'Don't worry—I know it's a hell-hole. We'll preserve it as an interesting relic, and build a modern one elsewhere.'
As he spoke something made her glance down. A second later she was recoiling with horror at the sight of a scorpion rearing its sting not two inches from her left foot.
'Ash!'
Instinctively she turned and clutched him.
His arms closed round her. He lifted her, swung her aside, and crushed the insect under the heel of his boot. Instead of putting her down, he then carried her out of the kitchen into the paved yard beyond.
'Sorry about that, but I don't think you need to worry that you're going to encounter them frequently. That's the first one I've seen here.'
Slowly he set her on her feet, still holding her close to his body, her breasts crushed against his hard chest, her arms trapped inside his arms.
'Thank you, but . . . please ... let me go,' she begged, in a soft shaken voice.
'Must I?' His eyes held laughter. 'Doesn't that service merit some small reward?'
Her hands were still grasping his shirt. She opened them, pushing him off, but to no effect as long as he chose to hold her to him.
'Don't flirt with me, Ash. I know it's a reflex of yours to everyone female, but—'
'What makes you think that?'
'Bob said as much, last night. Please—' She exerted more strength.
It was useless. His arms were as inescapable as iron bars. He alone could loosen his grip. Christie could only stand still and protest.
'Bob overrates my prowess because he's a shy man with women.'
'He didn't strike me as being shy.'
'Now with you perhaps. With a girl like Bettina he's tongue-tied.'
All at once his arms fell away, and she stepped back, relieved but ruffled.
Attempting a self-possession she was far from feeling, she said, 'As it's possible that I may be going to work for you, I think it's much better not to ... to fool about.'
'Is that your only reason?'
'What do you mean?'
'That I should have liked to kiss you doesn't mean it was also your reflex. But at least you prefer me to a scorpion,' was his quizzical answer. 'Come: I've something else to show you which I hope will act as a counterbalance to the off-putting aspects of the house. Why don't you wait on the front verandah while I close up the shutters?'
She did as he suggested, leaning her forearms on the balustrade, trying to visualise Heron's Sound in its heyday, and as it might be in the future, given loving attention backed by a good deal of money.
'Where exactly is the drive?' she asked him, when he had re-locked the front doors.
'You can't see it yet, but it's impressive—or will be. An avenue of forty-foot queen palms. It stops some way short of the house, so I think there must have been a large sweep where the carriages used to be parked when the house was
en fete?
At the end of the garden, instead of returning down the goat track, Ash went in a different direction where the slope of the hill was steeper and more rocky.
Watching where she was stepping, Christie did not notice where he was leading her until they were almost at the bottom. Then she came round a large bush and saw a small perfect cove—a half-moon of sand shelving into palest jade water.
'In the days when Heron's Sound was built, people didn't go swimming as we do. The original owners may never have come here,'
said Ash, as she joined him on the beach.
'Why didn't I bring my bikini? It looks so inviting, doesn't it?' she exclaimed regretfully.
'I assumed you had it in your bag. Never mind: you can swim in your skin. I won't look,' he assured her, straight-faced.
'No ... no, I couldn't.' She blushed.
'Okay, then swim in your undies. You told me the other day they were indistinguishable from a bikini at a casual glance. I'm going in myself.' He proceeded to unzip his jeans.
'Did you bring a towel?' she asked uncertainly.
'Yes. We can share it. Come on, don't be a goose, Christiana. I had you in my arms a few minutes ago, and nothing bad happened to you, did it? I'm not likely to go berserk at the sight of you in your underwear. It's too hot for that sort of thing. I'm more interested in cooling off.'
With which he stepped out of his pants, tugged his tee-shirt over his head, and unlaced his short canvas boots. Moments later he was wading into the sea.
Stung by his sardonic tone, Christie tried to make up her mind. Her underclothes consisted of a pair of blue cotton bikini briefs and a no-bra bra of semi- transparent shimmer nylon. The briefs were no problem. The bra was. Once wet, it would be totally transparent.
