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The Englishman's Bride
Sophie Weston


Sir Philip Hardesty, a negotiator for the United Nations, is famed for his cool head. But for the first time in his life, this never-ruffled English aristocrat is getting hot under the collar–over a woman! Kit Romaine is not easily impressed by money or titles; if Philip wants her, he's going to have to pay her.Once Kit agrees to be his temporary assistant, Philip knows he's halfway there. Now he just has to work on making her his bride….









“I won’t come with you as a stand-in mistress,” she told him clearly.


“Kit!”

“But I will come as co-driver and temporary assistant.”

Philip looked at her for a long moment. Then a light began to gleam in his eyes.

“You drive a hard bargain.”

Kit lifted her chin. “Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” Philip said hastily. “Believe me, I’ll take whatever I can get.”

“And if you want more,” she said with sudden determination, “I’m telling you now you’re going to have to work really, really hard to persuade me.”

The chiseled profile dissolved into pure appreciation.

“You’re on.”


Welcome to






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The Englishman’s Bride

Sophie Weston












www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CONTENTS


PROLOGUE (#uef126971-cc6a-508f-aae6-0296c263c2aa)

CHAPTER ONE (#u45540a1b-db0b-55e4-93cd-8fc72b3be9fe)

CHAPTER TWO (#u7a1199e8-80b4-56e6-a88d-9e3efbcebb87)

CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)




PROLOGUE


THE Englishman was deceptive. Even after twenty-four hours, every man in the detachment agreed on that. He might look like a Hollywood heartthrob with his wild midnight hair and haughty profile. But the tall, thin body was as lithe as a cat. And he was tireless.

When they first heard that a New York bureaucrat was joining them on their jungle expedition, they muttered resentfully. But when they learned that he was a member of the British aristocracy as well, they nearly mutinied.

‘Sir Philip Hardesty?’ queried Texas Joe, stunned.

‘I ain’t calling no snotty pen-pusher “Sir”,’ said Spanners. As an Englishman himself, he spoke with authority.

The group decided to take their line from Spanners. And when the man arrived they were sure they were right. As well as his title, Philip Hardesty possessed beautifully kept hands, a backpack that was so new it shone and customised jungle boots.

But he did not use his title. He got his hands dirty without noticing it. When they waded through the river his boots kept the water out better than their own. And there was that tireless determination.

Nothing got him down. Not the evil-smelling insect repellent. Not the stifling humidity. Not the long, exhausting days pushing on through the jungle. Not even the horrible nights.

He did not have their precision training but his endurance was phenomenal. In his quiet way, he was as strong as any of them. He took the long days without complaint. He climbed well when he had to. And when he swung that bulky new pack off his back at rest stops, you could see that his shoulders were dense with muscle.

All right, none of them had wanted a civilian along. Captain Soames had wanted him least of all, though of course he had not said so. The trip was dangerous enough, between the hazards of the jungle and the unpredictable moods of the so-called freedom fighters that they were coming to see.

But High Command had insisted. And for once High Command had been right.

The man even knew how to make a fire—and how to put it out.

‘How did you get into this line of work?’ said Captain Soames as they all sat round the small flames.

It was their last night before they reached the rebels’ camp. All six of the men who had volunteered for this duty knew that there was no forecasting what awaited them at the camp. Rafek, the rebel leader, said he wanted to talk. It was he who had made the first contact. But rebels had lied before.

Philip Hardesty said quietly, ‘Family tradition.’

‘Very British,’ said Australian Captain Soames drily. ‘How long has the UN been going? Remind me.’

Philip Hardesty smiled. ‘Hardestys were meddling in other people’s affairs long before the UN thought of it. We’ve been doing it for centuries.’

It was a smile you remembered. It seemed to light a candle inside a mask. You had been talking to him, getting nothing but impassive logic back—and then he smiled!

Suddenly you felt he had opened a window to you. You could read him! And he was friendly! You felt you had been given a present.

‘I bet you’re good at it,’ said the hard-bitten captain, warming to Philip Hardesty in spite of recognising how the trick was done.

‘There’s no point in doing something if you don’t do it well.’

‘I’ll vote for that,’ the captain agreed. ‘So your family are OK with this?’

There was a tiny pause.

‘No family. Ancestors, yes. Family, no.’

‘Oh.’ The captain was genuinely surprised.

The wonderful smile died. ‘Families need commitment,’ said Philip Hardesty levelly. ‘I can’t do that.’

The captain shuffled uncomfortably. Sometimes, on these small, dangerous expeditions, men confided stuff that later they wished they hadn’t. He didn’t want to be the keeper of Philip Hardesty’s conscience.

But the man was not talking about his conscience, it seemed.

He said unemotionally, ‘You see, the job of a negotiator—a good negotiator—is to see everyone’s point of view. To say, no one is ever wholly in the wrong. Peace is just a matter of finding enough room for everyone to have some of what they want.’

The captain was puzzled. ‘So?’

