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‘We’ll miss you, of course. But you’ve lost a lot of your childhood through your mother’s illness and we both want to make up to you for that.’
‘Dad, you can’t help that—and certainly Mother didn’t ask to be struck down with multiple sclerosis. You don’t have to make up to me.’
‘Nevertheless, it’s what we decided. You know we would both like to go back to the old country, but since the climate here suits your mother so much more... Anyway, I ought to tell you, I’m thinking of retiring from the Diplomatic Corps. I’ve been approached by a major Japanese company to take over a management position here in Sydney, and I’m tempted for your mother’s sake...’
‘Dad, you dark horse. I’m the one who ought to be rewarding you, not the other way round.’
‘No.’ He grinned. ‘All I ask is that you write often to your mother. You know how she has missed England. Just keep the letters and postcards coming.’
‘I promise. Only...you won’t mind too much if I make my way to Europe via the Caribbean, will you? Some of the diving club are planning an excavation of an old Spanish galleon that’s been discovered off the Windwards, and they’ve asked me to go along.’
‘We-ell, I suppose you’ve made up your mind about that already. So...all I ask is that you’ll be careful. I don’t want your mother to be worried—you know the effect it can have on her condition if she’s anxious, especially if she’s anxious about her only child.’
‘I promise.’ Again she stood on tiptoe to drop a kiss on his cheek. ‘I promise I’ll be very careful. I’m not into risk-taking and I’ll write as often as I can.’
And that was how, a week after her twenty-first birthday she came to touch down in the Windwards, one of three girls in a group of seven from Sydney, joining several teams from American Universities excavating the seventeenth-century schooner which had foundered in a storm. And that was how she came to meet Ben Congreve, expedition leader and classicist, the man who was to have such a profound effect on her life—who was, in fact, to turn it upside down in the two short weeks of their acquaintance.
Never would she forget that first sight of him as, with others, he crouched on the sand examining the artifacts brought up that day from the sea bottom. Some remark brought a gale of laughter and he glanced up, his grin a dazzle of white against the dark face. He caught her eyes and straightened slowly, the smile fading while the dark eyes narrowed in interest. Lopped jeans and loose open shirt hid little of his sun-bronzed torso. Hair, also dark and fine, was raked back from his forehead with a touch of impatience she was to find only too characteristic.
Introductions began and his welcome had become more general, but his eyes had returned to hers, and even now, recalling the intensity of his gaze, she felt a throb of response. The world had, for that split second, halted on its axis before rushing on with the sound of an express train which only she had heard.
A beard, a shade or two lighter than his hair, had covered the lower part of his face, emphasising the faintly piratical look. The touch of natural arrogance might have been a warning. Except that those first few seconds took her far beyond the reach of warnings.
Little doubt then that on her side the attraction had been immediate and cataclysmic, and it had been an irritation that after that initial burning exchange he’d appeared to be only faintly aware of her. So many approaches by men who raised her blood pressure not a single point, and yet this man had ignored all her most blatant signals.
Afterwards, that was something he had denied hotly, laughingly assuring her he had picked her out at once, describing in detail how she had looked to him, then laughing again, grabbing her hands at that point, and pushing her back onto the sand and kissing her, teasing her, assuring her it was her swimming skill, the nearing thing to a mermaid he had seen, which had underlined his interest.
Idly she had brushed her mouth against the erotic silkiness of the dark beard, looking up through half-closed eyes. ‘Of course you know the mermaid is really the manatee—the sea cow.’ A heavy sigh. ‘Am I supposed to be flattered.’
‘Mmm.’ His voice was drowsy as he pulled her closer to the curve of his body. ‘The sailors were at sea a long time in those days, but, yes. You are meant to be flattered. I was talking about the mermaid of legend, the siren. That’s what you reminded me of. You seem to treat the ocean like your natural element. But your skin...’ He slid his palm the length of her back, his touch so sensitive it seemed every nerve-ending in her body responded. ‘Your skin is like silk, and your hair...’ His voice deepened to one of self-parody. ‘Your hair is like gold moidores.’
