Enchantment

ENCHANTMENT Anne Hampson

BROKEN PROMISES, SHATTERED DREAMS Monique was hurt when Miles told her that they had to hide their engagement if she was to follow him to his new job on Grand Cayman Island. It seemed to foreshadow the end of the engagement, and her fears were quickly realised once they reached the island. Yet in Dirk Anderson, Miles' new boss, Monique sensed a potent cure for the ills of her heart. But was he free . . . or pledged to the same woman who held Miles in thrall? Would Monique taste true love, only to have her dreams trampled once more?

Chapter One Monique Thornton picked up the receiver, her eyes moving from the ring she wore to the half-finished letter in her typewriter. 'Holburn, Sayers and Ford.' 'So efficient!' A chuckle came over the line and a tender smile curved Monique's lips. 'Miles! I didn't expect to hear from you at this hour.' Her glance went to the clock above her desk. A quarter past five; she was working late at the request of her boss. 'I took a chance, knowing that you so often oblige Mr. Ford, and knowing I couldn't contact you at home because you don't have a phone.' He paused a moment before dropping his bombshell. 'I'm changing my job, Monique! I'll tell you all about it tonight—yes, I know you weren't seeing me because you had some sewing to do for your sister—' 'I promised to make some curtains for the room we've just decorated. . . .' Her voice trailed off. She did not want to talk trivialities when her fiancé was changing his job, leaving the firm he'd been with since he left college. 'Can it wait? I must see you, darling.' His voice vibrated with excitement. 'It's the most marvellous post and I can't wait to tell you about it. Will Sadie mind if you leave the curtains for another time?' 'No, but—' 'Meet me in the lobby of the Dun Cow at half-past seven and we'll talk over dinner.'

'Miles, wait a minute . . .' The line went dead. Monique wore a troubled frown as she finished the letter. For some quite indefinable reason, she felt uneasy. Miles must know what he was doing; he was level-headed and cautious. Nor did he exhibit that kind of excitement very often. Easygoing and possessed of a charm which seemed to have an inordinate attraction for women, he had swept Monique off her feet. Within six weeks of their meeting, he had all but coerced her into becoming engaged to him, and now all she desired was to become his wife and raise a family. They had been saving hard for just over a year, but both knew that it would be at least another two years before they had saved enough for the down payment on the kind of house they had set their hearts on: a small manor with a few acres of garden and woodland. Monique's uneasiness persisted as she rode all the way home on the bus, and there was a frown on her brow as she entered the neat, semidetached house on the outskirts of Dorchester where she had lived with her sister and brother-in-law since the death of her parents five years ago. They had died in a boating accident when Monique was just seventeen years old. The appetising smell of meat and vegetables being cooked in a casserole met her as she entered the living room; a huge tabby cat rose from the rug and purred loudly against her legs. 'Hi!' greeted Sadie as she came from the kitchen. Her ready smile weakened as she noticed the expression on her sister's face. 'Had a tough day at the office?' Monique began unbuttoning her coat. 'Miles phoned me just before I left.' She paused, suddenly reluctant to tell Sadie that Miles was leaving his excellent post. 'He wants to see me this evening. Do you mind if I leave the curtains?' 'No, of course not.' Sadie lifted her bright cotton apron to deal with the dampness on her hands. 'You look troubled—sort of.' The trace

of anxiety in her voice forced a reassuring smile to Monique's lips. There was no need for Sadie to be worried, especially as Monique was not willing to explain just yet—not until she had seen her fiancé and learned a little more about his plans. 'I'm not troubled,' she said cheerfully. 'It's just that I wanted to get those curtains off my mind.' 'They're not important; they're only for the guest room, after all.' Sadie paused a moment. 'What time are you seeing Miles? Shall you be in for dinner?' Apologetically, Monique shook her head. 'Miles said we'd dine at the Dun Cow.' 'Very nice—rather expensive, though, especially when you're both saving so hard to get married.' No comment from Monique. She supposed that the dinner was in the way of a celebration. A deep sigh escaped her; she was impatient with her depression and with asking herself questions she could not answer. Determinedly, she thrust them all away and concentrated on looking her best, taking time over her appearance after having a shower and choosing what she would wear. Standing in her under slip, she stared into the mirror on the wardrobe door and surveyed herself critically, flashes of memory bringing back flattering comments Miles had made on various occasions. Her hair, he had declared, was like silk spun from pure gold and embellished with sunbeams; her big blue eyes were the colour of newly-opened cornflowers when she was happy and of lapis when she was sad. 'But I'm never sad since I met you,' she would say. 'Sometimes I see a mysterious quality in your eyes that looks like sadness. I always know, darling, when you're thinking of your parents.'

Expressive eyes, revealing what was in her soul . . . Monique's grandmother had said that, many years ago, when Monique was only a child. Picking up the hairbrush from a silver-backed set that was a present from Miles for her twenty-second birthday, she used it briskly while continuing to examine herself in the mirror. Pale, classical features, a high, wide forehead, a small, retrousse nose above a full, compassionate mouth and elfin chin. Miles said she looked no more than eighteen and she had to agree, but then her figure helped, for she was slender and dainty and rather less than medium height. She was prompt for the meeting. No sooner had she entered the lobby of the hotel than she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to look up into the face she knew so well—a handsome face, clearskinned, evidence of the perfect health of its owner. His eyes slid over her in open admiration, the smile on his lips all that the girl who loved him could desire. 'You're so adorable,' he murmured close to her ear. 'What colour is this dress?' 'I suppose you would call it midnight blue, although I daresay the designers would probably have a different, more exotic name for it.' Monique laughed up at him, slightly reassured and no longer quite as uneasy, although she was naturally curious. 'I think that midnight blue's exotic enough—at least it's romantic.' His brown eyes roved from her lovely face to her feet. 'It brings out the colour of your eyes; you must wear more of it, my love." His gaze fixed hers: she smiled tenderly at him as, taking her arm, he guided her past several chatting groups of people towards the dimly lit lounge. 'Let's have a drink first. I've ordered a table for two in a quiet corner where we can be private."

Eager though she was to ask questions, Monique contained her impatience as he conducted her to a table and saw her seated in a deep, velvet-covered armchair. After taking possession of a matching chair opposite to her, he wasted no time in saying, 'I've landed a marvellous job, darling, on a fabulous island in the Caribbean—Grand Cayman—' 'The new post's abroad?' broke in Monique faintly. 'You'd go and leave me?" She stared bewilderedly at him across the low table, on which stood a flickering candle and a vase containing a single rose. 'How did you know of this job . . .?' Her voice faltered to a stop, but then she noticed that Miles was smiling reassuringly at her. 'In no way would I go without you, dearest.' To add strength to the assertion, he leant across and covered her small hand with his. 'Let me begin at the beginning. About three weeks ago I happened to see an advertisement in the Times. It was for a man with "flair and architectural experience" to supervise extensive restorations to an old plantation house in the Cayman Islands.' Miles stopped on noting her expression. 'You applied for a post abroad without mentioning it to me?' She stared disbelievingly, pain and censure in her eyes. 'I don't understand, Miles.' He was about to give their order to the waiter, but he again sent her a reassuring smile. When the waiter had gone he resumed his explanation, supplying her with details to which she listened attentively. He told how he had applied for the post on impulse, not expecting for one moment that he would even get an interview, much less land the job. He had given a brief outline of his experience in redesigning old houses in the country districts around Dorchester, but, because he felt he had little or no chance, he decided not to mention anything to Monique. 'I felt, darling, that

you'd become excited and then, if I failed to impress the advertiser, you'd be bitterly disappointed.' 'Yes, I understand.' But she sounded as if she did not understand in the least. 'You said just now that you wouldn't go without me.' She looked interrogatingly at him, her eyes dark with anxiety. 'Please tell me more,' she begged. 'Well, they were willing to interview me, but I still felt sure I'd have no chance, so I went without telling you. To my astonishment, I found myself on the short list, and two days after the second interview I received a letter—following a phone call—to the effect that I had been chosen for the post. I still made no mention of it to you, Monique, because, obviously, I had no intention of going away without you. It still seemed impossible that I could have the job. At the first interview, the man said that they wanted someone totally unattached—a single man who would devote his entire time and energy to the task in hand. So—' 'But, Miles, you are engaged. ...' Monique's voice faded to silence as her fiancé lifted a hand. 'Let me finish, dear,' he said. 'I knew that I couldn't take you with me in any capacity other than as my secretary, so the request was sent in and, to my surprise, there was no objection to my having my own secretary accompany me. You've worked for me for just over two years, love!' 'I couldn't!' she exclaimed, shaking her head. 'I'm no good at telling lies and you know I'm not.' 'Leave all that to me.' His calm voice, the relaxed expression on his firm, regular features, the way his hand closed over hers ... all these combined to reassure her, to quell the nervous tension that had been building up during his explanation of what had been happening. 'I'm

not expecting you to come into contact with the owner of this plantation house very often, since it is I who am employed by him-' 'But I shall be employed by him, too,' she interrupted swiftly. 'You'll receive your salary from him, but I feel sure that his dealings will be with me. Don't worry, Monique, dear, I'm quite capable of handling the situation. I doubt he'll even be interested enough to question you about how long you've worked for me.' It was some moments before Monique commented, for she was suddenly aware of the uneasiness that had assailed her before. 'The salaries,' she began. Miles spoke before she could go any further. 'The salary's twice as much as I earn at present. Your salary, too, will be excellent.' He paused as the waiter came up with the drinks and placed them on the table. 'We'll be able to save much more than we estimated,' he continued when the man had walked away, 'and be able to marry as soon as we return.' He was eager, excited, yet Monique was unable to catch his mood. 'What is it, dearest? There's nothing to be afraid of.' 'No.' She forced a smile to her lips. 'I think I must be a stick-in-themud,' she confessed, and it was natural that Miles should say, 'Don't you like the idea of spending a year or more on an island in the sun?' 'I feel that . . . that . . .' What did she feel? It was impossible to explain the tremors of apprehension within her, the unfathomable quickening of her heartbeats, the fear of the unknown. 'We've been so happy, darling,' she said at last. 'Nothing exciting's happened, but nothing troublesome, either. It's been smooth riding on an even keel all the way.'

Miles's smile was tender, his voice gentle and patient. 'You'd wish it to continue like that all our lives?' He had withdrawn his hand to pick up his glass. 'We're young, Monique, and without ties; if we're to have any adventures, we must act now, because later we'll settle down and, like any other married couple, have a family and become staid parents. But for the present . . .' He stopped, and his silence became a question. Monique found herself nodding and saying, in that sweetly modulated tone which was an integral part of her exceedingly attractive personality, 'I do understand, Miles, and I know I shall love being on this island, but the initial upheaval . . . I've never even been away from Dorset.' She thought of the green hills she loved, the streams meandering through lush meadows, the quaint little villages through which she and Miles drove on their Sunday afternoon runs out in his car. 'I know, dear,' he said understandingly, 'but that's no reason never to leave it for the rest of your life.' 'Well . . .' She looked deprecatingly at him. 'You can see why I called myself a stick-in-the-mud.' 'I shan't let you be. You're going with me to this island and you're going to enjoy every minute of it. Promise me.' 'I promise, Miles.' Did he realise just how he had planned her life? Not even asking if she was willing to go with him, to give up her job and her friends. Yet it was only for a year, or perhaps a little more, he had said. 'What is this man like?' she asked, feeling the question ought to have come long before this. 'You haven't even mentioned his name.' 'His name's Dirk Anderson,' he supplied, then went on to say he had never met him. 'He wasn't able to come over to London to conduct

the interviews himself, so he sought the services of an agency. But he said he wanted an Englishman, one with experience in renovation and design, as I've already said.' His fine eyes were alight with enthusiasm; he had a reputation for his sympathetic handling of the old buildings he worked on, and Monique was convinced that, had he remained with his present employers for a few more years, his fame would have been such that he could have set up business on his own account. However, he had made his decision, and she knew she would go to the ends of the earth rather than be separated from him even for a month. So she became resigned, and over a wonderful dinner of roast fricandeau of veal with sautéed green beans and baked jacket potatoes followed by banana Lisette, she managed to throw off the last vestige of uneasiness and make her fiancé happy by being her old cheerful self.

Chapter Two The next month was one of great activity for Monique. She gave in her notice, feeling guilty at the consternation of her boss. She explained, but he seemed to think she was foolish not to stay in her job and let her fiancé go on his own. 'If it's only for a year, then it will pass in no time at all,' he had assured her, but to Monique, loving a? deeply as she did, the thought of a year's separation was unbearable. In any case, she knew for sure that Miles would throw up the post rather than go without her. 'I must go,' she said, and at the finality in her tone Mr. Ford had no alternative other than to accept her notice. She became immersed in sewing, making cotton dresses for the warmer climate of the Caribbean; she had to buy a good many things, too, including shoes and evening wear, and now and then she would find herself caught in a net of depression as her savings were depleted. It would come back, with interest, was all Miles said when she told him how she felt. However, in the main, she accepted the change; Miles wanted it, and it was her desire to see that he was happy. He talked to her about the post, and there didn't appear to be any snags at all. She learned that Dirk Anderson was thirty-eight years old, a bachelor who had lived for most of his life in the Caymans. He owned several plush hotels on Grand Cayman, but he was planning to have the plantation house as something different altogether. He wanted it to retain many of its present features; he wanted all the furnishings to be antique. The ten acres of grounds were to be designed as tropical gardens without any sign of formality. There was to be a swimming pool enclosed in flowering bushes and vines, with the existing orchid trees and royal poincianas being incorporated. The patios were to be of white coral limestone, as was the terrace restaurant, which faced a long stretch of dazzling white sand. All this Miles had told her, adding his own

embellishments to the scenery and laughing at the string of glowing adjectives he used. Monique formed a picture of the island by perusing some information sent on to Miles by the man who had interviewed him. He had received this information from Dirk Anderson, who also sent on several photographs of the plantation house. He explained that he would require Miles to remain until the very last of the renovations was completed, and this made Monique suspect that it was going to take far longer than a year. She suggested two years, and Miles had not made any negative comment. Sadie was delighted at the opportunity her sister was getting. 'I'll bet every girl in your office envies you,' she declared. 'Going off to an exotic island, and a marvellously paid job into the bargain.' 'What about when we return?' asked Monique. 'Neither Miles nor I will have a job to come back to.' 'Let that take care of itself, Monique,' and as she had to own that this was good advice, Monique decided to take it. She was silly to go looking for trouble. Miles must already have thought of the future and decided there would be no serious risk in his taking on this interesting opportunity. It was a challenge, he had said enthusiastically, something he had never tackled before. Mainly he had worked on private houses for people who had bought old places and required some modernisation without detracting from the beauty and mellowness of age. This would be altogether different.

The long flight from London to Miami was tiring, but as both Miles and Monique had much to talk about, the hours passed quickly. An hour and a half after they landed they were on another airplane, which would take them to Grand Cayman's Owen Roberts Airport.

There they were to be met by Ian Lawrence, a young man who would be assisting Miles. Lawrence would be his right-hand man, in fact, as he knew where to purchase everything that would be needed for what Monique now realised was to be a renovation of great magnitude. Ian came in a large white car belonging to Dirk Anderson, and after they had left the airport behind they drove west, then north, along West Bay Road with its magnificent hotels and clubs. The driver pointed out their various names to Monique and Miles as they passed. 'It's wonderful,' breathed Monique, turning to rest a tender hand on her fiancé's arm. 'Thank you for giving me this adventure, darling.' All the love she felt for him shone in her eyes, and she was suddenly as eager as he to taste the delights which awaited them, delights which would create memories to be treasured forever, to be told to their children and grandchildren as the happy years went by. Monique was a romantic, and to her it was nothing less than a miracle that any man as attractive as Miles should have chosen her. He could have had his pick; she had known all along that he could have had glamorous Cecille Kershawe, leading actress in the amateur dramatic society to which he had once belonged. Cecille's father was a wealthy clothing manufacturer, and for a while Miles went about with her; but after meeting Monique his interest in Cecille had come to an abrupt end. 'I hope you'll be happy, dearest, and make friends on the island. It's a very mixed group here—but I believe I've already told you about the Caymanians?' 'Yes; they were originally Scots and British, some who had been shipwrecked on the reefs and found a haven here. Then you told me about those who deserted from Cromwell's army, and the Jamaicans who came over to farm the land.'

'There were many more, including Welsh and Irish, and the survivors from a slave ship. All these mingled and intermarried, so there's a fascinating community of people who, as I was told by my interviewer, are the most friendly in the world.' 'I shall love meeting them and making friends, and, although I did not really want to come here when you first told me about this post, I expect I shall be very sad when the time arrives for us to leave.' 'We shall probably come back for holidays.' His voice was tender as he added softly, his arm slipping around her, 'And we'll bring the kids and take them scuba diving.' Love swelled within her in a great wave. She sometimes felt a tiny sensation of guilt for her lack of enthusiasm in the beginning, when she had damped her fiancé's eagerness for the move he was so keen to make. She had never been able to explain her anxiety, even to herself. When Miles repeatedly asked her about it she would usually pass it off, but one day she had said, 'It's just that I sense something unforeseen that will affect us both in some adverse way.' But Miles's soothing and loving words had erased all doubt in the end, for life was good! She adored her fiancé and he adored her. They would enjoy working on the old plantation house. Now, as they drove along the sunlit road, with flamboyant poincianas lining the way, their flaring crimson flowers covering the spreading branches except where the fern-like foliage emerged to wave gently in the breeze, Monique felt that nothing could possibly go wrong on a tropical paradise like this.

The spreading white villa in which Dirk Anderson lived was surrounded by a miracle of colour and beauty. Never had Monique visualised anything so perfect, set as it was on the idyllic Seven

Mile Beach, where long stretches of Australian pines lent their beauty to the exotic scene and provided welcome shade as well. The house glowed brilliant in the sunshine, its embellishments of coral limestone polished to a dazzling sheen, the various corals appearing to stand proud, when in reality the surface of the stone was smooth as silk. Flowers draped every verandah and patio; a fountain cascaded over coral limestone rocks and under a rustic bridge to enter a pool where giant waterlilies grew. There were sleek glossy lawns, colourful parterres, sunken rosebeds and, through an arch brilliant with cerise bougainvillaea, a sapphire swimming pool could be seen. All this Monique took in after Ian had driven along an avenue of royal palms, then swung round to the back of the villa to halt on a semicircular forecourt glistening with gravel made from crushed limestone. White was evident everywhere, providing an impressive backcloth for the vast diversity of colour, which included birds and butterflies in addition to the flowers and the whole gamut of green that constituted their foliage. 'Your ring, dear.' Miles's voice brought Monique from a dream world to stark reality. 'You'll have to take it off. Let's hope Ian hasn't noticed.' She nodded, and it was with a little pang that she removed the ring and wrapped it in a clean handkerchief she had in her bag. I wonder how long it will be before I wear it again, she thought. Why should the removal of her engagement ring cause this sudden tenseness of nerves, this strange, inexplicable uneasiness which was similar to what she had felt before on several occasions? She had known she must not wear her ring while she was here. She was used to taking it off—she did it every night and every time she washed the dishes or did various other jobs around the house. Yet, somehow, this time it seemed different . . . almost as if there was a

finality about the action, and that she would never wear her ring again . . . not ever again. . . . 'Are you still apprehensive about meeting our employer?' Miles spoke as he slid from the car, obviously unaware of her distress. 'I am, a little; naturally,' she admitted. 'How do we know he's going to approve of me?' She lifted her face as he opened her door, having hurried round before Ian could perform the service for her. 'Supposing he takes an instant dislike to me? What do we do then?' Miles gave a gust of laughter. It was plain that he could not imagine anyone taking a dislike to his fiancée. 'He'll love you, just as I do,' he declared. 'Of course, I don't mean that literally,' he added with another laugh. 'I am sure, though, that he will fully approve of the young lady who is my secretary.' 'I hope so,' was her fervent rejoinder. Miles was closing her door and seemed not to notice her words. Ian, of average height and build and with a frank open countenance and ready smile that seemed to accentuate the fullness of his cheeks, gestured towards a door that stood wide open. It was approached by a flight of white marble steps flanked by huge urns containing bougainvillaea vines, which had almost covered the tall columns supporting a balustraded verandah above the porch. 'Mr. Anderson will be waiting to see you. I shall be taking you to your hotel later, when your interview is over.' He preceded them up the steps, the sun glinting on the blond streaks in his hair. Monique's thoughts flitted momentarily from the forthcoming interview to the hotel in which she and Miles would be accommodated in two selfcontaining suites. The hotel—the Latana—was owned by Dirk Anderson, who owned three other hotels on the island. Monique was eager to see the suites because she felt certain that they had been

adapted from ordinary hotel rooms to what were, in effect, apartments. From the correspondence Miles had had with Dirk Anderson, she knew that each suite had a bedroom and a sitting room, a bathroom and a kitchen. There would be two verandahs, one outside the sitting room and one running in front of the bedroom. The Latana was situated on Seven Mile Beach, north of Dirk Anderson's home, and the two main rooms in each suite faced the sea. 'In here.' Ian stopped in front of a door at the far end of the high, wide hall. He knocked and entered, then stood aside for Miles and his 'secretary' to go in. 'Thank you, Ian.' The voice was deep and rich, but with the lilt which Monique was to become used to before very long, because although everyone spoke English, it was invariably in tones which carried the characteristics of the King's English mingled with Welsh, Scottish, Irish and the American southern drawl. With Ian this singsong factor was not pronounced, nor was it very pronounced with Dirk Anderson because he, like Ian, had a basic Scottish accent; it came through, nevertheless, and it was most attractive to Monique's ears. 'You'll wait— but you know that?' Ian nodded, smiled at Monique and quietly withdrew, closing the door softly behind him. The room was a magnificent study containing a massive desk, numerous bookshelves, and some very attractive Chinese bamboo furniture. The carpet was candle-bush gold, the drapes a shade or two lighter. But it was not the pleasant, tastefully furnished room that held her attention as Monique stood beside her fiancé; it was the occupant, a man with broad shoulders and narrow thighs, a man whose magnetism and vitality were so apparent that they seemed to

dominate the entire room. Well over six feet tall, he had the kind of physique that made one aware of its elastic strength, and Monique felt sure that in his younger days he had been an athlete. His eyes, slate-grey and hooded, seemed to be flecked with a tawny brown that not only gave them a shrewd and penetrating quality but lent a certain distinction to their owner. For no reason at all Monique felt her pulse quicken, her nerves tense; it was only with a tremendous effort that she managed to drag her gaze from his. She noticed the strongly marked brows, the crisp dark hair sprinkled with grey, which added an exceedingly attractive maturity to a proud and noble face. She was aware of the lean angularity of his features, made more pronounced by the slight hollows beneath high cheekbones, which in turn lent prominence to the forward- thrusting jaw and strong, determined outline of the chin. His colour was light copper and, thinking of all the races that had mingled and intermarried to produce the Caymanians, Monique could only marvel at the wonders of nature where an amalgam over several generations could result in the superlative qualities which this man quite plainly possessed. Yet it was a formidable face in spite of its handsome lines, the kind of face one could never forget after having seen it once. Monique decided he would have tremendous appeal to almost every woman he met, and she wondered how he had reached the mature age of thirty-eight without having been caught in the marriage net. Surely he must be the most sought-after male in the whole of the Caymans! He came forward with the lithe springing gait of a much younger man, his hand outstretched. Miles took it and then immediately introduced his secretary. 'How do you do?' The tone was courteous, cool and detached, and he studied Monique's face with an intent gaze which seemed to rob her of the ability to think with even a modicum of clarity. She felt

very young and very small, and, for the first time in her life, she felt herself to be in the presence of someone far, far superior. It was an uncomfortable experience, and her only compensation was that he could not possibly know what he was doing to her ... or could he? Those hooded grey eyes were faintly narrowed, and she rather thought she detected a hint of mockery in their depths. 'So you're Mr. Marsden's secretary. How long have you been with him?' It was the question which Miles had said would not be asked. It was he who answered, 'Almost two years.' Monique lowered her lashes, afraid of giving anything away. 'I see.' The very air seemed suddenly to be charged with tension. 'You appear to be very young,' commented Dirk. 'How old are you?' The deep rich voice carried tones of maturity, which added enormously to his attractiveness. 'Twenty-two,' she replied in a low voice. He turned to Miles, speaking as if Monique were not there at all. 'I hadn't expected anyone as young and attractive to be the secretary of a man of your wide experience. ..." He stopped on noticing Monique's start of surprise. She coloured painfully as his straight dark brows rose, for she realised at once that he had spoken matterof-factly, stating a truth in the same casual way he might have commented on the weather. There was no question of flattery; in fact, the thread running through his voice had been one of impatience with Miles's choice of secretary. Monique strongly suspected that, had he known her age earlier, he would have raised an objection, requesting that Miles find someone more mature. It seemed obvious that he considered anyone of twenty-two to be a mere child. Well, she would show him that, whatever her age, she was quite competent to be a private secretary!

'Miss Thornton may appear young,' interposed Miles hastily, on seeing her expression, 'but you won't be disappointed in her work.' Another lift of those arrogant eyebrows. 'Her work is not my concern, Mr. Marsden; she works for you, not me.' Monique's eyes sparkled at his tone, for she was stung by the obvious sarcasm contained within it. Handsome he might be, and possessing an air of superiority and distinction, but he was an insufferable man for all that! He made her feel like an insignificant nobody, and she fervently wished it were possible for her to tell him exactly what she thought of him. His next words did nothing to help her ruffled temper. 'Now that we have met, Miss Thornton, I'll ask you to wait outside; I'll get my servant to take you to the sitting room. He'll fetch you some refreshment if you would like it.' Reaching for a bell-rope, he pulled it. His next words were addressed to Miles. 'I asked you to meet me here as soon as you arrived because, when the interview is over, you'll have the rest of the day to settle into your hotel suite. Tomorrow morning we'll meet at the site; I'll send Ian to pick you up. We can go through a few preliminaries now, and then tomorrow we'll go through the plans I've had drawn up for the outline alterations. But you will be permitted to alter anything you feel is in any way wrong.' His eyes slid to Monique's pale, set face. 'We shan't be more than an hour over our present discussion,' he told her, a remote expression on his angular face. 'However, if you'd prefer not to wait, I can have Ian run you along to the hotel. It's no more than a mile and a half away from here.' Monique hesitated, glancing questioningly at Miles. 'Yes, do that, Miss Thornton,' he advised briskly. 'There doesn't seem to be any sense in your hanging about, waiting for me, when you can be settling in.'