‘So lack of commitment is my greatest professional asset. The moment I lose that, I’m in the soup. With everybody else trying to reach some goal of his own, I have to stay absolutely without any goals at all.’

The captain thought it over.

‘But surely personal stuff is different—’

‘Not for me,’ said Philip Hardesty, cool and level and just a little weary. ‘I can’t live two lives. What I am, I am all the way through.’

The captain thought, And maybe that’s why this bastard we’re going to see tomorrow trusts him.

‘And that’s why you don’t have a family? I see. Seems a lot to give up.’

Philip shrugged. ‘Family tradition,’ he said again.

The captain hesitated. But the others were either on watch or asleep and confidences seemed to be the order of the day.

‘Isn’t that lonely?’ he asked curiously.

The jungle night was full of noises. Above their heads, a bat screeched. There was a whirr of wings as some predator took off after it.

Philip held his hands out to the fire, though the night was not cold and the fire was dying.

‘Lonely?’ he echoed. ‘All the time.’

Five days later, Captain Soames was responding to reporters in the makeshift conference room at Pelanang airstrip.

Yes, they’d all got out alive. Yes, it had been dangerous. Yes, that part of the jungle was uncharted. Yes, they had brought back some totally new specimens.

‘And now we’re going to publish the map. Which was the aim of the expedition in the first place.’

‘You took UN negotiator Sir Philip Hardesty along with you on a field trip?’ said the local stringer for a group of European newspapers, scenting a story. ‘Do you want to comment on that?’

‘Sure,’ said Captain Soames with a grin. ‘It was a privilege.’

But later, over a beer under the palm trees, he said, ‘The Englishman? Off the record? The guy’s a phenomenon. If anyone can get these lunatics to make peace, he can.’

‘What’s he like?’ said the stringer, intrigued. ‘I mean, as a person.’

Captain Soames lowered the beer can. His face was sober.

‘As a person? He’s the loneliest man in the world.’




CHAPTER ONE


‘ANOTHER satisfied customer,’ said Mrs Ludwig, pushing the envelope across the desk. ‘They wanted you to stay on, of course. Don’t they always?’

‘That’s nice of them,’ said Kit Romaine, pocketing her salary envelope without opening it.

Really, the way that girl ignored money was downright heathen, thought Mrs Ludwig.

She said curiously, ‘Aren’t you ever tempted?’

‘To stay on in one job?’ Kit shook her head. ‘I like my freedom.’

She more than liked it. She needed it. It had taken her a long time to work that out. Now she had, she was hanging on to it like a drowning man to a lifeboat.

Mrs Ludwig shook her head. ‘From our point of view that’s fine, of course. You’re probably the best temp we’ve got. But shouldn’t you be thinking of your future?’

‘I’m strictly a live-for-today kind of girl,’ said Kit firmly. She had learned that the hard way too.

Mrs Ludwig gave up. She looked swiftly down her list.

‘Well, next week there’s a complete spring clean of a house in Pimlico. Owners moving back in after tenants. You’d like that. You’d have the place to yourself. Or Henderson’s Books need cover while their under-manager goes to a book fair. They particularly asked for you, by the way. Oh, no, that’s next month. Oh, hang on—there’s the Bryants again.’ She caught herself. ‘No, that won’t do, you’d have to look after the little girl after school for a couple of hours.’

In spite of what she said, she looked up questioningly. The Bryants were good clients. She’d like to give them the best. In terms of competence and reliability, Kit Romaine was the best.

But Kit Romaine was shaking her blonde head vigorously. Kit Romaine did not look after children. It was the only thing she refused to do.

This Century’s Solutions was a London agency priding itself on being able to find someone to solve any problem, no matter how extraordinary. Kit met the job description brilliantly. She was fit, clear-headed and completely unflappable. She was as at home with an embroidery frame as she was with a computer. Assignments that other people regarded as hopeless were just a challenge to Kit.

‘If there’s a problem, there’s a solution,’ she would say serenely. And take herself off to the library to research the problem of the moment.

There were only two things that Kit Romaine did not do. She wouldn’t take care of children. And she didn’t date.

Which was odd when you came to think of it. A gorgeous girl like that: good figure, perfect skin and the sort of grace that made people turn and look at her in the street. A client had even wanted to use her in a television commercial once. It was a shame to waste all that long, silky blonde hair, or so he had said. Kit had laughed at him. And been adamant in her refusal.

Make that three things that Kit Romaine did not do, thought Mrs Ludwig, sighing.

‘Not the Bryants,’ Kit was saying now. ‘Give me the house-cleaning. A whole week should get me to the end of module ten.’

Mrs Ludwig laughed. ‘What is it this time?’

‘War poetry.’

Mrs Ludwig pulled a face.

‘Sounds grim. Rather you than me.’

‘It’s not all grim, actually. It’s stuff every educated person ought to know.’

Kit was a dedicated self-educator. When she worked alone, she would slap a tape of her most recent subject into her Walkman. Then she could clean or drive or groom or do whatever it was she was being paid to do. And all the time, as she explained to Helen Ludwig, she was increasing her knowledge.

