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She bit her lip in frustration. ‘You know what I mean.’
He shrugged. ‘It was to make up for insulting you and being all superior and cynical. It was a salute for being told to go to hell in a rather foolhardy, but nevertheless decisive manner I couldn’t help admiring. That’s all.’
Maisie stared at him, uncharacteristically speechless, and he took the opportunity to strip off her top and push her trousers down then he sat her down so he could take off her shoes.
‘Besides which,’ he added, ‘I have seen it all before.’
‘But—but…’
He scanned her delicate figure beneath an emerald-green bra patterned with pink frangipanis and matching bikini briefs, and raised an eyebrow. ‘Very fetching, Maisie, but believe me, you’re not my type so you’re quite safe. Up you get!’
He pulled her to her feet as a wave of telltale colour mounted in her cheeks, and picked her up to carry her downstairs.
‘Right, into the shower, we’ve got plenty of hot water, so don’t stint until you feel warm right through,’ he ordered and set her on her feet as he opened the bathroom door.
‘But I’ve got no clothes!’
‘I’ll find you some. Just do as you’re told.’
The hot water was wonderful but she finally stepped out and wrapped her slim body in a towel and wrapped another, smaller one round her head. Then she realised that the boat was underway again and wondered in which direction he was going—Manly or Peel?
There was a rap on the door.
‘Yes?’ she called.
‘Go through the other door,’ Rafe Sanderson instructed. ‘It leads into the aft berth and you’ll find some clothes on the bed. Don’t take too long—once I’ve got the anchor down I’ll be making a warm drink for you.’
‘Yes, sir; no, sir; three bags full,’ Maisie murmured beneath her breath, but she did as she was told.
The aft berth had a walk-around double bed with a toffee and peppermint quilted silk coverlet. Her feet sank into deep toffee-coloured carpet, and the fittings were again New Guinea rosewood with brass handles.
She dropped the towel and looked down at herself. She was about three and a half months pregnant but if anything she’d lost a bit of weight. She put that down to stress and the fact that she’d gone through a period of morning sickness—only at night, thankfully, so it hadn’t affected her job—but it had quite put her off food.
Fortunately, that phase had mostly gone quite recently, although she still got the odd twinge. It was also fortunate it had passed because feeling physically dreadful a lot of the time, on top of feeling mentally traumatised, had seen her dither around unable to do anything or make any decisions.
But the only difference so far she could see in her body, apart from the bit of weight she’d lost, was her breasts. Her nipples were darker and more sensitive.
She turned her attention to the pile of clothes on the bed. They were a shade too big for her but she couldn’t quibble about their quality.
She pulled on coffee silk and lace knickers that looked to be brand-new. There was a matching bra but it was too big for her, so she chose a cream singlet with a prim satin bow. Then she put on a pair of green track pants and finally a gloriously snug cream-coloured cable-knit sweater.
It definitely wasn’t new, although it was perfectly clean, but a subtle perfume lingered on the wool.
Whose clothes were these she wondered.
There were no shoes but a pair of socks.
Finally, she looked at herself in the fitted dressing-table mirror. Her irrepressible hair was already starting to curl riotously but since she had nothing to tie it back with she could only comb her fingers through it. But it was the expression in her eyes that really startled her.
She looked somewhat shell-shocked, she decided. But who wouldn’t after diving overboard and having to be rescued? Or was it something to do with being kissed then being dismissed into a “not my type” category?
Of course I’m not his type, she thought immediately. Apart from anything else I’m pregnant by another man. But how did he make me feel so safe and…?
He did save me, she reminded herself as her cheeks started to warm.
Then she heard the different pitch of the motor, indicating slower revs then neutral, and the anchor chain rattled out. She looked out of the porthole to recognise the curved white beach of Horseshoe Bay on Peel Island, and bit her lip.
A few minutes later, as she was trying to work out how to deal with this development, he called out that coffee was ready.
‘How do you feel?’ he enquired as they sat opposite each other in the dining section.
This time there was proper, steaming coffee poured from a stainless-steel pot, and there was a dash of brandy in it.