She was more than ready to join in the joke, even if it was at her own expense, and her lips barely touched his, parted in a tiny giggle. ‘The only ones you seem likely to encounter on this expedition. And even they are fake.’
‘What?’ Soporific and relaxed in the afternoon shade, with the sound of surf crashing on the distant reef and, closer, the soft, soft lap of waves on the shore all enhancing the feel of enchantment, he put his mouth on hers and murmured the drowsy question. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’
She had not regretted having her long hair cropped before leaving Sydney, but the impulse which had prompted the colour change had been less successful. The pale gold did nothing for her, while sunshine and salt water on top of bleach was causing havoc. ‘It means I’m all illusion, unreal.’
‘Well, I really never believed in mermaids.’
While you, she assured herself in dreamy satisfaction, are the one I always believed was waiting out there for me. Somewhere. And now I’ve found you I mean never to let you go. With a sigh she rested her head against his chest, rubbing the warm skin, the brush of his silky hair a new and ridiculously exciting experience. ‘Have you ever been to Australia, Ben?’
‘No, I never have.’ He mocked her faint accent. ‘But I promise, it’s now top of my list of places I mean to visit.’
For a moment she detached herself, brushing some sand from the rush mat. ‘What are you planning to do when you leave here?’ Having been told that he and another member of the group had sailed down from Florida, she was toying with the suggestion that he might follow her to England. But they had known each other only a matter of days and he was bound to see her as trying to rush him into some kind of permanent relationship. She would do nothing to jeopardise the fragile budding attraction, and besides, she sensed something, a reticence which was hard to understand.
‘We’ve been planning to take her—’ he nodded vaguely in the direction of the yacht, which could just be glimpsed round the headland ‘—through the canal and into the Pacific. We have permission to spend some time on the Galapagos Islands collecting scientific data, then back up the West Coast and home.’ Gazing down, he traced the outline of her mouth with his forefinger. ‘One of my ambitions is to take her on a solo round-the-world, but this time Dan is coming with me. The solo will have to wait. Have you done any sailing, Helen?’
‘Not really.’ Regretfully she shook her head. ‘In fact, not at all. In the diving club we always used power boats—much more practical than sail.’
‘But much less romantic. But, look, why don’t I take you out now, so you can have a look round? You might find you would want to persuade me that solo was not such a wonderful idea.’
When he pulled her to her feet and stood there, the narrowed eyes and that half-smile challenging her, she found herself hanging onto every ounce of self-control. With a rueful expression and with fingernails pressing hard into her palms she shrugged casually. ‘I might. But I very much doubt it. But, since you’re so keen to show off your toy...’
The rest of that lazy afternoon they spent diving from the deck of the small sleek yacht into the shimmering clear water, and when the sun began to dip below the horizon they settled on towels spread on the deck, deliciously idle, occasionally sipping ice-cold drinks, watching as the ocean gleamed with every fiery colour in the spectrum.
‘Well, what do you think?’ Ben, perched on one elbow reached out to touch the back of her hand, stirring fine sensitive hairs and a thousand barely controlled emotions. ‘You ready to come beachcombing with me?’
‘Mmm.’ Impossible for her to speak when she was fighting to understand why that particular touch... light as a moth’s wing... should... Yes. She wanted to yell aloud. Yes, please. But she knew enough to recognise a rhetorical question when she met it, and had no wish to embarrass him. Or herself. How devastating if she were to agree then have him back off. Besides, for this moment it was enough to be with him as she was now. And to know that if he showed the least sign of wanting to go further, there would be no holding back.
As if sensing her feelings, he leaned over then and touched his mouth to hers, murmuring her name in a tone of such frustrated longing that she had no further thought of restraint. Her lips parted for him, hands twisting in his hair as she pulled his weight down.
‘Helen, you’ve no idea...’ His voice was low and hurried, and for the first time she was aware of sexual power. ‘You’ve no idea how I feel.’
At that she allowed herself a faint smile, and watched through half-closed eyes as she passed fingertips over the warm contours of his torso. Her voice was consciously sultry. ‘What makes you think I don’t know?’