Helen Ludwig, who had two degrees and generally forgot both of them, wrote it off as an eccentricity. It did not get in the way of Kit’s efficiency or the agency reputation, and that was all she cared about.

‘Whatever you say,’ she said, bored. ‘The Pimlico house it is. Pick up the keys here on Monday.’

Kit nodded and stood up. ‘See you.’

‘Have a good weekend,’ nodded Mrs Ludwig, already forgetting her.

Kit went home on the underground. It was crowded on this wet winter night. The train smelled of wet mackintosh and too many people crowded together. But the crowds were cheerful. Everybody partied on a Friday night, after all.

Except me, thought Kit, getting out at Notting Hill and turning north, into the Palladian jungle. She thought it with relief.

There had been a time when she partied every night, desperate to keep up with the in-crowd. It had cost her a degree, her self-respect and, very nearly, her health. These days she was very glad to be a non-party-goer.

Fridays were the nights Kit washed her hair and listened to opera. She had done piano concertos and given up on them without regret. But she still had hopes of coming to like opera.

So much to learn, she thought. So much to experience. Who needed to date?

She ran up the steps of a white stucco terrace house and let herself in. The terrace was elegantly proportioned but, once inside, the house was all homely chaos. Tonight it smelled of joss-sticks and an ominous citrus and cinnamon mix that meant her landlady was brewing punch.

Kit lived in the basement flat, courtesy of her brother-in-law, whose aunt owned the house. She was an ex-ballerina and full of artistic temperament. It was Tatiana who was responsible for the chaos. Tatiana, too, who burned joss-sticks and threw wild parties on a Friday night.

Kit tiptoed past the door to Tatiana’s part of the house. Her landlady was quite likely to demand her presence at tonight’s bash if she caught her. She thoroughly disapproved of Kit’s antisocial tendencies.

‘Get a life,’ she had said as they passed on the front steps only that morning. Kit was coming back from her early swim. ‘The only things you do outside this flat are work and swim.’

‘I’m taking driving lessons,’ Kit had said defensively.

Tatiana snorted. ‘You need to get your hands on a man, not a combustion engine,’ she snapped.

‘Been there. Done that,’ said Kit flippantly.

But Tatiana looked up at her like a wise old tortoise. ‘Oh, yes? When?’

Kit shook her head, half annoyed, half amused in spite of herself. ‘Why do you keep on about it? It’s like living with the thought police!’

Tatiana was not offended. Indeed, she looked rather pleased.

A suspicion occurred to Kit. ‘Has Lisa put you up to this?’

Tatiana sniffed. ‘She didn’t have to. It’s not natural. You only go out if you’ve got an evening class. A girl your age ought to be having fun.’

‘Dating,’ interpreted Kit with a resigned sigh.

‘Having fun,’ corrected Tatiana. ‘Especially a girl who looks like you.’

Kit flinched.

‘Golden hair and green eyes,’ said Tatiana rancorously. ‘And you move like a dancer. You could be stunning if you wanted. Only you dress in potato sacks. And you never go anywhere.’

‘I go where I want,’ said Kit, losing her rag. ‘And wear what I want. If you can’t take it, I can always move out.’

But Tatiana had backed away from the challenge. She had flung up her hands and retreated into her flat, muttering in Russian.

Kit grinned to herself now, recalling it. She did not often win a battle of wills with her landlady. Still, no point in inviting a rematch, she thought, edging down the stairs to her own flat as softly as she knew how.

She heard the phone ringing even before she had the key in the lock. She flung the door open and dived on it, before the ringing could bring Tatiana out of her lair.

‘Hello? Kit?’

‘Lisa?’ said Kit incredulously. Her sister was supposed to be in a tropical paradise, holidaying with her naturalist husband while she recuperated from a series of winter infections. ‘What on earth are you doing ringing me? You’re supposed to be relaxing on a palm-fringed beach.’ And then, quickly, ‘There’s nothing wrong with Nikolai, is there?’

‘I wouldn’t know. I hardly see him.’ Lisa’s voice sounded as if she were at the bottom of the ocean. It did nothing to disguise the waspish tone.

‘Oh,’ said Kit, feeling helpless.

‘He told me the hotel was hosting a conference about local conservation and he might look in. I thought he meant he was going to go to a couple of talks. But he’s there all the time. And now he’s agreed to speak.’

Kit knew Lisa. From the sound of it, her sister could hardly contain her rage.

‘And the damned hotel is empty except for men at conferences. What genius ever went and built a super de luxe hotel on the edge of a war zone? I ask you!’

‘War zone?’ repeated Kit, alarmed.

Lisa sounded impatient. ‘Seems to have died down at the moment. That’s the reason for all the conferences, I gather. But no one in their right mind would come here for a holiday.’

Kit looked at her dark window onto the lavish communal gardens that the terrace shared. The rain lashed at it.

