The Tide at Full

THE TIDE AT FULL Wynne May

Jilted at the last moment before her wedding, Chanelle Falkner bravely decided to do the sensible thing and have a holiday anyway, so she packed her trousseau and set off to the North Coast of Natal to have a honeymoon-for-one at a ritzy hotel. The clothes, and Chanelle's new attitude to life - she was determined not to let the experience embitter her - had a certain healing effect from the start, for the immediate interest Steve Conway took on her did her morale no harm at all!

CHAPTER ONE BENEATH the innocence and calm of the lonely beach there was a restlessness about the sea. Grey patches heaved, long and sinister, across the moving water. As she glanced at the rapidly clouding sky, Chanelle Falkner's face grew moody and she became conscious of a nagging sense of foreboding as the thought struck her that, even as she had been sitting here thinking about Hilton Hardwick, the man who had jilted her, the light quick rhythm of the foam-topped breakers had become heavier and much slower. Even the breeze was heavy, somehow, and damp, and she could taste the salt on her lips. Something told her that she shouldn't bathe. She had broken her journey just so that she could swim here at Syringa Beach, where she and Hilton had met while they were both on holiday. Drawing her knees up and encircling them with her arms, she supposed that she had merely come here to brood. Despair flooded over her again when she thought of all the tasks she had waded through during the past few days. There had been wedding presents to sort out and to return to the correct givers. Arrangements of all sorts had been cancelled. Her father had tried his best, of course, but, without a woman at his side, he had proved almost a nuisance in his desire to help. One thing, she thought, there had been no excuses to offer because, after all, everybody had known that Hilton had jilted her for an Italian girl and gone off to Rome. What had happened to Chanelle had flattened her physically and mentally.

Lifting her fingertips to her cheeks, she wiped away the tears from her blue eyes, which everybody told her came as a shock because, with that auburn hair, they should have been green. The white bikini she was wearing was daringly cut, its bra and pants held together by glinting steel rings. The bikini revealed much more than it hid, and Chanelle didn't care. She had bought three new bikinis, at the last moment—just before leaving on her ridiculous honeymoon-for-one, to go with the new Chanelle Falkner—the Chanelle Falkner that Hilton Hardwick had left behind when he had gone off and left her exactly four days before they were to be married. He could have created this new girl with his own hands, she thought bitterly. This girl with the reckless look and who had made a secret pledge to lie and to cheat, so far as men were concerned in the future, in an effort to hide the hurt which throbbed beneath the veneer she had managed to hustle up, at the last moment, as a protection of some sort. Pulling a bathing-cap over her auburn hair, she began to run in the direction of the heaving water. Grey seagulls cried overhead, their feathers looking cold and damp. The water smashed down on her and she came up gasping and was immediately aware of the current dragging at her legs. For a moment she surrendered herself to it and all she could see was water, above and on either side of her, and she looked briefly frightened. Her feet explored the water and found nothing. Suddenly she knew that she was going to have to work hard to get back to where she could touch the sand and began swimming with futile stabbing strokes because she was on the verge of panic now. As she tried to estimate the distance to the beach her breath caught in her throat. The sea was now an endless, lonely place and she knew that it was taking her out and she knew, too, that there wasn't going to be a thing she could do about it.

Tilting her head back, she looked up at the sun and then a huge grey cloud drifted across it, hiding it, and the water seemed suddenly chilled. A wave struck her face and, because she had her mouth open, water poured into it and down her throat. Panting and swallowing more water, she searched for the rocks which, despite their menacing threat, were something to grasp on to. When she saw them she tried to head in their direction, their jagged ends no longer a threat, and then lost them and came up choking. Those rocks, she thought, had been her only hope, even if they had torn her to ribbons, but she couldn't see them—only heaving water all around her, dragging relentlessly at her limbs, swirling about her, dragging her out. Her lungs were bursting and she took deep gasps, her eyes blinded by spray and salt. A wave slapped her vigorously across the face and she screamed, then she wasn't screaming any more because she wasn't even breathing—not air, anyway, only water. The whole sea seemed to be pouring into her mouth, flooding her lungs. Another wave slapped her, harder this time, full in the face and, defeated by the waves, she was too tired to care. What was the use of caring, or fighting, when she knew all the time that it was useless? Fear of something final dropped away from her and she was suddenly very calm. 'I don't care,' she thought. 'I've been jilted and humiliated beyond repair and I just don't care. I'm too tired to care.' Exhausted, she prepared to die, but she felt completely free. A voice, harsh with panting, said, 'Hold on,' and when the owner of the voice grabbed her she opened her mouth to tell him that it was useless because she couldn't even begin to help him to help her, and more water slapped her and poured down into her already bursting lungs. 'Leave me alone,' she gasped. 'Let go of me!' Desperately, so that he wouldn't drown in trying to save her, she tried to handle things her way and began to head out to sea because she didn't know where she was going anyway.

He caught up with her again and she tried to fight him off while a wave crashed over them, ripping them apart. Chanelle was aware of the roaring and singing in her ears as a kind of exciting blackness sucked her down into a whirlpool. His hands were clawing at her again and, with a strength she didn't know she still possessed, she fought him off. 'Leave me,' she gasped. The wind caught her voice and flung it back, along with more water, into her face. 'Don't fight me. I'm trying to help you, blast you!' 'Leave me. I don't need your help. It doesn't matter.' 'It does matter. Stop struggling, damn you!' His words were separated, each word costing an effort. Very briefly she caught a glimpse of a tanned face in tormented water and dark hair plastered across a forehead. Behind the face the shoreline was a mere smudge of dark green hills. 'I'm going to have to hit you and hit you hard if you don't try to cooperate. Do you want us both to drown?' Even in her state she knew the effort behind his words and was fully aware of the struggle going on with him. 'Leave me!' she shouted. 'Do you want to drown?' he yelled at her. 'Yes. Yes—I do!' 'Okay,' she could hear him panting above the water noises, 'so now we know where we stand.'

When he hit her she could actually feel herself doubling up beneath the water, then she knew that he had her before the roaring blackness closed in on her. Someone was speaking to her, trying to coax her into opening her eyes, which was something she didn't want to do. For a moment or two darkness closed solidly in on her again. When she did finally manage to open her eyes she was desperately tired and then she remembered the sea. 'Why didn't I drown?' She could barely lift her voice. 'Because I wouldn't let you.' The voice was as flat and as empty as her own and she turned her head so that she could try to focus her eyes on his face. There was the sound of the surf as it continued to lead its own restless life. For it, the two people, who were now safe in some sort of beach bungalow, had ceased to exist. The wind blew in great shuddering gusts against walls and windows. Slowly Chanelle took stock of the room in which she found herself. There were built-in stone banquettes along thick white walls. The banquettes were cushioned in striped cherry, black and ivory linen. A shelving system housed books and one or two primitive wood carvings, which were probably very expensive, and pieces of pottery. Taking her eyes away from the walls and the shelves, she looked at the man who had rescued her from drowning. He had gone to stand near the shelving system and his face, as he studied her, seemed to be very pale. Chanelle took a short breath and closed her eyes again. 'You saved my life,' she murmured, 'and I didn't see how anyone could do that.'

'I'm sorry to have disappointed you.' There was nothing but cool contempt in the tone of his voice. Even in this semi-blackout state the cool contempt in the tone of his voice could not be missed. When Chanelle turned to look at him again she saw that he was wearing a dry long-sleeved towelling shirt over wet baggies and, automatically, she felt beneath the blanket, which covered her, to find out whether she was still wearing the white bikini with its glinting steel rings. She was. Thankfully, she realised that he had not stripped her. Remembering, she said, 'I didn't know what I was saying. I didn't want to drown—not really, I guess, although it would have saved a lot of trouble.' 'Well, I'm so happy.' His voice was heavy with sarcasm and his eyes met hers in a long, unsmiling stare. 'Actually, every time I think of it, it burns me up—you damned little fool. What took you out there on a day like this?' Fighting nausea, Chanelle sat up. There was the threatening growl of thunder and she realised that there was going to be a storm. Through the large windows she could see that the beach was shrouded in an evil sulphurous light and the atmosphere seemed charged with tension. Beyond it, the sea was confused and lashed, and she marvelled that they had been in it and that they had survived. The waves, piled high by the wind, broke in immense cascades of grey and white foam on the deserted beach. The windows of the bungalow, she noticed, could be protected by cross-braced wooden sliding doors. 'I'll have to go,' she said, panic rising again. 'There's going to be an awful storm by the looks of things.' 'Go?' He took his arms away from his chest.

'I parked my car on the dust road leading down to the beach,' she told him, remembering again. Her car with all her honeymoon clothes in it. 'Oh, I see.' He turned his head. 'Well, unfortunately, you're not going to be able to make it. Not until this storm passes over, anyway. Unless, of course, you'd like to tempt the lightning to make a better job of things?' 'I don't think that was very funny.' She gave him a long look. 'It wasn't meant to be funny, as a matter of fact.' There was still that hardness about his voice. Swinging her legs over the stone banquette, Chanelle stood up, swaying a little. She wondered if she was going to be sick all over the place. He must have noticed this. 'You took a long time in coming round,' he said, 'I made a good job of knocking you out cold. If I hadn't, we'd both have been washed out for keeps.' 'I know. I'm sorry.' A flash of lightning leapt, in a great orange flash, through the sombre mass of clouds over the sea. The thought struck Chanelle that she did not know how far his bungalow was from her car, but she said, 'Perhaps I'll be able to make it.' Even while she was speaking the sultry sun appeared for a moment, enveloping everything in the room in a sickly light. The walls and the cushion covers seemed to absorb this light and reflect back a yellow tinge before the sun vanished completely. Ominously, the wind dropped. Chanelle ran the tip of her tongue over her lips and tasted the tiny salty beads which the sea had left there. A heavy drop of rain splashed against one of the windows and he crossed the room and closed all the windows on that side. Soon there

was the steady drone of rain on the roof, increasing as the wind came back to life and threw rain against the glass. The rain was sweeping in gusts over the sea and the beach. There was a strange intimacy, somehow, in the situation and Chanelle was intensely aware of her scanty bikini. She felt cold and shivery after all that heat before the weather had so suddenly changed and after all that she had been through. 'You'd better change into something dry and warmer than that thing you're wearing.' The grey eyes, under unusually fine brows, were thoughtful as he surveyed her figure and she found herself cringing inwardly. 'I'll see what I can do for you.' 'Don't bother,' she told him quickly. 'I've put you to enough trouble already.' 'In that case, please pay me the compliment of getting into something that will at least cover you up.' She watched him as he walked towards a short corridor, then she couldn't see him any more; while he was gone she went to stand next to the windows, and drew back quickly as a flash of lightning, followed by a loud overhead crash of thunder, bolted through the room. When he came back, he was carrying a pair of white hipster pants and a tangerine shirt made of some fine material. 'Here,' he said, 'they're perfectly clean. If you go through there,' he pointed, 'you'll find the bathroom or the bedroom—-whichever you care to use.' 'It doesn't matter, honestly,' she started to say, but he cut her short. 'Don't be stupid. Go and get out of that wet apology of a bikini and we'll take it from there.'

'You're being stupid, not me,' she answered, with some heat. 'I can quite easily go. Quite obviously I'm in the way here.' 'I know when I'm being stupid and I know when other people are being stupid too, so don't let's argue about this. Perhaps you'll think twice, next time, before you do such a damn-fool thing, because there usually happens to be some other damn fool who'll always risk his neck for you,' he added so brusquely that she flinched. He tossed her the hipsters and the shirt and, helplessly, she put out her arms and caught them. 'Through there,' he said again. She hesitated for only a moment before she went in the direction of the thick-walled arched entrance to the corridor. The bedroom in which she found herself had pine- boarded walls and gay cherry, yellow and ivory cushions were scattered on the black woven rug which was used as an effective divan cover giving vitality to the otherwise simply furnished, but inviting, room. After glancing uncertainly around Chanelle closed the door and took off her bikini, then caught her breath; he was on the other side of the door talking to her. Still in the same aggressive manner he said, 'Perhaps you'd like a shower? You'll find towels, by the way, in the centre cupboard.' Automatically, she began to struggle back into the clinging bikini. 'No—it's all right,' she called back. 'Please yourself.' She knew by the silence that he had gone, and biting her lip she went very quietly to the door and stealthily turned the key, although something told her that this was not necessary. When she had stripped for the second time, and changed into the clothes which he had thrown at her, she went to the mirror. Her hair was dry, which led her to believe that he had removed her bathing cap afterwards. Shaking back her lovely auburn hair and running her fingers through it, she looked at herself and noticed, in typical

woman fashion, that his white hipsters and tangerine shirt showed up her extraordinary colouring. When she had wrapped the bra of her bikini in the pants with their outsize steel rings, she opened the door and went back to the main room of the bungalow. If anything, the storm was worse, and she wondered about her car. There was a lot of luggage in that car, she thought bitterly—all her honeymoon things. 'May I speak frankly?' She saw that he had changed and, instead of the baggies, he was wearing dark slacks along with the white towelling shirt. 'If you wish,' she replied in a stilted voice, and looked for a place on the floor to hide her bikini until it was time for her to go. He passed her a glass and said, 'You look better covered up.' 'Thank you.' She felt insulted. Glancing at the glass she asked, 'What is this?' 'Brandy and a little ginger ale.' Her whole arm shook as another flash of lightning whipped in and out of the room and, when she had recovered from the shock, she licked the brandy which had spilled over her hand and could taste it along with the salt which had dried on her skin. 'Well,' his mouth went up, 'here's to better luck next time. I only hope I'm not in on the scene.' She had been about to take a sip of the brandy but, with considerable impatience, she took the glass away from her lips and gave him a long look. Then she began to look around for a place to put the glass down. 'I've been letting your remarks aim where they couldn't touch me,' she told him, her face alert with anger now. The glass made a

click as she set it down on a low coffee table in pale knotty pine. 'I— I didn't want to drown. I wasn't trying to drown myself. I did happen to be utterly exhausted, however. I'd reached the stage when I was past caring. Can't you see that? I wish I could make you see this without having to go down on my knees before you.' Moodily, she watched him as he walked over to the coffee table and picked up her glass. 'Here, drink this,' he said, 'and shut up about going down on your knees. That remark must have given you quite a thrill.' 'On the contrary.' With unhappy, downcast eyes she took the glass from him. 'I didn't mean to say it and I was immediately ashamed— but you drove me to it.' Lightning reared across the room and she did her best not to let him see her cringe. Holding her glass in one hand, she held her wrist with the fingers of the other hand so that she could keep the glass steady. 'I take it that you are in some sort of trouble,' he said. 'Wasn't there somebody you could go to? Somebody to turn to?' Chanelle knew that he was studying her eyes and she looked down at her glass and decided to lie to him. 'I'm not in any sort of trouble. You're way off beam.' 'I don't believe you.' 'Well, it's the truth,' she said quickly, not wanting him to know about her. 'If you could only see inside my car you would find several cases filled with the kind of clothes that any girl dreams about. They're utterly exciting and cost me a lot of money, but I expected— expect—it to be worth it. I'm going on holiday. I merely stopped here for a swim.' Her eyes met his. 'Does that answer your question?'

'Well, here's to a good time,' he replied, and she felt the ache of loneliness. 'Thank you.' Her voice was crippled. 'You don't have to stand,' he said, still in that same hard voice. 'I do, because the storm is practically over and I must be going.' The sun, shining through a haze of salt, was beginning to pour patches of bronze on the crests of the waves. She put the glass down and stopped to pick up the bikini which she had managed to hide beneath one of the cushioned stone banquettes. She looked around for her bathing cap. When she found it she said, 'Once again, please accept my most sincere thanks. I'm quite at a loss to know how to thank you.' 'Don't mention it—I take things as they come, fortunately.' When she straightened up her eyes met his. She gave him a small, bitter smile. 'Well, just so long as they come—that's the main thing, I suppose. By the way, I don't know your name?' 'The name happens to be Curtis Kendall.' 'It suits you.' He inclined his dark head. 'Thank you.' Lifting his shoulders he said, 'And yours would be -?' 'It would be Chanelle Falkner. Thank you again, Mr. Kendall. I mean that.' 'Forget it. Enjoy your holiday.'

Reminded again, she said flippantly, to hide the pain she felt, 'It's to be a kind of honeymoon ... without strings and with no particular man in mind. Just any gay old dog who happens to come along.' She was aware that his grey eyes had blinked. Then he took a gulp which left his glass empty and put it down, next to her own. 'Well, Miss Falkner, the way you choose to lead the life which I risked my neck to save is, after all, entirely your own business.' There was a slight pause. 'Allow me,' he said, after it, and opened the door for her. The wind caught at her auburn hair and blew it across her face and she held it back with one hand, clutching the bikini and her bathing cap with the other. 'By the way,' she said, 'how will I get your clothes back to you?' 'Keep them—with my compliments,' he said coolly, 'until they have served their purpose, and then dispose of them in any way you may see fit.' 'I'll have them cleaned and bring them back here.' 'Don't risk that. I might well not be here when you come. This is only my beach shack.' His abrupt manner irritated her. 'I can't see why you're so hostile about it. I can't just keep these clothes. Besides, I wouldn't want to.' 'I wouldn't want you to. I'm not asking you to keep them. I'm asking you to dispose of them.' 'I see. You are intent on making me feel all guilty about this, aren't you?' 'If I'm making you feel guilty you shouldn't admit it—not to me.'