‘You know where this is going to lead?’ His dark eyes had a heady, slumbrous look, and their entwined bodies were dark-gilded by the setting sun.
‘Mmm. What is there to stop us?’ Her heart was hammering against her chest. Or was it his?
‘Is it all right?’ The significance of that query occurred to her much later, but she knew that even fully aware her answer would have been the same.
Begrudging every inch that separated them, she reached up, biting gently but with fierce impatience on his lower lip. ‘Everything will be all right, if only...’ And in an attack of sudden modesty she murmured against his ear.
And he laughed. A deep, growly sound which resonated in his chest, primitive and satisfying in a way she could not describe and which she could never forget.
It was hard, at this distance, to understand how they had been able to keep their affair from the others during the next few days. Possibly because they had been similarly preoccupied, and it had not occurred to either Helen or Ben to flaunt what they’d felt for each other. Or at least what she’d felt. Time seemed to prove that for Ben Congreve it had been little more than a holiday romance, passionate and exciting while it lasted, a very enjoyable interlude, but one that was easily forgotten once he sailed off to another continent. To another life—where he had a fiancée waiting, the preacher booked and the wedding gown ordered.
But of course she had known nothing of those when he had first made gentle and skilful love to her, nor on the subsequent nights, when things had grown still more intense and passionate. And even if she had known, she was uncertain the knowledge would have been a deterrent.
It had been a long time before she was able to admit as much—after she had passed through periods of desolation and anguish. Only then was she honest enough to admit that nothing would have kept her from him. And in one way at least she had never regretted it. Oh, for heaven’s sake, why be coy? There was no way she regretted what had been the definitive experience of her life.
But that was not to say she hadn’t been deeply wounded when, one evening after he had sailed off, after all his promises, she’d overheard the casual conversation between two of the American girls who had known him well.
‘Yeah.’ The tall blonde straightened up from the bowl where she was scrubbing at the deposits on some old pottery lids. ‘In the fall, I understand. They have known each other for ever and Ben’s parents are delighted with the engagement. She’s a year or two younger—about twenty-three or four—and filthy rich, of course. But those are the circles they move in, so I imagine...’
Unwilling to hear any more, Helen walked away, eyes filmed with misery, throat choked as she stared over the ocean, that same glorious expanse of water which had shielded them, which had absorbed their cries of pleasure.
The pressure in her chest was causing real pain. So, this was what it was all about, that first slight reticence, the avoidance of so many personal details, no offer of an address or telephone number where he could be contacted. He had taken her parents’ Sydney number with the assurance that her London address would soon be available, and what was it he had murmured in her ear just before they said goodbye?
‘I shall be with you just as soon as I can... Just one or two problems to be sorted out and I shall be on a flight. No chance of sailing—much too slow.’
So, she had stood on the headland until the last tiny patch of sale had vanished from the horizon, confident and happy that soon they would be together again. And even after overhearing that conversation she didn’t lose hope. She was simply impatient to be done with this stupid diving exercise so she could find herself an address in London. Where she could wait for his call to bring an end to this agonising uncertainty. Nothing else in the world mattered to her.
CHAPTER TWO
SINGAPORE the following day was as frantic and fascinating as Ellie remembered. She and Jenny spent a diverting morning drifting round the prestigious stores and the more ethnic boutiques, buying this and that. Several presents were bought for Charlie and friends at home, then, after lunch at Raffles, they were driven, exhausted, back to the apartment.
‘It is just so hot.’ Jenny sighed with relief as they walked into the air-conditioned rooms, going straight to the space-age kitchen, reaching into the refrigerator for a jug of fresh orange juice. She filled two glasses, one of which she handed to Ellie. ‘I suggest we have a siesta in preparation for this evening.’
‘This evening?’ Ellie, who was deeply weary, stifled a yawn. ‘What do you mean? Don’t forget I’m on an early flight tomorrow.’
‘That is exactly why I’m suggesting a rest this afternoon. Tonight we eat out, maybe dance. You see—’ she strolled back to the salon, Ellie in her wake ‘—we’ve been invited out to one of the newer nightspots.’