‘If you’ve got sunshine, you’ve got a holiday,’ she said firmly. ‘You don’t even want to think about what London is like tonight.’

Lisa said rapidly, ‘Then come and share it with me.’

‘What?’

‘Why not? Come and keep me company.’

‘Oh, come on, Lisa. I’ve never liked playing gooseberry.’

Lisa gave a hard laugh. ‘You wouldn’t. I never see Nikolai. That’s the trouble. There’s nobody to talk to. And damn-all to do.’

Kit kicked off her shoes and curled her legs under her. She stuck the telephone under her ear and leaned forward to turn on the fire.

‘Hey, hang on. It can’t be that bad. No grey skies. No puddles. And you’ve got leaves on the trees. Who needs anything to do when they can laze on a beach?’

There was a pause. Not a comfortable pause.

What on earth had happened? thought Kit. The last she had heard, Lisa and Nikolai could not wait to get away together. Lisa had had a series of mysterious viruses in the weeks running up to Christmas. They had left her weak and wan and uncharacteristically tearful. And Nikolai had been continent-hopping most of the year. This tropical holiday was supposed to get them some quality time together.

Now only four days into the holiday, Lisa could hardly speak her husband’s name without spitting.

‘Anyway, holidays in a tropical paradise are not in my budget,’ said Kit into the silence. There was a hint of desperation in her voice. ‘I can’t afford it.’

‘I can.’

There was no doubt about that. Lisa was head of trading in a London bond-dealing room. Her annual bonus alone made Kit’s eyes water.

But she still said, ‘You’ve done enough for me over the years, Lisa. I’ll pay my own way now that I can.’

‘But you can’t afford a tropical holiday and I—need you here,’ Lisa added, so softly Kit could hardly hear her. ‘I really need some support, Kit.’

Oh, lord, thought Kit, startled. What’s going on here? She had never heard Lisa say she needed support in the whole of her fast-paced life.

‘Come and keep me company, Kit.’ Her voice was tight. Kit knew that note. It meant Lisa was determined not to cry. And then, the controlled voice cracking, ‘I’m so lonely.’

Kit was too shocked to say anything.

‘There’s a flight on Sunday. I’ve booked you on it provisionally. At least think about it.’

She rang off without saying goodbye.

Kit paced the room, disturbed.

Had Lisa and Nikolai fallen out? But why? Lisa’s husband was an aristocrat and the Romaine sisters came from the wrong side of the tracks. A long way on the wrong side of the tracks, as Lisa had once told him.

Lisa had got her education and her high-profile job entirely by her own efforts. Yet that had never seemed to be a problem before. If she’d been asked, Kit would have said Count Nikolai Ivanov was more in love with his raggle-taggle wife now than he had had been when he married her.

But on the phone just now Lisa hadn’t sounded like a loved wife. And Kit loved Lisa. She was more than a sister. She was Kit’s best friend.

Maybe this was the time to sink her principles, after all.

She was still wavering when there came a tap on the French window.

Tatiana, thought Kit. Normally she and her landlady had a slightly edgy relationship. Tatiana thought Kit was boring at best; at worst, a passenger clinging to her successful sister’s coat tails. Kit thought Tatiana was an eighty-year-old delinquent. But they met on their affection for Lisa.

So Kit opened the door with unusual enthusiasm.

‘Lisa has spoken to you,’ said Tatiana, recognising the enthusiasm and diagnosing its source with accuracy.

‘Yes. I’m worried.’

‘So am I,’ admitted Tatiana.

To Kit’s astonishment she sat on the sofa and made herself comfortable without once complaining about Kit’s pale cushions. Tatiana liked her furnishings bright.

‘She sounded wretched,’ said Kit, biting her lip.

‘When did you talk to her?’

‘Just now. She wants me to go out there.’

Kit waited for Tatiana to say, Don’t interfere. Tatiana thought the only person who was allowed to interfere in the affairs of Lisa and Nikolai was herself. But she didn’t.

The vivid, lined face creased into an expression of profound foreboding.

‘You talked to her now?’

Kit nodded. ‘I just put the phone down on her. Or rather she put the phone down on me. She sounded really upset.’

Tatiana’s monkey face looked as if she was about to burst into tears. ‘Do you know what the time difference is?’

Kit was bewildered. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘It’s seven o’ clock here. That makes it three in the morning at Coral Cove,’ said well-travelled Tatiana Ivanova. ‘Three. And she’s calling you. Where’s her husband, for goodness’ sake?’

Kit stopped her pacing, shocked.

‘No wonder she sounded so—fragile,’ she said, almost to herself.

‘You’d better go,’ said Tatiana. Adding, with that practicality that Kit always found so disconcerting, all mixed up with the crystal-balls philosophy and the joss-sticks, ‘Do you need some cash?’

Kit shook her head. ‘Lisa’s booked me a ticket and paid for it. And I haven’t used my credit card for anything this month. I’ll be fine.’