The man who answered the bell came in and was introduced as Waldo; Monique surmised him to be a sort of butler-cumhandyman. 'Take Miss Thornton to the car and tell Ian to drive her to the hotel.' 'Yes, Mr. Anderson.' Monique glanced again at her fiancé, hoping she successfully hid the despondency that had crept upon her. She didn't like Dirk Anderson, and she was certain that her feelings were reciprocated.

Chapter Three Monique was thrilled with her suite the moment she was shown into the sitting room by Aletha, the maid, who had taken over from the porter who had brought up Monique's luggage. Aletha said she would be keeping the apartment clean; she would also cook anything if Monique should decide to eat either lunch or dinner 'at home'. Monique decided there and then that the easiest thing would be to eat in the restaurant, except for breakfast, which she intended taking very early, as she was eager to take a long walk each morning before her duties with Miles began. 'Do you want me to help you unpack, Miss Thornton?' Aletha, rather buxom but pretty, with auburn hair that had obviously been bleached from black and then dyed, was already moving toward the largest of Monique's suitcases. 'I have to look after all the rooms on this floor but I can spare the time to help you whenever you want me to.' Her smile was easy and broad; she spoke as if a camaraderie had already sprung up between them. 'I can manage, thank you,' smiled Monique, wanting to be alone and explore the suite more fully. 'Is there a bell, so that I can send for you if necessary?' 'Yes, over the bed. I go off duty for several hours after lunch, but today I waited for you to come. Mr. Anderson told me to. And now I must wait for Mr. Marsden. He's living opposite.' She gestured. Monique felt happy that Miles would be so close. 'Do you want me to go now?' 'Yes, Aletha. I'll ring the bell if I need anything.' For a moment the girl hesitated, her black eyes on the suitcase she had wanted to unpack. Monique smiled faintly, taking in the smart

brown dress trimmed with beige and the polished shoes. When at last Aletha moved, it was with a stately gait, serene and slow. 'Very well, Miss Thornton.' There was a big smile on her lips but faint censure in her big, widely spaced eyes. 'But please do not forget to ring if you change your mind about the unpacking.' 'I won't,' promised Monique, hoping she had not hurt the Caymanian girl's feelings. The door closed silently and Monique looked around appreciatively. However much she disliked Dirk Anderson, she had no fault to find with the accommodation he had provided for her. It was luxurious and modern, with a divider conveniently placed to separate the large room so that there was a dining area off which a door led to a small but light and modern kitchen. The divider was of wrought iron and draped with climbing plants rooted in attractive brass containers. There were a polished table and two chairs, a small sideboard on which was a gleaming tray with glasses and an ice bucket. In the sitting area were a crimson couch and matching armchair, a side table on which stood a potted plant and a tall-backed fabric-covered chair, standing in a corner against matching drapes. A tall bookcase had one shelf filled with paperbacks; the rest were empty, and Monique thought of the ornaments she had brought with her, small things of sentimental value which on impulse she had decided to pack. They would look attractive against the dark wood; they were mostly colourful china groups—antique, because they had belonged to her parents. The bedroom was done in pale lilac and white, with several pictures on the wall—flowers and birds which Monique guessed were indigenous to the islands. The bathroom was avocado green and peach; the suite itself was green, and the drapes and carpet peach. A potted palm stood in one corner, and a pretty ivy trailed along the wide windowsill.

Monique glanced at her watch, then hastily began to unpack. She showered and put on a flowered cotton dress, low-necked and sleeveless. How hot it was! she thought, when at last she stepped on to the balcony. But she revelled in the sunshine after leaving dull, rainy weather behind in England. Her eyes wandered to the silvery curve of the beach where a few people were lying in chairs, some with huge straw hats pulled over their faces. Beyond the beach the luminous blue sea lay calm and smooth beneath the tropical sky, with the merest hint of a haze hovering above it. Away on the horizon the white sails of a yacht could be discerned, and then a speedboat crossed her vision. It seemed an unreal world to Monique as she let her eyes wander back to the extensive hotel gardens that ran down to the white sand shore. The colour was incredible: the crimson of the royal poincianas; the gold of allamandas beneath it; ixoras and passion flowers; an orchid tree still blooming, although its leaves were dying. Around the dazzling blue swimming pool brightly striped umbrellas lent welcome shade to scantily clad hotel guests as they sat at white wrought-iron tables and sipped cooling drinks or coffee. Yes, an unreal world, a world apart, for Monique had known such scenes as this only in films. She had never envied those people who could bask in the sunny places of the world, but she had often wished she had the means to take a holiday in some exotic place. And now she was here for at least a year. If only Dirk Anderson had been more pleasant. . . . Her musings were cut off by a knock on the door, and she turned swiftly and entered the sitting room. 'It's me; Miles. Are you there, Monique?' She sped to the door, opened it, and a moment later it was shut and she was in her fiancé's arms.

'Oh, but I'm glad to see you!' Monique lifted her face, inviting his kiss. 'It's been a long wait. Mr. Anderson kept you longer than he said he would.' 'Yes, I know, darling.' Miles bent to kiss her tenderly on the lips. 'There was so much to discuss,' he went on excitedly when, after a long moment, they drew themselves from each other's arms. 'Monique, my love, this is going to be a real challenge!' 'You're excited about it.' She smiled tenderly at him. 'Was he all right with you, Miles? I mean, he seemed so superior and distant.' 'You don't like him, do you?' He looked down at her with a slight frown. 'I'm of the opinion that he needs a great deal of understanding.' 'He seemed to take an instant dislike to me because I was young.' 'You look so much younger than you are.' 'Can I help that? In any case, why should he complain when, as he admitted, I'm to be working for you, not him?' 'He didn't exactly complain—' began Miles when Monique broke in with, 'He said he hadn't expected anyone so young to be the secretary of a man like you—and at that time he knew I was twentytwo.' Her voice was sharp, most unusual for her, and Miles drew her slender body to him again, lifted her face, and kissed her tenderly. 'Forget it, my darling,' he advised, 'as it isn't of any importance.' 'No, I suppose not. I shan't be seeing much of him, shall I?' A pause followed the question before Miles said, 'He's invited us to dine with him this evening, here, in the hotel restaurant. He wants

me to meet a friend of his who's an expert in interior design and who'll be working closely with me at various times.' 'I thought you were to be in sole charge of everything.' 'Of course I am. But the actual renovations don't include my being concerned in such things as colour schemes for rooms, drapes and linen and so forth. This young lady has earned herself a reputation, having carried out the interior design of several houses owned by prominent people on the island. She does everything—even to choosing the pictures for the walls and such things as crockery and cutlery—so that all the owners have to do is walk in and unpack their personal possessions." 'It's a lady, you said?' 'That's right. Her name's Olivia Cartwright and she's English. Been here for just over a year.' 'Only a year—and yet she's done all that work?' Miles looked inquiringly at her. 'What's wrong, Monique? You seem . . . well. . . annoyed about this young lady.' Monique gave a small sigh. She had hoped to help her fiancé with ideas and suggestions, as she knew that she herself had a flair for interior design. 'Of course I'm not annoyed,' she hastened to deny as she noticed the crease of anxiety on his brow. 'So we must dine with Mr. Anderson. It's going to be difficult, on a social occasion like this, to keep our feelings for one another hidden, isn't it?' 'I hope we shall succeed,' was his fervent rejoinder as he glanced at his wristwatch. 'Is there anything you'd like to do before we get ready for dinner?'

'How long have we got?' Her glance strayed to the window and the verandah where she had stood viewing the hotel gardens and the ivory curve of the white sand beach. 'About an hour and a half. I said we'd be down at eight o'clock.' 'I'd love to stroll in the gardens and explore; then, if we have time, walk on the beach." She lifted limpid blue eyes to his face; he caught his breath, then shook his head. 'Darling, how I wish it had been possible for us to be married before we came away. It would have been so wonderful to have had our honeymoon here.' Taking her in his arms, he bent his head to kiss her lips. 'If you only knew just how I desire you, Monique. I'd make love to you this very moment if you'd let me.' She drew away, out of his arms, her cheeks suffused with colour. 'We couldn't have gotten married even if we'd wanted to,' she said in low and husky tones, 'because Mr. Anderson wanted a single, unattached man.' Miles nodded, and stood leaning against the door- jamb While she went into the bedroom to comb her hair. 'You look lovely.' He held out his arms and she slipped eagerly into them, nestling her head against his shoulder. 'What is it, dear?' The deep concern in his voice coupled with the tender way he held her brought unwanted tears to Monique's eyes. 'I don't know,' she admitted with a sigh. 'I'm so silly, Miles. I love being here . . . and yet. . .' 'You're tired, sweet. You ought to have had a rest until I got here. Would you like to lie down now?' he added, but she shook her head.

'I want to go for a walk with you.' They went out into acres of trees—dazzling royal poincianas and orchid trees, frangipanis and flame of the forest, fountains and manicured lawns. They wandered alongside an oleander hedge to pass the swimming pool and the round, thatched building called the Rattan Bar, until at length they reached the shore. Monique took off her shoes; the lapping waves were warm to her feet, the sand beneath them soft as talcum powder. The sun was beginning to set, and its slanting rays were already painting the sea with crimson. Soon the entire landscape would be flooded with saffron, then amber; and as the twilight fell swiftly across the radiant sky everything would be hushed in the pearl-gold interlude before the mothy darkness fell and stars sprinkled the Caribbean sky. It was magical, and when the sun did eventually sink below the horizon Monique ventured to take Miles's hand; her lips curved tenderly as she felt the gentle pressure that was, in fact, a caress. 'It's time we were getting back.' Miles's voice was soft, as if he was loath to break the mystic silence of swiftly approaching dusk. 'Yes. Oh, but I wish we could stay out here all night!' 'Not safe, my love,' he warned, a hint of amusement in his goodnatured voice. 'I'd take advantage of you—couldn't help myself.' She managed a light laugh, but her face coloured. Miles's lovemaking was gentle, characterised by restraint and respect. How she loved him! And he was only joking, really, when he spoke that warning; Monique knew she could trust herself anywhere with him. Suddenly she wasn't thinking of him at all, but of another man altogether, the tall, distinguished man with the sprinklings of grey in his hair and tiny age-lines at the corners of piercing, slate-grey eyes. Monique decided that although it would seem he had little interest in

women, she wouldn't care to find herself alone with him in some remote, uninhabited place. 'I'll wait for you in the lobby,' Miles was saying, and she cast the formidable Dirk Anderson from her mind, but only temporarily. 'Wear that midnight- blue dress you had on the night we dined at the Dun Cow. You look lovely in it!' She sighed and nodded, again thinking of Dirk Anderson and wishing they didn't have to dine with him. It would have been so wonderful to dine alone, just her and Miles, on their first night in this island paradise. 'What time shall we meet?' 'About ten minutes to eight. We don't want to keep Mr. Anderson waiting.' Monique was alone in her bedroom a short while later, vexed because her uneasiness had returned and she could not account for it. However, she was able to look radiant when, at the appointed time, she met her fiancé in the lobby. Her face was flushed and happy, her eyes sparkling and her golden hair gleaming. 'You're a sight for sore eyes!' exclaimed Miles, his adoring glance sweeping over her from head to foot. 'Why should I be so lucky as to have an angel like you?' 'I'm lucky, too,' she smiled. 'We're to meet Mr. Anderson in the bar, so we'd better go there at once. Dirk was already seated in a deep armchair, a dark-haired, incredibly beautiful girl reclining in the chair opposite him. Monique paused automatically, struck by a scene which was

reminiscent of an advertisement from a glossy magazine—an immaculately dressed, stern-faced man looking superior, and a wide-eyed, seductive female, impeccably attired and coiffured, regarding each other intently over the rims of their cocktail glasses. An advertisement for some expensive French wine—or was it a liqueur? Monique could not remember. She did remember the background of the gleaming bar and sparkling bottles on mirrorbacked shelves, elegantly dressed people and a dark barman filling a glass with ice. 'Anything wrong?' Her fiancé's puzzled voice recalled her and she went forward. Dirk Anderson, his tan accentuated by the white tropical suit he wore, rose on seeing her, and something totally unfamiliar touched Monique's senses and affected her nerve- ends as her eyes met his. She felt caught, hypnotised, unable to drag her gaze from the piercing scrutiny to which he was subjecting her. There might have been no one else in the room; the real world seemed to fade and with it, all sense of time and motion. All was silent and still as Monique, her head tilted back, remained trapped by the power and magnetism of this bronzed foreigner who himself seemed unable to stir even an eyelid. An age elapsed before those grey eyes moved slowly from her face to her throat, then lower, where they rested for what seemed an unconscionable length of time on the firm, delectable contours of her breasts before sliding to her waist, its neatness accentuated by the princess line of her dress with its tight-fitting bodice and flowing skirt. His eyes continued their exploration until they finally came to rest on her dainty, peach-tipped toenails. Monique sensed, rather than saw, the impatient movement of her fiancé at her side; she saw the other girl lean forward to place her glass on the table and was conscious of a pair of brown eyes turning to look at Miles. The actions of the other two released Monique's tension and she found herself deliberately breaking the silence . . . and the spell

which Dirk Anderson had cast upon her. She marvelled at the calm quality of her voice as she said, 'Good evening, Mr. Anderson. I hope we haven't kept you waiting?' 'You know you haven't,' was his instant and disconcerting reply. He flipped a hand, indicating his companion, and when the introductions were made Monique and Miles sat down. 'What would you like to drink, Miss Thornton?' 'A dry sherry, please.' 'And you, Mr. Marsden?' 'The same,' Miles's voice was short and Monique cast him a swift glance. He seemed angry, she thought, but the impression was dispelled almost at once as, addressed by Olivia, he turned to smile at her. Dirk ordered the drinks and for the next twenty minutes or so the conversation hinged on the plantation house and the projected renovations. Monique was left out, and she just sat there listening, at the same time trying to assess the character of the other woman, to whom she had already taken a dislike. She was far too sophisticated, both in her manner and her speech; there was an affectation about her that jarred, and a consciousness of her own attractions. It was soon plain that she had a penchant for Dirk Anderson, yet her gaze, beneath mascaraed lashes, was openly inviting when it rested on Miles's handsome face. The purring intonation of her voice when she spoke to Miles angered Monique, as did the fluttering of those long, curling eyelashes. By the time they went in for dinner, Monique hated the idea of this girl working closely with Miles. The food itself was an adventure, and Monique regretted once again that she and Miles had not been able to dine alone. They sat at a table for four in front of a picture window framing a scene of

unmatched beauty—the illuminated gardens and the fountain, the pool, lit from underneath, the palms and casuarinas on the beach, waving in the breeze, with the dark unfathomable sea in front and the infinity of the mysterious vault of the heavens above, argent with moonlight and spangled with stars. The master chef provided a gourmet menu of delicious seafood served by impeccably dressed waiters. Dirk's eyes were on her when she lifted hers from the lobster creole she was eating. To her surprise, he said softly, 'What are you thinking about, Miss Thornton?' She glanced at Miles, who was engrossed in conversation with Olivia, sitting opposite him with Dirk on her right. Neither seemed to have heard the question he had asked because they never looked either at Dirk or Monique. 'I was thinking how efficient and courteous the waiters are.' 'I see nothing out of the ordinary in that,' he commented, and it was plain that he took perfection for granted. Monique, piqued by what she considered a snub, lifted her chin and retorted, though in a subdued tone of voice, 'In that case, I ought not to have passed the remark.' The dark grey eyes kindled, yet he held back any rejoinder he had thought of making. Instead, he glanced at Olivia and asked if she wanted her wine glass filled. The glass was still more than half-full, and Monique knew she had been snubbed for a second time. How much more subtle of Dirk to ignore her remark, turning his full attention to Olivia, than to have retaliated in a more direct manner. Monique disliked him more than ever and it came both as an annoyance and a shock when, after the main course was finished, he stood up and asked her to dance. She looked at Miles, but he was

still deep in conversation with Olivia, discussing various aspects of the renovations, and with a feeling of being grossly neglected Monique stood up and slipped into Dirk's arms. He swung her right onto the floor, and as the moments passed Monique found herself elevated in spirit, forgetting her grievance as she followed her partner's lead with a perfection she would never have believed possible. For although she and Miles danced superbly together, she had always been faintly nervous when any other man asked her to dance. She had not expected to glide like this in perfect harmony with a man whose dancing was as superlative as everything else about him. She was vitally conscious of the warmth of his hand on her back, the strong clasp of his fingers enclosing her small white hand. Automatically, she looked, noting the contrast his deeply tanned hand provided, and then she lifted her face to look into his. Only the eyes moved, staring down at her with an unfathomable expression in their depths. Monique felt strange, feathery quivers running along her spine, was bewildered by the rapid beating of her heart, the racing of her pulses. He drew her very close, so that she could not possibly be unaware of the whipcord hardness of his frame, the rock wall of his thighs. Instinctively, she tried to put some small distance between their bodies, but it was his intention that she should not succeed. The mastery of his strength riled her, yet apart from actually struggling with him she had no alternative other than to submit meekly to his will. She was disconcerted, too, by his long, unwavering stare, his eyes expressionless beneath the hooded lids. 'I think we ought to go back to the table,' she murmured awkwardly. 'The dessert will be waiting—' 'The dessert will not be served until I have sat down.' He tightened his hold, pulling her close to his chest in order to miss a collision with a couple whose dancing was far too lively and fast-moving for

the small dance space. 'How do you like your rooms?' asked Dirk a moment later. 'They're lovely. Thank you for the trouble you must have gone to to get them like that.' 'They haven't taken much alteration. I did have the kitchens put in, although I rather think you won't really need them. You'll find it much easier to dine in the restaurant.' 'I thought I'd like to have breakfast on my verandah.' 'You could, but you can still have it brought up.' Monique made no comment, and for a few minutes they danced in silence, enjoying the rhythm of the music being played by a local band which, Dirk had mentioned over dinner, came to the Latana four times a week. When the music eventually stopped, Dirk led Monique back to the table. Miles looked up, a smile on his lips. Olivia's expression was very different. Her eyes were narrowed and glinting, her mouth compressed. 'I didn't notice you get up to dance, Dirk,' she said in a brittle voice. 'I don't expect you did. You and Mr. Marsden were in earnest conversation.' Dry, the tone, and enigmatic, yet there was a subtle inflection that sent Monique wondering. She could be wrong, but she rather thought that those two were having an affair and that they had recently had some sort of a disagreement. After the dessert Miles asked Monique to dance; she sighed as they moved around the floor, naturally dwelling on those other times, back home, when they would always dance cheek to cheek. Not

now. They had to act as if they were nothing more to one another than boss and secretary. Monique's thoughts wandered to the dance she had shared with Dirk Anderson, the awareness of his hands and body and the tantalising hint of after-shave that almost had the tang of the sea, fresh and clean and pervasive. 'You're quiet, darling.' Miles leant back to look at her. 'Are you enjoying this evening?' Her eyes became perceptive. 'Why do you ask, Miles? Is it because you're doubtful?' He frowned, seeming, for a space, to be lost for an answer. 'I can't fuss over you, darling, you know that.' 'I didn't expect you to fuss, but I did want you to bring me into the conversation now and then.' 'I did realise how it was, believe me, and I hated to think of your being out of it all, but we were talking about the renovations—' 'I don't mean at first, when the three of you were talking, but later, when you were so absorbed with that Olivia. You didn't even know I'd left the table.' 'Yes, I did, Monique, and I felt rotten that I hadn't thought of asking you to dance. But Olivia was talking so much—' He stopped and then added, in quiet and gentle tones, 'Let it drop, dearest. I'll come to your room when we've left these two and we can have an hour together.' 'I'd like that,' she responded. 'Oh, Miles, I do wish it was all over and we were going home!' She was almost in tears, for a terrible fear

was taking possession of her. 'I wonder what's to be the end of all this!' 'Monique . . . sweetheart, you're tired. It's been a long, long day. I shall tell Mr. Anderson that we're both tired and want to say good night.' That made Monique feel better, and once they were in her pretty sitting room and she was in her fiancé's arms, she did wonder what had possessed her to act the way she had. 'Better now?' Miles kissed her tenderly, on her lips and cheeks and temples. 'I must go, darling,' he was saying an hour later. 'Have a good rest and don't get up too early, promise me.' A lovely smile fluttered on her lips. 'I promise. I was intending to get up early, have my breakfast on the verandah and then take a walk along the beach, but I'm afraid the walk will have to wait for another time.' She stood in the middle of the floor as he went from the room, her pensive gaze fixed on the door for a long moment after he had closed it. This dejection, this churned-up feeling in the pit of her stomach . . . There must be a good reason for her fears, if only she could put her finger on it. But she had no starting point, nothing whatsoever on which to base the anxieties which had begun at home and were not merely returning but becoming so strong that she found herself considering the idea of asking Miles to throw up the post and return with her to England.

Chapter Four The dawn came up, pearl-grey at first, then pallid rose, which flared to saffron before its full glory of crimson and flame splashed across the sea, setting it afire as effectively as if molten lava had escaped from some mighty volcanic explosion. High in the branches of a tamarind tree a mockingbird trilled its tender, melodious song to the awakening world, while on the water's edge a spotted sandpiper merrily bobbed its tail up and down as it moved along the sand. Monique stood on the deserted beach, her eyes bright with unshed tears, an intolerable weight of misery on her heart. She had not slept, but that was nothing unusual; her rest had been spasmodic for the past three weeks, ever since she had realised, with a shock that made her almost physically ill, that Olivia Cartwright possessed a fascination for Miles which he was finding it impossible to resist. He was trying; Monique saw this and admired him for it, but she suspected that all her previous fears were destined to culminate in the breaking of her engagement to Miles. She felt she would die, because life would hold nothing for her without him. The question which had to be faced was: what should she do? She could go home, and it seemed that this was the decision her chaotic mind invariably reached, for although the wrench would be terrible, at least she would be spared the torment of watching another woman tear Miles's emotions to shreds. That Olivia could never be good for him was very plain to Monique, and she felt that Miles knew it, too. But he seemed irresistibly drawn to her in a way he was helpless to combat. The two had been working closely together, poring over plans for hours, then going off for lunch, where they would continue the discussions. There was no place for Monique in all this, and she spent long periods of inactivity in the little office which Dirk had provided in the garden of the plantation house. The letters she had to write for Miles and

the answering of phone calls could not possibly take up the whole of her day. Monique had resorted to reading in an attempt to relieve her boredom. She had not mentioned her boredom to Miles, and he appeared not to have noticed that there was anything wrong. He and Monique dined together every evening, but Olivia was almost always there; and on those occasions Miles seemed quite unable to give any attention to his fiancé. He was infatuated, but unhappy, the natural result of his being an honourable man, and Monique could not altogether blame him, because he was only human. He was as vulnerable as any other man where a beautiful and experienced woman like Olivia was concerned. If only Miles and Monique had been able to come here as an engaged couple, then Olivia would not have acted in the way she was acting ... or would she? Monique had been puzzled from the first because she had drawn the conclusion that Olivia was in love with Dirk Anderson. He had been away from the island for the past two and a half weeks, and it was during this time that things had developed between Miles and Olivia. Dirk had returned yesterday afternoon and joined the three of them for dinner later. As before, he had asked Monique to dance, and his interest, though mild and intended merely for the sake of courtesy, served as balm to her pain. She had wanted comfort and a little bit of attention, and, to her amazement, she knew that, given the chance, she could have used Dirk's shoulder to cry on. What should she do? Again the question swam in her mind, as, having wandered along the beach, she turned mechanically into a little path darkened by trees, where everything was quiet and primitive and cactus grew wild beneath lofty royal palms whose trunks were as beautiful and impressive as Doric columns. She ought to go home, she told herself, but she was still engaged to Miles, neither of them having even mentioned his obvious infatuation with Olivia. Monique was afraid to bring it up for fear of

providing Miles with an opening where he could ask for his release. She was clinging to hope even while the thread was becoming so thin that it must soon snap. Would Miles eventually marry Olivia? The very idea was a sword's point turning in Monique's heart. Life without Miles . . . She shut her eyes, as if by so doing she would destroy the picture of her beloved fiancé married to someone else. Suddenly her anguished thoughts were mercifully cut short as she heard the unmistakable snapping of a twig beneath someone's foot. Within seconds she saw a tall figure approaching through the trees. Dirk Anderson. At this unearthly hour. Monique's instinct was to turn and flee, because she knew there were tears in her eyes. She dismissed the idea at once on realising he had spotted her, his pace having slackened momentarily, probably as a result of surprise. Then he came on again, striding out with such speed and buoyancy that his feet might not have been touching the ground at all. What was he doing here at this time? The path was narrow and Monique stood still, aware now that she craved company—any company. Although she had told herself she disliked him intensely, she welcomed his approach, hoping he would stop and talk to her, which, of course, he did. 'You're up and about early, Miss Thornton.' It was a very natural comment, since even now the sun was only just above the horizon. 'Couldn't you sleep?' His eyes were narrowed and searching; Monique lowered her lashes swiftly, hiding the brightness of her eyes from a gaze that would be all-seeing. 'Couldn't you sleep?' he repeated, when she did not answer, and this time there was both curiosity and puzzlement in the words. 'No,' she admitted, 'I couldn't sleep very well. It might have been the heat. I'm not used to it.' 'Last night was cool. Unseasonably so.'

'Oh . . . was it?' she said weakly. 'What is troubling you, Miss Thornton?' His tone was cool but edged with authority. 'I sensed last evening that something was seriously wrong and meant to send for you today to inquire about it. You're in my employ—yes, I know I said you worked for Marsden and not me,' he said impatiently, noting her swift glance and reading its significance. 'But I am the one who pays your salary, and I have always considered it my duty to see that my employees are comfortable in their work. Is it the office? I know it's small, but you have the air conditioning.' He was standing closer than Monique would have expected, and she was profoundly aware of him as a man. Last night, when she had been dancing with him, she had been as strongly sensible of his personality as on that first occasion. He seemed to draw her in a way that made her feel guilty; she loved Miles, and, in spite of what was happening to her, her thoughts should be for him alone, not straying to appreciate the attractions of another man. 'It's nothing,' she answered at last. 'I must be getting back.' 'What for? Anything special?' His question was so unexpected that she shot him an interrogating glance. 'No, but I have to have my breakfast and then get to the office.' 'Perhaps we can have breakfast together in the hotel. I came along early this morning because I've had a complaint about the service in the morning and I want to be there myself to see what's going on.' 'You must have arrived far too early.' Monique spoke awkwardly, not having recovered from her surprise at his invitation to dine with him.