‘I hope this hasn’t been laid on for my benefit, Jenny. I wouldn’t have thought Robert was all that keen. In fact, last night I heard him say his idea of a perfect evening was to spend it at home alone...’
‘I hope he didn’t say that exactly. If he did then our guests might have taken it as a hint for them to leave early...’
‘Which is exactly what they did not do.’ Ellie laughed. ‘No, Robert was more diplomatic about it. In fact, I think he said “alone with a few friends”—which is most likely why they all hung on till gone midnight.’
‘Mmm. Well, Robert is nothing if not diplomatic—though he can be very ruthless too when the mood takes him.’ She paused, walked to the mirror above the side table and fiddled with a jade earring. She was studiedly casual. ‘What did you think of Ben Congreve?’
‘Ben Congreve?’ The mere mention of the name she had been trying to forget brought her out in a cold sweat, heart hammering loud enough to be heard across the room. ‘Oh, he seemed pleasant enough.’ She was immediately struck by the banality of the description for such a man—it was sure to make Jenny suspicious. ‘Oh, more than that, I would say a very interesting man.’
‘But not interesting enough for you, Ellie?’ It was a carefully judged question, and without turning her head Ellie was aware of her friend’s close scrutiny. ‘Now, I wonder why that should be?’ Jenny’s ridiculously high heels tap-tapped on the marble floor as she strolled to join her friend at the window. ‘I wonder why that should be, my dear? I would have thought most women would have immediately been struck by him.’
‘And what about you?’ Time for a diversionary tactic. ‘Are you one of those knocked sideways by the famous writer?’ Her smile, the teasing expression, were indications that they were engaged in an amusing game, nothing more.
‘At one time,’ Jenny confessed, hands outspread to show she was concealing nothing, ‘I might easily have been, but now I am in what looks like being a permanent and very constant relationship. Whereas you...’
‘Whereas I—’ deliberately she copied Jenny’s apologetic and self-mocking gesture ‘—I have Charlie.’ And what, she asked silently, did Ben Congreve know about constant relationships? The thought, the words she had so often used as explanation and excuse, combined to make her feel as if a large rock had invaded her chest. ‘And I’m not in the market for any kind of relationship right now, permanent or casual.’ Especially the latter, since she knew exactly how much heartbreak would ensue.
‘Mmm.’ Jenny’s non-committal expression was clearly sceptical, but she was disinclined to pursue the subject. ‘Anyway, I shall send Ay Leng to your room with some tea, then you can have an hour or two to prepare for the evening. ‘Oh...’ She grimaced as she stepped out of her shoes. ‘My poor feet... Robert tells me I ought not to torture myself with such high heels, but if they were lower, no one would notice me.’
‘That,’ Ellie grinned, ‘is something I find very hard to believe.’
‘Well...’ Jenny shrugged, raising dark, elegant eyebrows. ‘Forget about me and tell me what you’re going to wear this evening. If any of your clothes need pressing, one of the maids...’
‘No problem about that. Most of what I have with me has already been whisked away by some invisible hand, dealt with and returned to the wardrobe. Dinner and dance, you say.’ Ellie frowned over the poverty of her choice. ‘I think last night almost exhausted my selection. I didn’t expect to be going out two nights in succession.’ It seemed appropriate to emphasise the dullness of her life with a joke.
‘I’ve already told you what I think of that.’ Jenny had indeed expressed her opinion forcefully on more than one occasion. ‘I know all about your wonderful rapport with Charlie, but still, it’s time you got out and about a whole lot more...’
‘Tell me what to wear.’ Ellie regretted having provoked a lecture on that subject, especially today, and determined to change the direction of the conversation. ‘Better still, tell me what you are going to wear—that will give me some idea. I do have a floaty cotton skirt and a camisole top, if you think that would be any good.’
Five minutes later, with the matter decided, Ellie was left alone in the bedroom, only too glad of the chance to lie back on her bed, eyes closed, and try to blot from her mind all thoughts of the man who had so unexpectedly come back into her life. And she was at least partly successful, for although his image was firmly etched on the underside of her eyelids—the old Ben Congreve, bearded and piratical, rather than the new cleanshaven svelte version—the scenes she was reviewing were happy ones.