‘You’ll need a tropical wardrobe,’ said Tatiana, who thought clothes were the window of the soul.

Kit shrugged.

Tatiana bounced off the sofa. ‘You are impossible. Look at you. Wonderful golden hair, wonderful skin, pretty face. You’re tall and as slim as a model. Why on earth aren’t you out there buying disgracefully short skirts and giving everyone a heart attack with your skin-tight tops?’

Like Lisa.

Neither of them said it. They both knew what Tatiana meant.

Kit said more sharply than she meant, ‘Just stop it, Tatiana. I dress the way I like.’

Tatiana brooded. ‘Well, at least get yourself a swimsuit. I saw some pretty bikinis in—’

Kit went rigid. ‘No bikinis,’ she almost shouted.

Tatiana stared.

‘I’ll get a one-piece from the sports shop,’ Kit said in a more moderate tone.

‘And some shorts. And light tops. You have no idea how hot it’s going to be,’ Tatiana warned her. ‘Something respectable to wear in the evening. Oh, and a straw hat to keep your head covered in the sun. Coral Cove is on the Equator. You have to be careful. Blondes more than most.’

‘Thank you for the advice. But won’t I be able to buy straw hats and stuff there?’

Tatiana snorted. ‘This is not a teen beach club, you know. There won’t be hot-dog stands and market traders. Nikolai said Coral Cove was one of the most sophisticated hotel complexes in the world.’

Kit narrowed her eyes at her. ‘So?’

Tatiana was unimpressed by the dangerous glint. ‘You’ll feel out of place if you don’t dress properly,’ she warned impressively.

‘Well, it’s an empty sophisticated hotel complex at the moment,’ said Kit, refusing to be impressed.

‘All the more reason to keep up the proper standards.’

‘Tough toenails. I don’t suppose I meet their standards in the first place.’

Tatiana sighed. ‘You have such a chip on your shoulder, Kit.’

‘Only when I’m around people who rabbit on about proper standards,’ said Kit dangerously.

Tatiana gave up. She turned to go.

The French window swung gently. An elegant white paw, like an arm in a long evening glove, appeared round it.

‘That cat,’ said Tatiana with disfavour.

Kit chirruped at it. The paw pointed daintily and was followed by the rest of the animal. A small brindled cat oozed round the door and leapt for the rug in front of the fire. It began to wash itself rapidly. Kit smiled.

‘Cats,’ muttered Tatiana. ‘Anyone would think you were a hundred, not twenty-two.’

‘She’s only visiting.’

Tatiana cast her kohl-rimmed eyes to heaven. ‘You ought to be having visitors who are tall, dark and handsome and make you rethink your position on bikinis.’

Kit shook her head, impatient. ‘Oh, not that again. Why does it matter to you what I do with my life?’

‘Because you’ve only got one,’ said Tatiana forcefully. ‘And I can’t bear waste.’

There was a fraught silence. Kit was the first to look away. She bit her lip.

Tatiana did not know the horrors that sometimes rode Kit, when the nights were long and she couldn’t sleep. Even Lisa did not know all of them. But Kit had some very good reasons for her position on bikinis. And tall and handsome visitors were definitely not welcome.

She said with difficulty, ‘Look, I know this doesn’t fit in with your world view, Tatiana. But not all of us are brave enough to go everywhere and experience everything.’

‘Bravery has nothing to do with it.’

‘Oh, yes, it does,’ said Kit quietly. She faced her simmering landlady squarely. ‘Believe me, I do the best I can. But I’ve done the tall, dark and handsome visitor bit, years ago. Didn’t work. In my experience men just tear your heart out. And, when they’ve finished that, they mess with your head. I’m not brave enough to go through it all again. And that’s the honest truth.’

Tatiana was silent for a moment. Then she nodded sadly. ‘All right. It’s your life. So it’s your business. But you’ll go to Coral Cove?’

Kit nodded. ‘I’ll go.’

Lisa was waiting at the small airport. Kit thought she would break, Lisa hugged her so convulsively.

‘You came. God bless you, Kit. Was it difficult to get time off?’

Kit grinned. ‘On the contrary. The clients fell on my neck when they heard they’d got another week to clear the house before I move in with the industrial cleaning machinery. I’m their favourite person.’

Lisa heaved her roll-bag over one shoulder and linked arms with her.

‘I’m really grateful, honest,’ she said soberly. ‘I know it was a lot to ask.’

‘Oh, yeah, really tough. A whole week at your expense on a private tropical island with cordon-bleu cooking. Only a genuine saint would sign up for that one,’ said Kit drily.

Lisa sighed. ‘Well, it’s not as great as it sounds. The gardens are pretty and the sea is warm. And, when you’ve said that, you’ve said everything. I hope you’ve brought plenty to read.’

Kit looked at her ironically. Lisa laughed.

‘Yes, of course you have. What is it this month? Russian?’

‘War poems. But I’ve brought some paperbacks as well,’ Kit said reassuringly.

‘Thank God for that. I’ve read all mine.’