On the other hand, Ash was striking out for deeper water as if he meant to swim a fair distance. If she splashed about in the shallows, she should be able to dash ashore before he came back to the beach.
She was not altogether convinced by the sarcastic tone in which he had dismissed her reluctance as unnecessary prudery. It was not—as she had already told him—that she considered herself irresistible. Far from it.
It was merely that her own impression, reinforced by what Mrs Jones had told her the night before, was that he was a man for whom women were one of life's pleasures, to be taken, enjoyed, and only occasionally remembered—like a rich meal, a vintage wine, or perhaps an exhilarating yacht race.
She might be nothing special to look at, but she wasn't susceptible to his charm; and she had an intuitive conviction that Ashcroft Lambard was not accustomed to being resisted, and didn't care for it.
However by the time he had disappeared into the wider waters of the Sound, the heat of mid-afternoon was beating down on her so fiercely that it did seem crazy not to have a quick dip.
Swiftly she shed her clothes and removed the plimsolls. Then she hastened into the sea, giving vent to an ecstatic sigh as the crystal coolness refreshed her from foot to chin.
Presently, having first assured herself that there was no sign of Ash coming back, she floated, her arms flung wide, her head so deeply submerged that the water lapped over her forehead.
Through half-closed eyes she gazed at the deep azure sky. Her body was utterly relaxed. It was like King in an invisible hammock, alone in a blue and gold universe, at peace, with no cares, no problems.
And then, as she lay suspended in the shining sea, there was a disturbance beneath her which brought back a phrase from the Guide Map issued by the island's Department of Tourism.
Antigua, which is partly volcanic and partly coral, is surrounded by
superb white sand beaches which are almost entirely reef-protected.
Almost
entirely. Not entirely.
Her slack limbs stiffened with fear. What if this cove was not protected, and a shark or a huge barracuda had cruised in from the ocean? Only a very large creature could have caused that strong swirl below her.
Where was Ash?
Ash—help me!
her mind screamed while her body was frozen with terror. What to do? Oh, God—what to do? The few yards to the beach seemed a mile.
WITH a sudden convulsive movement she stood up and looked wildly round for the creature which threatened her safety.
But there was nothing there. No menacing fin. No long sleek shape under the surface.
A turmoil in the water behind her made her whirl round, her grey eyes dilating. Then a moan of relief escaped her as she saw the brown back of the man who was raking back glistening dark hair, his ribs more clearly defined by the long, deep lung-filling breath of someone who has stayed under water to the limit of their air.
'It was you!' Christie exclaimed, her voice husky.
He turned to her. 'Who else would it be? There's no one around but ourselves.'
'I thought... I thought…'
She heard her voice falter, and felt herself losing her balance as the cove seemed to tilt at an angle. Her head swam. She felt cold and sick.
Then darkness blotted out the sunlight.
"Don't worry, I'm here. You're all right.'
It was Ash's voice, somewhere close by. Christie heard him speak reassuringly to her, and then she became aware of being in a sitting position, but bent forward with her head hanging down between her knees.
'W-what happened?' she murmured bewilderedly.
'You blacked out for a minute. You can sit up now . . . slowly does it.'
With an arm across her chest, gripping her shoulder, he raised her until she was upright. Then she felt his other arm behind her, stopping her from flopping backwards as she felt she might without support.
'I fainted,' she said, in surprise. 'I've never done that before.'
'Haven't you? Well, I don't think it's anything to worry about. It didn't last half a minute. Put your head on my shoulder if you still feel a bit woozy.'
She was sitting on one of his thighs, she found. He was kneeling on one leg, and making a chair for her with the other leg and his arm.
Later, she realised that, had he been a man of average build his head would have been lower than hers. Because of his height—at least ten inches taller than hers—and the fine proportions of his body with a torso to match his long legs, even in this position his eyes were still slightly above hers. Their faces were close, even closer than in the kitchen. She could see herself reflected in his pupils.