There was a bittersweet pleasure in reliving those early enchanted days, and kindly sleep overcame her before the cruel memories intruded. Though when she woke, her cheeks were damp.
‘You look wonderful, Ellie.’ Jenny, an exotic firefly in a brilliantly coloured cheongsam, had no idea that her very presence made the most sophisticated western woman feel clumsy and inadequate, turned with an enquiring look when she heard her friend laugh.
‘Compared with you, I feel drab and colourless. And I think most people would agree with me. Shall we ask Robert to judge?’ she asked as her host came in.
‘No, best not.’ Jenny grinned. ‘I think you’re entirely wrong, but it would be unfair to put him to the test. I daren’t risk it,’ she quipped with total self-assurance. ‘Ready, darling?’
‘Yes, the car is waiting. You both look extremely decorative.’ And he was surprised when they giggled.
The drive in the stretch limo through the pulsating city streets took them to a small smart nightclub overlooking the ocean, and even as they drew up in front of the vestibule, the setting, the subdued lighting, the erotic rhythms of the music wakened in Ellie long-suppressed inclinations. There was a sudden desire to be young, to respond as she once had, carefree and uninhibited.
So it was with anticipation that she followed Robert, who was being guided by the head waiter, among the tables towards a secluded alcove at the far side of the restaurant. The smile on her lips faltered when, on their approach, Ben Congreve rose to his feet to greet them. And since it was towards her his eyes were drawn, she was sure her reaction must have been noted.
‘Robert, Jenny...’ He welcomed them and there was the slightest hesitation before he spoke Ellie’s name, a hint of uncertainty which confirmed her suspicion, though it might have been simply that he was trying to gauge her attitude and his own. As it was, he chose informality, something Ellie appreciated as she shook hands with the three people already sitting round the table.
‘Jenny, Robert, you already know everyone, but, Ellie, may I introduce Darren and Myra Gottlieb from the American Consulate? And this—’ he indicated the tall, good-looking man who had the air of a local ‘—is Danny Khim, who is with my publisher.’
It was disconcerting to find when they all sat down once again that she was next to Ben with Danny on her left. Not at all what she would have chosen... but there was little she could do about it. She tried to compose herself, to ignore the feeling of being manipulated by Jenny as much as by Ben Congreve, and allowed the conversation to pass her by while she wrestled with her emotions. But she was too conscious of the man on her right to be entirely successful, even imagined she was picking up vibes from his body—sheer nonsense, of course. Meantime she endeavoured to be fascinated by Jenny’s conversation with Danny, until Ben spoke, that was, and then it was impossible to ignore him.
‘So, Ellie, tell me what you’ve been doing today.’ He was so very smooth and commanding, so very Ivy League, as he always had been. But she was less impressionable than she once had been, had spent years on her guard and had honed her self-protection to a fine edge. And certainly she was too old to imagine that fine clothes and manners meant anything, which explained why she chose to adopt a sarcastic drawl.
‘Oh, the usual touristy things—you know, a few souvenirs to take home, lunch at Raffles. Certainly nothing which compares with researching a new bestseller.’
Though his expression barely changed, something about him suggested chagrin. ‘Oh, I don’t know, I always find choosing one or two gifts to take home is a pleasant enough task. I positively enjoy finding things my friends will appreciate.’ His eyes were searching, as if trying to find a softer woman than the chippy one he had seen so far. ‘And what makes you think researching a book is so diverting? There are times when it is sheer grind. Besides, weren’t you doing a little research of your own last night?’
‘I was?’ Impossible to think what he meant, especially when he had decided to switch on the charm. His warmth gave no clue to his real character, she thought meanly...
‘Sure. Didn’t I hear you say you must try to remember all the colours of that Corot painting in the salon?’
‘Oh, that.’ Of course, she had joked about it with Babs but had been unaware of him overhearing. ‘I must confess I do that all the time. I have a compulsive interest in colour.’