'You still think I swam out there on purpose, don't you?' Chanelle tossed her head in the direction of the sea and her auburn hair bounced around her cheeks, which were suddenly very pale. 'Let me see you to your car,' he said abruptly. 'That won't be necessary, thank you,' she told him before she started to run and she kept on running until she found her bearings. Once she knew where she was she began walking along the beach, her body pressed against the wind. A few grey-white seagulls cried overhead and she knew that she was crying with them.

Most of the bedrooms looked out over the sea and Chanelle's room was one of them. When she found herself alone with her luggage, neatly stacked on the long riempie stool for that purpose, she went to stand at the glass door which led to her balcony. On the white and gilt dressing-table there was a brochure, which she picked up. 'This is the hotel that offers just everything to those seeking to get away from it all,' she read, before she tossed it impatiently back on to the cool, lacquered surface where it lay mocking her. 'Well, I guess it's the hotel for me, in that case,' she said aloud. This surely must be the hotel for the person who felt as though she had been severely thrashed. It was as if she had been so badly beaten and bruised that every time she moved she was reminded of what had happened to her. Sea and sky merged in a dusky curtain on the horizon. The storm was over and the clouds had been rolled across the sky and were on their

way to the mountains. Chanelle was acutely aware of the hissing of the mother-of-pearl sea which had so very nearly claimed her. From her balcony she could look down at the hotel gardens. Near to the swimming-pool dusky-pink bougainvillea cascaded from white concrete pillars while on either side of the wide white steps which led to the foyer purple and pink petunias grew in tremendous blue and green glazed pots. Although the sea was a tinted grey now she knew that in the morning it would be blue again and the shore, for as far as one could see, would be a frilled sparkle of white. The wind was still blowing and on the beach, near the red-topped lighthouse, several people began to run, laughing as the flying sand stung them. Back in her room she gave it her attention, her blue eyes taking in the gold and white, the regency mouldings on doors and cupboards. The pale primrose bathroom had a fitted vanity unit. Certainly, she thought, the accommodation she had booked for herself, with little thought to expense, was fit for a bride. By the time she had finished her freak honeymoon-for-one her savings would have been flattened, and she didn't care. Suddenly she began to have second thoughts about the whole thing and her eyes went to the white telephone at her bedside. 'Don't let my heart keep breaking,' she whispered. Should she phone her father and tell him that she had changed her mind—tell him that she would be leaving again for home in the morning? Thoughts of Hilton invaded her. 'Don't keep thinking about things,' she said aloud. 'It's bad enough without thinking about it. Forget about having been jilted. Have a bath, change into one of those glamorous frocks you bought for your honeymoon.'

On edge with herself and with the .whole world, she went back into the bathroom and began to run water into the exciting bath with its elaborate fittings. With the cheerful water noises taking over she began opening her cases and when she had looked out a slim, tunicstyle dress, side fastened with diamante buttons which sparkled on the white material, she flung a white nylon and cotton lace housecoat sashed with flame-pink on to the white and gold bedspread. She had bought the housecoat with all thoughts concentrated on Hilton, so she tried not to look at it. She had certainly gone to town on her trousseau, she thought bitterly. When she had finished bathing she stood up and held the telephoneshower over her head and the water bounced on her pink plastic shower cap. Her eyes beneath the cap were grave as she thought not of Hilton Hardwick now but of Curtis Kendall, the man who had saved her from certain drowning. She found herself shivering despite the hot water and promised to buy herself a drink in the attractive ladies' bar before dinner, although she asked herself how she was going to face having it alone. 'The answer is simple,' a hard little voice she was beginning to recognise as her own answered, 'you must find a man to buy you one. You must make use of him, in just the way that men make use of women before they clear off with someone else.' By the time she reached the bar she had taken care to look expensive and glamorous—very far removed from the near-naked, halfdrowned girl who had been saved from the sea or the girl in the white hipster pants and tangerine shirt who had run along the beach, her slim body pressed against the wind and with the sea, agitated by that wind, lashing the beach to one side of her while the seagulls cried overhead. She was aware of eyes focusing on her as she chose a stool and while she struggled to gather an inner strength which she knew she would

be lost without. Wryly she thought that she must possess some kind of inner strength to have got here in the first place. The dress did things for her. Apart from the fact that it had cost her a lot of money, she had bought it for her honeymoon because she had seen, from the very first moment of slipping it over her head, that it did things for her. All during those hectic, wonderful days of trousseau shopping she had known that she was being extravagant, but after all, she had saved madly so that she would not have to stint herself at this wonderful time of her young life. Next to her the tall, handsome man with the silver hair at his temples glanced sideways at her while a corner of his mouth went up. Chanelle knew that when he stood up he would be tall, with divine broad shoulders and the slender hips to go with them. The silver in his dark hair contrasted excitingly with his tan. It was almost a hideous experience ordering a drink for herself and she was terribly embarrassed, but tried not to show it. She had ordered a Martini, for some unknown reason, and when the barman passed it to her he smiled and said, 'Some storm this afternoon, wasn't it?' Her smile was brief with the nervousness she was feeling. 'Yes, it was,' she replied, then gazed in the direction of the bewildering array of bottles behind him. 'Were you out in that storm?' Chanelle jumped as the man with the silver temples spoke, and as she turned her head to look at him, she wondered whether she should be cool to him, but quickly changed her mind. 'Play it cool, baby,' the hard little voice inside her said. 'This is the way you planned it, remember? Be honest with yourself.' Yes, in a moment of reckless despair she had promised herself this new flightiness. Still, she hadn't planned it quite so soon -

'I was nearly caught in it,' she found herself telling him. 'Actually, I was in the sea—just before it broke.' Laughing lightly, she added, 'So I was wet, anyway. It wouldn't have mattered terribly.' He had swivelled his stool round slightly now so that he could look at her. 'What was the water like?' He was very easy, very relaxed and— very impressive. Like a Big Bad Wolf, she thought. 'Oh,' she knew that she had coloured slightly, 'rough.' 'Really? I was in Durban, as a matter of fact, but driving back along the North Coast I could see that it was rough.' There was a little silence. Chanelle fiddled with the olive in her Martini, turning the stick which held it round and round in her fingers. 'Consider this as an answer to a maiden's prayer,' she was thinking. 'You're off to a brilliant start. He's handsome, tall, tanned, has a fascinating way of speaking and is, let's face it, oh, so easy with women.' The thought struck her that at his age—about fortyfourish—he might well be married. The thought sickened her and she dropped the olive back in her glass and watched it sink. Well, she wasn't going to be that flighty—not with a married man. However, right now all she wanted was to ease Hilton out of her mind. 'I haven't seen you about.' The amused glance he gave her signified that he didn't know how he could possibly have missed seeing her about. 'Are you on holiday?' 'Well, yes. That and—all sorts of things. I only arrived this afternoon.' 'By yourself?' He spoke very casually. 'Yes. There were to be two of us, but I was let down at the last moment. I decided to go ahead—you know, make my own plans.'

Turning away, he signalled the barman. 'Look,' he gave her his fascinating attention again, 'I'd like to buy you a drink. May I?' 'I—there's still some in my glass,' she told him, wondering why it was she was playing for time when this was how she had planned things. 'What is it—Martini?' His brown eyes dropped to her glass. 'Yes.' 'Dry?' 'Uh-huh. I think so. I don't know.' She wrinkled her nose and grinned at him. 'I forget what I said.' They both laughed, accepting this for what it was—that it was going to be just one of those things for both of them while they were on holiday, that it was to be the result of a chance meeting in an exciting little bar, the type of thing one does immediately they find themselves released from everyday claustrophobia, clock- word commercial routines, the neighbours—or a good, old-fashioned case of being jilted—if that sort of thing still existed! She knew that it did. 'Funny,' she thought, 'in this present age, jilting still exists.' She wanted to laugh. While he gave the order to the barman she thought about him. In his extremely well tailored safari suit he, because of his easy strength and tan, was suggestive of the open-air type. On the other hand, however, he was so cool, so polished that it made her think. His was the kind of polished charm which went along with polished women and a kind of living where casualness becomes the order of the day but which, nevertheless, involved the sophistication of people, hotels and plush motels. 'What were we talking about?' he said easily, when he had ordered their drinks.

'We were talking about the weather,' she said, smiling. 'We were doing nothing of the sort. We were talking about you. You were about to tell me- your name.' Laughing again, she said, 'I was not, you know.' 'Well, you are now. Aren't you?' His voice dropped intimately and she stopped smiling and looked down at her empty glass, which had not yet been taken away, then lifted the olive out and popped it into her mouth. The drink had drained it of all taste and she made a face and shuddered. That came with inexperience, she thought. 'I'll get them to bring you some olives,' her new companion said. He laughed softly. 'Was it very awful?' 'No. I always do it. It's just force of habit, you know. Please don't worry. Smooth cha-cha music leaked into the bar from somewhere. 'Look,' he said, 'you never did get round to telling me your name, you know, and by the way, mine is Steve Conway.' 'It's Chanelle Falkner.' 'I'm delighted to know you, Chanelle.' He lingered over her name. Their drinks arrived and passed her hers he said, 'You know, Chanelle, you've completely destroyed my mood.' 'Oh?' 'I was in a very bad mood, actually.'

'Really?' Her fingers around the stem of her glass tightened and then, nervously, she began to turn the glass round and round on the shining wood. Steve Conway's tanned fingers closed around her wrist. 'You'll spill that in a moment,' he told her, smiling, before he took his fingers away. 'I was in a bad mood because I'm supposed to be working and I'm making a hell of a bad job of it.' 'Oh?' She didn't know what else to say. How did a girl play it cool when she had just become friendly with a man on the bar stool next to her own? She had never done it before and so she didn't know. Besides, he was just that much older than she was. Old enough to have known better than to have picked her up, in the first place, she thought resentfully. 'What is it you're working at?' she asked. 'I'm compiling a complete brochure. I work for one of these safari tour outfits, but I'm soon to be branching out on my own. At the moment, I'm combining a little holiday with work. You know the sort of thing— they go something like this, "The most delightful and interesting way to see all the vast and fascinating game reserves is by Steven Safari Tours. Steven Safari Tours are arranged to make the most of your time in a comfortable and leisurely way...." ' Shrugging, he said, 'You know the sort of thing.' 'Yes, but what is it that happens to be bothering you?' 'You'll laugh at this—but my typing, actually.' She did laugh—to please him. 'Your typing?'

'I'm making a hash of it. The publicity photographs are one hundred per cent and all the information is set out. It's just the typing. I brought my portable along and had planned on doing all my own typing and designing. When everything is finished the brochures are to be printed by the Harris Press people.' So that was it, she thought. Steve Conway was one of those safari types. That would explain the tan; the easy charm. She found him suddenly unnerving. Men like Steve Conway were used to people— used to glamorous women wearing slim-fitting trouser-suits by day and sensational and utterly comfortable cottons by night at the various motels or hotels and exciting game reserve restaurants. 'And you?' he asked softly. 'What can you tell me about you, Chanelle?' 'Nothing, I'm afraid.' Laughing beneath his breath almost, he said, 'Is that all? Just nothing, I'm afraid?' 'That is all.' She didn't like this feeling of having the attention swung round on to her. 'Is it my imagination—or has your smile a hint of pain in it, Chanelle?' Shocked by his insight, Chanelle looked up. 'It's purely your imagination, I can assure you.' 'But in other words, it's a long story?' With a hint of anger in her blue eyes she replied, 'Because I happen to be here alone doesn't necessarily signify that there's a hint of pain in the way I smile.'

She turned her eyes away from him in the direction of the bewildering array of bottles behind the barman. 'I wonder what the time is?' she said. 'There doesn't seem to be a clock anywhere about...' and then she found that she couldn't finish the sentence because, standing right at the end of the counter, studying some papers, stood Curtis Kendall, immaculate in a dark suit. When his eyes came up to meet hers she knew by the aggressive set of his dark head that he had been watching her for some considerable time and she wondered what he was doing at the Hotel Castallaras. His eyes held hers in a long, unsmiling stare before he turned his attention to the papers again. Chanelle knew that Curtis Kendall had seen her as she intended everybody should see her—sophisticated, living the kind of life that went on at the Castallaras, and that he was visibly unimpressed. 'Chanelle,' Steve was saying, 'would you mind if I made arrangements for you to dine at my table?' Peering meditatively into her glass, she said, 'That would be very nice.' Then she stood up. 'I must be going. I'll meet you in the reception area, just before dinner and,' she gave him a smile, 'thank you for the drink.' Getting to his feet, he stood beside her, tall and strikingly handsome, almost like a film star. Several girls at the bar studied him with frank curiosity and Chanelle was suddenly confused that, out of all of them, he had chosen her—but then she had been alone—unwanted. The knowledge shocked her. Steve walked to the reception area with her and, as they left the ladies bar, she had been aware of Curtis Kendall and knew that the expression in his grey eyes had been disapproving and she knew, of course, what he was thinking. What he thought meant nothing to her.

She had come to terms with herself. She had come here to get away from everything, to escape to a temporary paradise, and she intended that it was going to be an all-absorbing pastime. It had to be, to help her to get over Hilton. Quite apart from losing Hilton being jilted, at the last possible moment, had been like being driven out into the open to be jeered at by all who knew her. Her escape meant throwing out a number of old-fashioned ideas. Ideas that she had grown up with. In future, with her, casualness was going to become the order of the day. Chanelle struggled for a lighter mood and in the reception area, with its black and white floor and magnificent Persian rugs, she smiled up at Steve Conway. 'I have to phone my father, before dinner. I promised. So I'll see you later.' As she went up the stairs she knew that she was desperately tired. It was, no doubt, the reaction from her battle with the surf. She got through to her father without much delay and for several moments the bell went on ringing in the house she knew so well. 'How are you?' he asked. 'My thoughts have been with you all day. How did the car go? No trouble, I hope?' 'No. The care went like a bird, actually.' 'I hope you had an eye on that speedometer?' 'Of course. I always do have an eye on it.' 'I often wonder. What's it like at the coast?' 'We had an awful storm, earlier,' she told him. 'It was quite frightening.'

'You weren't out in it? I take it you'd already arrived at the Castallaras?' After a tiny pause, she said, so as not to worry him, 'I was at a place only a couple of miles away—having a nice cosy drink while the storm raged.' 'Your Aunt Mary says I should never have allowed you to go off by yourself.' 'I don't see why not. I'm already beginning to enjoy myself immensely. I've made friends with somebody.' 'Oh?' Her father's voice was guarded. 'You want to watch yourself, you know. Don't go flying into anything.' 'Don't worry. I won't,' she said. 'Do you need anything? Money?' 'Laughing, Chanelle said, 'We went into all that before. I've got everything I need—except the bridegroom,' and then she knew she had hurt him. 'I'm fine, honestly. I'm. just beginning to realise what a lucky escape I had.' While she was speaking she began to push the tears back up her cheeks with the palm of one hand. 'Sure?' Nodding, she clenched her mouth against her tears before she realised that he couldn't see her. 'Quite sure. I must dash to dinner now, Dad, but I'll—I'll be in touch.' She was having a battle with the tears now and bent forward slightly so that she could look down at her frock. Would the tears stain? she wondered. After she had replaced the receiver she remained staring at it for a few moments. Then she said, imitating the tone of voice she had used

to her father, 'I'm just beginning to realise what a lucky escape I had. Don't give me that, Chanelle Falkner! You're just beginning to realise how miserable you are.' In despair, she waved her hand and knocked over her flacon of perfume. It had been a personal gift from her boss. 'Just to thank you for all those late scripts, Chanelle,' he had written. 'Have a lovely honeymoon.' 'Everything has gone wrong,' she whispered brokenly, picking up fragments of glass. Her whole suite was perfumed and she knew that she would never forget that particular perfume again. Steve Conway was waiting in the black-and-white tiled reception area with its vivid Persian rugs and the intricately carved, redcushioned Gothic chairs at one end. 'I'm sorry I took so long,' she told him, hoping that the trace of tears was not showing. 'Chanelle,' he replied, smiling charmingly, 'sometimes I think I spend half a lifetime waiting for women—you'd be surprised how long a woman takes to make her face up, even at some remote rest camp in the bush—but you're well worth waiting for.' Because it was, no doubt, expected of her she laughed lightly and said, 'I bet you say that to all of them!' 'On the contrary. Tell me, would you like a drink before dinner?' 'No, thank you.' 'The table is organised, by the way,' he told her. 'I told them that I wanted the most secluded table, for two, in the dining-room.' 'Oh, you didn't!' She laughed again, to hide the embarrassment she was feeling. 'I most certainly did. I want you all to myself-—now that I've found you.'