'I did, and that's how I come to be taking this stroll.' He was still close, towering above her, the heady scent of after-shave assailing her nostrils. 'You can tell me what's troubling you as we have breakfast.' 'There isn't anything,' she began, when he interrupted her imperiously. 'It's obvious that there is, Miss Thornton. Please don't prevaricate with me; I am not overendowed with patience.' He made to turn and somehow Monique, moving at the same time, caught her foot in an exposed root and lost her balance. She would have fallen sideways into the prickly pears had not Dirk caught her deftly and drawn her slender body against the steellike hardness of his own. 'Oh . . . I'm sorry,' she gasped. 'That was silly of me. . . .' Her voice trailed away to silence because he was still holding her instead of putting her from him, and because he was looking down into her eyes with that fixed, hypnotic stare to which he had subjected her on their second meeting. It was the same now; time stood still in this shaded woodland glade where all was primitive, as yet untouched. Monique's throat went dry as Dirk began slowly to bend his head. No, she must not let him kiss her . . . and yet, her pulses were throbbing under the influence of his intimate hold upon her body, and the blood was racing through her veins. His dark face was above hers, the grey eyes with their tawny glints unwavering in their stare. She swallowed again, making no attempt to put up a fight, to struggle from his embrace—in fact, she parted her lips, an automatic gesture which, she afterwards believed, was a result of her need for comfort. Yes, she admitted that she craved some kind of comfort, if only temporary, and when his lips met hers she gave herself up to the pleasure of the contact even while tears sprang to her eyes. The kiss, which had begun gently—a mere brush of the lips— became hard and fierce, burning hot and sensuous,

while the hold on her body seemed to take the very breath from it. Monique closed her eyes against intruding guilt, but her tears fell, dampening his cheeks; he seemed not to notice as his long, lean hands moved to her waist, warm and strong and comforting. 'You're a very beautiful young lady.' Dirk's voice was low and vibrant, his gaze as he held her from him narrowed and ardent. 'How is it that your boss hasn't fallen in love with you?' Monique freed herself and sought a handkerchief. She thought it strange that he hadn't commented on her tears, and just as strange that he should have asked that particular question. There was nothing in the dark mask of his face to explain, and his eyes were now almost indifferent in their expression. Suddenly Monique wished she could understand him, read accurately what was going on within his mind. She dabbed at her eyes and cheeks, then put the handkerchief into the pocket of her skirt. 'You shouldn't have kissed me,' she heard herself say, then coloured, feeling foolish because of her lack of resistance. 'Any particular reason?' Smooth the tone, and carrying a subtle inflection. 'Well. . . you're almost a stranger.' Again she felt silly and turned away, adding, 'Shall we go, Mr. Anderson?' 'Why shouldn't strangers kiss if they want to?' he asked, with a hint of amused mockery. 'We both enjoyed it—and what better start to a day?' 'You're laughing at me,' she accused, wondering what Miles would think of her if he knew she had allowed another man to kiss her. She felt overwhelmed with guilt even while admitting that she would let Dirk kiss her again if he chose to do so, for his lips on hers had had an intangible effect on her, as had his hands, and the nearness of his

body. She lifted limpid blue eyes and saw, unmistakably, a man experienced in the ways of women, and contemptuous of them. She saw a man who must have had numerous affairs simply because women would throw themselves at him. And yet she felt instinctively that he would be faithful if ever he were to fall in love and marry. His expression at this moment was sardonic as he looked down into her eyes, and there was a faint smile of mocking amusement on his lips. She lowered her lashes, shame sweeping over her because she sensed his contempt . . . and his confidence. He was sure that if he decided to have an affair with her he would meet with instant success. 'What makes you suppose I would laugh at you, Monique?' he wanted to know, even while the amused smile remained on his lips. Monique. ... It sounded delightful when spoken in that lilting tone. Monique. . . . She coloured delicately and saw his smile broaden. He was omniscient, this bronzed foreigner who could read her very thoughts with an accuracy that was disconcerting, to say the least. 'Shall we go?' she asked again, deliberately avoiding his question. He nodded, and they walked in silence back to the beach, then along it to enter the gardens of the hotel. The restaurant was like a garden, with lush green plants growing everywhere, climbing along bamboo supports and rustic trellises, growing in huge brass urns and wooden tubs. And on each table was a spray of bougainvillaea or a single hibiscus flower. Dirk was attended to instantly, and they were shown to a table in the corner by the window. Monique glanced around as she took a seat, but it was still too early for Miles to be down.

'What would you like, Monique?' Dirk asked, when she had taken a look at the menu. 'I don't eat much.' She felt shy, unsure of herself, but managed to appear casual as she added, 'I'll just have eggs and toast, please.' 'And coffee?' 'Yes, please.' His eyes flipped her a glance across the table; she wished he were not so self-confident and assertive. Once the order was given Dirk said without preamble, 'And now you can explain what is wrong.' He leant back in his chair, his dark eyes fixed on her face. Monique could not possibly miss the implacable expression in their depths, and she was troubled by the possibility that he might become insistent. However, she did attempt to prevaricate despite his prior warning. 'There really isn't anything, Mr. Anderson—' 'Do you usually wander alone on the beach at that hour of the morning, looking as if you carried all the troubles of the world on your shoulders?' 'No, of course not.' 'Then why were you there this morning?' Reserve descended upon her. 'It's a private matter,' she said, hoping the finality she meant to assume came through to him. If it did, he chose to ignore it completely. 'Tell me,' he said, 'is Marsden's interest in Olivia disquieting to you?'

Monique's eyes flew to his. 'What do you mean by that, Mr. Anderson?' she demanded, nerves prickling. 'Exactly what I say.' Dirk settled himself more - deeply in his chair, his eyes leaving her face for a few seconds to travel around the restaurant, taking in what the waitresses were doing. 'I only work for Mr. Marsden,' said Monique, without looking at him, 'so why should his private affairs be disquieting to me?' Dirk's lips twisted into a curious smile as he brought his eyes back to her. 'You only work for him. .. .' he murmured with gentle satire. 'So you're not interested in his private affairs.' There could be no possible doubt about the deliberate stress on the last word, but Monique somehow managed to present a blank expression, as if it had passed her by unnoticed. 'I don't wish to talk about my employer, Mr. Anderson,' she said, and the smile on his lips deepened. 'I intend to know what is troubling you, Monique, so you might as well tell me first as last.' Monique was puzzled by his interest. What had happened to the detachment with which he had previously treated her? Even when he had danced with her his manner had been cool and indifferent. . . until this morning, when he had kissed her. And now ... There was an inexorable quality about him and suddenly she felt helpless, very much afraid that he would drag the truth from her if she could not find a way of preventing him. And so she found herself saying, in the fervent hope that this explanation would suffice, 'I'm rather bored, Mr. Anderson. There isn't sufficient work for me to do.'

Dirk threw her a curious glance. 'I never thought of that,' he said, a total lack of expression in his voice which made Monique suspect that, although her words had diverted him, he knew her explanation was not the full one. 'But it is obvious now that you've brought it to my notice. No, there couldn't possibly be sufficient work, and Marsden should have thought of that.' Was that a touch of anger in his tone? It was impossible to be sure, because his whole attention was suddenly on a tall, dark waitress who was chattering with the customer at one table while three people at the next were waiting for service. Monique saw his eyes narrow, his full mouth compress. He called a passing waitress and gave an order in a tone so low that Monique could not hear it. But the first waitress, when approached, cast a swift glance in Dirk's direction, and it was plain to see that she had had no idea that her employer was in the restaurant. She hurried to the next table and took the order. Monique wondered what would be the outcome and hoped dismissal would not be the girl's punishment. Dirk turned his attention to Monique once more. 'I must do something about this boredom you speak of,' he said decisively. 'As a matter of fact, my own secretary is to go into the hospital for an operation in a week's time, and I have not as yet been able to obtain a stand-in. You could come over to my office and do some work for me when you're not doing anything for Marsden.' He stopped as the waitress brought their breakfast. Monique found herself groping for some excuse not to work for him, but knew it was a hopeless quest. There was no excuse, not after she had admitted to being burdened with inactivity. And in any case, seeing that he was paying her a salary, he had every right to expect a full week's work from her. They began their meal in silence, then Dirk gave Monique an outline of the work she would be doing for him. It was plain that he was taking it for granted that she would raise no objection.

'I shall see your boss later today and let him know about the changes. I suggest you work for him during the mornings and me during the afternoons. I want you to start right away so that you can work with my secretary and she can show you how I like things done.' Thoroughly—very thoroughly—decided Monique, already feeling nervous at the prospect of trying to please a man like Dirk Anderson. 'You—you want me to start this afternoon?' 'Yes, the sooner the better.' There was finality in the strong, lilting tone, and Monique decided not to argue or protest. In fact, once she had become used to the idea, she found her fears evaporating. If his secretary was going to help her initially, then there was scant danger of her making any major mistakes. She managed a smile and received one in response. She caught her breath at the sheer attractiveness of him as his dark grey eyes softened unexpectedly. And without warning something stirred within her, then hovered tantalisingly between clear thought and her subconscious, a quickening of her senses one moment that turned elusive and intangible the next. But it left her quivering on the borders of expectation, and with the conviction that something totally unforeseen was going to happen.

Chapter Five Monique went from her little office into the plantation house to look for Miles. Dirk had told him earlier of his plan for keeping Monique busy, and Miles had considered it a very excellent idea. 'I didn't realise you had so much time on your hands, darling,' he had said contritely, 'or I'd have tried to think of something for you to do. However, your problem is solved now, thanks to Mr. Anderson.' Monique had said nothing; she had felt impatient with her fiancé for the first time since she had met him. The reason why he had not noticed her boredom was that he was far too engrossed with Olivia. The plantation house was set in grounds that had once been exquisitely beautiful, and the building itself was a gem among the few old houses which the island boasted. It had a central block and two wings stretching towards the east and west. A flagged hall was the starting place for entry into the lower rooms, which included a massive stone-floored kitchen; the upper rooms were reached by a magnificent balustraded staircase that led to the dining room on one side of a broad landing, and the drawing room on the other. Both were cruciform in shape, with moulded cornices and parget work above the fireplaces. In the dining room there was a large stainedglass window of exquisite design, and a similar one on the landing. On the floor above were eleven bedrooms, some of which had been the servants' rooms at the time when the house was in its heyday. Monique found Miles in one of these upper rooms, deep in conversation with Olivia. The other woman, immaculate in a trouser-suit of pale blue linen, turned an indifferent eye upon Monique, who was herself dressed in a plain white cotton frock trimmed with a narrow binding of foxglove pink on the neckline and pockets, and a wide matching belt in fine leather. Monique's fair hair

was windblown; Olivia's was smooth and shining with not a strand out of place. 'I'm going for my lunch now, Mr. Marsden.' Monique looked at him through faintly accusing eyes. Before coming here to Grand Cayman Island he had said it would be wonderful to be having lunch together every day, and dinner, too. Well, they did have dinner together, but rarely did they have lunch. Even when they did, Monique felt left out because Olivia was there, too, and she could take no part in their discussion. 'I shall be going over to see Mr. Anderson afterwards.' Miles nodded absently. 'Yes, I understand. So I'll see you at dinner, then.' Monique merely nodded her head and went from the room. And just over an hour later she was walking along the drive leading up to the impressive front entrance to Dirk's home. She was admitted by Waldo, who took her along to the study where she had first met Dirk Anderson. He was there, standing by the window, and she saw him in profile as he turned, saw the glossy greyness in the dark hair, the chiselled features, deeply brown. His severity was tempered by a faint smile as his eyes met hers in a steady gaze across the width of the room. It was suddenly as if the air was filled with electricity; Monique vividly recalled the incident early that morning, and the emotional effect of the memory swept her into a vortex of conflicting sensations which left her mind in a state of near turbulence where all clear thought became impossible. The time sped on, and yet time stood still; nerve-ends twitched throughout her body. It seemed an eternity before he broke the silence, and even when he did his long, unfathomable stare continued unbroken, and the tenseness within Monique remained.

'You're ready to start work?' The prosaic question ought by rights to have relieved the tension, but it didn't. Monique's voice was far from steady as she replied, 'Yes, Mr. Anderson, I am.' 'I have a small office block a few hundred yards from here,' he informed her. 'I'll take you over so you can meet Miss French.' The girl turned out to be more deeply tanned even than Dirk—a pretty girl with a dazzling smile which showed gleaming white teeth. She was amiable, more than ready to show Monique how to go on. Monique did not have much difficulty in absorbing all she was told, and as Dirk used a dictaphone for all his letters she did not see him either that afternoon or the next because Valerie French took the letters to him to be signed. However, the time came when Monique was alone in the office, and she was forced at the end of the afternoon to take the letters over to Dirk's house for him to sign. He might not always be in, he had told her, and in that case she was to leave the letters with Waldo. On the first day, however, he was in, and Monique's nerves began to quiver as Waldo conducted her along to Dirk's study. He was sitting at his desk, absorbed in reading, and for a moment she stood there, waiting for him to give her his attention. There was a haunted expression in her eyes, for she had phoned Miles to ask if he would play tennis with her before dinner and he had said, a hint of impatience in his tone, 'I shall be working late, Monique. Sorry. There's so much to do, and I can't see my way to leaving here before seven o'clock at the earliest.' 'What time are we to have dinner, then?' There was a pause during which Monique's heart took on the numbness of misery, for she knew, even before he spoke, that Miles was going to make an excuse not to have dinner with her that evening.

'Darling,' he began, and now there was only concern in his tone, 'do you mind if I don't have dinner with you tonight? Olivia wants me to see some designs she has in her own home, and tonight would be a good time to have a look—' 'You mean, I'm to have my dinner alone, while you have yours with Olivia, at her home?' 'Er . . . well ... I expect I shall be given a bite to eat. . .'He tailed off awkwardly. Monique, the icy barbs of disillusionment piercing her heart, put down the receiver, then waited to see if he would ring back. He didn't. Dirk Anderson looked at her at length; Monique, a pile of letters in her hand, saw the rapid change of his expression and knew he would ask her what was wrong. She sincerely hoped that the cloud of tears behind her eyes would not break until she was away from his study. 'I'm just a little bit tired,' she said in answer to the question she was expecting. 'The heat bothers me.' 'The heat again?' with a sceptical lift of his straight black brows. 'You have air conditioning in there, haven't you?' Holding out his hand for the letters, he added blandly, 'You had better take a seat and unburden your heart. I have a very good idea what's wrong, but I'd like to hear what you have to say.' 'It's a private matter,' she muttered almost beneath her breath. 'If there isn't anything else, I'll go-' 'Sit down,' he said, and indicated a chair. She shook her head, but weakly. This man seemed to offer the comfort her bruised heart needed. She had heard the expression 'caught on the rebound,' and vaguely wondered if it applied to her in

her present state of mind. She looked at him through dull, glazed eyes and shook her head again. 'I want to go,' she said fractiously. 'It's after half-past five and I'm supposed to finish at five.' Dirk said quietly, 'Do you sit down in that chair, Monique, or do I come round and put you there myself?' She threw him a startled, disbelieving glance. 'What d-did you say?' 'You heard me.' Rising, he made to come over to her side of the desk, but she prudently did as she was told. 'And now you can talk.' The authoritative quality in his voice came through very plainly indeed, and Monique, still engulfed in misery, found herself on the verge of a full confession. She somehow managed to hold part of it back, at least for the present. 'I should have dined with Miles—with Mr. Marsden—' 'And he is dining with Olivia?' A question, but Monique felt that Dirk had known that already. 'Yes, he is. They're to discuss some special designs she has in her home.' Dirk was nodding his head, strengthening the idea that he had known of Miles's plan for this evening. 'Well,' he said decisively, 'in that case, you shall dine with me.' 'With you—alone?' A quiver ran along the length of her spine . . . and it was an unexpectedly pleasant sensation. 'I wasn't thinking of inviting anyone else,' he replied with a hint of amusement.

'In—in the restaurant?' was all Monique could find to say. 'That was what I had in mind.' There was a moment's pause and then, 'Perhaps you'd prefer to dine here?' 'No,' she answered swiftly. 'The restaurant will be fine.' Her smile was a lame attempt, but it was there all the same. 'Thank you for asking me, Mr. Anderson.' 'Dirk will do very well,' he said. Colouring with embarrassment, Monique glanced away, making no comment. It was impossible to deny that she was looking forward to having this man's company for dinner, but how she wished it was her beloved Miles! Still, as memories of their morning interlude stirred in her, she thought that this might be quite nice after all. He gave her a considering look, long and somehow expectant, as if he were waiting for her tears to fall, and only then did she realise that her lashes were wet. 'I said just now that I have a very good idea what is wrong. You shall confide in me over dinner. Meanwhile, go straight back to the hotel now and have a rest.' It was an order, and Monique automatically nodded her head. She could not resent an order that was so plainly meant for her own good. She felt she needed to lie down and try to relax ... try to forget what was happening to her, and to the man she loved.

The saffron sky of evening was fast giving way to the spangling purple twilight as Monique wandered in the hotel grounds before dinner. Although she had lain on her bed, no real rest or peace of mind had come to her, and even her limbs felt weak, her body drained. Her heart was breaking, and the result was an almost

physical pain. All too vividly she recalled her misgivings about this post; it had been a case of intuition which had turned out to be accurate. She glanced at her wristwatch and decided to return to the hotel and wait in the lounge for Dirk. He was already there, and she forced a thin smile to lips that felt stiff and dry, like her throat, which was blocked by sheer misery and despair. 'Good evening, Monique.' He was dressed immaculately in pale lemon slacks and a white shirt, hand-embroidered down the front and on the pockets, the neck open for comfort and revealing a deep copper V with the hint of wiry black hairs spreading further down. 'Good evening,' she returned in a low voice. 'You're early.' 'So are you.' The dark foreign eyes moved slowly over every line and contour of her face before coming to rest on her shadowed eyes. 'Do you want a drink, or would you rather take a little stroll on the grounds? It's cool now, after the heat of the day.' 'I don't particularly want a drink,' she said, wishing she could read the odd expression in his eyes; it sent tingles of fear through her nerves. Fear. ... A strange word to come unbidden into her mind. What could she possibly have to fear from this man? He was her employer and he was possessed of a superior, aloof personality despite the fact that he had kissed her earlier that day. 'A stroll would be nice. I've had a short one, as a matter of fact, but thought I'd better come in so as not to keep you waiting.' There was respect in her tone and in the glance she gave him. He merely smiled, an enigmatic smile which again brought the word fear into her mind. Was she playing with fire? Could this man be dangerous? Undoubtedly he could be amorous; she had had evidence of that this morning. Ought she to withdraw now, instantly, tell him she had

changed her mind about having dinner with him, and go to her room, where she was safe? She could have her dinner sent up. 'In that case,' her companion was saying, 'we'll skip the aperitifs and settle for the stroll.' She made no demur, and even when he took her hand in his she did not snatch it away, as she knew she should have done. The rebound . . . yes, that was the explanation for the way she was feeling, because she knew that she wanted the comfort of his arms and his lips; she wanted to know that this man, who was so attractive himself, found her attractive as well. The fleeting underglow of dusk was melting altogether as they stepped out onto the terrace and then wandered over the well-tended lawn. They entered a secluded part of the garden, where tamarind trees and casuarinas formed shelter against the winds that blew in from the sea. Night was falling rapidly, the mysterious purple darkness pressing down on the earth from a sky that had lost its lustre. The aspect all around was mauve and pearl-grey, with the exception of the lights close to the hotel building itself, delicately coloured lights to illuminate the trees and shrubs, the fountain and the patio surrounding the swimming pool. It was magical, the kind of fairyland that Monique had imagined it would be . . . but she had never dreamed that, so soon after landing on this island paradise, she would be in grave danger of losing her fiancé. A shuddering sigh escaped her, and Dirk heard it and turned to look down into her face. She knew her mouth was quivering, that instinctively she had tightened her hold on his hand, the result of emotional stress. Words she never meant to utter came forth in husky, half-strangled tones. 'Why did we come here—why, oh, why?' And she twisted around as she spoke, her wild eyes taking in all the beauty, the almost unreal perfection of the tropical scene. Perfumes floated on the balmy air;

soft West Indian music drifted out from the hotel to add another sort of magic—primitive and mysterious. 'What is it?' Dirk's arm came about her, protectively, and she edged instinctively closer to the lean hardness of his body. They were in a lonely place, with the hotel lights behind them and a view of the dark sea in front. Dirk turned her to face him; she lifted her eyes in the darkness, her heart beating doubletime, her pulses racing. His lips touched hers, no more than a caress as they moved to her cheek, then her temple, where they rested a while as his hands slid from her bare arms to her slender waist and spanned it. The pressure of his fingers was sensuous, and found a response as Monique's emotions stirred and an unwanted yearning spread over her, affecting both mind and body. Her fiancé's face rose before her, but she could not hold the picture and let it go. Dirk's face was there, dim and close, his lips about to seek hers again. 'It's Marsden, isn't it? We need not wait until dinner time for you to confide,' he said at length, after he had kissed her—with a restraint which Monique knew had been difficult for him to manage. 'You're in love with him?' She drew back sharply, stunned to silence, but only for a moment. It dawned on her that a man as shrewd as Dirk Anderson was bound to guess the truth. 'I suppose it's obvious.' He could not see the dull glaze in her eyes, but the despairing flatness of her voice came through to him quite plainly. He made no comment, however, but took her in his arms and kissed her gently on the lips. His restraint puzzled her, for he seemed to be a man of passion who would find difficulty in holding his ardour in check. In some subtle way he appeared to be gaining her confidence, and she wondered if there was some ulterior motive to account for his behaviour towards her. He was a man of the world, she was sure—Miles had told her that he had travelled widely—a man experienced in the ways of women, so it was feasible that he knew exactly how she was feeling . . . and how

vulnerable she was. . . . Fear rose again, because she owned quite freely that she still craved comfort, the kind of comfort which she knew this man could give her. His kisses became more passionate, his hands more intimately exploring, as if he were testing her reaction; she pressed close to his long, lean frame, her arms lifting at his command and winding themselves about his neck. And it was only when, tentatively, he made to unbutton the front of her evening blouse that she twisted sharply away, colour flooding her face, and said it was time they went in to dinner. A low laugh escaped him and Monique could not tell if there was a hint of mocking amusement in it or whether she had imagined it. All he said was, 'Very well, Monique, we shall do as you wish.' The restaurant was dimly lit, with the dance-space throwing out the most light, for it was a circle of green glass illuminated from underneath. Monique and Dirk were shown to his private table, which was set cosily behind a screen of potted palms and trellised vines. Tonight it was lit by a branch of candles and there were flowers in a silver holder. Above the table a fan hung suspended from the ceiling, its rotation cooling the air and creating a delightful freshness with its gentle breeze. Dirk made recommendations as to the food, and they ate flambeaued turtle steaks and breadfruit puffs washed down with a costly French wine. Fruits grown on the island were served as a dessert—made into a salad and topped with whipped cream and walnuts. In between courses they danced, and although it was inevitable that dark unhappy thoughts should intrude, Monique amazed herself by her ability to thrust them out. When at last Dirk suggested they leave, she admitted to herself that she had, for the most part, enjoyed her evening.

'It's too early to go to bed,' he was saying when, a few minutes after leaving the restaurant, they were on the terrace outside it. 'I suggest we take a stroll by the sea.' She looked up at him. The obvious thing, after what had almost happened out there a short while ago, was to say she preferred to go to bed even though it was early. But as she looked up into those strange hooded eyes, noticing the flecks of tawny brown that gave them a mysterious quality, Monique found herself caught in the spell of his dominant personality and almost against her will she said, 'That would be nice.' But instantly the danger of being alone with him—especially in her present mood of feeling injured and neglected—was borne upon her and she added, 'I—well—just for a few minutes. . . .' Her voice faded to silence as she noticed his halfamused, half-mocking expression. 'Afraid of being alone with me?' he asked, and she gave a start at his perception. Had her eyes given away her fears, then? 'Why should I be?' she countered, her gaze now challenging. 'Because the night is romantic, and because you are aware that I find you exceedingly attractive.' She gave a sigh. Flattery such as that was balm to her wounds . . . and she guessed that he knew she would feel grateful to him for extending it. It was dangerous to be with a man like this, a man so perceptive that he would always be one step ahead ... or perhaps even more than one step ahead. Conflicting emotions and rioting nerves tormented her, the insistence of caution one moment and the abandonment of restraint the other. Miles didn't care what was happening to her; he probably thought she was in bed, if he spared a thought for her at all.

'Do you really find me attractive?' It was not a question she would have asked if she hadn't been feeling so unhappy. 'I've just said that you are aware of it,' he reminded her with gentle mockery. 'I believe I mentioned your attractiveness right at the beginning, when I first met you, and I've mentioned it since.' 'You've had many women?' Another question that should not have been voiced, but Monique felt no embarrassment as she waited for his reply. 'No more—nor less—than any other man of my age.' 'Has age something important to do with it?' The suggestion of a smile touched the outline of his mouth. 'A man at forty has had far more opportunity than one at twenty or thirty,' he pointed out. 'Yes, of course," she murmured. They were still on the terrace, and her attention was momentarily diverted by a huge moth that had come from the cool darkness of the grounds to flutter around a lamp set high on a wrought-iron stand. 'It's a wonder you're not married by now,' she added, speaking her thoughts aloud. 'Marriage is for the staid and the resigned, not for the adventurous.' 'Is each affair an adventure?" she asked, and, for a moment, he seemed to be watching the play of emotions in her wide blue eyes. 'That you have never had an affair is evident,' he rejoined, and automatically she nodded her head. 'So it is an adventure, then." 'Why not find out for yourself?" His tone was smooth yet in no way persuasive. He might merely be proffering advice rather than

suggesting he be the object of her experiment. She said nothing, for she was dwelling on what had happened to the lovely romance that had existed between her and Miles, which was for her the greatest adventure she had ever known or would want to know. 'Shall we take that stroll?' he asked, when she did not speak. His hand was under her elbow, his body close enough for her to be vitally conscious of its hardness. 'Yes, let's go.' They walked in silence for a while, until the lights of the hotel and its grounds were left behind. The beach was deserted, the only sound the primordial one of water lapping the shore. In the dark sky numberless points of silver twinkled and glowed, while the moon lay hidden behind a swirling layer of cloud. All was beautiful and tranquil... so peaceful. Monique sent her companion a sideways glance; he turned his head to meet it and her nerves twisted at his expression, for even in the dimness she could discern the smouldering passion in his eyes. Caution urged her to turn and run back to the hotel and the safety it offered, but her whole mind and body were lethargic. It was as if she were suspended in a void where the power to think and feel was unimportant. As they reached a curve in the bay, where, on the shore, there stood a tall casuarina tree with a seat around it, the moon emerged from the. cloud and the beach flooded with its argent glow. Dirk led Monique towards the tree and they sat down, her nerves tingling. She felt his strong arms come around her, his cheek touch hers. All thoughts of Miles were driven from her mind as she clung to Dirk as he kissed her, putting her arms about his neck, giving him her lips, reciprocating in a way she had never dreamed would be possible with any other man except her fiancé.