'No . . . no, I'm not woozy. I remember what happened now. You'll think it incredibly stupid, but I thought you were a shark ... or something dangerous.' -
Ash lifted an eyebrow. 'There are no sharks here, in the Sound. They live out in the deep water, beyond the reefs.'
'Don't they ever slip through the gaps? There are gaps—the guide map says so.'
'If there was any danger from sharks around here, you can take it from me that I wouldn't be swimming,' he said dryly. 'If it had crossed my mind that you might mistake me for one, I should have surfaced before I reached you. I'm sorry I gave you a fright. I take it you've read or seen the film version of
Jaws?
'No. I don't like that sort of book, or horror movies.'
Feeling better now, she was suddenly conscious of their closeness and her immodest state. Ash had said he preferred beachware which left a little to the imagination. The white bra, now wet, concealed nothing.
'I—I think I'd like to get dressed now.' She was uncomfortably aware of her still-pale breasts exposed by the gauzy material as clearly as if she were topless.
'Yes, a good idea,' Ash agreed.
His free arm slid under her knees and he rose, lifting her up with him as easily as if she were John.
At the moment of fainting she had been at the other end of the cove from where she had entered the water. Her clothes were about twenty yards away.
"I can walk. You don't have to carry me.'
'You're not heavy—not heavy enough. One wouldn't call you a thin girl'—with a downward fiance which scanned her from neck to knee—'but you could put on several pounds without becoming over-plump.'
Christie coloured, and didn't answer. Did he think her breasts were too small? she found herself wondering. They were no smaller than Bettina's. She had a model girl's figure with almost no bosom at all.
Perhaps he found that a fault, preferring more lavish curves.
Why should I care what he prefers? she asked herself sharply, and was glad when he set her down.
He put the towel round her shoulders. It was not a large one like the bath-sized beach towels provided at the Colony.
'I'll turn my back. Let me know when you're decent,' he said.
She took off the bra, dried her top and pulled on the tee-shirt. Then she did the same with her lower half.
'I'm decent.' When he turned round, she handed him the towel.
'You haven't dried your hair.'
'If I do that the towel will be soaked.'
'It doesn't matter. I have my tee-shirt to dry on. I don't need to wear it to drive back. Come here.'
He beckoned her closer. When she hesitated, he stepped forward and began to rub her hair.
She submitted in silence, aware of a sensation she hadn't felt since her father's time; of being looked after. Had Mike made her feel protected? She didn't think so, but she couldn't remember too clearly.
All the time -before they were married she could only see through the dark glass of subsequent experience.
Ash ceased rubbing and slung the towel round his neck. He bent to his neatly folded jeans and took a comb from the pocket. 'Hold still.'
He drew her parting—on the correct side and in the correct place: he must be extraordinarily observant—and began to comb through the tangles left by his vigorous rubbing.
'A pity I didn't bring some coffee instead of a cold drink. But there's rum in the rucksack. A little of that should warm you up.'
Having dealt with her hair to his satisfaction, his next move was to produce a plastic beaker and a small unlabelled bottle which looked as if it might once have contained cough mixture. Now it was full of golden brown liquid.
'I brought this to lace the orange juice in the vacuum flask, but I think it will do more good neat,' he said, as he handed her a tot.
Christie couldn't deny that she was shivering. It was, she supposed, delayed shock. She drank it, turning away as Ash began to dry and dress. The rum did not make her stop shivering. In spite of the heat of the sun, she felt icy and longed for a sweater.
'In the absence of a rug—'
He finished the sentence by putting his arms round her from behind.
Before she knew what was happening, they were both sitting down on the sand and she was between his legs, her back to his chest, his arms folded round and in front of her.
'Don't jump to the wrong conclusion. This is not the beginning of that pass you're afraid of. It's merely the best way of warming you,' he said, close to her ear. 'Try to relax. Take some deep breaths.'
It was like leaning against a radiator, only more comfortable. For a moment or two she did relax, feeling the warmth of his body seeping into her chilled one.
She looked down at his sinewy forearms, the tanned skin lightly covered with dark hairs. His watch, on a stainless steel bracelet, was a complicated- looking Rolex.