He knew how to make a girl relax and, during the meal, he had her laughing as he told her about the kind of work he did. 'I'd love to go on a safari tour,' she told him. 'I've never been in one of those marvellous deluxe coaches.' While the wine steward was busy refilling their glasses she looked away and caught sight of Curtis Kendall at the tremendous glass doors to the dining- room. Their eyes met briefly before his own swung to Steve, who was watching the wine steward. One corner of Curtis Kendall's mouth went up. 'We'll have to see what we can do about that, Chanelle,' Steve said, and she glanced quickly away from Curtis. 'Do about what?' She was suddenly confused. 'We'll have to see what we can do about getting you on one of those deluxe coaches. Actually, I'm going on safari within a matter of a few days. It will be my last trip with my old outfit before I wind up with them for good.' Giving her a full look, he said, 'So how about it?' 'Oh, I don't know. You've caught me—unawares. I'm on holiday. I don't even know for how long—just as the mood takes me and then I—I guess I'll have to think about what I'm going to do. You know how it is,' she spread her hands and laughed a helpless little laugh, realising that she had fallen into a kind of trap. 'I don't know how it is,' he bunched his chin. 'You tell me. Do I understand that you're considering not going back?' 'I'm not sure.' She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. 'I'd like to change my work, you know.' 'Would this be office work?'

'Yes. It would be office work and I might decide to leave home for a while to—to try something different.' 'You sound like a freelance, at the moment.' Not liking the way in which she was being probed, she said, 'Yes, I do, don't I?' After a short silence he said, 'Tell me, are you going to dance with me, later?' 'Honestly, I don't think so. I'm really very tired.' It was true. All of a sudden, she knew that it was terribly true. She was exhausted. Reaching for her hand, Steve said, 'I'm sorry. Forgive me, Chanelle. I quite overlooked that you'd spent most of the day travelling.' With her eyes on their hands Chanelle found herself thinking, 'I wonder whether Curtis Kendall is in on this little scene? He probably is. No doubt if I looked around I'd see him watching me.' Fascinated, she went on staring at Steve's fingers smoothing her wrist and wanted to snatch her hand away, but the new devil inside her whispered, 'Leave it.' They had coffee in the lounge, with its sophisticated atmosphere. Lightning played across the horizon. 'I wonder if the storm is trying to come back?' Chanelle said, and Steve turned his head in the direction of the huge windows, at one end of the room. 'When we have finished our coffee we'll go outside and take a look,' he said. On the way from the lounge he looked down at her. 'Feeling just that little bit better after a good dinner?' Smiling, he took her hand and suddenly she was grateful to him for helping her over the first hurdle. 'Very much better, thank you.' She smiled back, then clamped her

teeth on her lip as he lifted her fingers to his mouth and kissed them lightly. 'Good,' he said softly. 'Mr. Conway, sir, telephone.' Steve turned to the Indian page. 'For me?' 'Yes, sir. Where would you like to take the call?' 'At the desk will do very nicely, thank you. Chanelle, I'm sorry. I won't be five minutes, however. Will you wait?' 'I'll wait on the veranda,' she told him. 'I'll be watching the lightning.' As she turned away she all but bumped into Curtis Kendall. 'We meet again,' he said. His expression was reserved. 'By the way, congratulations! You must be quite delighted with your success.' Before she could think of a thing to say he had turned towards the office which led off from the reception area.

CHAPTER TWO A MAN saves your life, Chanelle thought resentfully, as she looked out the white hipsters and tangerine shirt the following morning, and he feels that it gives him the right to say whatever comes into his mind. Beyond the balcony the sun caught the tops of the waves. It was a wonderful day, a day for the beach, for stunning beach wear and scanty bikinis, but she intended taking the clothes which Curtis Kendall had loaned her to a dry-cleaners. When she had done that, it would probably be time for tea and then she would swim in the pool and sun-bathe until lunch time. The telephone rang and she tossed the hipsters and the shirt on to her bed. The shirt, she noticed, made a brilliant splash of colour as it caught the sun which was beginning to slant across the white and gold bedspread. 'Hello?' 'Chanelle?' 'Yes—Steven?' Using his name did not come easily to her. 'How are you, this morning?' 'Oh, fine.' 'Completely recovered, I take it?' 'Completely, thank you.' 'Ready for a swim?'

Laughing, she said, 'Yes, more than ready, but I'm afraid I have to drive into the village.' 'Lazybones! You could walk.' 'I know, but I'm lazy.' 'What takes you to the village, Chanelle?' 'The dry-cleaners, actually. I have some things...' 'Is that all?' 'Yes—but it's important.' 'Let me take you. As a matter of fact, I want to go to the bank. After morning tea we could swim. How's that?' 'Well, that sounds,' she groped for a word, 'fine. Do you mind terribly, though, if it's the pool? I'm—I'll have to get used to the sea. I'm a little nervous—coming from up-country, you know,' she laughed. She did not want to tell him about her near-drowning. 'That suits me. Actually, I'm no champ when it comes to the surf, believe me.' 'I find that hard to believe,' she told him. 'It happens to be the truth. Give me the bush and the wild animals any time, but dump me in among the breakers and I'm a dead loss.' 'I'll meet you downstairs in about ten minutes, then,' she told him. He was waiting for her. 'Hello,' she said shyly.

'I worried about you last night, after I left you,' he told her. 'You looked so completely devastated.' 'I was.' She looked away so that he would not see the hurt which she knew must have leapt into her eyes, and then she was aware that her heart had skipped a beat when she saw Curtis Kendall. He had his back to her and was talking on the telephone at the desk, then before she could look away he had turned and lifted his lashes. Chanelle was filled with confusion when she realised that she did not know whether to greet him or not. He, however, solved the solution for her because, straightening up, he turned away, but not, she was quick to notice, before he had given Steve Conway a brief, hostile glance. 'Come along, then,' Steve, unaware of everything, took her hand. On the steps of the veranda Chanelle stopped. 'I'd like to put on my sunglasses,' she said, and began to delve into her bag. When she had put them on, he said, 'Sun-glasses suit you, but it's nothing short of a crime to hide those eyes, Chanelle.' Although warning bells were ringing in her mind, she ignored them and laughed up into his face. 'Well, it's very nice of you to say that.' And it was true, she thought. Only a short while ago her eyes had been puffed and red from crying over Hilton. She slipped into the seat of his cream car. The shop windows in the village, which was really quire a flourishing little town on the North Coast, were dressed mainly to catch the eyes of the tourists and, despite the sea air, the great modern expanses of plate glass, sparkled in the sunshine. 'I wonder where the drycleaners are?' said Chanelle. 'I'll enquire at the bank.' Steve placed an arm about her waist as they stepped off the pavement and began to cross the wide main street with the island in the centre which was planted with petunias. Unsure

of herself, of the new kind of role she had decided to play, she moved away from the circle of his arm. It was when they were coming out of the bank that they met Curtis Kendall on his way into it. The two men exchanged brief 'good mornings' while Chanelle reached for her sun-glasses and adjusted them, although they did not need adjusting. Beside her, Steve was saying, 'Well, now we know where to find the dry-cleaners.' 'Would you mind if I went alone?' she asked quickly, thinking about the things which she had in the parcel—things which she did not want Steve Conway to see. 'I have one or two things to do, apart from taking these things to the cleaners.' Shrugging politely, he said, 'Not at all. I'll meet you later, then. Where?' The way he said it started something up inside her that began to grow and, as it grew, it rebelled. She felt almost degraded by Steve Conway's possessiveness. Flustered, she looked around, feeling caught out, somehow. 'Oh, what about outside the pharmacy? I have to go in there, as a matter of fact.' She didn't, but she'd think of something to buy. On her way towards the dry-cleaners she brooded on this ridiculous honeymoon-for-one and felt her strength begin to run out. She had a feeling that already she was getting out of her depth. 'I can let you have these tomorrow morning,' the assistant told her, shaking out the clothes which belonged to Curtis Kendall. The sight of them caused Chanelle to tense up. 'What name, please?' 'Oh—er—Falkner.' The hurt as she said this almost crushed her. It should have been Mrs. Hilton Hard- wick.

Outside, everybody seemed to be on holiday and Chanelle tried to show appropriate enthusiasm. Merely to show Steve that she had made a purchase she bought a large tin of bath powder, which she did not need, and a box of tissues just because they were in a box and would be something to carry, making it appear that she had indeed been shopping. He was waiting for her, looking very handsome. Giving her all his attention, he said, looking at the parcel, 'Well, finished?' His voice was exquisitely tender and her mind began to nag at the problem of how she was going to handle him now that they had actually paired off like this. 'Yes.' She forced herself to smile. 'Where do we go from here?' His eyes searched her own. 'Had you anything in mind?' she asked. 'Something to drink and then a swim.' He took her to a little place where they had cream- topped coffee out of thick pottery mugs and where the golden light of the sun had been brushed back by thickly woven filter curtains^ Outside, on the pavement, the people were just vague, colourless shadows. They sat on high stools at a long gleaming counter which, apart from two young men who were obviously representatives, they had to themselves. 'You've never really told me how long you're here for,' Steve said. 'Oh,' she stirred her coffee, watching the cream as it frothed up and clung to the spoon, 'until I can face going back.' She felt a moment of panic. 'Until I feel ready to go back.' She smiled at him in the gloom.

'You have no set plans, then?' He began to fidget with her sun-glasses which she had placed on the counter. 'No. I might extend my leave. On the other hand, I might well cut it short.' 'You appear to be a very restless young thing.' 'Do I?' She gave him a careless grin, but her heart was hammering inside. To hide her confusion from him she shook back her hair and then propped her chin on one hand. He took her other hand in his own. 'Your eyes, of course, are beautiful,' he went on. 'They come as almost a shock, after all that auburn hair. They should have been green, not blue. Has anybody ever told you that?' 'No,' she lied, to please him, 'nobody ever has.' She wondered how soon she could remove her fingers from his own without destroying the role which she had created for herself. Fed up, she said, 'I might go back home before.' 'Before what?' 'Before my leave is up.' 'I won't let you, Chanelle. Surely you must know that?' Directly Curtis Kendall and the man he was with seated themselves at the counter, Chanelle's first reaction was to snatch her fingers away from Steve's. She felt she had scored a small triumph, however, by leaving them where they were, and her eyes met his. Turning away, she whispered very softly to Steve, 'Don't look now, but we're being watched!' Above her silky auburn head Steve glanced in the direction of Curtis Kendall.

'Kendall appears to be doing very much the same sort of thing as we are,' he said, 'visiting the bank, etcetera.' 'Where do you know him from?' she asked softly. 'Merely from the hotel. I might have run into him somewhere else, but he's not a friend of mine.' Lifting one strand of her hair, he said, 'Where do you know him from?' He smiled as he turned the tables on her. 'I don't. I merely happen to know that his name is Curtis Kendall, which I think rather suits him, don't you?' They went out into the sunshine, leaving behind the gloom of the coffee bar and, for Chanelle, to a certain extent, the brightness of the day. After lunch they swam in the hotel pool and lay, afterwards, on bright towels which they had spread out on the mosaic verge next to the pool. From time to time, Steve tickled her back with one finger while something told her that, from some hidden place in the hotel, Curtis Kendall was watching. While Steve tickled her she knew a feeling of resentment before she knew a relaxed kind of drowsiness and thought how marvellous it was just to forget about all the hurt and humiliation. She dined and wined with Steve in the Silver Dagger Supper Room at the Castallaras. 'It amazes me how all these people can dance on that tiny floor,' she said to Steve. 'I'm going to have an excuse to hold you terribly tight, Chanelle.' Laughing a little, she looked away. For one who was always on safari tours Steve danced well. He certainly knew all the latest night-club footwork. 'I'm going to hate

saying goodbye,' he whispered against her ear, as they danced to one particularly slow number. Because she preferred to ignore the challenge in his remark she made a small helpless gesture, inside his arms, which she hoped indicated regret on her part. Steve bent his head and kissed one slim, white-strapped shoulder. 'I could eat you,' he told her. 'Chanelle, come away with me on this next tour. It's my last before I start my own company.' 'I don't know,' she murmured. 'Don't tempt me, Steve. I'm easy prey right now.' Her eyes strayed away unhappily in the direction of the band ... Alessandro, at the grand piano, Merantz, at the drums and Randini, the bass guitar. Above ruby red satin polo-necked shirts their faces were carefully expressionless. 'Think about it,' he urged. 'Will you do that?' 'Yes,' she whispered. The dance ended and they moved directly from the tiny floor on to the thickly piled carpet and made for their table. 'Oh, no,' Chanelle moaned, softly. 'Not again. Wherever we go we bump into Mr. Curtis Kendall.' Curtis Kendall was facing the dance floor and he was sitting with Tony Howes, the cabaret star, whose season at the Silver Dagger had just come to an end. The look Curtis Kendall gave her was pregnant with a deliberate kind of disgust and she knew then that he had been watching her as she danced with Steve and while she allowed Steve to kiss one slim, white- strapped shoulder.

The following morning, while Steve worked, she collected the clothes from the dry-cleaners and took them to Curtis Kendall. 'Could you give me the number of Mr. Kendall's room, please?' she enquired at the reception desk. 'Mr. Kendall, miss?' The Indian receptionist looked puzzled. 'Yes. You have a Mr. Kendall here, I believe?' 'I'll have to find out whether Mr. Kendall is in his flat, miss. Will you wait one moment, please?' 'Certainly.' Chanelle waited while he rang through. 'A young lady to see you, sir. No, she didn't say—I'll ask... very well, Mr. Kendall. 'I'll take you up myself, miss. Will you come this way, please?' Directly she was shown into Curtis Kendall's flat she knew that there was something about him she had not known about. High above the flow of hotel traffic, a quiet island in the sun, Curtis Kendall's flat appeared to be ideal in size and location. Whereas the foyer, with its low-toned bookbinders wallpaper, French chandelier and verdigris urns had been given the treatment of quiet colours there were exciting, quickening hues in the living- room. 'What can I do for you?' he asked, directly they were alone. He had been playing a record on a very expensive record player, she noticed. 'I've brought your things back.' She had herself under control now. She handed him the parcel which he tossed on to an avocado-green upholstered chair. They eyed each other with mutual suspicion and distrust before his shoulder lifted in a contemptuous shrug.

'Well,' he said, 'there's no need to enquire whether you're having a good time. That's perfectly obvious— even to the most casual observer.' Chanelle was not unaware of the sarcasm in the remark. She studied him with a puzzled impatience before she said, 'And not so casual. It almost sounds as though you are having me watched.' He folded his arms and then propped himself against a cabinet which Chanelle thought looked Spanish. His hair was straight and seemed to have a habit of falling across his forehead. 'You must be quite delighted with your success. You're obviously having what's commonly known as a roaring time.' For a moment she wondered whether he was mocking her and then, with a sudden angry movement, she said, 'Have you quite finished? Is there any reason why I shouldn't be having what's commonly known as a roaring time? Does there happen to be a law against this at the Castallaras? Some law I know nothing about, maybe?' 'Sometimes I wish there were a few laws around to this effect, believe me. I get sick and tired of watching the same old game played by the same old kind of people. Most of the girls who come here are only looking for a good time.' 'That, to me,' Chanelle cut in, 'shows how little, how pathetically little you know about people—let alone girls—because most of the people who come here are probably only escaping from something, even if it just happens to be everyday routine.' 'Anyway,' he shrugged again, still propped up against the cabinet, 'it's your life. It's entirely up to you. It's your holiday—your life.' Shocked by his bitterness, she said, 'Well, thank you very much. I'm trying to fathom out what it is that's biting you. I believe that I thanked you for saving me from certain drowning. Didn't I sound sincere enough —because I was, believe me.'

'You thanked me well enough. Frankly, I'd forgotten all about it. I'm only glad that I happened to be on hand. You don't—er—owe me anything, if that's what's worrying you.' 'It was worrying me, as a matter of fact,' she told him, then watched him as he unfolded his arms and straightened up. 'A word of warning, though,' he said. 'I'd keep to the hotel pool, if I were you—and that goes for your boy-friend too. He might well be at home in the bush or on the dance floor—he seems to have a wide variety of surprises up his sleeve, but from what I can see, his knowledge of the surf doesn't happen to be one of them.' 'What is it that makes you so hostile towards me?' Chanelle asked. 'So hostile towards Steve Conway?' 'It's my character and I can't change it. Maybe running a hotel has something to do with it. I'm sick of plastic people—plastic dolls like you.' 'Thank you. Just because you happen to be the manager of the Castallaras, Mr. Kendall, it doesn't give you the right to insult me— or my friends.' 'Not that it matters one way or the other, but I happen to be the owner of the Castallaras, Miss Falkner. It happens to be something I inherited and something I intend to keep and see that it continues to live up to its four stars.' 'You're a good hater, aren't you?' she said. 'I suppose a lot of people hate me back.' 'And I don't doubt it, but that's nothing to boast about—in view of the fact that you own a hotel. I suppose that there are a lot of people who

just don't bother to come back—for that very reason. I for one don't intend to holiday here again, believe me.' 'Well, to me that could be an advantage,' he said. 'By the way, would you like something to drink—a pink gin?' 'No, thank you. I don't happen to drink pink gin, and even if I did, I certainly wouldn't drink it at this time of the morning. I brought your clothes back. They've been dry-cleaned, by the way. I thought you might like to know that.' 'I'll have the office reimburse you.' Her eyes, blue, slanted and clashing with her almost red hair, were angry. 'That won't be necessary.' 'It's very necessary. I don't want you running at a loss.' 'Look,' she looked for the way out, 'I'm not impressed by your cheap sarcasm. I'm here to return your clothes. I have had them dry-cleaned for the very simple reason that I wore them and, perhaps you'd just make a note of this, I'd be a little more civil to guests, in the future. You see, you might just find yourself minus a couple of those stars you were boasting about.' 'On the other hand,' he told her, 'I might just find myself in possession of one more but, in any case, I'll certainly make a note of what you have to say. Allow me to open the door for you, Miss Falkner.' 'I can manage that myself.' 'Even so,' he said.