Lisa led the way out into a blazing heat so strong that Kit gagged. She put up a hand to shade her suddenly dazzled eyes. Lisa sent her a quick, remorseful look.

‘I hope you brought sunglasses. I didn’t think to tell you.’

‘Neither did Tatiana,’ said Kit ruefully. ‘Though she made me bring a cocktail dress.’

Lisa stared. ‘A cocktail dress? You?’

‘She’s very strong-minded when she gets going.’

Lisa gave a crack of laughter. ‘I remember.’ She hugged Kit. ‘Oh, it’s so great to see you. We’ll get you some shades and the local insect repellent and then we’re on our way. A new experience for you—you get to ride in a helicopter.’

Coral Cove took Kit’s breath away. It sat in the sunlit ocean like a toy island. But as the helicopter came in over the land she made out huge trees, great gashes in the forest cover where rivers had carved their way in their path to the sea, and even—She leaned forward, entranced.

‘Is that a waterfall?’

‘Probably,’ said Lisa, unexcited. ‘Nikolai and I have got a little one just above our cottage. There’s quite a big one about half an hour’s walk from the main hotel garden. We’ll go up there this evening, if you like.’

Kit sat back in her seat with a sigh of perfect pleasure.

‘Sun, sea and waterfalls,’ she said blissfully. ‘I forgive Tatiana for the cocktail dress. I forgive Tatiana for everything.’

But that evening they did not walk to the waterfall. That evening Lisa was locked in her room not speaking to anyone. And Nikolai, having welcomed Kit through gritted teeth, had gone back to his conservationists.

Kit looked into the ferociously formal dining room, thought of the little black and silver number that Tatiana had thrust into her bag, and decided that she would pass on dinner. On the other hand, while everyone else was dining she might be able to swim undisturbed in the delectable lagoon she and Lisa had explored earlier.

‘They have swimming stuff if you haven’t brought anything to swim in,’ had said Lisa, who knew her sister very well.

‘No. I have.’ It was not a bikini, in spite of Tatiana’s best efforts, but it would be just fine for swimming.

Kit had been terribly tempted. The water was turquoise. Little wavelets stirred but the sand bars held back ocean-sized waves. It had looked like heaven—except that there were three other people already swimming there. Kit did not take her clothes off in front of anyone, not even to swim.

‘Maybe later,’ Lisa had said with understanding.

And now, thought Kit, looking at the rapidly darkening sky over the lagoon, later had come. Everyone was eating, or getting ready to eat, or still locked in their conference. She could swim safe from fear of disturbance. It was irresistible.

She went back to her cottage and climbed into the one-piece swimsuit she had picked up at the charity shop. Then she pulled on an ankle-length cotton robe and went to plunge into her first tropical sea.

Philip Hardesty’s eyes drifted back towards the great open windows yet again.

Someone was swimming in the lagoon. From his seat on the podium, Philip could see the swirl of phosphorescence. The lone figure cut through the undifferentiated blackness of night sky and water with arc after arc of shooting stars.

It looked wonderful, he thought. Cool and airy and—wonderful.

His shirt seemed to be sticking to him. Unobtrusively—or at least he hoped it was unobtrusive—he ran a finger round the inside of his collar. If only he could loosen his tie.

The hotel conference room was unbearably hot. Even with the old-fashioned ceiling fans twirling at full speed, and all windows onto the terrace flung wide open, the air seemed to hover like a storm cloud. Of course, the television lights did not help, he thought fairly. He was always fair. It was his profession.

Just at the moment his profession required him to sit behind this array of microphones, telling half-truths in the hope that people believed them sufficiently to stop killing each other. So he dragged his gaze back from the lone swimmer and nodded courteously to the next journalist.

‘Your question, Herr Dunkel?’

He knew the man. He had faced him at Press briefings like this in three separate countries in the last year alone. His question was a good one. A German, the man had twenty years more experience than Philip.

But then, everyone in this room probably has more experience than I have, Philip thought. And I’m so tired.

For a moment his confidence faltered. But then he pulled himself together. Everyone was looking at him. If he didn’t have confidence in the peace negotiation that he was just putting in motion, who would?

And Dunkel’s question deserved an answer.

Philip took a moment to consider. Then answered swiftly and fluently, as he always did.

Beyond the French windows, the lagoon stretched and sighed. It beckoned him like a playful animal. Or a dark angel.

Philip ignored it and took another question.

And another. And another.

Until at last the Press conference was over and his local minder was steering him towards the banquet.

The next performance, thought Philip. More diplomacy disguising desperation, more half-truths. More hope against hope. More anger behind the smiles. More pretence. He felt deathly tired.

‘Give me a moment,’ he said to his minder, with that gentle courtesy that never faltered, no matter how many people were losing their tempers at the negotiating table. ‘I’d like a breath of air.’

The man switched stride. Philip stopped him.

‘Alone, if you wouldn’t mind.’

The man gave him a wide grin full of gold teeth, and nodded.