‘I…Fine,’ she answered. ‘A lot warmer. Uh—thanks for the clothes.’
‘They belong to my sister, Sonia, who comes sailing with me from time to time—in case you’re wondering,’ he said with a dry little look.
‘I…’ Maisie glanced away awkwardly then decided not to pursue the matter.
‘Hmm…Well, you’ve got a bit of colour back in your cheeks. Are you really pregnant?’ he said then.
She blinked. ‘Why?’
‘Because if you are you should curb your apparently natural instincts towards outrageous deeds—like diving off boats and battling the tide,’ he added laconically.
Maisie’s hands flew protectively to her stomach. ‘I didn’t stop to think,’ she breathed. ‘But the doctor did tell me there was no need to cosset myself.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘His version of cosset could differ from yours. However, that seems to answer both my questions.’
‘Both?’
‘Yes. Not only are you pregnant, but you also don’t like the thought of losing the baby.’ His eyes searched hers.
‘No, I don’t.’ Maisie sipped her coffee and tried to find the words to explain.
Because out of the blue, amidst the shock and growing horror of finding herself pregnant and abandoned, the thought had dropped into her mind that she would not be alone in the world now.
She’d examined it carefully from all angles, but none of the obstacles, and her life was going to be strewn with them because of this baby, could douse that thought and it had grown stronger…
‘I—I—would have someone, you see,’ she said at last.
He said nothing but she felt as if that steady grey gaze was probing right through to her soul. Then, ‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-two.’
He grimaced. ‘So are you hoping for some kind of a settlement from this—this man?’
‘No.’ She tilted her chin. ‘If he doesn’t want anything more to do with me, I certainly don’t want his charity. But if he has no good reason other than he’s a—a cad and a bounder,’ sudden tears shone in her eyes, ‘who goes around preying on girls, I want to be able to tell him he’s a—he’s a—’
‘An utter bastard?’ he supplied.
She nodded then moved her hands expressively. ‘Not only that. I need, even if he doesn’t want anything to do with us, him to agree to having his name on the baby’s birth certificate. I feel I owe the baby nothing less—to at least know who its father is—wouldn’t you?’
He didn’t comment on that directly. He said instead, ‘You’ve obviously given it a lot of thought.’
‘I’ve had several increasingly miserable months to think of nothing else.’ She wiped her eyes impatiently at the same time as she added an admonition to herself in an undertone, ‘No more tears, Maisie!’
Then she was struck by another thought. ‘But now I haven’t even got a name—unless there is another man with the same name out there!’
Rafe Sanderson watched her and thought his own thoughts. Was she a superb actress he wondered.
Had she hit on an original twist for an old and sorry story? Such as finding herself pregnant and abandoned and deciding to make the best of it? Such as picking his name at random, well, from amongst the suitably well heeled, and concocting a likely tale along the lines of—he said he was you and I really believed him.
His eyes narrowed as he followed the thought. It would have taken a bit of planning. First of all, she’d have had to come up with an uncommon name—she’d probably have had to check that out in Queensland at least—and his did fit the bill. But if so, and the rest of it was a pack of lies, what had she been hoping for?
That he’d be so touched by her plight and her pluck, he’d hand over some cash to help her out?
He smiled a grim, austere little smile then looked across at her to find her studying him intently.
‘You’re not believing me again,’ she said huskily.
‘Maisie,’ he gestured, ‘whatever, and I’m sorry for anyone in this position, but it’s not my affair.’
‘Did you ever live at a place called Karoo Downs?’ she queried. ‘A sheep station out west somewhere?’
He frowned. ‘How did you know that?’
‘As a matter of fact, it’s common knowledge if you’d like to look it up on the internet. Apparently there was a South African connection in the Dixon family in the early days and Karoo comes from the Great Karoo in South Africa, also sheep country.’
‘You’ve done your research well,’ he said flatly.
‘Oh, I knew about Karoo Downs before I started searching,’ she said. ‘R…he told me about it. He also told me about his two favourite dogs, Graaff and Reinet.’