She was shivering when she got back to her room, and because she was trying to make up her mind what to do about staying on at the Castallaras, she went to stand on her tiny balcony. The pool glittered beneath the sun and she saw a small, beautifully linked together girl dive into the water and move like a bronze shadow through the water. When she emerged at the other end she climbed out and shook back her urchin- cut hair which was breathtakingly silver. It must have been bleached and tinted that way, but it was, nevertheless, absolutely stunning against her glorious tan. For several moments Chanelle watched her, then her senses tightened as she saw Curtis Kendall join her. Obviously he did not intend swimming himself, because he was till wearing the slim-fitting trousers, shirt and cravat which she had seen him in a short while ago. The girl with the silver hair was an effortless exhibitionist and she stood now, with complete grace, laughing up into Curtis Kendall's handsome face. She looked like a film star—beautiful, gay and impossible. Her bikini was just a jade strip of ribbon top and bottom and she looked just like the type of girl he had typed as plastic. Nevertheless, he appeared to be enjoying her company. As a background to the laughter of other people who were also using the pool, there was the quick rhythm of the surf which was sending up cascades of white spray. Chanelle's blue eyes, as she watched Curtis Kendall and the girl, were full of the irony of disbelief. Turning, she went back into her room and made a call to her father's office. 'Well?' Her father sounded worried. 'I didn't expect a call at this hour of the day. Is anything wrong?' 'I'm coming home,' she told him, in a hopeless, sad little voice. 'But why?'

'Something must have been left out of me,' she broke off, biting her lip. When she had got a grip of herself again she went on, 'I'm sick of this—plastic life. I'm sick of plastic people.' 'Plastic? I'm afraid I don't get you.' 'You know—everybody and everything. Deep down, everybody is the same. I thought that I could—well, you know, play it cool. I can't. I'm coming home. I'm cutting this stupid holiday-for-one short. I'm not cut out to bluff my way. If I come home I won't have to bluff. Everybody knows what's happened. I'll just have to face up to it.' 'I'm worried about you.' He broke off and then she heard him murmur. 'That's all right, Miss Slade. Just leave it there, thank you.' In a stronger voice he repeated, 'Chanelle, I'm worried about you. What's gone wrong?' 'I'm not capable of enjoying myself, that's all. If I'm going to be miserable it might as well be in my own home.' 'Haven't you met people—made friends? It seems a pity to pack up at this stage.' 'I've met somebody, yes.' 'Somebody?' 'Yes.' 'A man?' 'Two men, actually.' 'What has he—or they—done to you?' 'Oh, nothing.' Her voice trailed away.

'What bothers you, in that case?' Finding she couldn't answer she stood, biting her lips while hot tears trickled down her cheeks and channelled themselves into the outline of her lips, demanding that she should taste their saltiness. 'It's too much,' she thought desperately. 'Too much. All the strain—it's beginning to tell. Don't worry him. Poor Dad 1' 'I shouldn't have phoned you.' She clamped her lips tightly together, fighting off the tears. 'I feel better now that I have, though.' 'I'd feel much easier if you would just tell me what has triggered all this off.' She could hear the other telephone on her father's desk shrilling and began to panic for interrupting his affairs. The shrilling stopped suddenly. 'I had a fit of the blues. I'll be all right.' 'Will you, though?' The line seemed to thicken with the tension she knew he was feeling. 'Yes. I'm practically over it, anyway.' 'This man—this other fellow—who is he?' 'He's ...' she took a breath. 'He works for one of those safari tour affairs.' 'Has he made a nuisance of himself?' She laughed then, thinking of Steve Conway. If he had, she thought bitterly, she had only herself to blame. 'No, of course not. We've danced together. We've been swimming. He even took me to the drycleaners !'

'Sounds all right, but if you're worried about something, well, go along to the management.' 'No, nothing like that. I'm sorry for worrying you because I'm all right again. I mean that. It was probably the reaction.' 'You must put all that out of your mind now. It's over and done with.' 'I know.' 'I don't think you'll be caught a second time.' 'You can say that again! I'm a good-time girl, from now on.' 'So long as you don't allow things to get out of hand. You don't want to act the giddy goat, Chanelle.' 'I won't, don't worry. 'Bye now. Thanks for listening,' she said on a false light note. 'You've helped. I feel fine again.' 'I'll give you a ring tonight,' he said. 'I'm rather busy at present.' 'No, don't bother, honestly.' 'I won't be able to rest until I find out if you've managed to settle down. I would like you to make the best of things—not to rush home, until you feel better about everything.' 'I'll stay put. By the way, the hotel is very nice. I've met the owner, actually.' She made a face. 'Well, there you are.' Her father sounded faintly relieved. 'Making friends all round—even with the owner of the hotel. Soon you won't want to come back home!'

'You never know.' After she had replaced the receiver she stood with her hand still resting on it, looking at her fingers. Her nails were gorgeous. She'd pampered them and nursed them along, in preparation for the great day when Hilton slipped the gold band on that very special finger, the finger where, until just a matter of days ago, his engagement ring had glistened. She lifted her hand and examined the tiny white, telltale band on her tan. At this point her finger was the tiniest bit thinner than the rest of the joint because, after all, she had worn that ring for eight months. When her phone rang she jumped. Then she answered it. 'Hello?' 'Chanelle?' It was Steve's voice—the kind of cool, polished voice that came with the experience of using it on cool, polished women. 'Uh-huh?' She could see herself in the mirror and, because she was still feeling very bitter over Curtis Kendall, she smiled slowly, watching her face very carefully. Shaking back her auburn hair and narrowing her eyes, she hoisted one slim hip and perched herself on the edge of the cream and gilt ducoed dressing-table. She began to swing one slim leg vampishly. 'How are you?' she gushed. 'Have you been madly busy?' 'When can I see you?' he wanted to know. Impatient with herself, she stood up. 'Oh, any time.' 'Your phone has been engaged for quite some time.' 'Yes.' 'You sound—cagey.' ('So do you,' she thought.)

'If I do, it is because I was speaking to a very handsome man.' Her smile was twisted. Well, it was true. Her father was a very handsome man, even without the hair on top. 'You make me feel awfully jealous.' 'Do I?' She made it sound pleased, but she had flattened her lips as she forced a carefully careless little laugh. On an impulse, she covered the receiver with one hand and, to the mirror, said, 'How am I doing, kid?' They arranged to meet downstairs in ten minutes. 'Are you all set for that drive?' Steve's eyes frankly admired her. 'Yes, all set. The battery in my own car will be going flat if I don't use it soon.' 'I'll have it charged for you, don't worry.' He walked beside her, loose and easy. There was always this peculiar elegance about him, Chanelle found herself thinking, no matter how casual his clothes. Even in the game reserves she knew that he would be elegant. They passed a pedestal with a tall vase holding huge white blossoms and she stopped to touch them; then, just as they were about to go through the wide glass doors a voice, a very attractive husky voice, called out, 'Hi there!' Immediately Steve swung round and, turning, Chanelle saw the silver-haired girl standing at the far end of the reception area with Curtis Kendall. The girl was even more beautifully compact, more stunning than she had appeared from the balcony. Her wondrous tan threw into relief that silver hair, framing the exotically arresting face and fantastic black eyes and lashes.

Spreading his arms wide, Steve strode across the black and white tiled floor, and lifted the girl right off her feet. 'Steve darling!' The voice was riddled with a certain ingredient known as sex-appeal. Steve set her down on one of the brilliant Persian rugs and she laughed up at him before she looked at Curtis. 'We were great lovers, at one time,' she said. She seemed prepared to treat her affair, if she had had one, with Steve Conway as one big joke. 'How are you, Lowrie?' Steve hugged her again. 'Perfectly fine, Steve. Just fine, darling.' 'Are you on holiday or working?' 'Darling, working, of course. I'm doing a season here. If you come along to the Supper Room tonight you'll see for yourself. The last time I took a holiday was— darling, do you remember that time?' There was some confusion as Lowrie began to introduce Steve to Curtis Kendall only to find out that they had already met. Then Steve turned round to look for Chanelle and went over and took her hand. 'Come and meet Lowrie Diamant,' he said. 'Chanelle Falkner.' 'This calls for one hell of a party,' Lowrie was saying. 'If I know you, you had one already organised,' said Steve. 'Didn't you?' 'I did, yes, but now you'll be coming and—Chanelle, of course. Curt, do you remember that party I gave last time I did a season here?' The girl named Lowrie laughed. 'Remember the wild beach party, afterwards?'

'Look,' said Curtis, 'I don't want to hustle you, but you should be going through your paces in the Studio right now. Alessandro and the boys are waiting.' 'As soon as I've been put through my paces,' Lowrie said, 'Curt and I are going along to his beach shack and then we're going to surf. I'm going to lap that up.' As she walked with Steve to his car, Chanelle thought about Lowrie spread out on the golden sand next to Curtis. Her body, although she was not tall, was compact, exciting, and it would glow like wet bronze. 'That girl is like a fish in the water,' Steve was saying. 'She's also a smooth, fluid and meticulous surfer.' 'Do you mean on a board?' 'Yes.' 'She's absolutely stunning, isn't she?' Chanelle remarked casually, but she was asking herself what it was that separated Lowrie Diamant from the kind of plastic doll referred to by Curtis Kendall.

When Lowrie Diamant walked into the spotlight in the Supper Room at the Castallaras that night and made her way to the strip of dance floor in front of the band Chanelle instinctively held her breath. Lowrie looked stunning in a white whispering culotte, broken at the waist by delicate beading. Her eyes, wide and just a trifle aslant and extraordinarily black in the shadows of their black lashes, seemed too big for that pert, tanned face and they came as almost a shock after her silver hair which, cut very short, fitted her sleek head as neatly as a cap of feathers. Her eyelids glistened with silvery cream.

There was a short silence in the Supper Room, the length of a long in-drawn breath, before people began to applaud. Moving a sinuous hip, Lowrie began to sing in a smoky voice resonant with amusement. It was her dancing, however, that had people calling for her again and again as the spotlight followed her from the floor to the exit and from the exit back to the floor again. There was no doubt about it—Lowrie was not only a singer but she was also an exotic dancer of extraordinary agility, after she had stripped down to the briefest of gold bikinis. Once she got going she was an uninhibited symphony in motion. Beside Chanelle, Steve Conway sat watching Lowrie, tense as if he had taught her to dance himself, and Chanelle felt as though, for him, she had quite suddenly ceased to exist. Eventually Lowrie refused to be called back any more and the spotlight went out before the very subdued lighting came on again. 'Every time I see that girl dance,' Steve was saying, 'I feel as though I've just been connected to a couple of high-tension wires.' 'She was marvellous,' Chanelle answered and, vaguely, was aware that she was dreading going along to Lowrie's suite afterwards to Lowrie's 'one-hell-of-a-party'. Somehow she didn't feel that she could stand up to all that hilarity. She knew in advance that Lowrie's suite was going to be crammed with the kind of people Lowrie knew and wanted to have about her, including Steve Conway and Curtis Kendall. Nobody would notice that Chanelle Falkner was there and 'There's your answer,' she thought. 'You won't have to put on your big act about not caring about Hilton having jilted you.' That was something she knew she should be making the most of because it was something she would have to be doing when she got back home

again. In the tumult of feelings that swept over her, she felt that she could not face going back home. The band started to play again, but it could not quite drown the sound of talk and laughter which had automatically followed the brief period after Lowrie had left the Silver Dagger Supper Room. Steve asked Chanelle to dance and as they picked their way between whiteclothed tables she saw Curtis Kendall talking to Lowrie Diamant at the door of the room marked Studio before he went inside and closed the door behind him. Steve held her very close as they danced, and Chanelle was aware of the touch of his fingers on her body and, closing her eyes, tried to imagine that the fingers belonged to Hilton and that she and Hilton were on their honeymoon. Next to them, when she opened her eyes again, a couple kissed. Steve was whispering, 'Chanelle, you're the most exciting thing that's happened to me for a long, long time. Do you know that?' 'Since your last tour?' she asked innocently, but her eyes mocked him. 'On the contrary.' His eyes roamed her face. 'Look at me again, Chanelle, the way you just did.' Choosing to ignore his remark she said, 'I suppose that's what these safari tours are for, in a way?' 'What are they for, Chanelle ... in a way?' 'For you to escape to, I suppose.' 'I'm afraid I'm not quite with you. Escape from what?' Laughing lightly, she said, 'Don't take me seriously, Steve.'

'My kind of work brings me into constant contact with beautiful women,' he told her, 'but I meant what I said a moment ago. With your gorgeous hair, blue eyes and clear bronzed skin you're very exciting, but at times you look unutterably lonely. If this is a trick of the trade, Chanelle, it's one I haven't seen before and it's one that has me completely floored.' Struggling with the tears which seemed to want to block her throat suddenly, she smiled up at him. I hope we aren't going to be expected to eat anything at Lowrie's party,' she said, 'after what we've just managed to get through here.' Laughing softly, Steve said, 'We'd better show our faces, I suppose, but not for long.' Chanelle wondered if Curtis Kendall was going to be there. She felt she could not take any more sarcasm from him. Lowrie's suite was filled with flowers. It was also filled with people and fluctuating glasses. Lowrie moved from guest to guest, but there was no sign of Curtis and Chanelle was aware that a small relieved sigh had escaped her lips. Glancing at the glass which Steve was holding out to her, she said, 'I don't think that I should drink anything. I'm not all that used to drinking, actually.' 'Just hold it,' he smiled, but she felt that there was a faint mocking edge to his voice which seemed to separate her from the type of women she knew he must mix with. She took the glass from him. 'All right.' Her blue eyes scanned the room. 'Do you know anybody here?' she asked, then watched him as his own dark eyes flickered round the room.

'I don't think so. It looks as though Lowrie has been busy telephoning half of Durban, but—no, I don't think I know anybody.' Seeing them from across the room, Lowrie was obviously murmuring, 'Excuse me,' to the people she had been talking to and she made her way across to them. She carried a drink in one hand. 'Steve, honey!' She held her face up for Steve to kiss, then looked at Chanelle. 'So you managed to come? What do you think of my Steve? You know, Chanelle, where women are concerned, Steve is just a baby. Aren't you, my lover?' The endearment had a note of hostility, but Lowrie's black eyes made it an intimate confession. 'Ah, sweetie boy, am I coming through just a teeny bit too loud and clear for your liking?' Changing the subject, Steve said, 'Who the hell are all these people, anyway?' 'Oh, darling, you'll remember most of them as we go along. They're all people we used to know at one time or another. What a short memory you have! And talking about people, watch out for this big bad wolf, Chanelle. He's no better than those big bad wild dogs he likes to point out to those gorgeous passengers in that big, fabulous coach of his.' It was at that particular moment that Curtis Kendall chose to enter Lowrie's suite and, looking up, she called out, 'Curt, honey, come on over!' When he had joined them she said, 'I thought you weren't coming.' She parted the smoke screen with diamond fingers. 'I told you I would,' he said. 'I had things to see to.' Pushing her fingers through her hair, Lowrie purred, 'Well, you're here, that's the main thing.' She took a gulp of her drink and shuddered. 'Chanelle's got herself all involved with lover boy here.