'My word, but you're desirable!' Dirk's voice was low and hoarse, his body pressing closer still as his arms crushed her in an even stronger embrace. 'Life is for enjoying. Monique . . .?' He leant away; there was a question in his phrasing, and Monique was under no illusions as to his purpose. Artfully contriving, smooth and experienced in his approach, he would have a formula for each situation and in her case she was ripe for an affair, in love, as she was, with a man who was finding enjoyment with another woman. This calculated technique on Dirk's part reminded her of a predator stalking a prey who, already wounded, would succumb without a fight. Aware of what he was about, Monique endeavoured to raise a barrier of caution, but she wrestled in vain, not only against his supreme masculine appeal but against her own ungovernable responses to him. 'Yes,' she whispered huskily, 'life is for enjoying.' 'I rather thought you would agree.' Suave and confident as, rising from the seat, he brought her up with him, his hold on her wrist arrogant and masterful. As he pulled her close she noticed in the moonglow a lazy, almost indifferent expression in the hooded eyes, the lift of triumph at the corners of the firm, enigmatic mouth, the pulsation of a nerve in the angular, outthrust jaw—this latter the only sign of emotion. He lifted her face with the flick of a finger beneath her chin. If he saw the anguish in her eyes he chose to ignore it as, with ruthless deliberation, he took her lips, exploring them with warm, experienced technique until he had fired her emotions to the point where she knew an exquisite sensation of fear and excitement, of reluctant abandonment and expectation. She began to reciprocate, parting her lips, thrilling to the contact of his tongue with hers. She was helpless to protest when his hand slid along the length of her spine to flatten against her soft flesh, every

nerve within her affected, awakening a physical need she had never known before. 'You're delectable, Monique!' His hot mouth was moist against her throat, his roving hand finding hypersensitive spots along the tender curve of her neck and behind her ears. Monique's senses reeled beneath the onslaught of passion that followed her thickly spoken words. 'I want you, Dirk,' were words that escaped from a heavy cloud of shame and guilt as every cell within her rioted, lost to all control. That he was a wolf whose intentions were of the most dishonourable was of no importance at this moment. Exquisite moments of rising passion, the feel of his hand cupping her breast, the sensuous feeling of his lips finding response in hers, the hot rush of blood through her veins . . . these combined to take Monique to heaven, and all else was forgotten. At last he held her from him, his hands warm and gentle on her arms. Monique looked into his chiselled, enigmatic face and wondered just where she came on his list of conquests. Pulling from his hold, she sat down, staring upward into the purple immensity of the sky. Through the boughs of the tree the moon swayed, adding a quivering pulsation of light to that of the flickering points of silver crowding the heavens. All so far away; all so unpredictable. How many people were aware of how precarious man's life on earth was? One second of unbalance up there, in what appeared to be a tranquil sky, and all would topple, with the greatest annihilation since the world began. Monique frowned at her morbid thoughts. She transferred her attention to the tall dark foreigner standing there, the man who could have taken her, had he the mind. Why hadn't he? She heard him say, 'I can read your thoughts, Monique, but this is not the place. We shall go to your room.'

To her room ... a shudder passed through her and she turned her head to hide her embarrassment. To go to her room was a wanton act—not her at all. 'I c-can't,' she told him, quite unaware of the note of apology in her voice. 'It—it wouldn't be right.' 'But it would be right if we made love out here?' She was dumb, her mind drugged in a way that had nothing to do with her unhappiness. She was ashamed because of his awareness of her vulnerability. He broke the silence, but only to murmur something beneath his breath which she did not catch. And as he spoke his hands came up to take hold of her and as he crushed her to him, his fingers caressing her breast, she was lost to all but the bliss his touch offered, the physical contact of mouth and hands and body. ... Ten minutes later they were in her room at the hotel, Monique having given her consent almost without knowing it and scarcely conscious of how she got there. She was by the window, half turned from him, staring out to where the exotic grounds gave way to the white beach of coral sand and beyond to the point where the sea met the horizon and was lost in obscurity. So vast. . . and time so short, speeding on relentlessly so that you were old before you knew that age was gaining on you. A deep, shuddering sigh rose from the very depths of her and she turned to look at the tall, self-assured man standing there, watching her with interest through half-closed eyes. He seemed to be waiting with the patience of a jungle cat for the move that would be the cue for him to pounce. And yet Monique knew no real fear; she had come too far now to draw back, and because of this her fear had dissolved. Miles had caused it. By his neglect and his preference for another, more beautiful woman, he had brought her to this.

Suddenly she shook her head. No, it could not be placed at her fiancé's door altogether. He was human; Olivia had tempted him for some reason of her own, and he had not possessed the strength to combat her attractions. It was hardly a unique situation; it was one that happened all the time. 'Monique . . .' The name came softly and she lifted her eyes. 'What are you thinking about?' 'It wouldn't interest you,' she returned. 'I believe it would interest me exceedingly. However, we didn't come here for a chat, did we?' She turned away again, colour rising in her cheeks, a mood of guilty introspection settling on her, and she opened her mouth to say she had changed her mind. But Dirk's soft voice, issuing a command, reached her before she could speak. 'Come here, Monique.' She shook her head, frowning; her heart was beating far too quickly, and something hard and painful had lodged itself in her throat. This man was a near stranger and yet she was contemplating . . . what? He spoke her name again and this time his tones were deep-edged with authority. 'I told you to come here.' She turned then, to stare at the hard, formidable outline of features etched darkly against the soft amber glow from a wall light behind him. For another moment she hesitated, then moved slowly and noiselessly across the thickly carpeted room until she was standing before him, small and sad, her pallor relieved by the soft flush that tinted her cheeks. His arms came out and her pulses quivered, out of control. He gave a little tug and she swayed into his arms, craving his kisses even while the nagging of her subconscious reminded her that tomorrow would come, and with it remorse and self-condemnation.

His hands caressed her face, cupping themselves around it. Then she felt his long, sensuous fingers sliding through the silken halo of her hair, to grip a handful and tug gently until her head was back and she was compelled to look into his eyes. She felt trapped by the aura of power and magnetism emanating from him, lost to all sense of what was right and wrong, to the high ideals she had always cherished, one of which was that she be pure on her wedding day. Yet here she was, willing and eager for a near stranger to make love to her. A sigh came from the very depths of her being; it could not possibly escape him and she saw an alteration in his eyes as they stared down from beneath their strange, hooded lids. Had his expression softened? If so, it was for no more than a fleeting second, because now she saw only the light of mocking amusement, and a quality of triumph. There was still time to draw back, she mused, but at that moment his lips came down, sensuous in their arrogant exploration, forcing her lips to part beneath their demanding mastery, their fierce pressure that bruised even while it thrilled. She curved her slender body against his, her hands reaching up to grip his shoulders, the fingers moving spasmodically, digging into his flesh—an outlet for her rising passion. She caught the heady odour of newly laundered linen mingling with the pervasive smell of after-shave still lingering on his flesh. His hands slid to span her waist, the long dark fingers kneading in sensuous, tempting insistence until ecstasy rippled through her like a series of shock waves. Triumphantly, he laughed, and although shame swelled within her she had no resistance to the immense power he was exerting over her emotions. He had brought them alive, heightened them to the point of agonising need, and his name escaped her—a great shuddering sigh that pleaded with a meekness that was primitive. That low laugh fell on the air again as, moving the hand that had roamed to cup her breast, he slid down the zipper of her dress, causing it to fall to the floor. She was lifted with ease and he kicked it away, then smiled with mocking amusement as colour flooded her face. She was almost naked and he held her from him,

his eyes flickering with slow sensuality to absorb the rare beauty of her tender curves. She could not move, and presently he pulled her close. 'You're one of the most beautiful and alluring women I have ever known,' he murmured, his lips vibrant against her throat. 'Kiss me,' he commanded, but she could not obey, for his words had brought right home to her the insignificance of this interlude as far as his emotions were concerned. And yet, what exactly did she expect? A declaration of love and an offer of marriage, an avowal of fidelity, the admission that he had been waiting for a woman like her all his life? No, indeed, that was not what she expected. Dirk and she were no more than ships that pass in the night; soon they would say goodbye. If ever he should recall this passionate interlude it would be with a certain amount of pleasure and a great deal of triumph, because he had caught her on the rebound. 'I ought not to do this.' Monique spoke her thoughts aloud even while she had no intention of drawing back. She wanted him, wanted the feel of his naked body warm and consoling against hers, yearned to be the object of his whole attention if only for a little while. Afterwards did not matter; she saw no future anyway. 'But you will, my dear.' Confidence lay beneath the laughter that rang softly against Monique's ear; his hand was already unclipping her bra; it came away and she leant forward to bury her head against his chest . . . and suddenly he seemed to change in his attitude towards her, as if her embarrassed gesture had touched a tender place within his heart. 'You're very sweet, Monique.' His hand was tender as it slid along her bare flesh to bring her quivering body close, while the other hand, warm and gentle, caressed her pale cheeks and her temple,

then tilted her face with a finger beneath her chin. His eyes were darkened with passion aroused by her nakedness and the exploration of his hands, but his voice was calm and compassionate as he said, 'You're unhappy, aren't you, Monique?' She inclined her head, shuddering at the continued roving of his warm brown hands, and for a space her senses rose to dizzy heights and she could not speak. But as his hands stilled she said, fully aware that, tomorrow, she would regret the confidence, 'Miles and I were engaged to be married.' 'Were?' There was no surprise in his voice. He took her left hand and let her fingers lie over his. Monique saw the faintly lighter circle which was a betrayal she had not even thought about. 'Is it broken?' A grimness entered his eyes and remained even when she replied, 'No, we're still engaged, but. . .' Her eyes fell again to that giveaway circle on her finger as she added, 'Did you guess right at the beginning that Miles and I were engaged and that I hadn't really been his secretary at all?' 'Well, it didn't take exceptional powers of observation to make an intelligent guess, did it?' he rejoined, and she shook her head in agreement. 'Yet you still wanted Miles to work for you?' 'He'd arrived here; I would have put myself to a great deal of trouble if I'd sent him home and begun all over again. I'm in a hurry to have the renovations completed.' Impatience edged his voice and it was plain that he had no wish to prolong so mundane a subject. He had other ideas in mind. He picked her up and, breathing erratically, she found a resting place for her head against his shoulder, her fevered senses alive to the contact of his hands on her warm flesh, to the mastery and power he

exuded, making her feel small and helpless, and totally at his mercy. He laid her down, his searching eyes devouring the lines and curves, the rise and fell of her breasts, the gentle swell of her stomach. She relaxed, but as his fingers touched the one garment she had on she suddenly found herself weeping softly, little sobs of despair escaping her. His hands came away; she rolled over toward him and both her hands reached out to rest on his arms. 'Dirk,' she whimpered, a catch in her voice, 'I—I. . .' She could not say what was in her heart, because she was afraid of this bronzed giant in whose power she had placed herself. How could she explain that she had changed her mind, that conscience had at last managed to thrust itself into the forefront of her senses, and that as a result she saw herself as an abandoned no-good, willing to give herself to a man who was nothing to her, and never could be. 'You—what?' He straightened up, letting her arms fall onto the bed. 'You've changed your mind, is that it?' 'I feel it's wrong . . .' 'Rather late, don't you think?' Dirk's voice was deep-toned with satire, and she stared at him in uncomprehending wonderment. 'Aren't you angry?' she asked disbelievingly. 'Angry?' He laughed without humour and turned away. 'My first failure,' he threw over his shoulder as he strode across the room. 'However, we might still get together. I'm not through with you yet, little Monique.' Monique sat up, staring with fascinated eyes at the closed door. She felt chilled to the bone and there were tight little knots in the pit of her stomach. Her nerves had suffered from the experience, and even though shame enveloped her the sensation of anticlimax had a peculiar effect. Although she was relieved that Dirk had gone, she

still yearned for what he could have given her. It was all very illogical and she blamed her state of mind because she still felt drugged and lethargic, incapable of clear concentration. The whole episode savoured of unreality—her own incredible daring and Dirk's easy acceptance of her change of heart. Where was the sense in any of it? He must have known that, had he insisted on staying, she could have done little about it. And yet he had left. Why? No explanation presented itself and she gave up, resolving to forget the episode as soon as possible, but what still troubled her, quite naturally, was how she was going to feel on meeting Dirk tomorrow afternoon. She knew a sort of panic-stricken urge to flee, to disappear from the island without a word either to Miles or to Dirk. But she could not leave, not yet. She was still engaged to Miles, still madly in love with him, still holding on to a tiny thread of hope that he would come back to her. Wasn't she?

Chapter Six The gentle sundown breeze fanned Monique's face as she stood for a few moments on her verandah prior to dressing for dinner, which she was having at Dirk's home with him and his niece, and naturally Monique's thoughts went over the events of the day. She had been wakened at a quarter to seven by a heavy tropical downpour. She had opened her eyes to the astounding knowledge that she had slept soundly for the whole of the night. After what had happened between her and Dirk she had fully expected to lie awake for hours. She had risen, and at eight o'clock Miles had knocked softly on her door. She froze, then relaxed. What was done was done and she had no intention of making a dramatic confession to the man who was partly to blame for it. So the second amazing occurrence of the morning was her ability to meet her fiancé with a calm expression and a smile, albeit this latter was a thin and forced attempt. 'Darling, can I come in for a moment or two?' She opened the door, flicking a hand as an indication for him to sit down. But he came to her and took both her hands in his. 'I hope, dear, that you didn't miss me too much last evening?' Plainly he was distressed, but for once Monique was not in the mood to feel sympathy for him in his struggles against the charms of the beautiful Olivia. 'I dined with Dirk,' she told him quietly, 'and it was very pleasant.' 'He asked you to dine with him?' 'When he realised I was to be on my own, yes, he did.'

A sigh from Miles, and then, 'I told him that Olivia had asked me to go to her house, so that was how he knew you'd be on your own. I'm surprised that he should ask you to dine, though.' Monique said nothing, and after a while he added, 'Dirk Anderson's a philanderer, a womaniser of the worst kind. I hope you won't make a practice of seeing him regularly, Monique.' Her blue eyes glinted. It was not often she allowed her temper to rise, but she was certainly having difficulty with it at the moment. 'If I'm alone again, and he invites me to dine with him, then obviously I shall accept.' Although a heavy frown crossed his forehead, Monique felt sure he was determined not to let himself be provoked. 'I only want to protect you, darling.' 'The best way of protecting me is to be with me,' she pointed out and was gratified to see him colour up. 'Who told you that Dirk's a philanderer?' she inquired coolly when he said nothing in response to her very pointed statement. 'Olivia.' 'I gained the impression, at first, that she and Dirk were rather more than friendly.' 'No, not at all,' he rejoined shortly. 'Olivia knows just what he is, so it's unlikely she'd have him as a friend.' 'I said more than friendly—but let it pass. I'm having my breakfast here, on the verandah, and it'll be up in a moment or two. I sometimes make my own, but today I'm taking advantage of room service.' 'Are you telling me to go?'

She shook her head. Her face was pale and a feeling of emptiness in the pit of her stomach made her ineffably depressed. 'Would you like to join me, Miles?' He smiled then, his face clearing of its harassed look. 'Yes, I'd enjoy that, Monique.' She moved away, profoundly aware that he had made no attempt to kiss her. The meal had been eaten in silence for the most part, and afterwards, when they went together to the plantation house, they said very little to each other. Conscious of the strained atmosphere, Monique knew an almost irrepressible compulsion to have it all out with him, but as before she was afraid of giving him an opening where he could ask her to release him from their engagement. That she was holding on futilely had struck her long before now but she clung to hope still, that tiny, weakening thread which could strengthen again if only he would get over his infatuation for the beautiful Olivia. She resolutely pushed to the back of her mind all thoughts of Dirk. At ten o'clock Olivia arrived, and from then on Monique saw nothing of her fiancé until she left at one o'clock, when she went to find him and tell him she was going. Olivia was with him, her glance swift and indifferent, but her voice was rasping, almost venomous, as she said, 'So you're off to Dirk's office when you've had your lunch?' 'That is what we arranged,' answered Monique coldly. 'Miles tells me you had dinner with Dirk last night.' Olivia's stare was like tempered steel.

Monique's eyes flickered to Miles, standing by an improvised desk on which he had spread the plans over which he and Olivia had been poring, heads close together, when Monique had interrupted them. 'I did dine with him, yes.' 'If you want my advice,' said Olivia tersely, 'then don't get too familiar with him.' Monique's chin lifted. 'It just so happens,' she returned, with a sort of acid sweetness, 'that I neither want nor need your advice.' And with that she walked out, to inhale the clean fresh air as if it constituted a desperate need.

Monique had felt her pulses bound on seeing Dirk in the office when she arrived there at a quarter to two. A tense moment followed as she halted in the doorway. Dirk was by the desk, holding a paper with one hand while the other was thrust deep into the pocket of his white linen slacks. Lowering the paper, he allowed his eyes to wander over her with an expression of lazy amusement. With the memory of last night surging in, the blood was hot in her cheeks and she averted her eyes, waiting for him to break the silence. 'Good afternoon, Monique. I trust you slept well?' Although there might be a subtle reference to what had occurred last night, Monique found to her relief that it could be easily ignored. 'Very well, thank you.' She looked questioningly at him. 'I didn't expect you to be here.' 'I'm here because I want to ask a favour of you.' 'Yes?' Monique eyed him warily and he gave a low, satirical laugh.

'Don't panic,' he said with gentle irony. 'I merely want you to take on the role of companion to my niece while she's here on holiday.' 'Your niece?' she blinked, uncomprehending. 'Companion? What about my work—both for you and for Miles?' Dirk let that pass for the moment as he went on to explain that Lucie, his niece, had—with her customary impulsiveness and lack of consideration— arrived from London without prior warning. 'She's at my house now, and I know from past experience that she will expect me to give her my time. I have none to spare at present—at least, not during the day—and so I would like you to be her companion for the duration of her stay.' 'My work,' she said again. 'Both you and Miles need me.' 'I rather think that Marsden can manage very well without you,' was his crisp rejoinder. There was a particularly austere, incalculable air about him as he added, 'Olivia's a competent typist, so she can do his secretarial work for him.' Olivia. Well, she might just as well do his letters, thought Monique, but pain dragged at her heart and her mind at the thought. However, she managed to hide her feelings as she said, 'What about the work I've been doing for you, Mr. . . .?' She trailed off, embarrassed. 'Dirk will still do.' He paused a moment in thought. 'As for what you've been doing for me— well, I'll require you to see to one or two of the more confidential letters, but I can get a typist from one of my hotels for the others. Don't worry about it; taking care of Lucie is the most important thing. I don't want her running around after me, expecting to be taken all over the island every day.' Monique looked at him with interest. In spite of the stern inflection which mingled with annoyance in his voice, she felt sure that he had

a great affection for this niece of his. Monique asked her age and was told that she was nineteen. 'I'll take you over at once,' he said, and then, after a pause, 'Have you told Marsden that you ... ah . . . confided in me last night?' 'About our being engaged?" Monique shook her head. 'I don't think he'd be happy if he knew that you're aware of his deceit.' Dirk nodded his head. 'We'll not mention it, then,' he decided.

Any slight misgivings Monique had felt about meeting Dirk's niece vanished within a few seconds of being introduced to her. Darkhaired and hazel- eyed, with small, delicately fashioned features and a well-proportioned figure, there was about her a vivacious quality which Monique found most attractive even though she herself was of a far less buoyant disposition, being shy at times, especially in the company of strangers. As soon as she received Lucie's first glowing smile and felt the firm sincerity of her handclasp, she knew a totally unexpected lightening of her spirits. She would have been staggered, at this stage, to learn that although bringing the two girls together suited Dirk's own purpose, he had also felt it would help Monique in her present unhappy mood. She would have been staggered simply because, having labelled him a hard man, she would never have given him credit for such sympathetic understanding and his desire to extend it in a way which he estimated would be reasonably effective. He stayed only a few minutes after introducing the girls to one another, saying he would have letters ready for Monique to type sometime the following day.

'I never expected to have a friend so soon after my arrival,' smiled Lucie, when he had gone. 'I expect he told you of my impulsiveness, that I make up my mind one day and arrive here the next?' 'Yes, he did say something of the kind,' returned Monique, surprised that she was on the verge of laughter. 'When were you here last?' 'I came four months ago for a week, but the time before I stayed for a month. Uncle Dirk was so fed up with me making demands on his time that he eventually told me to go. I considered that to be quite foul of him. But he's like that—he has neither patience nor understanding.' 'He's a very busy man,' offered Monique in support of him. 'Let's tell each other about ourselves,' suggested Lucie, but gave Monique no chance to talk as, with flowing expansiveness, she provided all kinds of interesting information about herself. The only child of wealthy parents—her mother was Dirk's sister— she lived with them in a magnificent old manor in Surrey which, to Monique, seemed to be an outsize version of the kind of place for which she and Miles had been saving assiduously for the past year. Then Lucie talked of her boyfriends, who were numerous; she spoke in a surprisingly mature way of her fears about them. 'How does one assess a man's integrity?' she mused. 'How am I to know which of these young hopefuls is interested in me and not in my prospects?' 'That must be one of the penalties of being an heiress,' returned Monique sympathetically. 'I'm sure I should feel the same way , and be quite afraid of falling in love with any of them, in case my judgment turned out to be at fault.' Lucie nodded reflectively. 'That's the reason for my flying out here, although I have never told Uncle Dirk this, nor even my parents. I

become attached to a young man, go about with him for a while, then I panic and come here, where I'm away from the influence of the particular young man and I can think clearly. I have never felt as safe as I do here,' she confided, 'and this time I shall stay for just as long as Uncle Dirk will have me.' 'You seem a very wise and prudent person, Lucie.' 'I try to be . . .' She paused, and a self-deprecating little laugh escaped her. She and Monique were still in the living room where Dirk had left them, and she looked at Monique across the room for a long moment before adding, 'Last year I almost lost my head over a bloke as handsome as Adonis. His powers of persuasion were devastating and I was on the point of saying I would marry him when— bam!—some inbuilt sense of protection sent forth tentacles of caution and I packed a suitcase and came out here, away from the influence.' Again she paused. 'After only a week I knew I was no more in love with Derek than with any of the others I'd been keeping company with at various times.' 'You're in danger of falling in love at the present time?' said Monique perceptively. 'Yes, I'm crazy about a young man whom my parents don't like, and if I had stayed a week longer it could have been dangerous. I came away to be able to think clearly and try to figure out whether or not he's genuine.' Monique fell silent for a moment, admiring the girl for her strength of character in coming away, putting herself out of danger. She could not help diverting her thoughts to her own problem, and recalling how her employer had tried to persuade her to stay behind and let Miles come out here alone. For Monique the idea had been unthinkable at that time, but now she wondered if she would have been wiser to take Mr. Ford's advice. At least she would have been

spared the agony of witnessing her fiancé's infatuation with another girl. 'How long will you be staying?' she inquired of Lucie at length. Lucie paused thoughtfully, brushing a slender hand through her long, dark brown hair. 'I don't know. I feel it will be at least a month.' A month. . . . Monique suddenly felt a lightness of spirit at the idea of having the company of this bright, outgoing girl for a month. It would take her mind off her troubles, at least to a certain degree. 'Now tell me about yourself,' invited Lucie with a swift, encouraging smile. 'My uncle said you came as secretary to the man who's in charge of the renovations to that lovely old plantation house, but that there isn't enough for you to do, so he jumped at the chance of getting me off his hands by asking you to be my companion.' Monique nodded, wondering whether or not to add to that. Although she decided against it for the time being, she rather thought that it would not be long before she poured out her story into ears which she knew instinctively would be deeply sympathetic. But for the present she merely repeated, for the most part, what Dirk had already said, and as by this time the sun was beginning to drop, she said she had better be getting back to the hotel. 'Oh, must you go?' Lucie's pretty face became marred by a frown. 'Aren't you staying for dinner?' 'I'm not dressed for dinner. In any case, I usually dine with Miles— Mr. Marsden.' Although Monique admitted that it would be far more pleasant to dine with Lucie and Dirk than to dine with Miles when his whole attention would be centered on Olivia, there always lingered in her mind the hope that, one of these evenings, she would

hear Miles say, 'Let's dine together, darling—just the two of us,' and she would then know that he was cured of his infatuation. 'You always dine with your boss?' 'I have up till now, yes—except last evening. I dined with your uncle because otherwise I'd have been on my own.' 'With my uncle . . .?' Lucie's interested regard was not unmingled with surprise. 'Uncle Dirk asked you to dine with him?' 'Yes,' answered Monique briefly, 'he did.' A slight frown touched Lucie's forehead. Her full lips were pursed, her eyes thoughtful. 'Have you met the glamorous Olivia yet?' The question, coming so unexpectedly, brought a swift glance of interrogation from Monique. 'Yes. Have you any particular reason for asking?' 'She and Uncle Dirk were almost engaged the last time I was here. I've been waiting for an invitation to the wedding and had begun to wonder if anything's gone wrong.' 'They were almost engaged?' Monique recalled her early impression that Olivia was in love with Dirk. 'He doesn't seem to bother much with her now,' she added. 'She's working closely with Mr. Marsden.' 'Strange,' mused Lucie, staring out the window to where the sun's slanting rays were painting the gardens and the sea with brilliant gold. 'She excels at her job, and I know that Uncle Dirk's had her doing various jobs in the hotels he owns. It's obvious that he would want her assistance with this new project, but—' She broke off, shaking her head in a gesture of disbelief. 'They were in each other's pockets the last time I was here, and the time before—when Olivia had only just come to Grand Cayman—they'd already become

friendly. I wondered if Uncle Dirk would at last fall in love.' Another thoughtful pause and then, 'Not that I wanted her for an aunt! I can't abide her arrogance, but she seemed to suit my uncle— at least, he appeared to find her attractive.' Lucie moved on her chair, crossing one leg over the other. 'He'd never have asked another girl to dine with him a few months ago; he was with her every single evening, and I'm sure it was because of her that he sent me home. I was in the way—' Lucie broke off as her uncle passed the window and glanced in. 'I wonder if the affair's finished altogether?' Before Monique could find anything to say, Dirk had come into the room. 'Still here?' He glanced speculatively from one to the other as if trying to guess what they had been talking about. 'I thought you'd have been outside, getting yourselves a tan.' 'Tomorrow,' she smiled. 'I'll have got over my jet lag and be able to make use of the swimming pool, then relax on the lawn.' 'I must be going.' Monique rose from the chair. 'Do you want me to come early tomorrow, Dirk—?' She stopped abruptly, a hint of colour fusing her cheeks; she was conscious of Lucie's little start of surprise and of Dirk's amused glance. 'You'll dine with us this evening, I hope?' The implacable quality in his voice left Monique in no doubt that, although phrased as a question, his words were in fact an order. 'But I usually dine with—' 'Marsden and his friend, Olivia? Well, I am sure you would rather dine here, with Lucie and me.' He glanced at the clock, deliberately ignoring the insistent gaze of his niece. 'I'll drive you to the hotel and you can change. I'll phone Marsden and tell him you won't be dining there this evening.' And with that he walked out, leaving the

two girls staring at one another, Lucie with amazed inquiry and Monique with embarrassment. Lucie was not long in breaking the silence. 'A mystery, eh? You'd better spill the. beans, Monique, because I'm so curious I shan't give you any peace until you do!' Monique had to laugh then, and she decided to tell Lucie everything, which she did in a very few sentences. 'So that's how it is,' mused Lucie, when Monique had finished. 'Everything's perfectly clear now.' She hesitated a moment, regarding Monique uncertainly. 'Do you want the picture as I see it?' 'Er—yes, of course.' 'It might hurt.' 'I'm already hurt,' Monique was swift to remind her. 'I've lost my fiancé to that girl—' 'You mightn't have really lost him, Monique. I believe that Uncle Dirk and Olivia have had a tiff, or it could be a real quarrel, and Olivia wants to get Dirk back by making him jealous. Your fiancé appeared on the scene at a most opportune time and Olivia—whom I have always suspected was just about as unscrupulous as they come—decided to make use of him. And I'll tell you this,' went on Lucie, wagging a slender forefinger, 'even if she'd known of your engagement she'd still have used him. She's a no-good, and both Uncle Dirk and your Miles are better off without her.' 'You really believe that she's only using Miles?' Hope soared in Monique, hope strangely tinged with an inexplicable sense of loss. Surely she couldn't be feeling more drawn to Dirk than to Miles? 'You think she's still in love with your uncle?'

