much to him. And it certainly wouldn't have changed his life in any
fundamental way.
Whereas for me, nothing would ever be the same, she realised in
dazed wonder. My whole world would be overturned.
In fact, Flynn would become my world. And that's not what he
wants. It's not what either of us wants. And I—I dare not risk it.
I dare not fall in love with Flynn Killane.
She 'covered her face with her hands, and sat for a long time,
without moving, hoping and praying that it was not already too late.
THE first thing that struck Sandie when she opened unwilling eyes
the next morning was the silence.
She sat up, unzipping the sleeping bag and gazing round her. The
weather, it seemed, had done one of its about-faces, and the sun was
pouring in through the windows and spilling in golden pools across
the flagged floor.
The curtain to the bedroom had been neatly looped back, and there
was a mug on the draining board, but apart from that there was no
sign of Flynn's presence.
Sandie scrambled out of the sleeping bag and stood up, pushing her
hair back from her face with sudden unease. It had taken her a long
time to get to sleep the previous night. She'd lain awake for what
seemed like hours, rotating her problems in her mind, trying to come
to terms with the jumble of confused emotion besetting her. But
she'd reached no sensible conclusion by the time sleep deeply and
heavily overtook her. And now a swift glance at her watch informed
her that it was nearly noon.
Why had Flynn let her sleep so long? And why had she woken to
find the cottage apparently deserted? She bit her lip hard, as fresh
anxiety welled up inside her.
Even in the short time she'd been here, she'd become used to the
sound of shared living—his movements, the way he whistled softly
when he worked it.
the kitchen. To wake and find that he'd disappeared, and she was
quite alone, was disconcerting to say the least.
She grabbed underwear, jeans and a T-shirt, and shot into the
bathroom, where she was brought up short by the realisation that his
towel was missing from the rail.
What had happened while she slept? she wondered. Surely
O'Flaherty hadn't returned with the boat already? But what if he had,
and Flynn had decided to leave her here in splendid isolation for a
few days while he returned to the mainland?
Oh, no! she wailed inwardly. He couldn't—he wouldn't!
She washed and dressed in record time, and ran out into the
sunshine, looking almost frantically around her. She called out to
him, but apart from the excited chatter of startled birds, there was no
reply.
Beyond the immediate vicinity of the cottage, the undergrowth grew
wild and thick, and almost shoulder-high in places, but there were
tracks through it, as she'd discovered that first evening. She tried to
remember which was the one which led to the jetty, but they all
looked alike, and she made two false starts before she arrived,
breathless, at the cove. She stood shading her eyes, straining over
the sunlit water for the distant glimpse of a sail, but there was
nothing to be seen, and with a defeated shrug, she walked back the
way she had come.
Or thought she did. She found a clearing, right enough, but there
was no cottage sprawling in the sun, just a tumbled ruin of grey
stones rearing above the grass and bracken.
It's like a nightmare, Sandie thought faintly, as she backed away, or
one of those weird films where everything changes in the night, and
the heroine thinks she's being driven mad.
She tried once again to retrace her steps, only to find in front of her,
at the end of the narrow path through the crowding bracken, the
shimmer of the lake. I'm going in exactly the opposite direction, she
thought in dismay, as she checked.
But just as she was wondering what to do next and telling herself no
one could possibly get lost on an island this tiny, she heard,
somewhere to her right, the faint sound of a splash.
She walked forwards down the path, bending her head to avoid the
overhanging branches of the bushes and small trees which seemed
determined to block her passage, moving quietly in her soft-soled
trainers, and found herself on the edge of the stony beach of another
small cove.
She didn't see Flynn at first, not until he hauled himself out of the
water on to the rocks some yards away, his brown hair plastered,
sleek as a seal's to his scalp.
Sandie felt an overwhelming sense of relief. He hadn't gone. He
hadn't deserted her after all, she thought, taking an impulsive step
forward, her lips parting to call to him. Then she realised with heart-
stopping suddenness that he was totally naked and halted abruptly,
shrinking back into the sheltering trees, aware that she was blushing
like a schoolgirl.
Flynn stood for a moment, lifting his face to the sun, then began to
dry himself, vigorously towelling the length of his lithe muscular
body, and shaking the excess water out of his hair.
Sandie felt as if she was rooted to the spot. She wanted to turn away,
to restore the privacy she'd unwittingly disturbed, but she couldn't.
She'd never seen a man without any clothes on before, or at least
never in the flesh. Her parents had always been reticent about such
matters, and quite apart from her almost ludicrous lack of
experience with the opposite sex, Sandie had never felt the slightest
curiosity about how the other half was made. It was women who
were supposed to be the beautiful, the desirable without their
clothes, she told herself bewilderedly. But Flynn looked—
wonderful, lean and hard and utterly, arrogantly male.
She understood suddenly why the island meant so much to him.
Why someone who lived most of his life in penthouse offices and
hotel rooms in one major capital after another needed his own
domain, where he could be entirely himself, dispensing with the
basic trappings of civilisation.
And all she could do was spy on him—goggle at him like some kind
of awful Peeping Thomasina, she thought in self-disgust, as she
turned silently, and crept away.