I've just been warning her about him. He's quite a gay dog. I speak, of course, from bitter, bitter experience,' she added, as if that explained everything. Curtis looked at Chanelle. He appeared to have this disconcerting habit of sizing her up, she thought resentfully. 'Maybe he's the sort of man she's after,' he replied. Chanelle discovered that her nails were digging into her palms. The fingers of the other hand clutched at the glass she was holding until they began to ache. 'I guess, after all, that's for me to sort out, isn't it?' she asked. Lowrie persisted with her wicked smile. 'It will be hard on you, Chanelle, I warn you.' 'Are you telling me to—be careful?' Chanelle tried to keep her voice light. Lowrie's own taunting tone irritated her. 'I'd advise you to be careful,' Lowrie answered. 'Look here, I can't let this slide.' Steve took his time smiling. 'What the devil are you trying to do, Lowrie? Ruin me?' There was an undertone of irritation in his voice and the smile wasn't there any longer. 'What, may I ask, are all the fanged remarks in aid of?' Smiling back at him with her wide black eyes, Lowrie said, 'You should know, darling.' Turning to Curtis, she went on, 'I don't think we can just stand by and see her get hurt.' Her tone was mocking. 'Have something to eat and shut up,' Curtis told her, looking around for a plate of something in the line of snacks. 'Hasn't anybody ever told you how to mind your own business?' His smile was mocking. 'Darling, I can't eat anything. I'd be as fat as a pig if I didn't follow my diet with monastic discipline. Steve honey, remember that week

at the Berg—how fat I got? By the way, that reminds me, remember the Fancrofts we met there? They're here. Come and meet them. Take care of Chanelle for a moment, will you, Curtis?' After Lowrie had taken Steve away Chanelle and Curtis were silent while the noise of Lowrie's party grew around them. 'How shall I take care of you?' he asked, finally. 'Frankly, a little of this sort of thing goes a long way with me.' 'Well, you don't have to stay and take care of me. I guess I can do that myself. After all, we all enjoy ourselves in our own particular way, don't we?' she retorted quicker than she ever imagined she was capable of. 'And yours is?' He gave her a hard look and, laying herself open to punishment again, she said, 'A room full of people, noise—anything to ...' she broke off, pulling herself up just in time, for she had been about to say, 'Anything to help me to forget.' Instead she said, after a pause, 'Anything to keep me amused.' 'I believe it completely,' he replied. There was an uneasiness between herself and Curtis Kendall—illdefined and yet verging upon something like antagonism. Wearing a simple white Twenties-style frock, Chanelle knew that she looked attractive. They both knew it, and she knew that it irked Curtis Kendall. 'Frankly,' she raised an elegant shoulder, 'I don't mind if you move on.' She began to wipe a few ice-cold silvery drops of liquid from the sides of her glass. 'I never leave a lady in the lurch.' He raised his glass. 'I toast you, by the way. You're looking extremely attractive. You appear to have

chosen your holiday clothes with the utmost care. Quite obviously that car of yours was loaded with the kind of clothes fit for a bride.' When the blur of hurt had passed, hating him, Chanelle said, 'Thank you, that's exactly what I had in mind when I bought them. It didn't just happen that way—I planned it.' He took a swallow of his drink. 'Well, at least you're honest about it. Let's hope your plans don't collapse.' Nursing her drink and her bruised feelings, Chanelle said, 'If that was intended as a warning it's a warning I intend to ignore—completely. I think that Steve Conway's terribly fascinating.' 'You go right ahead and think what you like, of course.' Their eyes met, then Chanelle said, 'I don't intend getting serious with Steve any more than he intends getting serious with me.' 'That's one way of putting it, anyway.' Feeling the nearness of him, she asked, 'What have I done to you? I'd be interested to know. I'm terribly grateful to you for what you did. I've tried not to sound—ungrateful. Have I?' Gazing into his glass, he said, 'I've told you to forget it.' 'I can't forget it and—I know you haven't.' Lowrie's guests were beginning to make a deafening volume of small talk. 'You—you—just don't take me seriously, do you?' Chanelle asked, after a moment. She spoke with a kind of puzzled impatience. 'As a matter of fact, I take you very seriously,' Curtis told her.

When she saw Steve coming back, his eyes searching her own, Chanelle had a feeling of release and knew gratitude towards him. 'I'm sorry about that,' he said, when he joined her. 'These people—we used to be pally with them at one time. What can I get you to drink? Your glass is practically empty. Here, let me change it for you?' 'No, honestly. Between what we had with dinner, and so on, I'd rather not, if you don't mind.' 'What about you?' Steve looked at Curtis and the look which passed between the two men was merely an acknowledgement that they happened to be thrown together through circumstances beyond their control. 'No, thank you. I came just to show face and, having done just that, I must go and attend to one or two things,' Curtis answered before he swung his grey eyes towards Chanelle. 'So I'll leave you to it. Goodnight.' When be had gone, Steve said, 'Do you want to go back and dance? There doesn't seem to be much point in staying here.' 'That would be very nice/ Chanelle answered. 'I don't suppose Lowrie will even miss us. I—I shouldn't have said that,' she stammered. 'She certainly won't miss me—but she'll certainly miss you.' Glancing in Lowrie's direction, Steve said softly, 'She won't miss me, either. Does that surprise you, Chanelle?' 'I don't know.' She tried to cover the edge in her voice because it didn't really mean anything to her and so she was left with a flare of resentment. 'My meeting here with Lowrie is just a chance meeting. Lowrie meant nothing to me—quite some time ago.'

'There's no need to be concerned for my sake, Steve.' 'It's the one thing I'm very concerned about, right now, Chanelle.' Steve spaced the words deliberately and she knew that it was a challenge and was determined to leave it as such. They went back to the Silver Dagger to dance and when they had finished dancing Steve said, 'Let's go and watch the moon on the water.' Laughing, she said, 'There isn't a moon tonight.' A warning clanged away at the back of her mind. 'Oh, what the hell,' he shrugged. 'We'll kid ourselves there's a moon.' While she felt an anger, a hatred in her soul towards Hilton for what it was he had done to her, she said, very softly, 'All right.' Except for Hilton there was no conceivable reason why she should allow herself to become involved with Steve Conway, or anyone else, for that matter. For herself, too, she felt a hatred, then the hatred she felt gave way to a kind of pity, a sneaking sympathy towards herself. Steve stood back, while she went past him, picking her way between tables and appalled, all the time, at what she was about to do and yet, on the other hand, handing out all the sympathy she felt was due to her. That was why she was here in the first place, to try and forget, to try and recapture some of the dignity she had been stripped of. After all, if the position had been reversed and she had been a man she would have got herself traditionally drunk and then, quite callously, picked up a girl. On the way out they saw Curtis Kendall again, busy as he always appeared to be with the goings on of his hotel, at the reception desk,

just outside the Supper Room. Steve would have his arm about her waist, thought Chanelle bitterly. 'Going back to the party?' Curtis asked, politely enough. 'Actually, we're on our way outside to look at the moon,' Steve's voice contained a hint of amusement. 'Moon?' Shrugging, Curtis said, 'Well, you never know your luck. One might just come up for you.' Outside, the air was warm and scented with the night smells of sea, damp sand and petunias and it was full of a dark, salty wetness. They walked past the pool, which was deserted. The water looked like shivering black diamonds. At the far end of the pool Steven stopped walking to say, 'I'm glad there isn't a moon.' He turned to her across the darkness, reached out for her and, just as she had known he would, drew her close. Chanelle was filled with a nervous and excited fear. Had this been on her programme? The last-minute plan of events intended on this—her honeymoon-for-one? Even now she wasn't sure, and yet she supposed she was. 'Kiss me, Chanelle.' He tilted her chin and then bent his head, seeking her mouth. 'It means nothing,' she told herself, closing her eyes. 'I'm so drugged by you,' Steve whispered against her lips. 'I'm well on the way to becoming an addict.' While she allowed him to kiss her again, she thought, 'They all come up with that one.' It was when he discovered that she was crying that he drew back. 'Chanelle, what's the matter?' There was a baffled disappointment about the way in which he said it.

'I'm sorry,' she told him in a muffled little voice. 'You've been kissed before, surely?' His tone was gently mocking, but still baffled with the angry tone of disappointment. 'Yes, of course,' she told him irritably. 'Hundreds and hundreds of times.' 'Well then?' She wriggled out of his arms and began pushing the tears up her cheeks with her fingertips. 'I'm sorry,' she said again. 'I won't go so far as to say that I'm crying because I happen to be madly happy. That would be a lie.' 'What are you—unhappy?' 'Oh,' she drew a hard, impatient breath, 'you know how it is.' 'I don't. Suppose you tell me.' 'You've caught me off balance, Steve. You might as well know that. I'm not very sane, right now.' She saw him shrug those wide, wonderful shoulders. 'Who is sane?' he asked. 'I guess we're all a little mad— mad in a mad world. You know what they say? What the world needs is love—and just now I'm more than just a little in love with you.' 'Those words, Steve ... used so lightly, meaning nothing -' Reaching for her again, he buried his face against her hair, 'Wanna bet? Oh, Chanelle darling, do you want to bet on that?' 'No betting.' She tried to laugh.

'Snap out of it, Chanelle. What's the matter?' 'I don't know. Hormones, maybe.' She tried to laugh, for his sake, because after all she had led him on. His mouth brushed hers again and she could feel his breath, hot and impatient, smelling of alcohol. 'I'll be honest with you,' she said, moving her head, 'I'm thinking of somebody else's kisses, right now.' 'I don't care.' 'You've caught me on a reckless rebound,' she went on. 'I don't care how reckless, Chanelle.' Before he kissed her again Chanelle shot a quick, trapped glance in the direction of the hotel, and when Curtis Kendall spoke she was not really surprised. 'I'm sorry,' he said, and he was just a vague shape in the dark. 'I thought I'd check up on that moon. Too bad it let you down.' 'Frankly, we haven't had much time to miss it,' Steve's voice was carefully amused. 'As you can see.' 'Good going! You're way up on form. I'm sorry I interrupted, but it's given you something more to look forward to, I'm sure. After all, love is such an easy game to play.' Chanelle wondered in whose direction the insult had been aimed and came to the conclusion that it could have been aimed at both of them. 'I'll have to go in,' she said, directly Curtis Kendall had gone. 'Why, Chanelle?' Steve sounded taut. 'Not because of Kendall, surely?'

'Not because of Curtis Kendall or—anybody else. I just happen to be very tired, Steve. I'm terribly sorry,' she told him, then she was running like a wild thing in the direction of the hotel. Curtis Kendall was standing on the wide white steps leading to the foyer when she got there. Chanelle stopped, looking up at him, her breath coming quickly. 'You have declared war on me, haven't you? For nothing. You just won't give me a chance!'

CHAPTER THREE STEVE appeared off-hand the next day. He had all the advantage of experience to express his feelings without having to say anything. Chanelle found him in one of the lounges writing. There were pamphlets scattered about the low table in front of him. 'I'm trying to work,' he said, hardly glancing at her. 'I'm supposed to be doing something about these brochures. Actually, I've come to the conclusion that I'd better arrange for a steno while I'm here. I seem to have taken too much on myself.' 'Steve,' Chanelle felt embarrassed and constrained, 'can I help you?' Without waiting to be invited, she sat down opposite him. 'I can type. I can do shorthand.' She spread her hands and smiled at him, beseeching him not to be too annoyed with her about the night before because, after all, she had invited the inevitable and then spoilt everything for him. 'You're supposed to be on holiday—or have I got it wrong?' he asked. His eyes searched her face and she knew that, like Curtis Kendall, he was trying to solve some mystery about her. 'No, you haven't got it wrong. I am supposed to be on holiday. I mean, I am on holiday, but I also happen to be a free-lance at the moment. I mean by that,' she shrugged, 'I don't know what my plans are, right now. I have a lot of sorting out to do.' Blinking at him, she said, still smiling, 'I'd like to help you, honestly.' 'Well, okay, then. It would have to be on a strictly business basis, though, Chanelle. I hope you realise that? It would be an impossible situation for me if it weren't. I'd be nervous of asking you to do anything.'

Not wanting to create any more impossible situations for him and not stopping to ask herself whether she was, in fact, creating fresh ones, she said quickly, 'Of course. I quite realise that.' 'I've already made enquiries about what fees a stenographer can expect.' He named a figure. 'How does that suit you?' Not caring about the money, she said, 'Fine. That's just fine.' He gave her a smile at last. 'Well, when are you free to start?' 'Right now.' 'One more thing, Chanelle.' 'Yes?' 'Don't take it amiss when I tell you that the work will be done within the four walls of my suite. I certainly don't want another flood of tears.' His mouth turned up slightly, but his eyes were no longer smiling. 'He's still put out with me,' Chanelle thought, and felt a little helpless. 'I understand perfectly.' She sounded vaguely on the defensive. They worked all morning in his suite and while they were drinking coffee, which he had requested to be sent to them, he said, 'I think I must be nuts, Chanelle.' 'Why?' The tension which had been built up in the night had relaxed under the pressure of work. 'This is a big undertaking on my part. I'm investing every cent I possess to branch out and start my own company.'

'I hope you'll be very successful. I'm sure you will.' She picked up a sheet of paper and began to read aloud. 'Fabulous Coach Holidays. See the breathtaking Etosha Game Park which teems with wild life. Holiday among the animals. See lion, elephant, giraffe, wildebeest and many other species of animal life. Hear the animal noises at night—an unforgettable holiday adventure.' Lifting her eyes, she said, 'It makes me feel restless.' 'Well,' Steve shrugged, 'you know the answer to that one, my dear child.' Had he taken to calling her 'dear child' just to show that he had not been serious about lovemaking? she wondered. 'Do you mean that I should start my own company? Chanelle Safaris. It sounds good, don't you think?' she said lightly. 'What I mean is—join my last tour with my old outfit in approximately a week's time. I don't think the coach is booked up. In any case, I'll squeeze you in somewhere.' 'Oh, don't tempt me, please. I feel restless enough as it is.' 'Didn't I hear you say you were a freelance at the moment, with no set plans?' 'Yes, but -' 'Think about it, Chanelle.' 'I'll see,' she murmured, not looking at him. She went across to the typewriter and began typing again: 'Conditions: All tours are arranged subject to the conditions imposed by the air, hotel, restaurant and other companies, firms or individuals concerned and upon the express condition that the Company and their

servants and agents shall not be responsible for and shall be exempt from all liability in respect to any accident, damage, loss, injury, delay or inconvenience...' 'I don't think I'll come, after all,' she said to Steve, as she continued to type. 'There are too many regulations. Look at this one, for instance, "We are not responsible for any delays arising through circumstances beyond our control." ' 'Nonsense,' he replied, 'it's just a safeguard.' It was said with the nonchalance of experience and the quiet confidence of a man who knows his job. Some time later he said casually, 'The surf looks great from here. What about a dip, after lunch?' She might have known, she thought, what would happen. However, because she did not want to sound stuffy she said, 'That sounds marvellous.' Later, walking across the sand, Steve said, 'Beside you, Chanelle, I feel pleasantly much older. You're just a baby.' The way in which he said this was suggestive that he had come to an arrangement with himself that this was the one girl with whom he was not going to become involved. 'Not such a baby,' she replied. 'Old enough to be married, actually.' 'I'm glad you're not.' He took her hand. As they dived beneath a wave Chanelle was aware of a shock of fear and then, when she found herself in command, the fear subsided and she began to enjoy the surf. 'Did you know,' Steve said, when they were back on the beach, 'that Lowrie Diamant is an absolute wizard on a board?'

'Yes, you told me.' 'She and Kendall are in the surf now, as a matter of fact. I spotted them.' 'Oh -' Chanelle broke off, confused. 'Maybe we'll be able to watch them from here.' As they spread out towels and settled themselves Steve said, 'Peak fitness, of course, is one of the main requirements for surfing and Lowrie, small as she is, has those requirements, believe me. She's as tough as they come.' 'Is that Lowrie—with the red cap?' Chanelle asked. 'Yes.' Some distance from the body surfers two people were displaying their ability on their boards. The sun caught at the girl's red cap, but somehow Chanelle found herself studying the other figure ... that of Curtis Kendall. She watched him as he got into a suitable tight position before he broke his board free and transferred his weight up front. Then he turned his board and, when half way round, his weight transferred to the back, he completed the movement by pivoting on the tail. 'Lowrie's not long out of bed,' Steve went on. 'I spoke to her while I was waiting on you. I called her a lazy devil and told her that we'd been up for hours, working in my suite.' Chanelle bit her lip before she replied. 'Oh. What did he—I mean she have to say about that?' She felt a sudden uneasiness as she wondered whether Curtis Kendall was aware of this piece of news. 'A lot of foolish things, naturally—being Lowrie.' Steve began to tickle her back with one finger and, wishing he would stop, Chanelle

watched Curtis cutting neatly through the water while to one side of him Lowrie's cap could be seen as she did a complete circle on a wave. 'Actually,' Steve continued, 'Lowrie said, "Well, that's one way of putting it," but that remark is just typical of Lowrie. By the way, have you seen this morning's paper? Lowrie has got herself quite a writeup. I have the paper here, as a matter of fact, beneath my towel.' When he had found the page he passed the paper to Chanelle and she saw that there was a picture of Lowrie. 'Lowrie Diamant,' she read, 'star appearing at the Silver Dagger Supper Room of the Hotel Castallaras.' 'Read it out, Chanelle. I only glanced at it briefly.' 'Well, they refer to her as the girl with the sexulating personality,' she answered. 'I'll read the whole thing. "The glamorous power-packed dish with the decidedly smoky voice. The Diamant voice is a miracle of free flight, vibrating with sensual promise in the lower registers or swooping with astonishing speed across several octaves. Even at the most rarefied heights, it coruscates without apparent effort. We were chatting in Miss Diamant's dressing-room and she had just performed with her customary warmth and brilliance before a capacity audience at the Silver Dagger. This is Woman with a capital W. Shapely platinum blonde Lowrie, who is only five feet tall and is also a dancer of extraordinary agility, says, 'I strongly object to being called a stripper. I have never stripped in my life and I never will. I am an exotic dancer.' Lowrie Diamant is also a woman surfer who can rip the surf as well as any man. The first time I interviewed Lowrie she had just come out of the surf with Curtis Kendall, handsome owner of the four-star Hotel Castallaras on the North Coast. Curtis himself is a smooth, fluid and meticulous surfer...."' Chanelle broke off. 'Well,' she said, 'I don't think we're concerned with him, are we?'