'In love?' with a lift of an eyebrow and a sceptical curve of the mouth. 'Olivia isn't capable of loving anyone. She wants my uncle, but I'm sure it's mainly because of his money.' If money was the most important thing, then Olivia could not possibly be interested in Miles and it must be, as Lucie maintained, that she was merely using him in order to make Dirk jealous. Monique recalled the tightness of Dirk's voice this morning when he had been talking about Olivia and Miles, and it did seem, now that she had this added information, that Lucie could be right in her reading of Olivia's intentions. 'I might get him back, after all.' She spoke her thoughts aloud, hoping she hid the uncertainty in her tone. 'It's very likely.' Lucie stared at her with an odd expression. 'You'd forgive him, then?' 'I love him,' returned Monique, telling herself that of course she still loved him—and only him. 'We were blissfully happy before we came out here.' Monique stopped rather abruptly as the face that had been focused in her mind was superimposed with another, even more handsome, a dark-skinned face chiselled into noble yet forbidding lines. . . . Her confusion deepened, her thoughts floundering in a haze of conflicting emotions. She swallowed convulsively, aware of the sudden sensation of dryness in her throat. 'What is it, Monique?' asked Lucie, disturbed by Monique's sudden pallor. 'Are you feeling unwell?' 'No—er—no, I'm fine.' How she managed to infuse a thread of lightness into her voice Monique would never know. She was disturbed in heart and mind, unable to grasp at what was real and concrete . . . powerless to displace the image rooted in her mental vision.

'You look . . . troubled,' observed Lucie uneasily. 'Is it because of something I have said?' Monique managed a smile. 'It's nothing you said, Lucie. I'm fine, really I am.' That seemed to satisfy Lucie, and the topic of conversation changed. Nevertheless, it was with profound relief that at last Monique greeted the time for her departure. She had been shattered by thoughts and ideas that should never have intruded into her mind . . . stunned by an admission which she vainly tried to repress.

Chapter Seven Although it was useless to deny it, to tell herself that the issue need not be faced, Monique stood before the long mirror in her room and knew she had gone to great lengths to look her best—for the man in whose house she was going to dine. She wore an ankle-length gown of ice-green, sprigged with white and yellow daisies, the youthful, snugly fitting bodice and gentle folds of the skirt highlighting her curves, accentuating the slender lines and in some subtle way giving the impression of added height. Her necklace and eardrops were of silver, simple in design as were her dainty, silver- strapped sandals. She moved restlessly, her eyes dark lapis blue beyond the fringing thickness of her lashes. Broodingly, she recalled all those misgivings, and her saying to Miles that she feared something was going to happen to them. A premonition which she had already owned had come true . . . but this. . . . How could she be drawn to Dirk when she had so disliked him in the beginning? Yet, as with Miles and Olivia, the circumstance was by no means unique; other women had fallen in love with men they had originally disliked. In love ... the actual word had not been allowed to push itself to the forefront of her mind, and even now she managed somehow to resist its force. She turned and paced the room, her lovely gown touching the floor like a bridal train. She shut her eyes tightly, in a sort of desperate endeavour to blind herself to the staggering idea which still tried to impel itself into the forefront of her mind. She would not accept it! No more than a couple of hours ago she had felt true pain as she told Lucie what had happened. Could it be that her disillusionment regarding Miles was merely a state of mind, a habit which she had accepted as something permanent? And supposing Miles had not let her down the way he

had, neglecting her for Olivia? Would she still be attracted by the power and magnetism of the dark, enigmatic foreigner? At last, with a sigh of impatience, she took up the silver lame evening bag in which she had put a comb and scented handkerchief. Dirk had said he would send Ian for her and she realised that he would already have arrived and be waiting for her in the lobby of the hotel. As she came from her room she paused, her eyes fixed on the door of her fiancé's room. She had tried to find him immediately after returning from Dirk's house. She supposed that Dirk had been in touch, to tell him about Lucie's arrival and that from now on most of Monique's time would be taken up with the girl, but naturally Monique had wanted to see Miles for herself. There had been no response to her knock. She had made a quick search of the bar and the pool area and several other places in the hotel where he might be found, and finally she had tried to phone him at the plantation house, but with the same negative result. Where was he? With Olivia— no possible doubt about that. Well, he would not care that she was not to dine with him and Olivia this evening, thought Monique, as she turned away and proceeded towards the lift. Dirk and his niece were on the patio when Monique arrived a short while later. Having been shown to the patio by Waldo, she watched Dirk rise from his chair, noticed his superb appearance, the whiteness of his tropical suit a startling contrast to the darkness of his skin. His hair gleamed, the streaks of grey highlighted by the lamp above his head. They stood looking at one another for what seemed an unconscionable length of time and Lucie might not have been there at all. Dirk's eyes roved from Monique's face to her throat and the delicate curves of her bare, honey-tanned shoulders, then made a comprehensive sweep over her entire body before returning to her face. Sparks of electricity seemed to shoot out, passing from one to the other; Monique quivered as the pulsation of nerves sent

vibrations to her heart, quickening its beat and sending a flow of warmth through her veins. She felt shy and awkward in his presence, potently alive to his superlative male attraction. It was an attraction which in many ways baffled her because, for the most part, his darkly etched features bore the mark of austerity, and there was always that hint of arrogance, just as if he were perpetually conscious of his own distinctive appearance and superiority. 'You look stunning, Monique!' It was Lucie who broke the silence, and Monique cast her a grateful glance. 'Where did you buy a dress as delightful as that?' 'In London, just before we came away.' A smile fluttered on her lips as Dirk pulled out a chair and saw her seated at the rattan table. 'In London,' repeated Lucie. 'I have never seen anything quite so pretty.' 'Nor I,' murmured Dirk and there was that in his voice which plainly conveyed the fact that he was not referring solely to the dress. Monique's cheeks became softly pink beneath his half-mocking stare; bursting in on her came the memory of last night, and she felt exceedingly glad of Lucie's presence. But Lucie was not invited to accompany them when, after a wonderful meal of delicious seafood and a long chat on the terrace afterwards while they drank coffee and liqueurs, Dirk said it was time to take Monique back to the hotel. Several times during the evening Lucie had cast curiously perceptive glances both at her uncle and at Monique. And although she suggested she should ride in the car with them, it was a halfhearted request which struck Monique at once as a sort of feeler thrown out at Dirk in order to learn just what his reaction would be.

His face was a mask, his voice devoid of expression as he replied, 'There's no need for you to come, Lucie. As a matter of fact, you'd be bored anyway, since I have things to discuss with Monique.' 'You have?' murmured Lucie, and now it was her voice which lacked expression. 'Well, good night, Monique. You'll be here early tomorrow?' 'Of course.' She averted her head to avoid the direct scrutiny of Lucie's eyes. 'What time would you like me to be here?' 'Soon after breakfast. We can swim and talk and, after lunch, we'll have Ian drive us somewhere—' She stopped and lifted laughing eyes to Dirk's face. 'You won't mind, will you, Uncle Dirk?' 'As long as you don't trouble me with your presence I shan't mind at all,' he answered, with a bluntness that seemed all at once to make him more human. 'The whole idea of asking Monique to keep you company is to protect myself.' Although his voice was crisp, Monique could not help but notice the underlying current of affection, nor miss the hint of softness which fleetingly entered his eyes. They were in the car when Dirk said, 'I phoned Marsden and explained; I told him to get Olivia to do his secretarial work for him.' 'I tried to find him, but he wasn't at either the hotel or the site.' 'He was at Olivia's home.' 'I see. . . .' 'How long were you engaged?' 'We're still engaged.'

'All right. You know what I mean.' He was driving very slowly along West Bay Road and they were just passing the beautiful edifice of Government House, its impressive facade set well off the road. Through the trees at the side Monique could see the moonlight glittering on the smooth, dark waters of the Caribbean. 'We've been engaged for over a year.' 'Too long. He can't have been in love with you.' A statement to which Monique promptly and indignantly replied, 'He did love me! We were madly in love with one another!' 'Madly?' with a quirk of amusement as he took a sideways glance at her profile. 'If you were, then neither of you could stand to wait that long.' She coloured in the dimness of the car. 'There was no way in which we could be married.' 'Love will find a way,' he quoted, and she could not miss the sneer in his voice. 'We were saving for a special kind of house we both wanted.' He seemed to find that amusing because a soft laugh escaped him. 'Obviously the call of the flesh was not very strong.' 'I'd rather change the subject,' she rejoined acidly. 'Will there be many letters for me to type for you tomorrow?' 'I can't remember.' Lifting a hand, he smothered a yawn. Monique said, bristling at the action, which she felt was made deliberately to put her out of countenance, 'If you're bored, Dirk, you could drive a little faster.'

'I could never be bored in your company, Monique,' he said quietly. 'You're the most attractive and desirable woman I have ever known.' Silence, tense and a little frightening. Monique's nerve-ends quivered as she fumbled for words. 'You forget I'm engaged to Miles,' was all that she could find to say. 'You're still willing to marry him, in spite of the way he's treated you?' Monique made no answer, for she had grave doubts now that she realised just how deep was her feeling for Dirk. Yet even while this admission was passing through her mind, she also realised that Dirk was willing to have an affair with her and that was all. She doubted if he knew the meaning of the word love, doubted he had ever come near to experiencing its joy. And in any case, whatever feelings he did possess were for Olivia, who would in all probability win him back in the end. 'I'll see you to your room.' Dirk spoke as he stopped the car outside the hotel. Monique's heartbeats quickened even though she had expected something like this, expected it when Dirk had told his niece that he and Monique had things to talk about. Monique supposed she had visualised him taking her into some lonely place in the hotel gardens, or some equally secluded spot along the beach where the casuarina trees grew at their closest. 'I don't know if I want you to,' she began, and Dirk laughed at her half-hearted protest. He seemed amused at his ability to throw her into confusion as, turning her face towards him, he noticed her fluctuating colour. Before she could twist away, his lips had made their capture, his hard mouth moistly seductive and exploring as it widened over hers, and his rough warm tongue sent her pulses spinning.

'Let's go in,' he said thickly about five minutes later, his adept fingers fitting the shoulder straps of her dress back into place. 'No protests, Monique,' he warned, as she stiffened against him. He got out and came around to her side. The car lights had already been extinguished and, after locking the doors, he put his hand beneath Monique's elbow and ushered her towards the lobby of the hotel. 'People will know,' she said, blinking against the lights that met them as they entered. 'People?' 'The staff.' 'No such thing,' he denied casually. 'We shall go through and to the lifts. Who's to know we're not going up to one of the bars for a drink?' He had an answer for everything, she thought, wishing she had the will to resist his magnetism and masculine appeal. Just as they entered the lift Monique caught sight of Miles and Olivia, walking very close together towards a French window leading into the hotel grounds. Turning, she caught her companion off guard, saw the compression of his lips, the narrowing of the hard, slate-grey eyes.. Something beyond her control made her say, 'They look so happy, don't they?' He turned his head as the lift doors clamped together; the tawny lights in his eyes were more pronounced than ever. 'I expect Lucie has been talking,' he said, his lip curling faintly. 'She told you that Olivia and I were having an affair the last time she was over.'

'Affair! I—you—' Monique floundered, so unexpected was the frankness of his words. 'She seemed to think you were serious about Olivia—that you might marry her.' No comment ; Dirk appeared to have dropped into a mood of introspection, and it was only after they had reached her floor that he spoke. 'I suppose, eventually, I might have married her,' he admitted. 'I have sometimes felt I ought to have a family. But marriage is the kind of step one can take late in life. I'm not yet ready to be tied to a possessive woman who'll expect me to sit on a couch and hold her hand every evening.' 'How cynical you are!' exclaimed Monique, stopping by her door and realising she had forgotten to collect the key from the desk. 'Marriage can be fun.' His eyes registered mocking humour as he said, 'You've never been married, so how can you know?' 'Instinct,' she returned briefly. 'Woman's intuition?' Automatically, his eyes fell to the evening bag she carried, and she supposed he was expecting her to produce the room key. 'Your woman's intuition obviously didn't warn you of the danger of coming out here. You never expected your fiancé to treat you the way he has.' 'No,' she admitted, but went on to tell him of her fears and misgivings. He seemed faintly surprised but treated the matter with indifference as he asked her for the key. 'I'll unlock the door,' he added, holding out his hand. 'It's at the desk. I usually leave it there.'

'I'll fetch it,' he said, and her eyes followed his lean athletic body as, with long easy strides, he traversed the corridor towards the lifts. No sooner had he disappeared into one lift than another opened and Miles stepped out, alone. He did not see her at first and she had time to examine his face. Although it was in shadow, she could see the drawn lines, the stiff mouth and taut jaw. His eyes had a dulled expression which lightened when he saw her, and the compression of his mouth gave way to a smile. 'Monique, what are you standing there for? I thought you were dining at Mr. Anderson's house.' 'He's just brought me back. I forgot my key and he's gone down to pick it up from the desk.' She spoke without thinking, her mind far from clear as a result of seeing him here, when she had supposed him to be in the gardens with Olivia. 'Mr. Anderson's gone for your key?' Miles looked uncomprehendingly at her. 'He brought you up here? To your room?' 'Yes—' 'But surely there was no need for that, Monique,' he broke in, more sullen than angry. 'I don't like it at all. . . .' His voice trailed into silence as he saw the sudden sparkle in her eyes. 'Shall we forget you said a thing like that, Miles? After all, you're hardly in a position to take umbrage over my friendship with Dirk, are you?' 'Friendship?' He spoke softly, almost to himself, and a frown spread across his brow.

'I believe Dirk explained to you over the phone about his niece,' said Monique, before he could continue, 'and that I shall not be working for you at all while she is here?' 'Yes, that's right.' 'Olivia will be doing your letters for you.' 'Er—yes, she will.' That he was unhappy was plain, his voice almost breaking when he added, 'You're angry because I have to work so closely with Olivia, aren't you, Monique?' 'Working closely is one thing, Miles,' she said with more acid in her tone than she would have believed possible, 'but being with her for every waking hour is another. You and I are engaged, remember?' 'But we can't reveal it—' He spread his hands in a little helpless gesture. 'What can I do?' 'You can keep your relationship with Olivia on a business footing.' She stopped, profoundly conscious of her own relationship with Dirk. Yet how could she blame herself when Miles's infatuation for Olivia had been the cause of her turning to Dirk for comfort? 'She wants to dine with me—us—and I have no excuse for not agreeing.,' 'It doesn't matter,' sighed Monique, wondering what was keeping Dirk so long. 'I told you of my fears before we came out here; it was as if some sixth sense were warning me that things would go wrong.' 'When this job's finished,' he began, 'everything will be all right again.'

'Miles,' she interposed even before he finished, 'you're infatuated with Olivia, and if you deny it I shall not hesitate to tell you you're not convincing me. Has it never struck you that she might be using you for some ulterior motive of her own—?' Abruptly, she stopped, not having intended to divulge anything of what Lucie had told her. 'Never mind, let it pass. I shouldn't have said it.' 'What did you mean?' he demanded. 'What ulterior motive could there be?' 'I said, let it pass. I'm not willing to explain, so don't persist.' She had never spoken to Miles like this in the whole of their acquaintanceship, and it hurt abominably to know that she could do it now. He looked at her through shadowed eyes, his underlip caught between his teeth. 'I'm so helpless, Monique,' he cried. 'I can't think! And my work's suffering because of it!' Monique changed the subject. 'Why are you here, Miles? I saw you going outside a few minutes ago.' 'Olivia and I were going over to that little bar for drinks—we have some important things to discuss about the renovations,' he added hastily, noting his fiancée's expression. 'I'd forgotten my money so I came up to get some.' Before Monique could speak she heard the lift doors open and she glanced along the corridor to see Dirk approaching, swinging along with that easy gait that seemed to take his feet right off the ground and keep them there. Suddenly Miles seemed to become fired with anger. As soon as Dirk reached them he said tersely, 'Mr. Anderson, my fi—my secretary

tells me you are seeing her to her room. Is that necessary? I must say, I don't think you should be here at all.' The straight black eyebrows shot up arrogantly. 'As this hotel happens to belong to me, I have every right to be here.' Miles coloured, his eyes fixed on the key which Dirk held between his fingers. 'I'm sorry,' he muttered and Monique quite suddenly realised that he had never been the man she had taken him for. He had always seemed so proud, so self-confident, but now he was not only worrying about his job, but he obviously could not bear to leave Olivia. 'I shouldn't have said a thing like that, Mr. Anderson.' 'We'll forget it,' said Dirk at once, and then, after a small pause, 'I spoke to Olivia just now; she's in the lobby, looking restless.' The sneer in his voice matched the upward curl of his lips. Miles's colour deepened; he cast a glance at Monique and seemed reluctant to leave her with Dirk. 'I thought you'd be going to bed. It's after ten—' 'Quite early,' broke in Dirk. 'Monique and I are going for a stroll on the beach, but she needs a wrap in case the wind is chilly.' Suave the voice and manner, challengingly arrogant the stare he was giving to Miles. Monique was distressed, but glad that Dirk had seen fit to invent an explanation for his being here. 'I'll—I'll get the wrap,' she said, wanting only to seek the haven of her suite. She held out her hand for the key. Ignoring the gesture, Dirk smiled down at her enigmatically as he stooped to insert the key in the lock. 'I shouldn't keep Olivia waiting if I were you,' he advised, his words a dismissal as he spoke to Miles.

'No. . . .' Miles looked almost haggard as he added, speaking to Monique as she went into her room, 'Well, take care, then.' 'Don't worry about it,' Dirk advised after they had been in her sitting room for a few seconds and he saw the tears hanging on her lashes. 'I recommend you accept that your engagement's at an end." Automatically, she shook her head, lifting her misted eyes and biting her lip until it hurt. 'It can't be the end! Oh, why did Miles ever see that advertisement?' She was distraught, her mind a whirlpool of chaotic emotions as she realised that she could never recapture the past. As she lifted her eyes she was too trapped by these emotions to worry about what she might be revealing to a man as astute as Dirk Anderson. His dark eyes flickered, then widened to their fullest extent. A frown spread across his brow, and for a long, tense moment silence filled the room. Monique stirred restlessly, puzzled by his manner and by the way she was reacting to it. No ordinary sensation this, but a profound, compulsive awareness of something dramatic, and deep within the subterranean recesses of her mind, the primitive stimulation of dreams and desires that had nothing at all to do with the physical essence of love. She was willing Dirk to care, to forget Olivia. . . . Dazed, she could only stare at him across the subtly lit room, a hand stealing to her cheek as yearning flowed unhindered. Presently, just as if their minds had been linked by telepathy, they came towards one another and, with movements that could not have been more natural had they been husband and wife, their bodies locked together in contact so intimate that the barrier of clothing might not have been there at all. The gentle warmth and strength of Dirk's hands, exploring and caressing, the domination of his mouth and its silent commands to which obedience was offered instantly, the complete mastery of his hard virile body over hers, the tender arrogance with which he removed a shoulder strap, and his fingers' practised finesse on the nipple . . . All these combined to send

tremors of undiluted ecstasy shooting through her. With amazing strength she arched herself against him in a desperate, primordial fever of longing for complete fulfilment. 'Dirk,' she whispered huskily, 'love me . . . please love me. . . .' 'Monique!' His exclamation echoed with triumph as he swept her right off her feet and carried her into the other room. She stood against the bed, dreamy- eyed, as he unzipped her dress and tossed it away. She looked at his white jacket and as he noticed her expression he smiled and said, 'Why not, my dear? On an occasion like this one should always follow the dictates of desire, with no inhibitions or hesitations. Undress me if you want.' Colour flooded her face as she stood there, her breasts barely enclosed in the dainty lace bra, the curves of her lower body seductively and tantalisingly indistinct beneath the diaphanous slip that reached almost to her feet. 'I—I would like to—to take your coat off,' she murmured shyly, her swiftly lowered lashes spreading delectable shadows onto cheeks fluctuating with colour. Dirk stood looking down at her in amusement as she fingered the jacket's one button as if it were hot, and then she seemed to gain courage as she slipped the jacket from his shoulders. Her pulses raced with exquisite yearning. She noted the pronounced darkness of his skin, which accentuated the rippling muscles seen through the fine lawn material of his shirt. With a little access of affection and desire she slipped her arms about him and pressed her cheek against his chest. This was bliss such as she had never known before, and she began to consciously question the love which she and Miles had had for one another before coming out here. She questioned, too, her own character, and wondered if Miles's uninspired lovemaking would have satisfied her. She certainly admitted that, with Dirk, she

craved his mastery, for the authority which he would undoubtedly exert upon the woman who eventually became his wife. She would be compelled to accept, from the very beginning, that her husband was her master, his will supremely dominant and to be obeyed without argument or even question. 'Well,' he said teasingly, 'are you intending to stop there?' She lifted eyes dark with desire and shook her head. But she was shy and could not speak. With unsteady hands she tugged hesitantly at his shirt to bring it free from the waistband of his slacks. And then she looked up at him again. 'This is going to take hours,' stated Dirk with a light laugh. 'You appear to have more patience than I. Perhaps I had better help you.' But Monique was already unfastening the buttons, and she shook her head against his offer as she hurried a little, then slipped the shirt from his body. Gently, shyly, she explored with hands that still trembled, her touch butterfly light until, with a sudden surge of ardour, Dirk flattened his palms against them, manipulating them back and forth and sideways until Monique felt the contraction of flesh and muscles as galvanic stirrings of pleasure rippled beneath the tender pressure of her hands. She paused a moment, meeting his eyes hesitantly, eyes that smouldered with passion striving to be released. 'Monique. . . .' No longer did his voice carry the attractive lilt of the island; it was low and ragged, throbbing with passion. Monique quivered beneath his sensuous mouth as it explored the curve of her throat, the hollow places behind her ears, while his hands sought the equally sensitive points of her eager, yielding body. She felt the moisture of his palms as they closed over the hard, pointed swell of her breasts. Little moans of ecstasy issued from lips bruised and hot from his kisses, while Dirk's smothered groans vibrated against her throat.

At last he held her from him, supporting the heady lightness of her body as if aware of the loss of power in her limbs, the sublime lethargy and contentment of total bliss. 'What a wonderful girl you are, Monique.' Dirk shook his head in a gesture which could almost denote bewilderment and disbelief. She lowered her lashes, ashamed now because, bursting in on her, came the full knowledge that to him this was only an affair, another triumph. And yet, as had been the case the night before, he had not followed through, even though he could have done so, simply because Monique had been tempted beyond the point of no return. Yet he had held back, just as if for some reason of his own he did not want to class her with the numerous others—or was this wishful thinking on her part? She wished she was not so shy about these things, that she could have asked why he had not taken her. She fluttered him a smile that was unknowingly tender and all-revealing. Dirk's eyes glittered a moment then became veiled. 'Are you going?' Monique voiced the question on seeing him reach for his shirt. 'Don't you want me to?' Monique sensed a hidden edge to his words that produced a little stab of pain in the region of her heart. 'I could stay, but I'll not be responsible for what happens. Well?' 'I th-think you had better go.' Her voice was no more than a whisper. Dirk slipped his arms into the shirt and buttoned it up. Then he took up his jacket. Monique donned a dressing gown that was draped over the end of the bed. He watched her fasten it, tying it round her slender waist. 'Let's take a stroll on the beach,' he suggested. 'I must admit I'm not anxious to leave you yet, but if we stay up here . . .'He broke off

with a smile and a shrug that spoke volumes. 'Would you care to go out?' he asked after a pause. She nodded eagerly. 'Yes, I'd love that.' She went over to the wardrobe and took out a pair of white linen slacks and a pale-blue cotton blouse. 'I'll go and change.' 'Go?' with lifted brows. 'You're not shy all at once, are you?' he asked with faint mockery. 'I'll change in the bathroom,' was all she said to that, and he laughed as she disappeared and closed the door firmly behind her. 'Supposing we see Miles and Olivia,' she said, when she came back again. 'They expect us to show up, remember? Besides, there's plenty of room out there for all of us,' he said, and she thought she heard a brittle edge to his voice. Was he jealous of Olivia's association with Miles? Monique refused to dwell on such a depressing matter. She was with Dirk and, amazingly, even Miles's image had no place in her mind. There was a lonely intimacy about the deserted beach at night, a kind of primordial aspect seen nowhere else but where sea meets shore in one direction and sky in another. 'It was like this when the world began.' The murmured words left Monique's lips as she glanced up at Dirk's profile in the moonlight. 'Not at all,' he disagreed emphatically. 'All was heat and turmoil when the world began.' 'I meant after it had all cooled down.' 'It was millions of years cooling down.'

