old naughty smile. ‘World Bank, I bet.’

Encouraged, Kit said, ‘And there’s some big-shot peace negotiator here who didn’t even notice the belly dancer.’

Lisa laughed aloud at that. But then her face darkened. She said in a hard tone, ‘I bet the ecology delegates wouldn’t notice either. I can’t tell you how long it is since Nikolai touched me.’

Ouch, thought Kit.

She dived into her mango juice. She really did not want to know about this. It was private. It was painful. And she was the last person in the world to know how to help.

But Lisa seemed to have forgotten that. Still staring out to sea, she said in a low voice, ‘He doesn’t want me any more, Kit.’

It was none of her business. She had always been hopeless about sex, anyway. How many times had Lisa pulled her back from the brink of disastrous relationships? That last one had nearly killed her, too.

And yet—And yet—She knew how Lisa felt.

She went over and put an arm round her competent sister.

For a moment Lisa stiffened. Then she dropped her head onto Kit’s shoulder.

‘I never thought it would happen to me,’ she said in a stifled voice. ‘I thought I could handle anything. You know?’

‘You can,’ said Kit stoutly.

‘Not this.’ Lisa detached herself from Kit’s comforting arm. Her voice was flat.

Despairing, thought Kit.

She said hurriedly, ‘Good sex is chemical, they say. Nothing to do with knowing someone. Or loving them. Take me, for instance—only last night I met a guy when I was swimming. We hardly spoke. But the chemistry was there all right.’

Lisa said nothing. That was unusual in itself. Normally she would have demanded all the details, delighted that Kit was showing some interest in men at last.

‘Scared me a bit,’ said Kit, fishing for a reaction. ‘I’d forgotten that attraction could be so strong. It may be nothing more than chemistry but it certainly shakes you up.’

‘Oh?’ said Lisa, indifferent.

‘Just goes to prove that relationships are a lot more than sex. You know me. Miss Iceberg of the century. Yet I fancied the guy like crazy and I didn’t even know his name. It didn’t mean anything.’

Lisa shrugged.

‘Surely it works the other way round, too?’ said Kit desperately. ‘I mean, if you’re committed to each other, you can weather a few—er—’

Lisa turned. ‘Nice try, Kit. Shame it won’t wash.’

‘What? Why?’

‘We stopped talking to each other before we stopped sleeping together,’ Lisa said brutally. ‘Tell me how we weather that.’

Kit gave up. There was nothing to say.

Philip ran his minder half way round the island on his morning run.

‘I spent too long in the conference room yesterday. I need to get my lungs open,’ he said.

He did, too. But he knew that he was really hoping to see the girl again. He didn’t.

Well, it was a long shot. And if he had seen her, there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

He went back to his meetings and put her out of his mind. And then, quite suddenly, he looked up from a diagram of new roads demanded by Rafek’s rival guerrilla leader and—there she was!