'In any case,' Steve answered, 'they've apparently decided to call it a day. They're on their way up to the hotel.' Chanelle closed the paper and looked up to see Curtis and Lowrie walking up the beach. Curtis carried both boards. Lowrie was wearing a bold mini- bikini in a hot pink shade which set off her gorgeous tan. When they saw Steve and Chanelle they stopped walking. 'Dear Maw,' said Lowrie, easing off her red cap, 'the surfin's just great. Well, well, look who's here! The Big Bad Wolf and Little Red Riding Hood.' Standing up, Steve said, 'Won't you join us?' 'No, thank you. I'm dying just thinking about a shower. I don't know about old Curt here in his sun- faded baggies?' 'Likewise,' said Curtis. Chanelle remained seated on the sand, her own beautiful legs stretched out, light bronze against the bright towel. When she looked at Curtis Kendall she found him regarding her with a hard look. 'So you've been locked up all morning with Steve in his suite, Chanelle?' Although Lowrie's laugh was husky, she had not bothered to hide the malice in her voice. 'Before you know where you are this guy will have you tied up in knots. I speak from experience, of course.' 'We were working on Steve's brochures.' Chanelle tried to recover her composure. 'And that, of course, is different! I can guess who was behind this lot. Oh, you're so clever, my sweet, aren't you?' Lowrie reached up to tug at Steve's hair.

'It's an inevitable reaction on Lowrie's part to put two and two together wherever I am concerned.' Steve's voice was stiff. 'And if it is, honey, I do so from experience, as I've said before. Anyway, the surf was great. Have you two been in?' 'Yes, we have. You were marvellous.' Chanelle, eager to change the subject, looked at Lowrie, but she was aware of Curtis standing there, his grey eyes cold. 'Thenk you. Thenk you.' Lowrie imitated herself as the cabaret star. 'We seem to have got a long way from the purpose of a work-out on the boards,' Curtis broke in. 'Are you ready to go up?' 'Yes, darling, I am. Don't forget you promised me a drink... before lunch in your suite.' Giggling, Lowrie looked down at Chanelle. 'You see?' 'I always keep my promises,' replied Curtis. 'Well,' Lowrie kicked sand over Steve's feet, 'play it along.' 'Stick around and you'll see a lot more,' said Curtis, grinning at Lowrie. 'Ready?' 'They're so infatuated with each other,' Lowrie said with mock despair. 'Obviously they're going to continue right on being infatuated with each other and nobody is going to stop them.' 'I think we should break it up,' Lowrie laughed, 'because quite obviously Chanelle is going to make a fool of herself over this middle-aged lady-killer. Look, why don't they have a drink with us?'

'Any time,' Curtis shrugged. 'Well, that's settled, then. We'll see you both in Curtis's suite just before lunch.' Lowrie moved to Curtis and placed one beautiful arm about his waist. 'I don't....' Steve started to say something—to refuse maybe, but Curtis said again, 'That will be fine.' Somehow it did not sound fine, the way he said it. 'We'll expect you, then, before lunch. You know where to find me.' He looked at Chanelle and Lowrie cut in swiftly, 'Ah-hah, you are a mystery girl, aren't you? I'll have to watch you, Chanelle. Even your name oozes mystery— Chanelle. I've never heard of that one before.' 'It's not half as mysterious as your name.' Chanelle could feel her face growing hot. 'Well, we won't argue about it. We'll be seeing you.' Lowrie kicked more sand across Steve's feet. When they had gone Steve said, 'It must be nearly lunch time now.' 'Yes.' Chanelle's voice was curiously flat. 'Anyway, a drink will go down well.' 'I'd like to shower,' Chanelle stood up and began to brush the tiny grains of sand from her legs. 'I'll meet you later, in the foyer, and we'll go up together, Chanelle. You'll have to lead the way,' he added with some meaning. 'I've never been to Kendall's flat.' 'I went there on business,' she told him, not looking up. 'Give me your things,' said Steve, 'I'll carry them for you.'

He was waiting for her in the foyer when she got there. 'I'd rather not go,' she said. 'It will be almost like going into the lions' den.' 'Well, I guess we can take it, Chanelle.' He gave her a grin. Lowrie looked stunning in a white trouser suit and copper earrings. 'Well, look who's here,' she called out, from her chair in Curtis Kendall's flat. 'Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly.' 'What will you drink?' Curtis was coolly polite. After he had given them their glasses Chanelle tried not to look round the room, but she was aware of its beauty. One of the hotel cats had apparently invited itself up and sat washing itself and waiting for affection and, bending forward, Chanelle gave it the affection it craved; it stopped washing to arch its black back and to look at her with slanting green eyes. 'I like your flat.' Steve allowed his eyes to trail round the room with its seventeenth-century screen above the off-white sofa and jewellike scatter cushions and which was flanked by eighteenth-century lamps. 'I wouldn't mind settling here myself.' 'Rubbish,' Lowrie exclaimed swiftly. 'You'd never settle down in a hundred years. There was a time I thought this guy would settle down with me ...' she spread her hands, 'now don't laugh. Anyway, when I do get round to settling down it will be with somebody like Mr. Curtis Kendall who won't always be running off into some duststricken bush full of wild animals. I've often wondered, since I've met you, Chanelle, why it is you have a pale mark on that engagement finger? Or was it a wedding ring?'

After a startled pause, Chanelle said, 'It could have been a curtain ring, Lowrie, for all that it amounted to,' and immediately she regretted the words. 'Well, I must say that, if you are suffering, Chanelle, you're suffering beautifully. I'll hand that to you.' She looked at Chanelle over the rim of her glass, her silver- stroked hair framing her pert tanned face. 'By the way,' she transferred her look to Steve, 'I want you to take me somewhere, Steve.' 'Where do you want me to take you?' His voice sounded guarded. 'Darling,' Lowrie shifted round in her white trouser suit, 'you remember the Bachelors? Well, I happened to meet them, quite by chance, and do you know where they are? Right here—Syringa Beach, to be precise— near Curtis's shack. I told them I'd bumped into you and they've invited us to go along after my show.' 'Which show? What time?' Steve played with his glass, turning it round and round. 'Darling, any show—any time. You don't make a time with the Bachelors. You should know that. You just,' clicking her fingers, Lowrie searched for words, 'dammit, you just roll up.' She laughed suddenly, spilling a little of her drink and holding the glass over Curtis's area rug from Istanbul, 'Darling, do you remember the time up at Sani Pass?' 'I do indeed,' Steve answered, casually—a shade too casual, but it was obvious, nevertheless, that he did not want to talk about the time at Sani Pass. 'Anyway,' Lowrie shifted around again, 'what about tonight}'

'Tonight?' Steve drew a breath. 'Not tonight, I'm afraid. I have an engagement.' 'Break it.' 'I can't.' 'Can't or don't want to?' 'A little of both, actually.' 'Nonsense, Chanelle won't mind. Perhaps you don't want to see Dud's wife? I see you have the grace to blush, dear boy.' 'Dud's wife has nothing to do with it.' 'So?' Lowrie extended both arms and the golden liquid in the glass rocked from side to side, just missing the rim. 'In that case, everything's settled. Tonight, after my show, we're going along to the Bachelors'.' Turning to Chanelle and then to Curtis, Lowrie said, 'These Bachelors—-they were our best friends, for a time. Admittedly, it was only for a time, but it will be good to see them, to have ourselves a laugh over old times. Oh,' she shrugged her shoulders and glanced in Steve's direction, 'I can laugh now. Now that it's all over, I could laugh myself sick.' 'Be careful with that glass,' Curtis cut in, 'you're spilling that damned stuff all over the place.' 'Do you know,' Lowrie began to giggle, 'I have a compulsive urge to spend money and to spill my drinks. Ask Steve.' 'I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to break up this little party,' said Curtis. 'I have work to do.'

'Before we do, do you still have that super little speedboat thing on the Gazelle Dam, Curt?' Glancing at Steve, Lowrie said, 'Curtis has this cute thatched-roof squaredavel, or whatever you call it, up at the Gazelle Dam. Nothing in it but some old stuff—all madly rough—for Curt, you know, a place to cook and a place to sleep,' she winked, 'and he has this absolutely fantastic little boat thing—goes like the wind. If I asked you very nicely, Curt, would you take us all there?' He raised his eyebrows. 'Us?' His mouth had that faintly sarcastic uplift which Chanelle had come to know. It was just enough to reveal those white, slightly crooked teeth. 'Uhmm -' Lowrie embraced Steve and Chanelle with a sweep of her arm, spilling more liquid. 'Us. It should be fun. I'd like Steve to see this place, and Chanelle too, of course. You've got to see it to believe it, honestly. So will you, Curt?' 'When?' 'Tomorrow.' 'I thought you were going to the Bachelors' tonight, after your show?' he asked. 'I am—so what?' 'What time do you aim getting back here to the hotel?' Lowrie stood up. 'What a hell of a question to ask! When do you think?' 'What I mean is—how is this going to affect your getting up in the morning? We'd have to have an early start, if we go.' 'Oh, I'll be up, don't worry. Do you mean you'll take us?'

'If you want to go.' Curtis turned to Steve. 'That all right with you?' 'It's come as a bit of a surprise, but—well, yes, if you're going.' 'Chanelle?' Curtis swung cool grey eyes in her direction. 'I'm like Steve,' she answered, 'I-—it's come as a surprise, but yes, I'd like to go, too, if it's—convenient.' 'Fair enough.' Curtis took Lowrie's glass away from her. 'I'll make the necessary arrangements.' Fumbling round for her sandals, with her toes, Lowrie said, 'If we do happen to be late in getting back from the Bachelors', you won't go without us, will you? You know, we might get back when the sun is up.' 'Try me,' said Curtis, going towards the door which he opened for them.

It was Curtis Kendall, and not Steve, who rang through to her room in the morning. Without preliminaries, he said, 'Are you ready to go to the Gazelle?' and Chanelle blinked before she replied, 'Yes.' 'In that case, perhaps you would be good enough to come downstairs?' 'Certainly.' Her voice was as formal as his own. He was in the foyer when she got there and gestured to her that he was about to finish talking on the telephone. Chanelle stood, uncertain and embarrassed, looking about the foyer for Steve and Lowrie. When Curtis finally joined her she asked, 'Where are the other two?'

'They're not back from,' the pause was brief, but it was there, 'the Bachelors',' he told her, and she could see that he was trying to suppress his temper. She said stupidly, 'Not back?' 'That's what I said.' 'Perhaps there's been an accident?' Chanelle moistened her lip with the tip of her tongue, her fright in her eyes. 'I hardly think so,' Curtis answered shortly, as if that finalized everything. 'But you don't intend to go without them, do you? Without first finding out...?' 'I have every confidence that they'll be back later in the day. We'll go without them. I had the kitchen pack a hamper. Ready?' His grey eyes travelled over her white Italian knitted tunic with matching trousers. Wanting to get this whole thing straight in her own mind, Chanelle said, 'You mean we're going alone— without them?' 'That is exactly what I mean. When I come to an arrangement I stick to it.' He turned away from her, his handsome face arrogant. 'Okay— all set?' 'I don't know what to say.' 'Well, in that case, don't say it.' Her breath caught at the remark and for a moment she felt an anger exploding inside her. Who did he think he was, ordering her around like this?

'I don't seem to be making myself clear,' Curtis said. 'We're going without them.' 'I dislike your manner,' she retorted, with some heat. 'Too bad, Miss Falkner. You arranged to go along with me to the Gazelle Dam and I've made the necessary arrangements, and whether the other two have had the decency or not to keep to our arrangement makes no difference one way or the other. We'll still go.' He spoke with authority and, after another incredulous pause she said, 'All right.' She spoke on an angry little breath and picked up her cane bag, where she had placed it at her feet on the black and white tiled floor. 'I'm ready to keep to our arrangement.' They went outside into the sun. The coastline seemed to be embroidered in blue, white and gold. Walking beside her to his car, Curtis maintained his lofty manner and said nothing. He had the grace, however, to open the door for her and stood back, holding it, while she got in, and as he got in beside her their eyes met and it was she who looked huffily away. They pulled away from the Castallaras, cool, white and Moorish, somehow, in style with its spacious terraces, swimming-pool and sloping lawns. The beach, beneath the already hot sun, was sprinkled with people beneath colourful sunumbrellas. Curtis seemed impatient and restless to leave the caterpillar queue of cars crawling about the bustling holiday resort. A dark-skinned woman wearing a crimson and gold sari unexpectedly stepped in front of the car and he braked suddenly. 'Where did she spring from?' he asked, obviously shaken back into giving the road his full attention. The balconies and patios of the houses in the fashionable hills were all excitingly sun-soaked. Following the National road now, they were able to look down on the golden beaches with their foam-

topped breakers. Chanelle felt some of the tension beginning to unwind. 'Coming from up-country this is wonderful to me,' she said finally, because she had begun to feel embarrassed because he said nothing. 'Oh?' He was watching the car ahead and did not look at her. He was hostile, very much at odds with the beauty of the coast. He was also a fast and impatient driver. He would be, she thought resentfully. Glancing at his tanned competent hands on the wheel, however, she felt safe with him. 'Are you hinting for me to keep quiet?' she asked. 'I'm not, actually, but should the occasion arise, I'm quite capable of doing it.' 'I see.' She thought for a moment. 'Well, that doesn't give me much to look forward to, does it? I can't help wondering why we came. You make everybody feel guilty, that's your trouble. There's no need to take it out on me because of Steve and Lowrie.' 'Aren't you being a little stupid?' he asked. 'How do I manage to make you feel guilty?' 'I always feel guilty when I'm in your company.' 'You do? Well, you shouldn't make the mistake of saying so.' 'You think I'm stupid, don't you? Just another stupid girl.' 'I think no such damn thing. As a matter of fact, I think you're very clever.' His look was almost amused. 'For various reasons.' 'Don't be sarcastic with me, please,' she said.

'Well,' he shifted his position to look at her and she found herself looking at his teeth which fascinated her because they were so white and because the two top centre teeth turned in very slightly and were also very slightly crooked. It was, curiously enough, attractive. 'Let's change the subject. How's the work going?' Forgetting, she said, 'Work?' 'Yes—you know, your work in Conway's suite.' 'Oh yes. I forgot.' 'I think I understand.' She slanted him an angry look. 'I don't think you do. Steve happens to be compiling brochures and I happen to be typing them. He has started his own company— Steven Safaris. At least, he is.' 'In other words, he's playing it safe.' 'I'm afraid I don't understand you.' Her voice was stiff. 'He's getting out before he's kicked out. If Steve Conway lived in town, he'd come to work from a different direction every morning.' Chanelle thought about this for a moment. 'That's nonsense. Actually, it sounds to me as if you're not minding your own business.' 'Sometimes I find it hell of a hard to mind my own business, believe me.' 'Oh, I believe you, all right. That must give you quite some satisfaction.'

'On the contrary.' Suddenly he slackened speed and headed the car inland. In the distance the hills rolled away into a blue haze. 'You're very quiet,' Curtis said, some time later. 'Do you blame me?' When she glanced at him she saw that his mouth had lifted in what might have been classed as a smile. She began to wonder what he'd be like to kiss. There was a sprawling club house, with stone pillars at the entrance, topped with small ornamental urns, at the Gazelle Dam, but apart from the African caretaker there seemed to be nobody else about. 'There's dinghy racing every second weekend up here,' Curtis became a little more communicative than usual, 'and the occasional big regatta.' 'I see.' She continued to feel ruffled with him. He parked the car to one side of a pergola where purple bougainvillea made a burst of colour in the sunlight. They sat, without saying anything, looking across the great expanse of water. 'Would you like to see over the club house?' he asked. She shrugged and said, 'Yes—if you care to show me.' The club house seemed to be crammed with nautical souvenirs such as compasses, ancient brass binnacles, model ships, old charts and the like. When Curtis had shown her over he said, 'Perhaps you'd like to powder your nose? I'll be outside getting the minerals and something to eat out of the car. I thought we'd have minerals instead of morning tea.'

'That's fine.' She managed to smile at him. 'I'm thirsty. A mineral will go down well.' 'We've got more to eat and drink now that we're alone.' 'Well, I'm not on a diet.' 'In that case, we have no problems.' She was staggered when he gave her a very nice smile. When she joined him again, she had hidden her eyes behind huge dark glasses and was wearing a shocking- pink headscarf with white bobble fringing. Looking at the boats, she said, 'Which one is it?' 'The red and white,' he told her, looking up. 'Don't you ever take it home?' she asked. 'Sometimes. At the moment a friend of mine, here at the Dam, is making use of it.' He gestured in the direction of one or two thatchedroof houses in the distance, as though that explained everything. 'Does he live here, then?' 'Yes. He's an engineer. He also happens to be recently married. The Power Punch,' he nodded in the direction of the speedboat, 'helps to take the place of the honeymoon they never had.' 'Oh.' The word honeymoon caused her to tense up. They had their cold drinks and something to eat and then, before they went down to the water, Curtis packed the cool bag away in the car.