'And then things began to grow,' she mused, talking to herself as she stared at the dark, nebulous outline of the horizon. 'Wasn't it a miracle?' 'All life is a miracle.' There was gravity in his tone and in the delivery of his words. 'We take so much for granted, without using our imagination to its full capacity.' 'I think I use mine,' she argued thoughtfully. 'I know how life began—' 'You know where it began,' he broke in to correct her. 'In the sea, with little one-celled creatures.' 'What did they evolve from?' Monique laughed and gave up. And soon they were close to where the casuarinas formed a wooded copse, and, by common consent, their steps directed them towards it, a companionable silence having settled between them. Reaching the copse, they stood together in the warm intimacy of the tropical night, where the moon sailed high above, its silver luminescence throwing the shore, in one direction, and the gentle swell of the sea, in the other, into relief. In the sky a million stars pierced the tropical darkness, and here and there a filmy skein of cirrus cloud shone mauve-white against a background of deepest purple. Monique glanced around, catching her breath at the sheer magic of the scene. And, hesitantly, she lifted her eyes to the dark handsome face above her and as Dirk returned her glance his mouth curved in a smile. 'Isn't it wonderful?' Monique had to speak, because of some deep emotion she could not understand. Perhaps it was hope that had risen within her . . . hope that Dirk would fall in love with her.

She shook her head and sighed. What was the sense of a hope such as that? Yet she was puzzled by his restraint when she had known that he regarded her as an easy challenge. There must be some reason for his out-of-character behaviour, but only Dirk himself knew what it was. 'The moon, you mean, and the stars?' 'Yes, and the effect they have on everything.' 'I expect that, being a female, your head is filled with romance.' He was laughing at her, yet there was no mockery in his voice. 'Aren't men ever romantic?' Monique hadn't meant to say the words, but it was done now and she waited with interest to see what his reply would be. 'If you mean, do I ever become romantic, the answer is no. I expect your Miles used to get romantic, but what did it all add up to?' There was an unmistakable lingering note of cynicism in his tone, but she could not raise an indignant response simply because, as Dirk had implied, Miles had let her down so badly. It seemed strange to her, but somehow right, that Miles's treachery hardly seemed to matter at this moment.

Chapter Eight Olivia's voice was as smooth as silk, but to Monique's alert, receptive ear there was an undercurrent of sheer venom in her words. 'You're seeing a lot of Dirk these days, and I warned you that to cultivate his friendship could be dangerous.' Monique's eyes kindled, roving over the other girl's figure with concentrated dislike. 'Those weren't your exact words, Miss Cartwright,' she began, when Olivia rudely interrupted her. 'Don't let us waste time splitting hairs,' she snapped. 'I advised you—' 'And if I remember rightly, I said I had no need for your advice.' She and Olivia were in one of the bedrooms of the plantation house, Monique having come upon her as she searched for Miles to tell him she would be away from the hotel for three days. Monique would have retreated as soon as she stepped up to the door and saw that Olivia was alone in the room, but the other girl saw her and said that Miles would be along directly. It was while Monique was waiting that Olivia introduced the subject of Dirk, and Monique was left in no doubt at all of the rightness of Lucie's guess that Olivia was merely using Miles in order to make Dirk jealous. And now it was Olivia who was jealous ... of Monique! 'What is it you want to see Miles for?' demanded Olivia insolently. 'He's very busy, and as you are not now working for him . . .' Her voice trailed into silence and a faint tinge of colour stole into her cheeks as Miles came into the room. His swift glance from one girl to the other betrayed his knowledge of at least part of their conversation. 'Hello.' He greeted her with a smile that was plainly forced. 'You want to see me?'

'Yes.' She glanced towards the door. 'Can I speak to you privately?' 'Er—well, yes, of course, Miss Thornton.' 'Is that necessary, Miles?' Olivia spoke impulsively, her colour rising as she noted the expressions of surprise appear on the faces of Miles and his fiancée. 'I mean—you're dreadfully busy, as I pointed out to Miss Thornton,' she added with a hint of defiance and challenge in her tone. Miles's discomfiture was increasing and Monique bit her lip. 'Is it anything very important?' inquired Miles awkwardly. Monique looked from one to the other and then said resignedly, 'It's just to tell you that I shan't be at the hotel for the next three days. Dirk—Mr. Anderson's going to Jamaica on business, and as Lucie wants to go she's asked me to go as well, because her uncle won't be able to spend much time with her during the day.' Silence, long and filled with tension, as both Miles and Olivia stared at Monique through cold, disbelieving eyes. 'To Jamaica?' It was Olivia who spoke at last, her eyes glinting like points of steel. 'I thought you came here to work, Miss Thornton.' 'You know she's now companion to Mr. Anderson's niece,' interposed Miles hurriedly. 'It's a surprise, though,' he said tautly, 'to learn of your going to Jamaica.' Clearly he did not approve, and Monique looked straightly at him. 'As companion to Lucie, I would obviously accompany her. I see nothing surprising in it at all.' Which was not altogether true, for even now Monique could not believe her good fortune in being given this opportunity of visiting one of the most beautiful islands in the whole of the Caribbean.

'No—I—I suppose not.' Miles turned away from his fiancée's halfaccusing stare. She wondered what his thoughts were. He had been fascinated by Olivia's beauty, captured by her cleverness, and all unknowing he was merely a pawn in the game she was playing. But it was a game that wasn't going as she had expected. In fact, it could be said that the tables were being turned on her. 'When are you going?' Miles asked, and Monique told him they would be leaving later that afternoon. 'Ian's just driven me along here so that I can tell you,' she added. 'And now he's taking me to the hotel so that I can pack a few clothes.' All this time Olivia was standing there, an expression of black fury in her eyes as she silently looked on. That she was in the grip of some intense emotion, some all-enveloping passion, was evidenced by the convulsive twisting of her mouth and the perspiration that dampened her forehead and upper lip. Monique glanced covertly at Miles to see if he had noticed, but he seemed lost in a mood of introspection, his eyes glazed and unseeing. 'I'd better be going.' Monique's own face was pale and she felt exceedingly uncomfortable. 'I haven't much time.' 'When will you be back?' Miles brought his eyes to hers and she swallowed, then told him she would be back on Friday evening. It was only to be expected that the scene in the plantation house should affect Monique, nor did it help to realise that, having spent more time there than she had allowed for, she had only a quarter of an hour in which to do her packing. 'I expect I've forgotten half the things I shall need,' she sighed as, closing the lid of her suitcase, she snapped the locks into place. She rang for a porter and, while waiting for him, she quickly washed her

face and hands and brushed her hair. The telephone rang and she frowned, half inclined to let it ring because she suspected it would be Miles who was phoning her. She decided to pick up the receiver. Miles's voice came over the line. 'Monique, Olivia's most concerned about your going to Jamaica with Lucie and her uncle. She asked me to try and persuade you not to go; she doesn't trust Dirk Anderson, and I might as well tell you that neither do 1. Please, darling, don't go—for my sake. After all, you are my fiancée and I do have certain rights—' 'Rights!' ejaculated Monique, her face crimson with anger. 'You have the effrontery to say a thing like that!' 'It's been awkward for me, Monique,' he began, but, too angry to listen, Monique slammed the receiver down. A couple of minutes later she was leaving the hotel, sitting next to Ian, who was telling her how lucky she was to be going to Jamaica for three days.

The first evening in Jamaica began with cocktails at the hotel in Ocho Rios, where Dirk and the two girls were staying. They had a dinner of stuffed lobsters in the dimly lit restaurant, with delicious pastries to follow. The air pulsated with calypso music and between courses Dirk danced with his two companions in turn. When it was over, Lucie threw covert glances at Monique and at her uncle and said slowly, lifting a hand to smother a yawn, 'I wonder if you'd mind if I went to bed early? I always feel tired after a flight, however short it is.' Dirk flashed her a surprised look and she slid her hands along her cheeks till her fingers pressed against her eyes. 'It's not like you to be tired,' he said.

'Well, I happen to be tired tonight.' She looked apologetically at Monique. 'You don't mind, do you?' 'No, of course not.' Monique looked at her wrist- watch. It was only a quarter to ten, and during the six days she had been Lucie's companion the girl had never wanted Monique to leave until halfpast eleven, or even twelve o'clock. The three left the table together, and Dirk told Monique to wait while he saw his niece safely to her room. When he returned, Monique watched him approach with that light step of his, and the particular manner of walking which made his body appear as weightless as a breeze. He stopped, towering above Monique and staring down at her, an odd expression in those hooded grey eyes. 'There's something very strange about Lucie going to bed at this time of the night,' he commented, 'very strange indeed.' He took her arm and said they would go outside. Danger lights flared, but Monique ignored them, her desires stronger than caution. She wanted to be in Dirk's arms and she was not disappointed, for once they were away from the lights of the hotel she was drawn immediately into his hawser-strong embrace. His mouth was hard and demanding, his body pressed close. She reciprocated to the delightful sensuality of his exploring mouth, parting her lips in submission and pleasure as she allowed his tongue to tease and torment until she shuddered against him with craving and near surrender. Was this love she felt for him? It was not the first time she had asked the question, nor was it by any means the first time that she had shunned full honesty and admission. She was certainly drawn to him, vitally affected in mind and body by his unique attractiveness, his air of mastery—and even his arrogance was acceptable in that it was a necessary complement to the physical and mental power he exerted over her. Undoubtedly she would be lost if ever he should

decide to take her, but twice the opportunity had been there and he had allowed it to pass. Was this love? she asked herself again as, his warm hand cupping her breast, she became fired with an agonising need, a desperate, primitive need for total surrender and fulfilment. Her heart would probably have called it love, but her common sense was still vitally concerned with the fact that she had been caught on the rebound. Had it not been for her utter dejection at Miles's desertion none of this would have happened; not even a kiss would have passed between her and Dirk. So how could it be love? was the logical question which was occupying her mind when, at close to midnight, she stood before her bedroom mirror staring grimly at her disordered hair and swollen mouth. At last she turned away and her thoughts turned to Miles. She was living again those halcyon days and months of their engagement, when dreams were simple and desires uncomplicated. They had known just what they wanted and where they were going. Life had been smooth sailing towards a goal which they both knew they would attain. And now . . . Both Miles and herself were being tossed on a rough sea, their lives affected by two other people whom they need never have met had they stayed in England. But fate had decreed they come here, and Monique was sufficiently a fatalist to be able to accept that it just had to be.

The following morning Dirk went off immediately after breakfast and was not to return until seven o'clock in the evening. Meanwhile, the girls took off on a trip, hiring a taxi for the whole day. After driving along a road winding through lush tropical vegetation and woodlands, they came to the famous Dunn's River Falls. They had

been told by Dirk to take swimsuits, and these they wore beneath their dresses, which they left in the taxi, along with their shoes. The thundering falls could be ascended and natural showers taken as the crystal spray cascaded over the jutting limestone ledges. And at the place where the waterfall met the sea the girls stood waist-high in the salt water with fresh water at their backs. Then they swam from the shore until it was time for lunch. They tried Jamaica's national dish— ackee and saltfish—and found it delicious. After lunch the driver took them for a tour, stopping so that they could enjoy the lovely Botanical Gardens, where Lucie took numerous snapshots. That evening Dirk had arranged for them to dine on the river. There was a bar on the boat for cocktails before dinner, with a calypso band and dancing beneath the stars. 'It was wonderful!' exclaimed Monique when at last they were back at the hotel. 'Thank you. Dirk, for everything.' 'A pleasure,' was all he said, before bidding them both good night. 'You like him, don't you?' Lucie had come into Monique's room uninvited and she was sitting in a deep armchair, legs crossed, her eyes following Monique as she moved to close the drapes over the high picture window. 'Like him?' Monique's nerves tingled. She was beginning to suspect that Lucie was making intelligent guesses which could be embarrassing. 'Of course I do. No one could dislike your uncle.' A laugh tinkled through the room. 'Many people have disliked my uncle, especially those numerous women to whom he gives the brushoff.' There was a pause, but Monique said nothing. She had turned and was standing with her back to the curtains. 'You must admit, Monique, that you're attracted to him,' persisted Lucie at length.

'I'm engaged to Miles,' she reminded Lucie, although a deep sigh escaped her. Nothing appeared quite so unreal as her engagement. It seemed to mean nothing, just as if it had never existed. 'I'd not have him if he let me down the way he's let you down.' 'It isn't entirely his fault, returned Monique in gentle, understanding tones. 'Olivia's a charmer, you have to admit that." Lucie nodded her head reflectively. 'She certainly charmed my uncle at one time.' she admitted. 'And I must say that men give her a great deal of attention. Are you still going to marry Miles?' The question came abruptly, unexpectedly, and Monique frowned and shook her head impatiently. 'I don't want to talk about Miles, Lucie—I'm sorry,' she added in a distressed tone. 'Don't worry about it. I ought not to have asked you a question like that.' A pause ensued and then, curiously, 'I'd like to meet him. Why haven't I done so before now, I wonder?' Lucie seemed to be talking to herself. 'Because you haven't been to the plantation house. He's there most of the day until about half-past five or six.' 'You can introduce me when we get back,' decided Lucie, wondering why her curiosity had not been aroused before now. The following morning Dirk informed them that, as he had finished all his business sooner than he expected, he would spend the day with them on the beach.

'Oh, super!' exclaimed Lucie in her usual boisterious fashion. 'It's time you relaxed, Uncle Dirk.' He glanced at her with what appeared to be indifference. 'How do you know how often I relax?' 'You never relax when I'm here, so I assume you never relax at all.' 'Everyone needs relaxation.' The hooded eyes slid to Monique and she coloured, grasping the measured significance of his words and the look which accompanied them. Lucie flickered a glance to each in turn, and a strange smile touched her mouth. Monique lowered her lashes, unaware of the delightful effect their shadows made on her cheeks. The silence was becoming a strain and she was compelled to break it, saying the first thing that entered her head. 'I'm sure I never expected to have so much time for relaxation when I first came out to the Caymans.' 'You expected there would be enough work to keep you fully occupied?' 'Of course I did.' They had just finished breakfast and were ready to go down to the beach. 'It was a disappointment not to be able to help in other ways besides the secretarial work.' 'Other ways?' from Lucie with interest. 'I feel I've a certain flair for—well, colour and design . . .' Monique trailed off with a deprecating little shrug. 'It just wasn't to be,' she added finally, and was relieved to see Dirk rise and to hear him say it was time they were going if they meant to make the best of the day. They swam and sunbathed, had a light lunch in the coffee shop of the hotel, then returned to the beach. Monique, watching Dirk

swimming strongly far out from the shore, was fascinated by the muscular strength and physical perfection of his dark-skinned body. She found it impossible to control the emotions that he so easily ignited. 'You know,' murmured Lucie, in a thoughtful mood as she followed the direction of Monique's eyes, 'he is something rather special, that uncle of mine. I do hope Olivia doesn't get him in the end.' Her glance was sidelong and swift; Monique turned away, conscious of the colour leaving her face. 'I have a feeling that he likes you more than Olivia—' 'Please, Lucie,' broke in Monique, distressed, 'don't say such things.' 'Sorry,' with an apologetic flick of Lucie's eyes. 'Uncle Dirk's far too old for you, anyway.' This was said in a kind of compensatory vein of which Lucie was not really conscious. She was sorry for Monique, and as a result was emphasising the difference in age between her and Dirk. Sixteen years. ... To Monique it meant only that Dirk was mature enough to protect her and to care for her, and he was old enough to have sown his wild oats ... or was he? In any case, all this was time wasted on dreams which could never become reality, and Monique successfully managed to dismiss them from her mind. Dirk came out and she looked up at him from where she was sitting on a towel on the sand, her senses vitally aware of the rippling muscles, the droplets of water clinging to the hairs on his limbs and chest, glistening like myriad points of light. She watched as he thrust long lean fingers through his hair, pushing the gleaming wet strands back from his face. He caught her glance and an odd expression entered his eyes. They began to wander slowly, sensuously, over every line and curve of her bikini- clad body. Embarrassed,, Monique looked past him to a large white liner

moving slowly along the horizon, its majestic lines silhouetted, knife-edged, against the brittle sapphire of a sky spangled by drifting veils of fair-weather cloud, luminous with gold taken from the sun. 'I'm going over to that kiosk for a drink.' Lucie rose from the sand, a slender wand of a girl, pale-skinned beside Monique but slightly tanned for all that. 'Anyone coming with me?' 'I don't want a drink, thank you.' 'Nor I.' Stooping to accept the towel Monique had automatically held out to him. Dirk began rubbing himself down, glancing at his niece as she moved away. Dirk sat down opposite to Monique, his eyes never leaving her face. Unexpectedly he smiled, erasing the hardness from his face, and warmth spread through Monique's whole being. It was unwise to feel like this, to allow a mere smile to send her heart leaping. She was becoming more deeply entangled in a net of emotions from which escape must assuredly become increasingly difficult as time went on. She seemed to have accepted the situation without attempting to fight, resignedly taking it for granted that recovery was impossible. That evening they were drinking cocktails in the hotel lounge when a middle-aged man came up, greeting Dirk like an old friend. After wringing Dirk's hand heartily he was introduced to the girls as Richard Waltham, the man from whom Dirk had bought the plantation house. Although Monique judged him to be around fifty, he had a sprightly air about him, a youthful figure and a spontaneous smile. 'Are you on your own?' inquired Dirk and, when Richard said yes, he invited him to join them for dinner. Almost as soon as they were

seated he asked Lucie to dance, whereupon Dirk stood up and Monique slipped into his arms. His manner towards her had undergone a subtle change that afternoon, she had noticed, in that he smiled at her more often, and when she was in her room changing for dinner the idea had been born that he was beginning to treat her with the indulgence and tolerance of a man of the world dealing with a schoolgirl who had a crush on him. She had squirmed inwardly and resolved to treat him from there on with studied coolness. This she was trying to do even while the nearness of his body set her pulses racing and the clasp of his hand sent an electric current shooting out in all directions sp that her every nerve seemed to be vibrating. Nevertheless, she managed to retain complete composure, so much so that it became exaggerated and Dirk told her to relax. 'What's wrong, Monique? You're as stiff as a plank of wood.' Swift colour flowed into her cheeks. 'That's not very flattering!' she exclaimed, leaning back to send him a speaking glance. 'It wasn't meant to be.' His clasp on her hand tightened; she did not know whether it was intentional or merely automatic. 'What's wrong?' he repeated, his eyes flickering as he noted her flushed face. 'Nothing,' she answered shortly. 'Perhaps I'm not in the mood for dancing,' she added as a belated excuse, at which he actually gave her a little shake, right there, in the middle of the dance floor. 'You're such a wonderful dancer that it isn't possible that you're not in the mood,' he said. Monique made no comment; in fact, she was both flattered and embarrassed by his words, and she was fast becoming bewildered by the change in him.

When the meal was finished the four went into one of the bars for a drink, then Lucie again said she was tired and went to bed. Richard didn't stay much longer and, as before, Dirk suggested a stroll and Monique readily agreed. It was no misstatement when Lucie had said he was giving her all his attention, although just what it amounted to Monique could not say. On analysing the situation between them Monique accepted that, at first, his intentions had been of the most dishonourable. He had ascertained that she cared for Miles, had guessed that he and she were engaged, in fact. So he deduced she was ripe for an affair, willing to turn to him for comfort. Yet, amazingly, he had resisted the temptation, and it sometimes seemed to Monique that what had begun as a dishonourable intention had developed into a relationship almost of respect. 'It's late, so we won't stay out long,' he said. 'Are you tired?' She shook her head automatically and a perceptive smile lit his eyes. She ought to have known he would guess that, in her eagerness to be with him, she would never for one moment admit to being tired. His hand on her arm was warm and gentle and Monique thrilled to the nearness of his granite hard body as they walked out into the gardens. Fireflies winked and darted in the bushes, while in the dark serene vault of the Jamaican sky the stars were stationary. The delicate scent of jasmine and other flowers wafted over the gardens, and for Monique it was all too beautiful and intimate; she did not want to leave it, not for hours and hours. She said, speaking her thoughts aloud, 'Why go to bed and leave all this magic outside?' Dirk laughed, darting her a glance in the moonlight. 'Romantic again, are we?' 'Don't be cynical on a night like this,' she begged.

'You're too intense, Monique,' he chided. 'I've told you so before.' 'I don't know what you mean.' Her voice caught, then faltered to silence. 'You go too deeply into things—your feelings are too profoundly involved.' Monique sighed and remained silent. So much for any hopes she had subconsciously cherished that Dirk might by some miracle be starting to care for her. She had been correct in her inference that he was treating her as a love-sick schoolgirl, and the knowledge hurt so much that she said impetuously, 'I want to go in, Dirk. It's far too late for walking in the garden.' Automatically, she glanced around to find that here and there couples could be seen, strolling hand in hand or with their arms about each other. Tears filled her eyes at her own loss; she was bewildered, burdened as she was by too many problems. 'You obviously don't like my proffering advice.' Dirk's half-mocking voice fell on the quiet air and another small sigh escaped her. 'You don't understand,' she said. 'You have no idea what it means to be intense—unless it's concerning practical things,' she thought to add, and finally supplied, 'like the renovations to the plantation house.' 'Practical things," he murmured, as his arm slipped around her waist. 'Yes, I suppose I have become intense over the plantation house. It's a challenge, like Rose Hall, which was also allowed to fall into ruins.' 'Rose Hall?' echoed Monique, diverted for the moment. 'Where's that?'

'Right here, in Jamaica. Surely you've heard about the White Witch of Rose Hall?' and when Monique shook her head, 'She's supposed to have murdered her four husbands, resorting to voodoo on occasions. She herself was murdered by the slaves she had illtreated and her house fell into ruin. It has now been renovated and is a charming property. It's a wonder you've never heard of the house and the story attached to it. Rose Hall's the most famous house in Jamaica.' Her interest having been caught, Monique wanted to hear more about the White Witch, and as Dirk seemed willing to oblige, the next ten minutes or so passed almost without Monique noticing, and also took her and Dirk from the hotel gardens onto a narrow path through a woodland glade. However, when his narrative came to an end she said sharply, 'I want to go back. I'm tired.' 'I don't believe you really want to go to bed yet,' he stated, his arm tightening about her waist. She was jerked to him gently, yet the action roused her temper and she twisted away, stopping in the darkness of the overhanging trees and looking back the way they had come. 'I do want to go back,' she began, but got no further as Dirk's hand shot out and again he pulled her towards him, forcing her offbalance so that she automatically grasped his arms. Within seconds his lips found hers, hungry and demanding, almost brutal, as with savage abandon he took his fill despite the struggles which his captive was putting up. 'Let me go!' she cried, when at last she was allowed to gulp in air. 'I've said I want to go back to the hotel!'

For answer he merely laughed; that he was in an amorous mood was plain, and although Monique began to struggle, her efforts were so ineffective as to be absurd. She gave up, resigning herself to whatever his intentions were. But almost immediately resignation gave way to desire under the stimulating caress of his hands, warm and sensual as they moved from her waist in slow but arrogant intent until they reached her firm small breasts, to linger awhile before their sense-stirring progress brought them to her throat and then to the silken cloak of her hair. Her heart was throbbing with expectation as she parted her moist lips, asking for his kiss. 'Put your arms around me,' he ordered, and without pause she obeyed, thrilling to the feel of his strong neck as her hands caressed his nape, then slid into the wiry dark hair, twisting it around her fingers. His hands continued to rove and caress, the heat they created permeating her every cell and tissue, affecting nerves and fibres until she was drugged by her own flaring responses to what had become a vortex of wild, primitive lovemaking which, she truly believed, must culminate in complete fulfilment for them both. So it was with a shock equal to that of stepping beneath an icy shower that she heard him say, his voice ragged against the warm, honey-gold skin of her shoulder, 'You were right to want to go in, Monique. You're a seductive little temptress and if I'm not careful I shall do something I'll regret.' He held her from him, actually disentangling her hands from his hair with a gesture that could only be described as rough. 'Come on, let's get moving!' he added brusquely. Get moving. . . . Could anything be more unromantic or callous than words like those after the heat and tenderness of their lovemaking! Monique felt the cruel barb of his indifference and, in this moment of disappointment and humiliation, something seemed to snap as

Miles's face leapt out at her, superimposing itself upon that of Dirk, and she found herself tensed in a way she had never known before. She was suddenly unwilling to accept that fate could destroy what had existed between her and Miles. Other couples had survived even rougher passages and come out into the calm again, recapturing what they believed was lost. She and Miles could do the same; she would have a long talk with him, plead with him to throw up the job and return with her to England. Yes, that was Monique's sudden decision, and she felt reasonably optimistic that Miles would fall in with her wishes. She refused to listen to the small voice at the back of her mind that asked if she was running to something with Miles or away from Dirk.

Chapter Nine Although she had resolved to attempt to persuade Miles to return to England, Monique found herself continually battling against recurring doubts. Could they recapture what they had previously enjoyed? However, despite her growing uncertainty, she decided to proceed with her plan, and on the morning following her return from Jamaica she tapped gently on the door of his suite at half-past seven. On receiving no response she knocked more loudly, assuming he was still asleep. Again no response, and a frown settled on her brow. She called his name, then tried the door, even though she expected it would be locked, which it was. He must have decided to have an early breakfast, thought Monique, and hurried down to the restaurant. But he was not there, and a question to the girl at the desk brought forth the information that he had not yet come down. Thinking that perhaps he had gone for an early morning swim, she went through the hotel gardens to the beach, glancing about her the whole time. He must have gone to work earlier than usual, she eventually concluded and, returning to her suite, she tried to telephone him at the plantation house, to no avail. And as by this time it was after half-past eight, she decided to stroll slowly along the beach and arrive slightly earlier than normal at Dirk's house. He was just coming out of the swimming pool and she stood a moment unobserved, her gaze arrested by the sheer majesty of his body and the magnificent assurance of his movements, by the nobly chiselled features, by the proud way he held his dark head. Monique caught her breath, her heightened awareness of him tearing at her emotions. It was a relief when presently he glanced her way; she walked forward towards him, the spell broken. His smile came slowly, an enigmatic smile, which matched to perfection the look in those hooded slate-grey eyes. 'You're early,' he observed, taking up his towel and using it to dry his arms. 'Any particular reason?'