‘Bar is over that way,’ he said helpfully.

He gestured away from the lagoon towards a great circular swimming pool. It was floodlit and there was a thatched bar beside it. Philip thanked him. But he did not look at the well-illuminated path to the pool. Instead he looked longingly out to sea.

He nodded to the man and stepped through the French windows.

At once the tropical night embraced him. The air was hot and sweet, heavy with the scent of trumpet vines. He breathed it in, luxuriating.

Philip glanced up. The swathe of silent stars shimmered. There were millions of them, frosted droplets suspended from a gigantic spiral. He could see the sky turning…turning…He shut his eyes, dazzled.

In the big reception room behind him everyone was talking. It reverberated like a drum. Philip winced and opened his eyes.

I must get away, he thought urgently. Even five minutes would make all the difference.

A pebble-edged pathway skirted the gardens and led out to a sand bar that curved round the lagoon. He took it, walking quickly. The sounds of the busy hotel receded.

At the junction with the sand bar, he stopped and listened: cicadas, falling fruits, the soft lull of the water and his own breathing. No voices; no demands. He let out a long, savouring breath.

The lone swimmer was still out on the reef. Only now she was diving, her body curving into a pure arc before straightening to enter the water, taut as an arrow. Luminescence exploded around her. She bobbed up to the surface and pushed back her sopping hair.

Obviously she thought she was alone. She waved her arms above her head, laughing aloud. Then, quick and supple as an otter, she tumbled into a couple of mischievous somersaults. They set up a sparkling wheel of phosphorescence for a fraction of a second.

The whole picture was physical delight incarnate. Philip realised he was smiling.

He looked back at the hotel. He had to go back; the banquet was just another stage in the peace negotiations. He had to chair it, just as he had chaired the meeting for the last three days. Just as he would chair the next week’s round upon round of talks.

But the girl’s uninhibited game in the water reminded him that it was a long time since he had done anything for the sheer joy of doing it.

He turned his back on the talk and the banquet and went out along the palm-fringed spur of impacted sand. It curved round the lagoon like an embracing arm. As he walked he could see the stardust trail that the swimmer was making above the water. She was streaking back to land. They would reach the end of the sand bar at the same time.

Just five minutes, he promised himself.

The girl got there first. She must have heard his approach. She trod water, turning towards the sound.

‘Who’s there?’ Her voice was husky, hurried, a little alarmed. ‘Lisa?’

It was not fair to alarm her, just for the pleasure of watching her carefree play in the water. And he was, he reminded himself with faint bitterness, always fair. Wasn’t he?

Suppressing his reluctance, Philip stepped out of the shadow of the palm trees. ‘No.’

She drew a little startled breath. He supposed she would be justified in being fearful at the sudden appearance of a solitary stranger. This hotel was on the edge of a war zone, after all, for all its international luxury.

He said in his calmest voice, ‘Don’t be afraid. I’m staying here. Just taking a walk before dinner.’

‘Oh.’

The calm tone worked its usual magic. Her alarm appeared to subside. She trod water, her head on one side.

‘Are you a naturalist?’

Philip hesitated. It was a long time since he had been with anyone who didn’t know exactly who he was, why he was here and what his attitude was going to be to any subject that might be raised. Now he realised that he would relish anonymity, however brief. He didn’t answer her question.

She swam towards him. Her languorous strokes set up sparkling fireworks in the water. He went onto one knee and leaned down to stir the lagoon as it lapped softly against the sand bar. It glittered, swirling.

The girl reached him. She looked down at the underwater sparklers, laughing.

‘Crazy, isn’t it? I don’t know what makes it do that.’

‘Bio-luminescence,’ said Philip.

She stood up. The water reached her waist, rocking gently. She moved with it, seeming wholly at one with the water.

‘What?’

‘Micro-crustacea. They give off light the way fireflies do on land.’

‘Really?’ She was polite but not quite certain that he knew what he was talking about.

Philip grinned unseen and decided to pull the stops out to impress her.

‘Unless they’re euphausiacea. In that case they have built-in searchlights,’ he told her, deadpan.

She was not easy to impress.

‘Are you laughing at me?’

Good girl, thought Philip, surprising himself.

‘No. You can look it up. Try eucarida in the encyclopaedia and work from there.’

He could see that she would do exactly that.

‘Eucarida,’ she said, committing it to memory. ‘How do you know that? Are you here with the conservation group?’

Conservation group? Philip hesitated. He vaguely remembered the security report on the other groups in the hotel. Now he thought about it, he was not surprised. This was an area that was rich in uncodified species as well as wild men and wars.

‘No,’ he said regretfully, ‘I’m not with the conservation group. But once—a hundred years ago—I thought I might be a marine biologist.’

She tilted her head in the darkness. It was a perfect shape, under the long mermaid’s hair that curved onto her shoulders. Her shadowed body looked as if it had turned smooth and streamlined in the sea, so that was the element to which it now naturally belonged. He had a sudden almost overwhelming longing to run his hand down that smooth curve from the crown of her head to her unseen toes.