'Owning a boat must be expensive,' she said, a little later, as she watched him fiddling around with the white and red Power Punch. 'It costs less than playing golf, actually.' 'Really?' She sounded surprised. 'I find that hard to believe.' 'Well, nobody's asking you to believe it.' Behind his back she made a long face and when he turned round unexpectedly she drew in her cheeks and looked vaguely in the direction of the hills. When he made no attempt to stop looking at her she turned and their eyes met. On purpose, she concentrated on keeping the expression in her own, behind the dark lenses, a complete blank. Although she made a big thing of looking bored she was aware that her heart was beating faster and that she had just about had enough of Curtis Kendall. 'Okay—get in,' he told her, and she stepped past him and hoped that she wouldn't make a fool of herself by falling. It was plain, right from the start, that he had not intended this to be just an outing in the wind, sun and tiny waves. It was obvious that he intended holding Lowrie and Steve against her. 'Are you out to frighten me?' Chanelle asked, when she couldn't stand it another moment. The tension she was feeling felt stretched out along her cheekbones. Because of the speed, she had taken off the sun-glasses and was biting nervously at the side-pieces. There was no doubt about it, Curtis Kendall could handle a speedboat, but this did not prevent Chanelle from feeling furious with him. Cutting the speed, he asked, 'What's up?' She swung her glasses back on her nose. 'I was just thinking,' she said, 'that when a man behaves the way you've been behaving it's

usually because he happens to have a big chip on his shoulder. Do you have to go so fast and frighten the daylights out of me?' 'On the other hand, it might mean that he's in love,' he answered. 'I said might. You might make a note of that.' 'What gives you the idea that I'd be interested in making a note? Let's face it, you're mad because Steve and Lowrie didn't get back, and you're taking it out on me.' 'There are certain things a fellow can't say in front of a girl he hardly knows,' Curtis answered. 'I don't want to talk about Steve and Lowrie.' 'By not wanting to talk about them you've merely succeeded in proving my point,' she told him. 'Anyway, I'm getting sick of all this. I'm fed up with all this —angling and—and veering about. Why don't you just go at a reasonable speed?' She lifted her shoulders in exasperation. Suddenly he cut the engine, and she felt unsettled and nervous. With a sort of weary patience, which made her furious again, he said, 'How's that?' For a moment she sat looking at him before she said, 'Tell me, aren't you a little immature to have inherited a hotel?' 'I don't think so.' 'Well, I do!' In the distance, some way back from the dam, there were about half a dozen dazzling white bungalows with bougainvillea growing in the gardens and cascading from white pillars in various shades of purple, pink and orange. Chanelle became increasingly aware of Curtis

Kendall as a physical entity as she sat here with him, far removed from the bungalows with their brilliant shrubs and the people inside them, in the middle of the huge Gazelle Dam. Putting on the best front she could, she said, 'I didn't mean you to stop—and I think you know that.' For some reason or other, his presence went on exciting her and, looking at him, she found herself thinking that his face could have been saved from seriousness by his mouth and those attractively crooked teeth if only he would put himself out to smile more often— and not just the kind of smile he seemed to think he had to spin out to make it go around. Before she knew what was happening, he was beside her and then he was only a face hovering over her. Her breath exploded in a wild gasp as he took her into his arms and put his mouth on her own. Frantically, Chanelle tried to withdraw her lips, but he wouldn't let her. Laughing against her mouth, he said, 'You encourage me immensely.' 'Why should I have to encourage you?' she asked, breathing fast, as she managed to free herself. 'For your information, I don't make a habit of encouraging this sort of thing.' The only sounds were the tiny waves caused by the wind as they slapped the sides of the Power Punch. 'Don't you? Somehow I was under the impression that you usually manage to get round to this sort of thing—in the end.' 'You got round to it. I didn't,' she said angrily. 'It didn't take Conway long to get around to it, did it?' His face was hard.

'I don't know why I bother to answer you—but I allowed Steve Conway to kiss me for the simple reason that our relationship is so— so shallow. His kisses mean nothing to me. Absolutely nothing.' His mouth went up. 'Let me try to work this one out. And mine do, I take it?' 'Yours are nothing but an insult. That's why you brought me here, isn't it? You-—you—utter beast! I'm sick of the lot of you. You're all the same.' She tried to slap him across the cheek. It had been an inevitable reaction on her part. Grasping her wrist, he said, 'Steady on there.' His face was a little pale, but otherwise unaffected. As he released her wrist again he said, 'Well, a little of this sort of things goes a long way, I guess.' Chanelle felt a vague emptiness. 'What did you take me for?' Her voice was choked. 'Forget it.' 'I won't forget it. I'm furious with you.' 'Don't go on,' he told her, moving to his side of the boat. 'I'm trying to keep my embarrassment all nice and out of sight. Seriously, though, forget it. I'm sorry.' 'I don't think you are sorry. With people like you this sort of thing happens all the time, doesn't it?' 'On the contrary. I happen to see it happen all the time. Perhaps I wanted to try it out for myself. Obviously, I haven't got what it takes.' She looked at him with large accusing eyes. 'You had no reason to try it out on me. What you saw—with Steve Conway—amounted to precisely nothing.'

'And that's what has me stumped.' He shrugged. 'You have this—this—thing about the type of girl you see on holiday. You think they're all out for a good time at some man's expense. Can't you see? That's just a guess on your part. After all, you can't know.' 'That's true. I may be quite wrong, half the time, but I don't think so.' He started the engine. 'Can you take any more?' 'Not the way you were speeding before ... that was beyond a joke.' She wanted to tell him about the purpose of her holiday, but, she told herself, it had nothing to do with him. Curtis swung the speedboat deftly round. They had their lunch—cold meat, salad, cheese and fruit and some heady wine beneath the trees. Both of them were extremely polite at passing and offering food. 'I thought you had a bungalow at the dam?' said Chanelle, then regretted the words immediately. She hoped he would not think that she wanted to see it. 'I do. It's over that side of the dam. A dust road leads to it. There are about six privately owned shacks over there.' There was a pause. 'I was going to take you there, but in the circumstances, we'll skip that.' Again she felt his touch of impatience with the way the entire day had turned out for him and wondered whether it was because of Lowrie—Lowrie who had not come back to the hotel with Steve, even when the sun was up. Or was it because he had not had his way with her? she wondered. He did not drive quite so fast going back to the coast. It was almost as if he did not trust himself to go too fast in his present mood.

When they got back to the hotel the sky was gold and pink and the shadows long. 'I hope you enjoyed it?' Curtis gave her a smile. It was stilted and mocking. 'I wouldn't have missed it for all the world,' she answered, with a sarcastic edge to her voice. 'Well,' he shrugged and opened the door on his side, 'I guess this is your round.'

When she was back in her room the loneliness moved in with her again, so she telephoned her father. 'What have you been doing so far?' he asked. 'Oh, I went inland to the Gazelle Dam. We did some boating— speedboat, actually. Went like the wind.' 'A crowd of you go, I take it?' Chanelle was deliberately vague. 'Well, not a crowd exactly. A couple of us.' She could visualise her father nodding. 'You're getting around, then? You didn't use your car, did you?' 'No.' She leaned her forehead on the palm of her hand. 'By the way, I might just postpone my coming home for a while.' 'That would seem to be a good sign. You must be enjoying yourself, then?'

Laughing, she said, 'I've been doing a bit of work for somebody. I can't remember whether I mentioned this to you before. I've been typing brochures for this—safari type. He's asked me whether I would like to go along on the next tour in the luxury coach—paying my own way, naturally. I'm considering the idea. Anyway, I'll let you know, of course.' 'Whatever you do, look after yourself.' 'I will, don't worry. Thanks for listening, Dad. I'll say goodbye for now. How are you, by the way?' 'Oh, fine—busy.' No sooner had she rung off than there was a knock at her door. It was Steve. 'Hallo,' he said, affecting a casual tone, but she could see that he was embarrassed about being out with Lowrie all night. 'So you're back, Chanelle?' 'Might I say the same of you?' Although she smiled she had the satisfaction of seeing him flush slightly. 'Frankly,' he told her, 'we got back soon after you and Kendall left— so we were told, anyway. Kendall didn't allow us much grace. It was just one of those things, you know. One meets up with old friends...' 'Don't tell me,' she cut in flippantly, 'I know all about meeting up with old friends. It can be quite fatal.' 'Did you have a good time?' he asked, and she knew that he was trying to steer the conversation away from himself and Lowrie. 'Yes, thank you. Did you?' She felt inwardly amused. 'So-so, Chanelle. I—er—didn't expect it to be an all- night affair; but there you are.'

'Oh, well,' she shrugged, 'these things happen.' 'I didn't come here to talk about last night, Chanelle.' 'Quite. What did you come here to talk about, Steve?' 'About tonight. Are you going to dance with me at the Supper Room?' 'That would be very nice, thank you. By the way, do you want to work for a while? There's still time before dinner.' 'It's too late. We'll start again tomorrow.' His brown eyes searched her face. 'Well, in that case, I have one or two things to do...' She tried to hide the restlessness she was feeling. 'Letters to write,' he cut in, gently mocking her. 'That sort of thing. I get the message, Chanelle.' 'No, honestly. I'm tired. It's a long way to the Gazelle Dam, you know. I didn't realise it was such a long way. No doubt that's why Curtis was anxious to leave the Castallaras early. It wouldn't have made sense leaving later in the day. We're not long back, by the way.' As she spoke she knew that she was craving for a hot bath. A hot bath, she thought, would be the only way in which her protesting body could regain some of its equilibrium. She felt invaded by men—Hilton Hardwick, Curtis Kendall who had come into her life to insult her and Steve Conway who was doing his best to sweep her off her feet into having some sort of affair with him. 'I'll meet you in the main lounge before dinner, then,' Steve said, politely. 'Until then....' she murmured.

That night as they danced to the music of the Alessandro Trio Steve, obviously guessing Chanelle's thoughts, whispered softly, 'Are you still angry with me, Chanelle?' 'Angry?' 'About not getting back in time to go to the Dam?' 'Of course not—disappointed, yes. I was sorry you and Lowrie weren't there.' The words seemed to shock her back to those moments when Curtis had kissed her. Automatically, her eyes went towards the glass doors at the far end of the Supper Room and, as she had expected, Curtis was there, talking to the girl who was responsible for the accounts which were kept on the amount spent by each table on food and drinks during the entire evening. Past Curtis, the door to the room marked Studio was closed and Chanelle wondered whether Lowrie was behind the door preparing for her cabaret act. 'You know what these all-night parties are,' Steve was saying. 'Yes, I know.' 'Do you, though?' he asked, his mouth curved, gently mocking, as he weighed her reply. 'Of course. There's no need to explain anything to me, Steve.' She shrugged her shoulders, politely dismissing the subject. 'Frankly,' he went on, 'I wasn't keen to go with Lowrie in the first place. It was only by chance that I met up with her again. Lowrie was just a memory—and a vague one at that—until I bumped into her again.' Trying to close her mind to Curtis Kendall, who was straightening up from the desk now, Chanelle said, 'We all have our memories. It's the one thing I worry about, actually.' Curtis was smiling as he said

something to the girl at the desk and then he walked off in the direction of the Studio. 'Memories can drive one mad, I should imagine,' Chanelle laughed a little, trying to make it sound like a joke. Lowrie had chosen to wear coarse white lace trousers which had a scarlet sash and a top to match which left her midriff bare. Both garments were lined with satin and the satin glowed behind the lace. She gave the audience a smile which must have left many a man feeling giddy, Chanelle thought. The numbers Lowrie had chosen to sing were: 'I know I'm mad, but I still want you'; 'My heart keeps breaking'; 'Why did you have to go and leave me?' and 'I just broke down and cried.' After she had refused to come back a fourth time and the applause had died down Steve asked, 'Chanelle, have you made up your mind about joining our safari?' He took her hand and held it on the table. With her mind now full of the pain of what Hilton had done to her and the dread of going back home, she said, 'I don't know what to say, Steve. I'll admit I'm tempted.' 'I want you to come—terribly.' 'Why?' She gave him an impish grin and concentrated on keeping her voice light. 'You might well regret it. I may turn out to be the most awful person on tour. I might be hard to please and spend a lot of time complaining. Tell me, do you ever get people like that?' 'Oh, all the time, but we know how to cope. On the whole, though, people seem to enjoy the tours.' Chanelle caught and held her breath as he lifted her fingers and held them to his lips. 'Do you have to go back, Chanelle?'

'No, I don't have to.' She took a deep breath and it was, she thought, as though she was preparing herself for whatever lay ahead of her now. 'Let me make the necessary arrangements, then.' He kissed her fingers one by one, and fascinated, she looked at him. Even Hilton had never kissed her fingers one by one. 'I'll have to think about it,' she murmured finally. 'What's stopping you from saying yes right now, Chanelle?' After a little pause, he added, 'Is it because of—Lowrie?' 'No, of course not.' In a way, she thought, it was exciting to be pursued with such callous determination. 'Everything's all under control, in that direction, you know.' 'I wasn't even thinking of you and Lowrie,' she told him, quite truthfully. 'What were you thinking of, then? You are quite tantalizingly keeping me out of reach, aren't you?' His smile was so charming that she instantly responded. 'Of course not. It's not that.' Suddenly she began to tense to his touch and just had to take her hand away. The thought of his concern about the possibility that she might be jealous of Lowrie was frightening. 'Here comes Lowrie—at least, I think it's Lowrie.' Lowrie had changed into a black cocktail frock and had topped her platinum hair with a black wig which was straight and very shiny and curled inwards at each cheek. 'Lowrie in disguise,' said Steve. 'This is typical of Lowrie, as a matter of fact.'

As she came towards them, Lowrie was saying, 'I've been trying to form an opinion about you two and, at a guess, I'd say that there was something going on..,.' She was smiling, but only with her mouth. 'I'm sorry we couldn't make the Dam,' she transferred the smile, such as it was, to Chanelle. 'It was just one of those things.' 'Yes, I know. Steve told me. I'm sorry that you couldn't have been there. We—we missed you.' 'Yes, I'm sure you did.' Lowrie did not bother to hide the spite in her voice and Chanelle wondered why. Who was Lowrie interested in? It would appear that she wanted both men. 'We ended up by giving it a real tonk,' Lowrie went on. 'We usually do, when our paths happen to cross—and they frequently do cross.' Looking at Steve, she said very sweetly, but with malice in her voice, 'Don't we?' 'I certainly didn't mean it to end in a tonk last night.' Steve took his time smiling. 'No, but it did end in one, didn't it—just like it always does.' 'What will you drink?' Steve asked, ignoring the remark. 'Darling, you know perfectly well what I always drink, so why not just go ahead and order it?' Lowrie reacted with some irritability. Steve was busy ordering the drinks when Curtis joined them. Looking up, he said, 'Name yours, Curtis. Sit down and join us.' 'Nothing for me,' Curtis replied, 'thank you. I merely came across to find out whether Lowrie received her telephone message.' Looking at Lowrie, he said, 'Did you?' 'Yes, I did, and don't be such a bore. Sit down and have a drink. I have something to say to you.'

'What do you have to say to me that can't wait?' he asked, with some impatience. 'I'm getting worried.' There was still that mocking edge to Lowrie's voice. 'I hope Chanelle knows what she's doing. I refer, of course, to this—this—what shall I say—growing awareness. I think that describes it perfectly, actually. As I was saying, I refer to this growing awareness of our friend Steve Conway. Tell me, Chanelle, do you make a habit of these holiday romances —or have you really fallen for this lady-killer?' 'Oh, come now, Lowrie,' Chanelle regarded Lowrie with what she hoped were cool, amused eyes, although she felt a surge of anger at the remark, especially as it happened to be passed in the presence of Curtis Kendall. Partly from bravado and partly to hide the hurt and anger twisting about inside her, she said, 'I won't bore you with the details, but Steve and I are merely good friends.' 'Well, one thing leads to another,' Lowrie replied. 'Doesn't it? Believe me, with Steve, friendship can become very involved.' 'I don't see why.' Chanelle felt tense. She was thankful when she heard Curtis begin to say something, until she discovered that he was being his usual sarcastic self. 'Lowrie,' he was saying, 'do I have to remind you that two is company?' 'You don't have to remind me about anything,' Lowrie retorted. 'I can see for myself what the position is. Anyway, I want you all to come up to my suite for a nightcap.' 'I'm afraid I feel terribly tired, Lowrie,' Chanelle murmured. 'So—if you'll excuse me?'