‘Well, as I said...’ When he smiled, as he was doing now, it was difficult to hang on to her stand-offish manner. Besides, what did it matter? It seemed to her that he was their host for the evening, and she owed it to Robert and Jenny. It would cost her nothing to be polite, since once the evening was over they would never meet again. With luck. That assurance was less of a comfort than she would have wished.
The food and wine were delicious, and she found herself relaxed to the extent that when Danny asked, she allowed herself to be persuaded onto the dance floor. Mainly it was to escape from Ben Congreve, with his endless questions, and when they returned to the table she took the chance to change seats—easy enough since Robert alone wasn’t dancing. In different circumstances she knew she would have enjoyed herself, but the night was too fraught with the possibility that Ben might ask her to dance—and how could she refuse?
In the event, when he did make his move, her mind went blank, excuses evaporated and she found herself being led away from the others, not even trying to detach her fingers from his. Perhaps it was down to the music, calming and very nearly soporific. Who could feel threatened cocooned in such bittersweet nostalgia, rather than the pulsing rhythms of previous numbers? On the other hand, it was not the mood she would have chosen to share with him. Calm detachment was what she would have liked to help combat these... these sensations flowing between them.
‘I’m still waiting to hear about you Ellie.’ Cradling her hand more comfortably, he looked down, and their linked fingers brushing accidentally against the round swell of her breast brought her heart leaping into her throat.
And she knew she had been wrong to wear this wispy silk camisole. It was impossibly revealing, and she knew it showed every curve of the bare skin beneath, plus a fair amount of cleavage. She could hardly believe she had worn it without its usual overblouse, and certainly it hadn’t been for his benefit since she hadn’t known...
Her breath was growing more agitated now, emphasising all the aspects she would have liked to conceal, and he must be aware of the increase in her pulse-rate. His hand on her back could hardly avoid the signals, would know how little she was wearing and would draw his own conclusions.
A deep breath to control her trembling, and when she found her voice, it sounded gratifyingly calm and matter-of-fact. ‘There’s so little to tell. You must know it all already.’ This was her usual glib evasion of a ‘tell all’ invitation, but her resolve was undermined when she looked up into those searching dark eyes. How right she had been to be wary. Writer’s eyes, she decided sarcastically, forever trying to find copy for his novels. As bad as the paparazzi, always probing into personal secrets for financial gain. ‘And mostly so very boring,’ she finished.
A certain amount of truth in that. So many years huddling over a knitting machine added little sparkle to one’s personality, especially when all one’s contemporaries had been out doing the clubs.
‘That I find hard to believe.’
‘No, I promise you.’ Reluctantly she dragged her eyes away, looking about her with an air of determined and slightly desperate enjoyment, searching for some banal comment and failing, resisting his attempts to pull her closer, then feeling foolish when there was a near collision with another couple.
Easy to interpret that raised eyebrow as speaking volumes. No, he was assuring her, I’m not the least bit interested, so don’t let your imagination run riot. And she blushed spectacularly as if she had been truly reprimanded, then was startled when his amused voice did interrupt her thoughts.
‘Do you come here often?’ It was an attempt at humour which deserved no reply but he was persistent. ‘Now it’s your turn to say something. I have asked you if you come here often, now you must make some remark about, say, the music, or—’ An abrupt stop as again he apologised to another couple—an excuse to hold her closer for a second.
But it was hard to remain aloof when he was speaking so like a character from her beloved Jane Austen. She glanced up in mocking reproach. ‘You stepped on my foot, Mr Congreve.’ Then it was too much for her, she smiled, and her whole personality was illuminated, transformed.
‘There.’ It was a moment before Ben spoke, a moment when his eyes held hers with dismaying warmth. ‘Just as I was about to give up. But I knew I could amuse you in the end. Despite your prejudice.’ Then, as her expression darkened again, he burst into laughter. ‘You’re not going to pretend, Ellie, that you haven’t been trying to take me down a peg? Just like Lizzie Bennett with Mr Darcy.’
‘You are quite mistaken.’
‘You will never convince me.’ The music ended and they returned to their table, his touch on her arm more possessive than she would have liked. ‘But I would like to know why.’