Rafe Sanderson suddenly drummed his fingers on the table.
‘I asked about the names,’ Maisie continued. ‘He said Graaff-Reinet is the main town in the Karoo and these two dogs were ridgebacks, a South African breed originally, and that’s why he chose the names.’
This time Rafe Sanderson swore. ‘Who the bloody hell have you been talking to, Maisie?’
‘No one. No one else. Oh, a Dixon who shut the door in my face, only two days ago as it happens.’
‘You must have been. Family, staff.’ He narrowed his eyes on her. ‘Listen, Maisie, I want the truth and now,’ he said through his teeth.
‘The truth?’ She stared at him with her lips parted and her eyes widening. ‘There must be some man out there going around impersonating you…’
He banged his fist on the table and made the coffee mugs jump. ‘Now I’ve heard it all.’
‘But for a few minutes I thought you were him,’ she protested. ‘I mean, now I’m quite sure you’re not and if you hadn’t been dripping wet and so angry I might have realised sooner…’ She stopped bewilderedly. ‘But I did think so at first.’
He opened his mouth to retort but the VHF radio above the charting desk came alive and intervened. ‘Mary-Lue, Mary-Lue—Lotus Lady, six seven,’ a deep, disembodied voice said.
Rafe shut his mouth with a click then got up to answer the call. ‘Lotus Lady—Mary-Lue, six nine.’ And he changed channels.
‘Rafe—Dan here; we’ll be over in about twenty minutes. Melissa wants to know if there’s anything you need—and we’ll pick up Eddie and Martha on the way.’
Rafe Sanderson hesitated and glanced darkly at Maisie. Then he depressed his PTT button and said into the mike, ‘Don’t need anything, thanks, mate. See you soon.’ He hung up the mike and came back to the table.
Maisie swallowed and suddenly looked desperately tired and uneasy. ‘How are you going to explain me to your friends?’
He took in her wan complexion. ‘I’m not. Are you sure you’re feeling all right?’
‘I’m fine but tired, that’s all. I—I didn’t sleep last night and I probably only had an hour here before you came on board. I also—sometimes I just feel like a cat who needs to curl up and go to sleep.’
‘Then go to bed, kid,’ he said, not unkindly. ‘Use the aft berth. With a bit of luck no one will even know you’re here. We can get down to brass tacks again,’ he looked impatient for a moment, ‘later.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ Maisie said with real gratitude.
‘Just one thing.’
She looked a query at him.
‘I need you to promise me you won’t try to drown yourself again, you won’t try to drown me or do anything else outrageous.’
Maisie had to laugh. ‘I promise,’ she said, ‘unless, that is, your behaviour is outrageous, Mr Sanderson.’
He studied her with a faint frown in his eyes, as if he didn’t quite know what to make of her. Then he shrugged and got up.
Maisie fell asleep with no difficulty.
She tried not to. She told herself there was too much to think about, too much to attempt to clarify, not least her reaction to a man she’d only just met, but nothing could keep at bay the tide of weariness that overcame her.
She didn’t hear the lunch party come aboard, she didn’t hear anything until she woke a couple of hours later.
She stretched, yawned and looked around with no idea where she was until the toffee and peppermint décor struck a chord.
She sat up abruptly in time to hear a female voice above deck, saying,
‘Why, Rafe, you’ve got a girl in your cabin!’
Maisie froze, and realised that it must have been the opening, or more likely the closing, of the cabin door that had woken her.
‘Melissa,’ Rafe’s voice sounding irritable, ‘hasn’t anyone told you to wait for an invitation before you nose about?’
A tinkle of laughter, then, ‘Darling, life’s too short to wait for invitations. And, unless I’m very much mistaken, she’s a redhead.’
Maisie waited with bated breath.
‘She’s also a stowaway I’d never laid eyes on until she made her presence known and nearly drowned me,’ Rafe replied coolly. ‘What’s more she’s going back from whence she came, wherever the hell that is, pronto, which is why I’m about to throw you lot off. I need to get underway.’