She hesitated, but only fleetingly. 'I wanted to see Miles. I have something of vital importance to say to him.' 'You have?' Sudden interest widened his gaze. 'Can I know what it is?' Again she paused, and again it was only momentarily. 'It concerns our lives—his and mine,' was all she proffered, but the allusion was bound to be grasped by a man as perceptive as Dirk. 'Your engagement,' he said, the towel idle in his hand. He had come close; she tilted her fair head and waited for him to expand on that. 'You want to break it, I suppose?' She shook her head and saw his eyes narrow slowly. 'I want Miles to return to England with me. I feel we can be happy again. . . .' Her voice trailed away to silence and a soft shade of pink stole into her cheeks, for Dirk's changed expression spoke volumes even before he made any verbal comment. 'You don't feel any such thing,' he chided. 'Too much has happened—both to him and to you.' He shook his head emphatically. 'There can be no going back, Monique.' 'We must!' she cried desperately. 'This present situation is impossible for both of us! Miles is unhappy and so am I!' A frown settled on Dirk's forehead, and he seemed to give a small sigh of impatience. 'I believe I told you to accept that your engagement is at an end,' he reminded her. 'Why should you want Marsden to throw up his job when he can only lose by such an action?' He seemed angry, thought Monique, but admitted this was only natural since, if Miles should fall in with her wishes, then Dirk would have to find someone else to take over the work.

'We should never have come,' sighed Monique. 'We were so happy a few short weeks ago.' 'But not in love,' stated Dirk, beginning to use the towel on his body. Whether it was automatic or by design, he drew even closer to where Monique stood by a pergola which partly shaded the pool and up which was growing a beautiful star jasmine, its strongly scented flowers casting their fragrance over the area. 'We were in love,' she insisted, not at all comfortable with him towering above her like this, causing tensions to build up inside her. Dirk seemed to be absorbed in drying himself, and after a pause Monique added, 'You said Miles could only lose by falling in with my suggestion, but I can't agree. Other people have picked up again and been happy, so why shouldn't we?' 'Who are you trying to convince—yourself or me?' Her colour heightened. 'It's not an impossibility,' she began, but he interrupted her. 'It is an impossibility and you know it.' He looked straight at her. 'I'm not willing to release Marsden from his contract,' he stated implacably, 'so you'll do no good by asking him to leave here.' Sparks of anger lit her eyes. 'He can default and there's nothing you can do!' she flashed. 'I can sue him!' Monique shook her head confidently. 'You're not a man to waste time on things like that,' she asserted and had the satisfaction of seeing him turn, avoiding her direct gaze. 'Why this sudden decision to leave?' he demanded imperiously, just as if he had the right to know. 'You never mentioned it yesterday.'

'I decided on it the last evening we were in Jamaica.' 'The last evening?' he repeated. 'Why? What happened then?' So it had meant so little that he did not even recall it! Monique swallowed the little ball of misery that had settled in her throat. Yes, she was just another conquest among many. 'It doesn't matter.' Her voice was strained by bitterness and dejection. 'It just so happened that my decision was made at that time. I didn't manage to see him yesterday after we arrived back here, and so I tried to get in touch with him this morning. He isn't in his room. In fact, he's nowhere in the hotel.' 'Not in the hotel?' sharply and with a tightening of his mouth. 'Are you quite sure?' 'Yes, of course I am. I rang the plantation house, but if he's there he must have been out in the grounds. Of course, he could have been on his way,' she added finally, and wondered why Dirk was slowly shaking his head and why his mouth was unnaturally tight. But whatever affected his mind was not revealed to Monique as he said casually, 'So you came here. Does that mean you haven't had your breakfast?' 'I don't feel like any." 'Have something with Lucie and me.' His voice had changed to include a soft, persuasive quality which, absurdly, made Monique want to cry. Breakfast was served outdoors on the spacious patio, with its magnificent view of the calm, aquamarine sea. The air, clear as glass, pulsated with life as birds and insects busied themselves in trees and colourful borders; the delicate scent of oleanders fused

with that of other exotic flowers to create a perfume which, had it been created by one of the famous French experts, would have been labelled 'Pure Delight'. The day was new and young; all around the impression of peace and tranquillity encompassed the scene, but Monique felt herself to be completely alien to it as she sank down into the soft upholstery of her chair. The disordered state of her mind affected her thoughts, so that the effort of trying to make plans for her future was too great. No shape emerged, not even a vague outline, and only now was she fully aware of just how much her engagement had meant to her; it had constituted a world of difference between security and fear. Of course, she had her sister and brother-in-law, and they had promised that their home should be hers for as long as she needed or desired it. So there were some bright spots in the darkness, she thought, feeling inordinately grateful for her sister's love and that Sadie's husband was so easy to get along with. Monique's reverie was broken as Dirk, having gone indoors to shower and dress, stepped out onto the shady patio, attired in casual slacks of oyster grey and a white loose-fitting shirt, open-necked and short-sleeved, accentuating the healthy sheen of his teak-dark skin. For a long moment he stood there in an arrogant, nonchalant attitude, his cool unsmiling scrutiny even more disconcerting than the words which eventually broke the silence. 'Stop brooding, Monique. What's done is done; it's not new for an engaged couple to part. Consider yourself fortunate that it's happened now and not later.' She looked at him, recalling that Lucie had said something in a similar vein. 'I want to go home.' Monique's voice was petulant and

demanding. 'I came here as Miles's secretary, and as he no longer needs me—' 'You appear to have forgotten,' broke in Dirk sternly, 'that you accepted the post of companion to my niece. I expect you to remain until she leaves.' His grey eyes were narrowed and hard. 'Do you understand?' She swallowed, her mouth set tight. 'Lucie doesn't really need me,' she began. 'If she hadn't needed a companion, I wouldn't have given you the job,' argued Dirk reasonably. 'You'll stay, Monique, so let us have no more argument.' Although resentment flashed into Monique's eyes she smothered the swift retort that leapt to her lips; Dirk's expression unmistakably warned her that what he said he meant. But in any case, Lucie appeared, cool and fresh in a pastel green cotton dress, her hair shining, her eyes bright, reflecting the ready smile with which she greeted the two already there, waiting for her to join them. It was a surprisingly pleasant meal, during which Monique's tensions dissolved. But she was still thinking of the conversation in which she and Dirk had been engaged; and the strange glances he was directing at her as they ate their breakfast made her wonder if he were considering the likelihood of her having that talk with Miles, after all, and attempting to persuade him to throw up the job and leave the island with her. However, she had sensibly accepted the wisdom of his words, resigning herself to the fact that there could be no picking up the threads, for even if Miles were willing to leave the island—and Olivia—there was still the question of Monique's own feelings for Dirk. It was futile to ignore the truth, which persistently thrust itself into the forefront of her mind. What

she felt for Dirk was something far, far different from what she felt for Miles. Lucie's voice recalled her and she listened to the girl asking her uncle if she could borrow the smaller of his two cars. 'I want to see what's going on at the plantation house,' she added, 'and I'd like to meet Monique's fiancé.'

Surprised at seeing the car, and the two girls in it, Miles eyed his fiancée interrogatingly before his glance slid to Lucie. Monique introduced them to one another and the three chatted for a space, or, rather, Lucie asked Miles questions about his work and he answered. Then, glancing at his watch, he asked if they would stay for coffee, and they agreed, whereupon Lucie said she had better put the car in the shade. 'It'll be unbearably hot inside if I leave it where it is,' she added, flashing a smile at Miles and allowing her glance to linger on his face for a fractional moment longer than was necessary. 'I'll be back for that coffee in a minute.' Both Monique and Miles watched her run lightly to the car and hop inside. 'Nice girl,' remarked Miles before turning his attention to Monique. 'How are you?' He was awkward, uneasily watching her face as if he would like to know what lay behind her cool expression. 'I'm fine. I was looking for you this morning as I wanted to have a talk with you.' 'This morning—' He cut off abruptly, then said, 'You want to break our engagement, is that it?'

So it had come at last. Monique seemed numbed to all emotion as she asked if that was what he wanted. She received no reply and something made her repeat, 'I was looking for you this morning,' and she paused a moment to look intently into his eyes. 'You weren't in your room, nor even in the hotel. . . .' Her voice trailed into silence as she saw the painful rise of colour in his face. She remembered Dirk's reaction when she had told him she could not find Miles in the hotel. 'You stayed the night with Olivia—no, I don't believe it!' And yet, what about her own affair with Dirk? she was thinking the next moment. If he had insisted, then undoubtedly she would have given herself to him completely. 'I did stay, yes,' answered Miles, 'but we didn't sleep together.' Nevertheless, something had occurred between them, decided Monique, for otherwise he wouldn't be looking so guilty. 'I asked if you wanted to break the engagement, Miles,' she reminded him coldly. 'I rather think you do and, if so, please tell me.' Suddenly she was dumb with misery and regret. How casually she and Miles could speak of breaking their engagement. She recalled hearing him declare he was the most fortunate man on earth to have won her for his own. So much for love, and Monique's thoughts quite naturally switched to various caustic remarks Dirk had made about it. Reluctant though she was to agree with what he had said, Monique was forced to accept the truth of his words about their not being in love. And now there was no more to be said or done, except to break the engagement. Yet in spite of this, something made her say, perhaps because she wanted Miles to know what had been in her mind, 'I thought we might have been able to leave here and take up where we left off at home.' 'I suppose it's possible—' Breaking off sharply, he shook his head. Monique noticed the brooding expression in his eyes as she waited for him to continue. 'I've let you down badly and I hate myself.

Olivia's done something to me, Monique—and I just can't resist her.' His eyes became even more deeply shadowed. 'Heaven knows where it will end because, caring as I do, I still cannot for one moment imagine being married to her.' Monique flinched at the word marriage. It seemed impossible that he could even mention the word in connection with Olivia. 'It's only infatuation,' stated Monique at length, 'and that was why I had felt that, if you would agree to leave here, we might get back to where we were. . . .' Her voice quivered and the ensuing silence held for a while before she resumed. 'It's profitless to talk about it, and I really don't know why I have.' She looked at him through eyes misted by tears. 'I'll return your ring this evening when I come back to the hotel to change. You'll be in your suite?' 'I think so. Olivia hasn't been feeling too well this morning and I rather think I shall be dining alone tonight.' 'I'll bring you your ring, then,' she said again, feeling awkward for the very first time since she had met him. Silence ensued, while Monique debated on the idea that had just come to her. At last she decided to tell him that Dirk knew of the engagement. 'You told him?' Consternation edged Miles's voice. 'He knows I lied?' Monique held out her left hand. 'The mark made by my ring's gone now,' she said, 'but Dirk noticed it right at the beginning. It was much later that we talked about it. I couldn't very well deny it, could I?' 'No,' agreed Miles, and for a space he was thoughtful and silent. 'You say you talked about it. That seems strange. I'd not have thought that Mr. Anderson would talk, as you term it.' He looked

questioningly at her. 'It was a discussion?' he asked and, when she nodded, 'How did you two get to be so . . . close?' 'I'd rather not talk about my relationship with Dirk—' Too late she broke off; Miles's face hardened and his eyes moved over her with something akin to scorn. 'I warned you that he's a womaniser. He's been making advances to you?' She coloured, giving herself away. 'I'm not talking about it,' she almost snapped. 'It's very obvious that he's been making love to you,' declared Miles tautly, ignoring her words. 'And what if he has?' she flashed, anger rising like a flood within her. 'Don't you dare look at me like that, not after the way you've let me down—' She broke off, her eyes filling with tears. She was becoming overwrought, pierced by the futility of her love for Dirk and suffering another kind of hurt—that of bitter regret that she and Miles could stand here like this, quarrelling and making accusations against each other after the happiness they had once found in being together. It was because she hadn't been able to bear a separation that she was here now . . . desperately unhappy and still futilely wishing she could put the clock back. 'I'm sorry,' he muttered, catching his underlip between his teeth. 'You're absolutely right in saying I ought not to be condemning you.' His mouth moved convulsively as he stared into her tear-filled eyes. 'It's all my fault, I know, Monique, but as I said, Olivia's done something to me and I don't know where I am.' 'She's tearing you to pieces,' she told him pityingly. 'Why don't you try to give her up?'

'I've got to work with her; you know that.' Monique spread her hands in a gesture of impatience. 'Then there's no advice I can give you, Miles.' He shook his head, and before she could guess what he intended, he had moved close and his arms came about her. 'Just one last kiss, Monique. Like you, dear, I now wish we had never come out here.' She made no attempt to prevent the kiss, but neither did she reciprocate. Her body felt stiff and cold, her feelings numbed. He released her quite soon, and for some reason her eyes were drawn to one of the second-floor windows of the Old house. Olivia was there, looking down. Monique drew a breath, undecided as to whether or not to tell Miles. But at that moment she heard the car door close and saw the slim buoyancy of Lucie's figure through the trees. She was skipping along without a care in the world, twirling the keys in her hand. 'Done it!' she exclaimed exuberantly. 'And now for that coffee!'

'You mean,' said Lucie, later that day, as she and Monique sat by the pool, their legs dangling in the water, 'that your engagement's broken?' There was an odd inflection in her voice to which Monique attached no importance at the time. It was to be three days hence before the incredible idea struck her that Lucie found Miles attractive. 'Yes, Lucie, it's ended.' A sad, regretful pause and then, 'It's better for us to have discovered our mistake now than later.' 'I agree. Divorce is such a messy business— although I'm given to understand from a couple of friends who've had one apiece that it's much less painful than it used to be.'

Monique let the matter drop at that point, but the following morning at half-past ten Lucie said, right out of the blue, 'Shall we go along and take another look at the plantation house? I'm really interested in what's going on. It'll be beautiful when it's all finished.' The same thing happened the next morning, and on the third occasion Monique happened to catch a look in Lucie's eyes that caused her to give a little start of surprise. The girl had a crush on Miles! 'He's nice—too nice for Olivia,' commented Lucie as they were leaving. 'I can understand now how you came to find him attractive.' 'Do you find him attractive?' questioned Monique, even though she knew the answer. 'Yes,' replied Lucie without hesitation. 'I do.' 'You've found other men attractive.' Although aware of her lack of tact, Monique was convinced that Lucie would be neither embarrassed nor offended by the reminder. 'Not as attractive as Miles,' returned Lucie without hesitation. 'He's caught up with Olivia,' Monique just had to say. 'Olivia's only trying to make Uncle Dirk jealous. It's him she wants.' A long pause followed before Lucie added, 'But I rather think she's made a mistake—gone too far. Whatever she had in mind hasn't worked the way she had planned because, instead of being jealous, my uncle seems to have lost interest in her completely.' Monique caught her covert glance and knew its meaning even before Lucie said, 'He's far more interested in you these days than he is in Olivia.'

Colouring, Monique frowned and glanced away. 'Let's change the subject,' she managed, after a space. 'What shall we do this afternoon?' 'Have you any letters to type for Uncle Dirk?' 'He told me to see him after lunch. He'll be in his study.' There was a slight pause before Lucie said, 'If you're going to be busy I might go over to the plantation house again.' Although a touch of pink fused Lucie's high cheekbones, she showed little sign of embarrassment on noting Monique's swift perceptive glance. 'I'll let you know.' But Monique felt she ought to add a word of warning, even though she had already done so in a subtle way. 'Miles really is infatuated with Olivia, Lucie, and I don't believe he'll look at another girl at present.' 'Miles is very unhappy.' 'That has nothing to do with it.' 'I'm going to tell him what Olivia's little game is,' said Lucie decisively. 'He ought to be enlightened about her character.' Monique hesitated, wondering what to reply to that, and in the end she said nothing. After all, it was none of her business now that she was no longer engaged to Miles. As it happened, Dirk joined them for lunch, so her inquiry was made sooner than she had expected. 'I do have some work for you,' he replied, casting her an appraising look. She wore shorts and a brief suntop and was not in any way surprised when his eyes moved from her face to the gentle swell of

her throat, then lower to rest awhile on the delicate outlines of her small, round breasts. 'When shall you want me, then?' Monique asked, pretending she had not noticed his appraisal. 'Immediately after lunch?' 'That would do.' 'How long will you want Monique for, Uncle Dirk?' inquired Lucie. 'About a couple of hours.' Neither Monique nor Lucie said anything about her wanting to go to the plantation house on her own, and when lunch was over Dirk said casually, 'Entertain yourself in the pool or something. I'll not keep Monique any longer than I need.' It was over three hours later that Lucie put in an appearance. From her position on a lounger on the patio Monique saw her approaching and examined her face intently without quite knowing what she was looking for. 'Olivia's going mad!' was Lucie's announcement as she flopped down opposite her friend. 'Miles talked to me a lot—I asked him to take me over the house even yet again and so he had to leave Olivia. She'd been arguing with Ian about something he'd suggested which she didn't like and so she was in a foul temper to start with. Well, when she saw me she scowled—you know the way she does?' Without giving Monique the chance to answer Lucie continued, 'I went up to Miles immediately and said I wanted to be shown everything, including the grounds. Olivia wanted to know why I'd become so interested, and I said I had every right to be interested in my uncle's property. That set her down, I can tell you, but she told Miles that there wasn't any time for looking round the grounds, and in any case there was nothing to see—hot yet, not until the landscapes had done lots more work on them. However, Miles took

no notice of her, and it struck me that they'd been having a disagreement before I arrived. 'It did?' Lucie nodded reflectively. 'I had the feeling that he was glad for the diversion, the excuse to get away from Olivia.' Monique's eyes flickered with interest. Could it be that Miles's infatuation for the beautiful Olivia was on the wane? 'So you enjoyed your afternoon?' was all Monique said, and Lucie's eyes lit up. 'It was very pleasant. We wandered in the gardens for over an hour, with Miles telling me what was going to be done.' A pause followed, for Monique to comment, but she felt there was nothing for her to say. In any case, she was eager for her friend to continue. 'I wanted to let Miles know that he was being duped by Olivia, but it was more difficult than I had expected. I kept racking my brain to find an opening, and I'd just decided there wasn't going to be one when, to my surprise, Miles said that as my uncle knew that you and he had been engaged, he supposed that I knew also. I said yes, you had told me, and you'd also told me it was now broken. I was then able to ask if he knew that my uncle and Olivia had once been so close that I had expected to be invited to their wedding. Monique, he went pale! Then he got angry—not openly angry, but I could tell he was furious inside. I said that Olivia had wanted Uncle Dirk right from the start and that she was probably using Miles to make my uncle jealous.' 'You actually told him that?' Monique stared disbelievingly at her, but Lucie was in no way put out. 'Of course. Didn't I say I intended telling him just what sort of woman Olivia is?'

'Yes, but—' 'It was time he knew she was using him. I'll bet he gives her up now,' ended Lucie on a note of satisfaction. 'And he—he likes you?' murmured Monique tentatively, watching the girl's expression closely. 'I feel sure he and I shall be friends,' was all she vouchsafed, but there was a ring in her voice that plainly said she hoped for much more than friendship. 'He and I talked a lot, about all sorts of things, and then, after we had stopped in a quiet place well away from the house, he seemed to hesitate for a while before he told me that Olivia had seen you and him kissing. It was a goodbye kiss . . . ?' She stopped slowly to give Monique the chance to agree, which she did, colouring a little as she nodded her head. 'Well, apparently Olivia kicked up a big fuss, and he had to admit that you and he had been engaged. Miles told Olivia it was just a final, friendly kiss, but she raved and stormed—' 'Miles told you this?' interrupted Monique with a frown. 'It's not like him to repeat a thing like that.' 'No, he didn't actually tell me she'd raved and stormed, but I could tell—a woman usually can read a man,' added Lucie, and in spite of herself Monique burst out laughing and said that Lucie sounded like a woman who'd had a long and wide experience of the opposite sex. Lucie laughed and then went quiet. Finally she murmured, as if she had forgotten Monique's presence altogether, 'We'll have to see what happens. . . .' And what did happen was that the following afternoon Miles phoned and told Waldo, who had answered the phone, that he wanted to speak to Lucie. She and Monique were on the patio,

savouring the cool breeze and the shade after having spent an hour or so sunbathing on the beach. 'He wants to speak to me?' Lucie's eyes betrayed her pleasure; her movements were swift and eager as she turned after murmuring a quiet 'excuse me' and went into the house, leaving Monique speculating on what turn the affair was taking now. For there had been ample evidence that morning, when Lucie had insisted yet again on visiting the plantation house, that Miles was becoming exceedingly interested in his employer's niece. Monique had marvelled at the way the two got along so well, as if they had been acquainted for months instead of less than a week. Olivia was not there and it was staggering how composed Miles was in her absence, how like his old self, thoroughly confident and with a hint of pride which, though by no means as noticeable as Dirk's, most certainly lent him an air of distinction. And as Monique watched him with Lucie she was profoundly aware of how eminently suited they were to one another. There was an easy comradeship in the way they conversed, while at the same time they made sure that Monique was never left out of the conversation, never made to feel unwanted in any way at all. And, surprisingly, this second defection of Miles's hurt not at all. 'Miles wants me to dine with him tonight!' Lucie was thrilled and it showed in her shining eyes, her happy smile. 'Monique, you won't mind dining alone with my uncle, will you?' There was an imp of mischief in Lucie's eyes as she spoke. 'Stop this attempt at matchmaking, Lucie,' she found herself saying. 'You uncle's not interested in me—' 'Fibber!' 'Not seriously.'

'In an affair, then?' Lucie's tone was casual. 'Well, that wouldn't surprise me because you're very appealing in so many ways, and if I were a man I'd—' 'Lucie,' broke in Monique, frowning, 'stop this nonsense. So you're dining with Miles tonight,' she added swiftly, in case Lucie should interrupt. 'Obviously Olivia's not going to be there.' Monique could not help recalling how Olivia had always been with them when she and her fiancé dined at the hotel. 'Miles said that there'd only be the two of us.' Lucie smiled to herself and drew a long, satisfied breath. 'Wish me luck, Monique. I'm very serious about wanting Miles.' Monique made no answer and Lucie stared uncertainly at her. 'You've no regrets, Monique? I mean, you wouldn't go back because you don't love him, do you?' Monique glanced away towards a mosaic of colour across the garden, her eyes moving slowly, absorbing beauty while her other senses became alert to sounds and smells . . . insects in the trees overhead, perfumes from the myriad exotic blooms flourishing in the warmth and light of the Caribbean sun. 'I don't love him, Lucie.' Monique broke the silence at last, returning her attention to the girl standing there by the French window, through which she had come after talking with Miles, 'and so I wouldn't go back. To say I have no regrets would be untrue—in a way. Miles and I were perfectly happy before we came here.' 'But you weren't in love, you only thought you were.' 'Your uncle said the same thing.' 'Uncle's attitude towards you puzzles me.' 'I've asked you not to keep on joining his name with mine,' Monique began, when Lucie interrupted her.

'You never asked anything of the kind.' 'You know what I mean,' retorted Monique impatiently. 'I still believe that you and he could get together.' 'What time will you be meeting Miles?' Lucie laughed. 'Always diverting me,' she accused. 'Be careful, Monique, or I might have a chat with Uncle Dirk and tell him to open his eyes.' 'You wouldn't dare! I'd never speak to you again!' 'I wouldn't dare?' repeated Lucie, ignoring the rest. 'Monique, of course I would dare, especially as there's no one I'd like better for my aunt!"

Chapter Ten Dusk fell gently after a golden sunset when the great incandescent sphere dropped below the rim of the earth. Smouldering shadows in the garden drifted rapidly through the colour range from brilliant saffron to delicate rose-quartz and soft purple, then finally to the almost nebulous grey void that beckoned by its mystery. Monique was with Dirk in the gardens of his house, where they had watched the glory of the sunset. Earlier, when informed of Lucie's plans for dinner, his reaction was, quite naturally, one of puzzlement. 'I wasn't aware you knew Monique's ex-fiancé that well,' was his first comment, an odd expression in his eyes as he noticed Monique flinch involuntarily at hearing Miles referred to as her ex-fiancé. 'I was given to understand that he always dines with Olivia.' 'They're having problems,' supplied his niece with an arch lift of her face. 'Either he's given Olivia the brush-off or she's become bored.' Dirk's eyes narrowed but he said nothing, abruptly changing the subject by asking Monique if she would like to dine at the hotel or at his home. 'At home,' interposed Lucie brightly. 'It's far more cosy and intimate. The hotels are always crowded at this time of the year.' 'The hotels on Grand Cayman are never crowded; that's one of its attractions.' 'Oh, well, you should know, owning several. However, I'm sure Monique would prefer to dine here.' 'Monique might like to speak for herself.' Dirk's voice was curt, his glance a warning. Lucie subsided into the glossy magazine she had

been flipping through and Dirk turned to Monique. 'Well?' he said briefly and she hesitated, but only for a moment. To dine here, alone with Dirk, in the candlelit room overlooking the floodlit gardens and the sea, was too great a temptation by far. That it could be dangerous was indisputable, but caution had no place in this magical realm, this other world so far adrift from the mainland of reality. And so here she was, with Dirk by her side, his nearness, as always, affecting her emotions, her senses, and even the lucidity of her mind. 'Shall we have a drink on the patio before dinner?' Dirk's cool, impersonal voice brought Monique's attention from the gently heaving, off-shore waters where fishing boats rode the waves. She lifted limpid eyes to scan his profile in the shadows and her breath caught. This was madness, to be affected so profoundly by a mere man! Mere . . . ? As he stood there, a statuesque figure facing the sea, there was something both savage and splendid about him which set him apart from all other men. 'Yes, I'd like that.' Monique's smile fluttered as she spoke, and he turned his head as if in response to its allure. The dark, hooded eyes lingered on her face, an incomprehensible expression in their depths. The silence stretched, broken only by the sough of the trade winds stirring the foliage of the tall pines and the surf caressing the shore. Monique's nerves tensed because she knew Dirk would kiss her and hold her possessively, his confident, arrogant hands roaming over her body, dominance and complete mastery in their every touch. She watched his mouth curve and knew it was triumph over her that produced the mocking smile. For a fleeting moment resentment rose within her. But even had she been able to find something to say she would have been prevented by the hard pressure of his mouth as it met hers in a long and passionate kiss.