But she was saying, amused, ‘A hundred years ago? You don’t sound that old.’

Philip was disconcerted. In spite of the darkness—or maybe because of it—she seemed to sense it. She laughed again and began to dance a little in the water.

‘You’re not that old, are you?’ she teased.

She had a husky voice with a slight catch in it, as if she was constantly on the brink of tears or laughter. It fascinated him.

‘What makes you say that?’ he parried, wanting to keep her talking. Even though she could not see him, he smiled at the beguiling shadow.

‘Well, if you were, you wouldn’t be standing here talking to me, wishing you were in the water too,’ she said softly.

This time he was more than disconcerted. He was struck to the heart. He had not known he was wishing any such thing. But he was. He was.

Philip’s smile died.

I can’t afford this, he thought.

The girl did not pick up his turmoil. She did a little boogie on the spot. Those unseen toes were deliberately stirring a thousand shooting stars into zipping through the turbulent water.

‘Come on in. It’s lovely and warm.’

Oh, but he was tempted. He could not remember ever being so tempted before. To slip out of the grey suit, the tie and the good manners and slide into the water with her. To swim and play like seals. Not responsible to anyone. Not responsible for anyone. Just abandoning himself to the moment and the lovely, uncomplicated girl.

He was already discarding the lightweight grey jacket, standard garb for negotiators in tropical climates, when she put both hands on the sand bar and lifted herself out of the water. The water streamed off her in an unearthly glow. Long legs, long hair, limbs that were supple and warm and headily female. Philip’s body responded instantly and unequivocally.

She was unaware of that too.

‘They leave the swimming stuff in a hut under the trees.’

‘Do they?’ His voice sounded odd even to himself.

‘Yes, it’s amazing. Like a tree house only on the ground. There were a lot of sky-blue birds with tails like saloon dancers’ skirts zipping around it earlier.’

‘The Asian fairy bluebird,’ said Philip, in his most detached tone. His palms were wet. He clenched them, fighting for self-control. ‘You’re very observant.’

How long before she observed the effect she was having on him?

He saw a flash of white teeth in the darkness. ‘Thank you,’ said the husky voice, laughing. ‘Come on. I’ll show you where it is.’

For a moment he had a vision of them both swimming, playing out in the bay as she had been doing earlier. It was so clear, that vision. It was as if he had always known there would be this night, this moon, this girl.

If only—

Then the accustomed discipline struck. It staked him to the ground like fallen masonry after an earthquake. Remember your duty, his grandfather would have said.

Duty. Dignity. Appropriate behaviour. Good judgement. Responsibility.

‘No,’ he said in a strangled voice.

‘But it’s just over there.’

‘No.’

He had better command over his voice now, though he stepped unobtrusively away from her damp body. She was silver in the moonlight.

All he could think of was that she must not detect the effect she was having on him. That it would spoil a perfect moment.

‘I’d better not. I’ve played hooky long enough.’

She seemed disappointed. Blessings on her beautiful, spontaneous head, thought Philip. She actually wanted him to enjoy himself.

‘Not even for five minutes?’ she coaxed, that enchanting catch in her voice making it sound as if she really cared; as if her disappointment was real.

His head was still whirling. But his self-command was practised and he could switch it on at a moment’s notice.

‘Not even for five minutes,’ he said regretfully. ‘In fact, I must go. They’ll come looking for me if I don’t get back.’

‘Oh.’ More than disappointed; almost bereft.

He allowed himself to take her hand. Her fingers were long and slim and surprisingly warm after her swim.

‘Anyway, I’ve had my indulgence for the night,’ he said teasingly. ‘I met a water nymph.’

Her hand twitched in his.

Philip was annoyed with himself. Now, why did I say that? It makes me sound like an elderly classics master.

Maybe it was to prove to himself as much as her that he was not an elderly schoolmaster that he forgot about not spoiling the perfect moment. Hardly realising what he was doing, he pulled her towards him.

He heard her startled breath. He felt smooth shoulders and the damp stuff of her swimsuit over the glorious warmth of breast and hip. He felt bone and muscle and curving flesh. Even then, he might have stepped away.

But then he felt her response.

For a tiny second she was his, mouth to fierce mouth.

Then, like water, she slid out of his arms and dived back into the lagoon, powering away for the open sea.

Behind him, there were voices.

‘Sir Philip? Are you there?’ The minder, slightly ruffled, as if someone had taken him to task.

‘Are you all right, sir?’ That was his aide. Presumably the one doing the taking to task.

And the restaurant manager. ‘Can we seat the guests now, sir? We can start to serve the meal as soon as you like.’

Responsibility! Here it comes again, thought Philip. Back in the cockpit and off we go for another trip round the same old sticking points.

But they were his sticking points. And his responsibility.

He turned and went to do his duty.

But he sent a last, lingering glance after the silver trail flickering away from him, never to return.




CHAPTER TWO


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!




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