This time, the path she took returned her straight to the cottage. She
flew inside, and put on the kettle, before attending to her sleeping
bag and folding up the bed. When he came back, she wanted to
make him think she'd been there all the time, tidying up. The last
thing she wanted him to know was that she'd been chasing all over
the island looking for him—or, indeed, that she'd found him, she
thought, swallowing.
By the time he lifted the latch, she'd spruced up the living-room, and
was pouring water on to coffee granules in two mugs.
'Hello,' she hailed him with spurious gaiety. 'I was beginning to get
worried. I thought you'd marooned me here alone after all.'
'You were sleeping so soundly, it seemed a crime to disturb you.'
Flynn tossed his wet towel on to the draining board and took the
steaming mug she handed him.
'Have you been swimming?' she asked, guilessly.
'I have,' he said. 'The water was wonderful. Why didn't you come
and join me instead of skulking in the bushes like that?'
Sandie wanted the floor to open up and swallow her, but it refused
to oblige. She stared down at the unresponsive flags, hating them.
'I didn't know you'd seen me,' she said in a low, mortified voice.
'I didn't,' he said. 'But when you're used to being alone here, as I am,
you soon learn to detect another presence. And you're no Indian
scout, Alexandra. You Sounded like a regiment of soldiers in full
retreat through those trees.'
'I didn't mean to butt in.' She was blushing to the roots of her hair.
'I—I just didn't know where you'd gone, that's all. I'm sorry.'
'Don't apologise.' He smiled at her, his eyes flicking over her slim,
jean-clad figure in deliberate reminiscence. 'We're only quits, after
all.'
'Yes,' she agreed in a strangled tone, turning away, and fussing with
a tea-towel, 'I—I suppose so.'
'Although I had by far the best of the bargain,' Flynn added with
unholy amusement. 'You were very beautiful, Alexandra, and also
very helpless. I had to call on depths of chivalry I never knew I
possessed before I could let myself touch you.'
'Don't—please!'
'Why not? I controlled myself then, and I've controlled myself since,
although it hasn't been easy, and maybe it's as well that you ran
away just now.'
'You—mustn't talk like this…'
'What harm can words do? For that's all there'll be between us, my
beautiful one, until you decide differently.' He paused. 'I won't take,
Alexandra, so you must give.'
'And if I—don't?' Her voice shook. 'If I won't?'
'Then it's your decision,' he said calmly. 'And in years to come,
when you've confounded us all and become a great piano virtuoso,
you'll wake sometimes in the middle of the night, and ask yourself if
there isn't more to life than music. If there isn't a harmony of the
emotions and the senses that you've missed out on.' Without
changing his inflection, he added, 'Now drink your coffee like a
good girl, and I'll take you fishing.'
Sandie leaned back against the slender trunk of the tree and closed
her eyes. She'd spent the past three hours being scolded, teased,
wildly encouraged and mildly sworn at; her jeans were soaked; she'd
laughed until she was weak, and now she was relaxing, boneless
with contentment, while Flynn stowed away the gear.
If anyone had told Her that standing around up to her thighs in cold
water, trying to coax a fish on to the end of a line, could be such fun,
she would never have believe them, she thought, a smile curving her
lips.
Yet would she have enjoyed such an afternoon so much in any other
company?
Her heart lurched. I mustn't think like that, she told herself. I
mustn't...
'You're looking grim.' Flynn dumped the rods down, and dropped on
to the grass beside her. 'No wonder the fish would come nowhere
near you!'
'That's not true!' Sandie sat up indignantly. 'I caught one. And you
threw it back.'
'It was too young to be away from its mother.' He pillowed his head
on his folded arms, and stared up at the sky. 'Isn't it a glory of a
day?'
'It's been like a dream.'
He turned his head and looked at her. 'The trouble with dreams is
waking up from them. And the real world's never far away, even
here.'
It sounded as if he was warning her. She shivered slightly, as if a
cloud had passed across the sun.
Was it all going to end, then? Would tomorrow bring O'Flaherty and
Graunuaille
? Was that what she was being told?
She shrugged. 'Then I suppose we just have to make the most of the
dream world while it's there.'
'I always do.' Flynn paused. 'Are you cold? Are your clothes still
damp? I don't want you to take another chill.'
'I'm fine,' she said. And physically, she supposed, she was. The virus
had vanished, leaving no after- effects. Her appetite was back to
normal—in fact she'd eaten more than her share of the thick slices of
ham and tomatoes which Flynn had provided for lunch.
All the problems were in her head—and her heart. She wished, for
the first time, that she was more like the others of her generation—
more streetwise and worldly. More experienced. She wanted to be
able to analyse her feelings, rationalise them.
One day, it seemed, she'd been falling in love with Crispin. Now she
was in even deeper emotional turmoil over Flynn.
I don't know what's happening to me, she thought.
It was as if she was caught up in some game, to which she did not
know the rules. All afternoon she'd carried that burning awareness
of Flynn inside her, although their relationship couldn't have been
more prosaic. Any physical contact between them had been brief
and purposeful, and he'd seemed more inclined to yell at her than
kiss her.
He was making it clear that he'd meant what he said, that any move
would have to come from her. Only she didn't know what to do.
'Come on, lazybones.' Flynn was on his feet holding out a hand to
her. 'Let's get back. I have a feast to prepare for us.'
'Fish and chips?' Sandie asked as he hauled her up, and laughed at