She was lost the moment her lips were forced apart to allow his rough tongue to meet hers and explore with a masterful sensuality designed to heighten her emotions and set her longing for more. Without doubt he was an experienced womaniser, just as Miles had said, and she wondered how she was going to extricate herself, now that their relationship had gone this far. Love was on her side, total indifference on his. No, not total indifference, Monique corrected herself, because more than once Dirk had openly admitted that he found her attractive—the most attractive woman he had ever known, she recalled pensively. But that was all. Had he been more deeply affected he must surely have betrayed the fact, if not by words then by his expression now and then. His arms were around her, crushing her slender frame, caressing her curves, while his wandering lips, moist and avid, plundered every sensitive place to send tremors of rapture spreading in all directions, permeating her senses. Reciprocation was automatic and eager as she strained against him, arching herself, clinging to him with fingers that seemed to have doubled their strength. They were both breathless when at last he held her from him and, shaking his head as if to clear it, said a little hoarsely, 'You're enchanting, Monique. And you're a temptress. One of these days you'll drive me too far. . . .' His voice drifted into silence, and Monique knew that his thoughts were drifting, too. He became distant, unapproachable, with an undercurrent of impatience that resulted in his releasing her altogether and turning away, just as if he would leave her standing there bewildered and alone. Resenting being shut out like this, Monique searched for something to say. 'I'm not the one who tempts,' she said at length. 'It's been you right from the start, and if you're honest you'll admit it." The indignant assertion recalled him and a sudden, unexpected smile erased the enigmatic expression from his bronzed, angular

features. 'Tell me,' he said in amusement, 'why is the man always to blame?' 'Simply because it's a fact.' The smile progressed to a light laugh. 'Let us go back to the very beginning, shall we? The Garden of Eden and who tempted who?' 'An isolated case,' she retorted, and suddenly they were both laughing. 'It was good to hear you laugh,' Dirk said a short while later as they reclined in luxuriously upholstered chairs on the patio, cocktails having been served to them by Waldo. 'It's done you good, having Lucie for company, hasn't it?' 'Yes, indeed.' Catching his expression, her eyes widened. 'You were thinking of me when you suggested I be her companion?' 'Partly,' he admitted, but went on to say that he was exceedingly glad she was there so that he could get his niece off his hands. 'I can't think why she comes here so often,' he continued thoughtfully. 'I invariably let her know she's in the way—after she's been here awhile, of course.' 'She must enjoy coming, and there's no doubt that she likes and respects you, Dirk.' His straight black brows lifted a fraction. 'Respects?' he questioned, shaking his head. 'That young woman doesn't know what respect is!' 'How can you say so?' demanded Monique indignantly. 'I have never heard her answer you back once!' 'All right—all right,' he said soothingly. 'I know when I'm beaten.'

Monique could only stare, charmed by this unfamiliar mood he was in. There were obviously many facets to his nature . . . and every one of them appealed to her. But this one especially, because she knew instinctively that it carried not only a gentle tolerance, but an underlying tenderness that was inordinately attractive. If only he could be like this with me, she thought, an ache of longing in her heart. Her eyes met his automatically and, as on several previous occasions, she heard him say, 'What are you thinking, Monique? Your eyes are so expressive, revealing so much, but now they puzzle me because they're faintly sad and yet you were laughing a few moments ago.' Her lashes came down, throwing delectable shadows onto her cheeks. 'I have desires—' She stopped abruptly, a hand stealing to her mouth. What in the world had made her admit a thing like that? 'Desires?' he echoed, the tawny lights in his eyes more pronounced than she had ever seen them before. 'What desires?' 'It was a slip of the tongue,' she answered, and her voice was crisp. 'Obviously, but I'd like to know more.' Monique picked up her glass and sipped her sherry, hoping he would accept her silence as a mark of her reluctance to expand on what she had said. 'When you first came here, your one desire was to get married and raise a family. It was a statement and she gave a resigned shrug at his perception. 'Most women have that desire,' she said presently. 'It's basic—the primordial urge to build a home.'

'And mate and do your bit towards the continuation of the race.' The cynicism in his tone hurt and she flinched. 'Love is the most important thing, but you wouldn't know about that, would you?' He paused a moment. 'I did say I might have married Olivia, if you remember?' 'Yes, but you didn't say you loved her.' 'You believe I'd marry without love?' 'If you marry at all it will have to be without love, since you're not capable of it.' She glanced away to the little fishing boats cradled in the lap of the calm tropical waters, their lights glowing yellow against the mysterious backcloth of darkness. 'You seem so sure of what you say.' Dirk's voice was distant, and coldly formal. 'Perhaps I'm wrong.' She brought her limpid eyes to his. 'It's of no importance, though,' she added and glanced away again. So peaceful... an island which, until comparatively recently, had been left far behind in the tourism race entered into by so many of the other Caribbean islands, and as a result it had not yet fully emerged from its protective chrysalis. One day, perhaps, the metamorphosis would be complete and it would flaunt its concrete monstrosities, identical to dozens of other islands, swarming with tourists. But for the present peace was to be found here, in the Caymans, and Monique felt that if she had one wish it would be to preserve the island's present beauty, its naturalness, its tropical vegetation, its coral reefs and, above all, the spontaneous friendliness of its people. Her thoughts brought her eyes back to her companion, the Caymanian to whom she had lost her heart, and who

was to be responsible for the greatest hurt she would ever sustain in the whole of her life. He made no comment on what she had said, and for the few minutes left before dinner was served they sat in silence, each occupied by their own private reveries. Someone in the house had switched on a tape recorder; the music drifted out—West Indian music, gay one moment, sad the next, mysterious as the sky above where the constellations flared across the vast vault that stretched into eternity. A star shot away from the rest and was lost below the rim of the earth. An intense feeling of yearning and pain enveloped Monique, and the awareness of sudden tears behind her eyes forced her to blink rapidly to hold them back. Dinner was a companionable meal and they both enjoyed themselves. Candles lit the table; flowers showered it with perfume. Crystal glass and fine china, gourmet food cooked by an expert, heady wine from Dirk's extensive cellar, then Blue Mountain coffee and cognac taken on the patio. Another evening to remember . . . and one less to enjoy, for Monique knew that as soon as Lucie left the island she would leave, too. But this posed the question as to how the friendship between Miles and Lucie would progress. That was another worry now, because Monique felt she must not wait much longer before leaving, since only then would she begin to forget Dirk and her own stupidity in falling in love with him. Dirk had just suggested he take her home when Waldo announced a visitor. 'At this time!' exclaimed Dirk, with an instinctive glance at his wristwatch.

'Miss Cartwright,' supplied Waldo, with a wooden expression. 'She's in the sitting room.' A frown darkened Dirk's brow and his mouth went tight. He slid Monique a glance as he rose to his feet. 'Excuse me,' he said briefly and left her sitting there, her nerves tense at knowing that Dirk's old flame was here in his home to see him. He went in by the French window, and a few minutes later Monique heard Olivia's voice come to her quite plainly through the fly screen, which was all Dirk had closed behind him when he went into the house. 'Dirk, I must speak to you!' Olivia's voice was loud and vibrant with anger. 'At this time of night?' Arrogance in the tone, and Monique could just imagine Dirk lifting his brows in a gesture of matching hauteur. 'Surely it will keep until tomorrow?' 'I'd rather talk now. I want to know what's going on between you and that girl who came here with Miles.' Monique went taut, swiftly searching round for some means of moving away from the patio without being seen, but as she would have to pass the lighted window she decided to stay where she was. 'What has my affair with Monique to do with you, might I ask?' 'Affair!' The word came like the crack of a whip. 'You're having an affair with her?' 'Olivia,' said Dirk softly, 'what exactly did you come here for?' 'I want things sorted out between you and me! If you think you can treat me like this, you're mistaken!' 'Am I to understand that you and I are through?'

Silence. Monique felt sure the girl was close to tears. 'You've treated me shamefully. After all we've been to one another—' 'Your little scheme's gone wrong and you're upset, which is natural. Perhaps, Olivia, you will think twice next time before trying to make a man jealous. You should have known me better,' he added, and the scorn in his voice was as keen as a knife-blade newly honed. 'Did you suppose your attractions were irresistible to me?' 'You seemed to find them so at one time—until that woman came here. I wouldn't care if she was your type, but she's not. She has no personality, and certainly there's nothing attractive in her looks!' Monique flinched at such derogatory references to her appearance as she waited, nerves taut, for Dirk's reaction. 'I'll let that pass,' was Dirk's frigid rejoinder. 'And now, Olivia, perhaps you will leave Monique out of it and come to the point of this visit?' 'I hate you!' seethed Olivia. 'We're finished—get that!' 'All this fury is because I didn't react as you had hoped.' The sneer in his voice came through quite plainly, and Monique felt that if she had been Olivia she would have left the house before she could be further humiliated. But she seemed unwilling to do so, and although Monique, putting her hands over her ears, managed to cut out some of what was being said, Olivia's voice, shrill and quivering with anger, again came through. 'I admit I intended making you jealous, but you asked for it! You're too domineering, Dirk, and it wasn't as if I hadn't told you I wouldn't put up with it!'

Although Dirk's response was quiet, Monique did catch the first of it. 'And it wasn't as if I hadn't told you I wouldn't have any woman giving me orders. When orders are to be given, then I am the one to give them. If you had accepted my authority . . .' The rest faded off, and when Olivia spoke again her voice, too, was quiet, much to Monique's relief. Another ten minutes passed before Dirk came back to the patio, and when she looked up Monique recoiled from the harshness in his eyes, the ugly twist to his lips. 'Dirk,' she faltered, 'what—?' 'If you're ready, we'll go,' he gritted, his eyes sweeping over her with what could, only be described as contempt. Unsteadily, she rose to her feet, to stare uncomprehendingly at him, her lips quivering, her lovely eyes pleading for an explanation. 'Dirk,' she began tremulously, 'what is wrong?' For a moment it seemed he would ignore her question, but she eventually heard him say, in a voice as hard as tempered steel, 'I understood your engagement to Marsden was ended?' 'It is—' 'Then why were you kissing him the other morning?' No evidence of his fury came through in his voice now, but something so deadly quiet that Monique felt her blood beginning to freeze in her veins. He stood very close, toweringly dominant and frightening, his whole manner that of a judge about to pass sentence upon some helpless victim whose guilt he had not troubled to establish. 'Answer me! Why did you allow him to kiss you? Answer me, I say!' 'Olivia told you? She saw us—Don't you dare touch me!' she cried, stepping back as he made to take hold of her arms, with the intention of shaking her, she knew. 'Olivia told you Miles and I were kissing?'

'Yes, she did!' The quietness was gone; fury was raging again. 'And you believed her, without asking me if it was true?' Had Monique stopped to think she would instantly have realised that there must be a very good reason for anger of this strength, for Dirk was adopting a role that savoured of the irate husband chastising his wife for flirting with another man. But Monique was too angry herself to reason anything out, and although her wrath was primarily against Olivia for her petty tale-carrying, anger against Dirk surged too, enveloping her like a tidal wave. She glowered fiercely at him, noting the wild uncontrolled pulsation of a nerve in his throat. Their eyes met and held for a long moment, during which Monique's courage almost deserted her, for it did seem that he would do her some physical injury. Then, suddenly, his whole manner changed to one of cold and arrogant control, his voice glacier cold as he said, 'No, Monique, what you and Marsden do is none of my business.' 'Then see to it that you refrain in future from interference in my life!' Less than ten minutes later she was in the lobby of the hotel and Dirk had gone, no words having been spoken on the short drive along West Bay Road. With tears blinding her vision Monique made her way to the lift, then along the wide corridor towards her room. Another lift opened behind her and she heard Miles call her name. Turning, she opened her mouth, but speech was made impossible by the constriction in her throat. 'Monique!' exclaimed Miles, instantly aware that something was wrong. 'What is it?'

She swallowed convulsively, her eyes brimming with tears. She managed to say, 'It's—it's n-nothing!' then burst into a paroxysm of weeping. 'Darling. . . .' The word came automatically as Monique threw herself into his arms and sobbed against his chest. 'Oh, my dear. . . .' Gently he led her across the corridor, unlocked his room and ushered her inside without closing the door. 'Monique, don't cry so,' he implored. 'I can't bear it! Tell me what's wrong.' The deep entreaty in his voice came through to her at length and she lifted her face, the sobs still shaking her, making speech difficult. 'It's Dirk,' she quivered. 'He's—he's awful with m-me, because Olivia told him that you and I w-were kissing.' Her words became disjointed and for a space Miles just held her close, his arms about her, until at last she was calm, but he still embraced her . . . and neither of them noticed the tall dark man who stood for a fleeting moment watching them before turning to go back the way he had come, towards the lifts.

It was over an hour later when Monique said, as they waited for the coffee and sandwiches which Miles had ordered, 'Thank you for listening and . . . and being kind to me.' Her tears had dried and she even managed a thin smile. For she had found something profoundly soothing in Miles's sympathy, and in his patience, as she related to him all her secrets. He knew now that she had fallen in love with Dirk, whom she regarded as something of a rake who had no real feeling for her but who had known she was ripe for an affair. Monique had held nothing back, and she marvelled that she could accept Miles as a friend in whom she could confide. All was not dead between them; friendship would remain. They were both vitally aware of this as she confessed all that was in her heart.

They sat close, eating the sandwiches and drinking the delicious hot coffee, while Miles went over what Monique had told him. She saw his mouth tighten when she mentioned Olivia, heard him repeat what he had said already, 'I hate her, Monique; she's as rotten as they come! We'd had a pretty big argument over my kissing you and I finally told her to mind her own business, as I'd do what I liked without any interference from her. She knows that I'm interested in Lucie; she knew that Dirk was interested in you, so it was a case of the woman scorned. AH she could think of was to do someone harm, and it had to be you since it couldn't very well be me.' 'But it wasn't as if Dirk cared anything for me. He was nice to me, though, but now . . .' She had no more tears to shed and it was merely a little sob that escaped her as her voice broke. 'I feel I'm responsible for what's happened, Monique—for your turning to Dirk, I mean, and falling in love with him.' His gaze was deeply contrite. 'I don't know what to say.' 'There isn't anything, Miles. One fortunate thing has come out of all this; you and I have discovered we're not suited—not to be married, I mean.' Miles nodded his head in complete agreement. Yet Monique heard him say, 'But we were perfectly happy, weren't we, dear?' 'We believed we were, Miles, but now I know for sure that our marriage would not have lasted.' Again he nodded in agreement with what she said. 'I feel so differently about Lucie.' Monique was glad to be able to give him good news. 'She's well on the way to being in love with you. In fact, I'm fairly certain she is in love with you.'

'Yes, I know it.' 'It's strange for us to be talking to one another this way, isn't it? You in love with someone else and I the same.' But Miles's love affair would go smoothly, while hers . . . There was no love affair for her simply because her love was unrequited. 'When will you be getting married?' she asked, and to her surprise a frown creased his brow. 'I have an idea her uncle won't approve of me,' he said. 'You don't have to get his permission.' 'No, but it's not going to be very pleasant if he disapproves of his niece's choice of husband.' 'Where shall you eventually live?' 'I'd like to live here, but I expect we shall live in England. Lucie did say she wouldn't want to be too far from her parents, as she's an only child, and I agreed with her.' 'I think I ought to arrange to leave quite soon.' 'You'd feel better, I suppose.' Miles shook his head and deep distress shadowed his eyes. 'If only you hadn't fallen in love with Dirk. . . .' His voice trailed off in an odd sort of way and his eyes were strange as well, widening slowly as if at some dramatic revelation that had been made known to him. He slanted her a glance and opened his mouth, then closed it again as if caution had thrust itself forward at the last moment. Watching him with a bewildered yet fascinated expression, Monique asked him what was the matter. 'I've just thought of something,' he murmured, shaking his head from side to side as if that would clear it so that he could think

straight. 'Don't ask me what it is, Monique,' he begged as he read her expression. 'I had an idea, that's all.' 'About me?' she could not help asking. But Miles refused to answer and she was left puzzling over what it could have been that had astounded him. Yes, that was the only word to describe how he had looked, thought Monique when, much later, she was in bed between cool white linen sheets but unable to capture the sleep which would give her the precious balm of forgetfulness. It was time to reach a firm decision and Monique resolved to leave the island just as soon as she could get a flight. Lucie didn't need her now; she could go along to the plantation house whenever she liked, and she would have Miles with her every evening. Monique wondered what would happen about Olivia; would she still be employed to help Miles? Well, it was none of her business, thought Monique, and in any case she had enough on her mind without applying it to things which could never affect her anyway. When eventually she did sleep it was little more than a restless slumber disturbed by unpleasant dreams, and she awoke feeling unutterably tired and depressed. Life seemed to hold nothing and yet the sun shone from a clear sapphire sky and the birds were singing. Grand Cayman was beautiful—an emerald gem set in the entrancing waters of the Caribbean Sea. And she was leaving it so soon, alone, and with a heart that was breaking. A sudden frown settled on her face as she reviewed her thoughts. Other people had suffered far more than she, and they'd come through, triumphing in the end. She would do the same. Somehow, the mere determination to fight this depression cheered her and by the time she had showered and dressed she was feeling much better. How long this state of mind would last she could not tell, but she

meant to make the most of it while it did, and her first act after breakfast was to go down to the desk and ask about flights to England. 'When do you want to go?' The young man behind the desk evinced some surprise on hearing that she intended to leave, for she, like Miles, had been considered permanent by the staff. Dirk had told them they would be staying at the Latana Hotel for at least a year. 'As soon as possible—tomorrow, if you can get me a flight.' 'I'll try, Miss Thornton, but I feel sure you'll have to wait a little longer than that.' 'Do what you can,' was all Monique said and moved away, at a loss because she had no intention of going to Dirk's house until she knew he would have left, which he usually did at about half-past nine. It was a quarter to ten when she eventually arrived; Lucie was in the swimming pool and Monique sat on the patio watching her in the water. 'Aren't you coming in?' Lucie wanted to know and Monique shook her head. 'I haven't brought my things with me.' Lucie came out, heaving herself onto the side. 'I've some news for you,' she said and there was no mistaking the thread of satisfaction in her voice. 'Olivia's been sacked!' 'She has?' Monique did not know whether she was surprised or not. She had felt that Dirk might retain her services until the work on the plantation house was finished, especially as he was hoping to get the hotel opened ready for next season. 'When does she leave?'

'She's gone. Uncle Dirk gave her about a minute's notice, paying her a month's salary. I was never so glad about anything in the whole of my life. I heard from Ian, when he came over just now to see Uncle Dirk, that she's decided to leave Grand Cayman altogether and go back to England.' 'How will your uncle manage, though? Whatever Olivia's other faults she did know her job.' 'Uncle Dirk will find someone else. No one's indispensable.' Lucie took up the towel she had placed on the side of the pool and began to dry her legs. 'Shall we go over to the plantation house around eleven and join Miles for coffee?' Monique hesitated, glancing around. Dirk was obviously still in the house, and as she had no desire to see him she suggested they go over to the plantation house right away. 'If you like,' shrugged Lucie, rising to her feet. 'I'll get some clothes on and be back in a few minutes.' On her return Lucie wore a slight frown of puzzlement on her forehead. 'Something wrong?' inquired Monique a trifle anxiously. 'Miles has just phoned. He seemed excited and said he wanted to see me right away as he believes he's made a discovery.' 'In the grounds of the house? You mean he's dug something up?' 'I don't think it's anything like that,' murmured Lucie slowly. 'He seemed—well, sort of urgent.' •

'Urgent?' repeated Monique, as puzzled as her friend. 'Well, let's go and find out. . . .' Her voice trailed away to silence as Lucie began shaking her head. 'I'm sorry, Monique, but he wants to see me alone.' 'He does?' 'I said you were here and that we were coming over, but he stressed that he wanted to see me alone. I'm sorry,' she said after a pause. 'Don't apologise, Lucie.' Monique smiled reassuringly at her. 'Perhaps he wants to propose to you,' she added half-jokingly. 'If so, why the urgency?' Lucie shook her head in bewilderment. 'I'd better go at once. You'll be here when I get back?' 'If you don't mind, I'd rather not stay.' 'But—' 'I'll be at the hotel and you can give me a ring when you're back.' 'Can I drop you at the hotel, then?' 'No, I shall enjoy the walk along the beach.' Monique left at the same time as her friend. Lucie went around to the front of the villa where the car was parked and Monique walked through the gardens to the lovely coral beach where several hotel guests were tanning themselves or swimming in the warm, crystal clear water. On her arrival at the hotel Monique was informed that she could fly to Miami that day, where she would have to stay the night and fly to

London early the next morning. 'I've reserved the seat but we must phone before eleven o'clock; otherwise they won't keep it.' 'What time is the flight?' 'Half-past one. You'd not have much time,' said the clerk doubtfully. 'Half-past one. . . .' A long pause, and then Monique's heart seemed to drop right into her feet when at last she heard herself say, slowly and hesitantly, even though her mind was firmly made up, 'Very well. I'll take the flight.' The next hour was spent in packing, a task she did automatically, for her mind was dulled by sheer undiluted misery spreading out from her heart. How totally accurate those fears and misgivings which had come to her when Miles had said he was taking the post abroad had been. It was that sixth sense she had mentioned, warning her of the unhappiness that was to be her lot. As soon as she had finished packing Monique phoned Lucie, but Waldo answered with the information that Lucie was not back home yet. Monique got her by ringing the plantation house. 'Lucie, I can't get over until after lunch.' She felt deceitful but would not allow herself to dwell on it as she added, 'Something's cropped up. I'm sorry.' 'What is it?' Lucie wanted to know, much to Monique's surprise. 'It's a private matter.' Monique was forced to inject a curt note into her voice. 'And I must go, Lucie—this matter's rather pressing.' With that she replaced the receiver, tears springing to her eyes at the thought that, in effect, those were the last words she would say to Lucie, the last spoken words, that was. Monique's next swift task was to write a short note to Lucie, expressing regret at having to leave without saying goodbye, but

hoping that Lucie would understand her desire to return to her home in England. Lucie would be puzzled by the haste, but Miles would explain.

On arrival at Miami Monique booked in at the Airport Hotel and unpacked her overnight case. She had not eaten since breakfast , but the very thought of having a meal made her stomach churn because its muscles were twisted into tight little knots already. The tenseness of her nerves, the dull apathy of her mind, the weak, listless sag of her body: all these combined to make her feel that life was not worth living. Oblivion. ... To be safe from hurt . . . She had been pacing the bedroom but she stopped, staring at the telephone on the table by the bed, its ringing deafening simply because she had not expected a call, seeing that no one knew she was here. And, of course, no one was calling her, she thought as she lifted the receiver, her lips already forming the words, 'Wrong number, but they were destined never to be uttered. 'Monique!' The strong yet lilting accents sent quivers of trepidation running right down her spine. 'Are you there?' 'Y-yes—' 'Then see that you stay there!' came the order, spoken in the imperious voice she knew so well. 'What the devil do you think you're playing at?' Because her mouth had gone dry Monique's answer was some time in coming. 'I'm g-going home— How did you know I was here?' 'Never mind that now! So you were going home, were you—without so much as a goodbye!' A sound very like the gritting of teeth came over the line and Monique instinctively held the receiver away from

her ear. 'Do you normally walk out on your employer without so much as a moment's notice?' A long silence followed while Monique, her heart racing so quickly that it frightened her, tried to collect her thoughts, to grasp the significance of this call. If Dirk was not interested in her then why had he bothered to call? He must have made inquiries, too, learning of her plans from the hotel desk. . . . None of it fitted because it had happened far too quickly. 'Dirk,' she faltered, 'why have you taken the trouble to find me, and to call?' Another silence and then, 'Because I don't intend to allow you to go home. You and I are going to have a talk.' 'We are?' By rights every vestige of misery should have fallen from her, but Monique still could not believe that Dirk cared sufficiently to want her to return to Grand Cayman. 'What about?' 'Mainly those things on which we never seemed to agree.' Soft the voice now, and almost tender, but a hint of sternness remained for all that. 'Mainly romance! I'm coming over in my private plane. I shall have you back here tonight. Don't you dare move out of that hotel, understand?' A swift smile lit Monique's eyes. 'I wouldn't dream of moving out,' she returned in meek, submissive tones that brought a low laugh from the other end of the line. 'I love you, darling,' said Dirk simply and rang off.

The night air was pure, the creations of nature filled the garden with sounds and perfumes, and high above in the star-spangled dome of

the Caribbean sky a full moon shone clear and bright, shedding its glow onto the calm, dark sea and the white-rimmed shoreline. Monique and Dirk stood on the terrace, arms about each other, bodies close. All explanations had been made in Dirk's airplane on the way back to Grand Cayman, all misunderstandings resolved. Monique learned that Dirk had soon realised that she loved him, and as he was beginning to care for her—although he freely admitted he was constantly fighting because he had no wish to lose his freedom yet—he found himself furiously jealous on learning of that kiss between Miles and Monique. 'Yet no sooner had I left you in the lobby than I realised there must be some explanation for that kiss, simply because it was me you loved. So I came back—and saw you in Marsden's room—and in his arms—' Dirk's face had darkened as he said this, but his ill-humour soon evaporated. 'Naturally, I went away, telling myself I'd been mistaken in thinking you loved me; it was Marsden you still cared for and you'd made up your quarrel. I felt shattered, Monique,' he confessed. 'Only then did I fully realise that without you as my wife life would never mean anything to me again.' Dirk had leaned over, carefully avoiding contact with the controls, to kiss her lightly on the cheek. 'I began to wonder if you cared, Dirk, but then I told myself that your changed attitude was due to the fact that you regarded me as a silly schoolgirl who had a crush on you, so you had to treat me with tolerance.' 'Silly child.' Dirk went on to tell her that Miles, realising that Dirk's anger was out of all proportion, suspected it was jealousy. So he phoned Lucie and asked her opinion. She agreed that Dirk had been jealous and was obviously exceedingly thrilled about the idea of her uncle being in love with Monique.

'Then you phoned her, putting off your visit,' Dirk had continued as he sat at the controls, Monique by his side, flying in a small plane for the first time and thoroughly enjoying the experience. 'She and Miles instantly grasped what you were about because you'd told Miles you wanted to leave soon. Lucie rang me and I raced to the airport—collecting a ticket for speeding on the way—but I was just in time to see the plane lifting from the ground. Well, as I knew there was no connection to London, I felt sure you'd be at the Airport Hotel, and I rang to verify this. The rest you know.' There had been several other explanations necessary but all were finished with long before Dirk made his smooth landing at the airport on Grand Cayman Island. And now they were together, arms about each other, deep happiness in their hearts. 'I love you dearly,' whispered Dirk, gently turning her to face him. 'Forever I'll cherish you, my beloved wife.' Monique tried to speak, to say what was in her heart, to let him know there was deep gratitude as well as love, but emotion blocked her throat and she could only offer him a tender smile and lips that were irresistibly tempting. He bent and claimed them.