Lowrie's black eyes were long and wide apart and there was a gleam of spite in them. 'Tired after your day at the Dam with Curt? You'll keep remembering everything, from Steve to Curt, about this holiday for months to come, won't you, darling? Well,' she transferred those gleaming eyes in Steve's direction, 'you'll come, won't you? Unless you want to go to bed early as well?' 'Early?' He glanced at his watch, lifting his wrist so that he could see its face in the subdued lighting of the Supper Room. 'It's practically one-fifteen now, Lowrie.' 'Oh, come off it. Darling, you're not beginning to show that very attractive age of yours, at last, are you? Anyway, I refuse to take no for an answer, and that goes for Curt, too.' 'I'm afraid you must count me out,' Curtis told her. Suddenly, Lowrie laughed. 'All right. We'll take it from there. Steve will come by "his-self". Don't look so put out, Chanelle. After all, I had him first, you know.' Chanelle's reply was almost childlike in its intensity. 'I'm not at all put out.' 'Well, that's just fine, but you know you're really rather transparent, Chanelle, and I despise myself utterly for breaking in on anything.' 'I can assure you that you aren't breaking in on a thing, Lowrie.' 'Here, let me take that drink from you.' It was Curtis who cut into the conversation. 'It really doesn't look very nice to see a glamorous girl like you standing up in the Silver Dagger with a drink in her hand.' 'I'm taking it with me. I'm having it in the Studio.' Lowrie sounded frankly aggressive now.

'I'll get you another one.' Curtis put the glass down on the table. 'Come along.' When they had gone Steve said, 'You don't want to take much notice of what Lowrie says, Chanelle.' 'Don't go on,' she answered quickly. 'It's really not necessary, Steve.' 'She has her problems, like anyone else,' he went on. 'What's her problem—you? Or Curtis Kendall? I must admit I'm still trying to work that one out.' 'If I told you that what I once felt for Lowrie was washed up a long time ago, would you believe me?' 'I don't see how all this involves me, Steve. Would you mind if we left now? I'd really like to go to bed. All that sun and water today— it's left me feeling utterly exhausted.' 'Are you sure you won't come along to Lowrie's suite?' 'Quite sure. I'm far too tired.' She picked up her bag. On the landing outside the Supper Room she said, 'Please don't come up with me. After all, I'm just on the next floor.' 'Nonsense. I'll see you to your door.' At her door there was nobody about in the thickly carpeted corridor, so Steve tried to kiss her. This time she said, 'Steve, please, I'd rather not. To be perfectly frank with you, it's this sort of thing which puts me completely off saying "yes" about the tour.' 'Do you realise, Chanelle, that you'll be travelling with a coach full of people—over and above myself?' He sounded faintly exasperated.

'Yes, I know, but. ...' 'Everything will be perfectly correct, I can assure you.' 'I know, but -' 'What are you afraid of, Chanelle?' She laughed a little. 'You, frankly.' 'You'd be my responsibility, you know.' 'Yes, I know, but....' they both said together, and then laughed. 'Anyway,' she looked up at him, 'we'll discuss it another time.' 'Goodnight,' he said, very softly. Inside her room she struggled with her tears, passionately willing herself not to cry because she knew that afterwards she would be unable to sleep and that would result in a splitting headache. Were all these people worth it? she asked herself. Automatically she thought of Hilton and felt unutterably lonely. Where would he be now? In Rome somewhere. She could picture him in a room with white marble flooring and very little furniture. She had heard that the girl was very beautiful, and a bitter anger flared up against such a girl. Dropping her bag on her bed, she went out to her balcony where she could hear the tide at full in the distance. She could even begin to see what kind of person Hilton was, and she knew that the girl was going to have to work very hard to hold on to a man like him. She knew, too, that Steve Conway was no better than Hilton, but this time she was a whole lot smarter and, suddenly, she wanted to go on the safari—just to show how smart she was.

CHAPTER FOUR AFTER a series of muddled dreams, and very little rest, Chanelle was up early. From her balcony she watched the horizon as the sun prepared to rise. For a few moments sea and sky were the colour of copper which had been left too near a fire and then there was a gradual fading so that they both resembled beaten brass. Eventually, as the sun rose behind the beaten brass it looked like a huge terracotta ball. By the time the sun had broken through the haze which covered it the sea was a dazzle of dancing silver. Except for one or two people, who were obviously fishermen and early risers, the beach was practically deserted. The pool, in the hotel grounds, lay still and cold in the shadows. Chanelle looked at the sea and was conscious of her fear of it, and then, deciding to overcome this fear, she went back into her room and got into her bikini and slipped a short beach jacket over it. She remembered the day she had bought the beach wear she intended for her honeymoon. When she had seen the jackets she had immediately wanted the sea- weed-pink and the Ming yellow. 'They're so reasonably priced,' the sales-lady said, 'why don't you take a couple—or even four?' She gave Chanelle a smile. 'After all, you don't go on honeymoon every day.' Laughing, Chanelle had replied, 'Four would be terribly extravagant—but I tell you what, I'm going to be very greedy and take three. But which colours? They're all gorgeous.' In the end she had chosen the seaweed-pink, Ming yellow and the coffee because coffee would go with practically everything— especially with the tan which she intended to improve upon.

At this moment, Chanelle thought bitterly, she should be listening to the quiet breathing of Hilton, as he slept peacefully before being disturbed by the maid bringing their early morning coffee, instead of to the heavy, unhappy beating of her own heart. Wearing the seaweed-pink jacket over a coffee bikini, she went downstairs and through the big glass doors. The sun caressed her limbs with its gentle warmth which would give way, later in the day, to blazing heat, and a sea breeze ruffled her hair, blowing long auburn strands across her mouth. This reminded her to check whether she had put her bathing cap into her bag and when she discovered it there she walked on, past the pool and down the wide garden steps in the direction of the beach. Jutting out from the yellow beach sand the white and red lighthouse made a brilliant splash of colour while, behind her, the white hotel with its red roof, blue sun-awnings and the blue sun-umbrellas in the hotel grounds made a pleasing picture. The silver dazzle of the sea was being overshadowed with blue now and the long, curved and hazy shoreline was frilled with white. The water was surprisingly cold and Chanelle caught her breath as she dived beneath it. It was almost as cold, she thought, as the small dam where she and Hilton used to swim before they lazed beneath the willows which grew along its grassy banks. There was a backwash and she experienced a moment's panic as the water tugged at her legs. After a while, however, she found some of her courage returning, but did not try to kid herself that she would ever be like Lowrie Diamant in the surf. In a willow-traced dam, where she used a free style, keeping her head well down in the water, she might be able to hold her own, but the sea, with its constant moods, remained a mystery to her.

When she met Curtis Kendall on her walk along the beach she was momentarily flustered. 'No surfboard riding this morning?' she asked, taking her sun-glasses off and dropping them into her bag. 'The wind's wrong,' he told her, and she was suddenly unnerved to see that he was looking at her with an intent stare. 'Does that affect the waves?' she asked, realising full well that it must do something of the sort. 'Yes. By the way,' he inclined his head in the direction of her jacket which she was carrying, 'you're trailing that thing in the sand.' 'Oh.' Feeling confused, she tried to drape the jacket over her shoulders without bothering to put her bag down on the sand. Curtis made no attempt to help her when she dropped the jacket. Instead he stood watching her, his grey eyes narrowed slightly because of the sun, which was climbing higher now. Overhead some white gulls wheeled. Chanelle picked the jacket up and tossed it carelessly over her arm. 'The water was marvellous,' she glanced at his sun-faded baggies, 'or haven't you been in?' 'Just a quick plunge.' 'I'm just a....' she broke off, wondering whether she should tell him. 'Yes?' 'I'm still a little nervous about going in the surf.' 'Why go in, then? There's a perfectly good pool at the hotel.' 'Well, I didn't come all this way just to swim in a pool!'

'No, somehow, I didn't think you did.' Her questioning eyes came up to meet his and, when she saw the expression in his, she said, 'No? Well, actually, you've got a point there.' Their paths were dangerous, she thought. Something like the paths of Steve and Lowrie—thick with feeling, only without all the excitement thrown in. From behind the rocks they could hear a girl laugh and Curtis turned his head just as a man and a girl came into view. The girl's minibikini was as bold as they come and the man had his arm about her. They stopped walking for a moment, to kiss before they moved on. 'She obviously didn't come all this way just to swim in a pool, either,' Curtis said quietly. 'They're quite possibly on honeymoon,' Chanelle snapped, and the word honeymoon stuck in her throat. 'Had you given that a thought? You're always assuming things.' 'And if I am, I assume them from experience. That's another example of a girl grabbing all she can while she's on holiday.' 'Another example?' He turned to give her a direct look. 'Yes. Another example. One of many. In my job, I see this sort of thing all the time.' Chanelle knew that her face had gone white. 'Really?' She swallowed. 'If that's your roundabout way of telling me what you think of me, I'm not interested.' One side of his mouth went up. 'What am I thinking?'

'You know perfectly well what you're thinking.' 'Where is he this morning, by the way?' he asked. Expelling an angry breath, Chanelle said, 'You check up on everybody in your four-star hotel, don't you? I should have thought you would have had the answer to that one.' 'Well, maybe I do. Perhaps I'm just too polite to say so.' 'Which is remarkable in itself.' Her voice was sarcastic. 'When you sling off about me please don't talk about things you don't understand. Has it occurred to you that after yesterday, after what you tried on me in that boat, I should have completely ignored you? To save further embarrassment all round, I decided to overlook it. I didn't say forget it. I said overlook.' 'That was big-hearted of you.' He lifted one tanned shoulder. 'If you're embarrassed on my account, don't be. We might have to do a deal there. You ignore me and I'll ignore you. Next objection?' 'You,' she told him bitterly. 'Underneath, you're just as grabbing as some of the girls you say visit the Castallaras. You made that perfectly clear yesterday. I can't help wondering how many girls you've tried that little stunt on. No doubt you still refer to the girls who didn't rebuff you as grabbing? You make me sick!' 'I should wait before you form your final opinion,' he said. 'I don't have to wait. Besides, that's rather planning ahead, isn't it, and I've learned not to plan. As it so happens, my mind is made up about you—just as your mind appears to be made up about me.' 'Well, in that case, the situation seems clear enough, doesn't it?' There was a mocking look in his grey eyes.

'What I can't understand,' Chanelle said, after a pause, 'is how we seem to have strayed such a long way from the purpose of merely passing the time of the day. Actually, it completely baffles me.' . 'It baffles me too. You must be quite delighted with yet another roaring success.' 'Roaring success? I'm afraid I don't get you.' 'I dislike losing control. This conversation shows lack of control on my part.' 'So did your little effort in the speedboat.' A cool sea- breeze fanned them and her auburn hair moved about her shoulders with silken laziness. He looked straight at her, for a moment, then shrugged. 'As I said, the situation got out of control. That's why I don't want to make any more mistakes.' 'I'll be leaving soon, so you can set your mind at rest. You can try your mistakes out on somebody else.' 'Your leaving doesn't give your boy-friend much to look forward to, does it?' 'If you're referring to Steve Conway, it gives him everything in the world to look forward to. You see, we'll be leaving together.' Directly she uttered the words she was appalled because, up until this moment, she had not come to a decision about the game reserve trip with Steve. 'I—think I'm just a little bowled over by your candour.' Curtis's voice was soft, but hard.

'Well, you shouldn't be, after all. Nothing should surprise you any more.' 'I guess you're old enough to know what you're doing. The way I see it, though, is that you're acting like an irresponsible child.' They stared at each other. 'That's for me to judge, don't you think? Anyway, I'm not a fool.' Suddenly, explosively, Curtis said, 'Just you go ahead and play it along, because quite obviously you've made up your mind in advance about this.' 'Yes, I have made up my mind. I'm beginning to be quite expert at playing things along, believe me.' As she looked at him she was thinking, 'How little you know about me, Mr. Curtis Kendall. Beneath the sophistication of my expensive trousseau clothes there's a lost soul—but you don't know it. A lost and bewildered soul.' She felt like crying. Something had broken inside her when Hilton threw her over—when he cared so little about her that he jilted her at the very last moment. 'Well,' Curtis, dragged his fingers through his dark hair, 'I must be getting back.' 'Yes, you do that.' She knew now that she was going to cry. He seemed troubled about something. 'If you swim again, take my tip and watch that current. It's strong.' 'It doesn't matter about the current.' 'It does matter,' he snapped. 'So watch it.' 'Go to the devil,' she said, and she said it through clenched teeth.

'I'll do that.' He gave her a devilish grin and, tense with hate, she watched him as he began to walk away from her. Because she couldn't help it, she called out, 'Just let me say this one thing....' He turned. 'Go ahead.' 'You make me sick!' 'So you've told me before. That's just too bad. Maybe you make me sick too.' 'You don't show me one bit of respect, do you?' she flung back at him. 'Have I any reason to respect you?' he asked brutally. The remark took the wind out of her. 'You know perfectly well you have every reason to. How can you say that? What are you trying to do to me?' She was thinking about the time she had spent with him at the Gazelle Dam. Turning from him, she ran in the direction of the rocks. For a moment she stood with her fingers pressed against her trembling mouth before she dropped to her knees on the warm sand. 'I can't stand any more,' she whispered brokenly. 'What are you crying for?' He had come back and he was standing over her. Covering her face with her hands, Chanelle tried to adjust herself— but she couldn't. 'Leave me alone,' she mumbled, and then, through the tears and her fingers, she saw what he had come back for—a red towel which he had draped across the rocks to dry.

He picked it up and then tossed it down again and, with all her senses tightening up, Chanelle closed her eyes again and knew that he was intending to come closer to her. 'Chanelle, stop it.' 'I won't. Shut up!' The warmth of his fingers caused her to hold her breath and bite her lip. 'Get away from me,' she said. Water in the rock pools shimmered and danced beneath the sun and she could feel the dancing movement through her eyelids. She opened her eyes and looked at Curtis Kendall and she was aware of the strength in him all of a sudden. He prepared to stand up and she felt the thrill of anticipation before he pulled her to her feet and then drew her close to him. The warmth of his body was like an electric shock. A gust of wind took hold of her hair and blew it across her face, mingling it with her tears. Curtis freed one hand to smooth the strands of silken auburn hair away. 'I'm sorry,' he told her. 'I shouldn't have said all those things. You know how it is—things have a way— a habit—of catching up.' 'You should know,' she murmured, conscious of her bikini-clad body. She tried to break away from him. 'Just leave me alone, that's all I ask. I don't happen to feel like company, just now.' 'Don't look like that, Chanelle.' He began to stroke her hair. 'Oh, I know I look a sight,' she replied bitterly. 'You don't look a sight. You look so—so damned despairing, that's all I can say.'

'You go back to your hotel,' she told him, 'and let me run my own life. Let me do my own despairing.' As he released her, he said, 'Run or—ruin}' He reached for his towel. 'It doesn't happen to be all that important.' She was trying to do something to her face now, with her own towel. 'You talk like a fool.' 'Well, of course I do. That follows. Anyway, what I do—or intend to do—has absolutely nothing to do with you. Try to remember that, will you?' She took a long breath. 'I repeat, it has nothing to do with you.' 'And I agree with you—one hundred per cent,' he told her, as he flung his towel across his shoulder. She did not move as he walked away.

The rest of the morning she spent working with Steve in his suite. Towards lunch time he surprised her by saying, 'Chanelle, I've arranged to have lunch served up here. Is that all right with you? It seems a pity to break off. We seem to be making terrific progress. Do you realise we'll be ready for the printers soon?' 'Yes, I suppose we will be.' 'And about that lunch? That all right with you?' Steve raised his fine eyebrows slightly. 'Yes, of course.' Her voice sounded a little on the stiff side, however.

Leaning elegantly against the wall, Steve ran a hand across his wellshaven face. 'Anyway, for the moment, until lunch arrives I think we should have a drink, don't you? I'll have something sent up. What's it to be?' After a pause, she said, 'I thought you said it would be a pity to break off?' There was a slight smile about her lips, but she was feeling ruffled with him. 'We're not going to break off. We'll go on working right up until the moment the drinks and the lunch arrive. So what's it to be?' 'A lemonade, thank you.' He laughed his carefully modulated worldly laugh. 'A lemonade? Oh, come, Chanelle.' 'I'd rather.' Shrugging, he straightened himself up. 'Is anything the matter this morning?' Fighting back her irritation, she said, 'No, nothing. Why? Should there be?' They stared into each other's eyes and hers dropped first. 'I just don't happen to like drinking anything stronger during the morning, but please don't let me discourage you.' Steve smiled at her before he said, 'At times you seem to be several different people, Chanelle.' 'Oh?' Her smile was crooked. 'I certainly don't see myself that way, Steve.' 'And I like every one of them, as it so happens.' His dark eyes flickered from her face to the demure, puritan-style shirtwaister frock with its small gold buttons.

A warning fluttered away in her mind, somewhere, like a ragged red flag. It was a flag that had been waved many times before in her young life. 'Well, thank you.' 'I'd like you to go into town with me tomorrow—to the printers,' Steve said, and she watched him as he went towards the glass doors which led on to his balcony. He turned. 'We could lunch in town— drive some place, afterwards.' 'I'd probably only be in the way—at the printers.' She felt caught in a web. 'Tell me,' he smiled, very faintly, 'is that a very roundabout way of saying no?' 'Of course not. I was thinking of you.' 'I was thinking of me, too.' His eyes lingered on her face. 'Oh—well, thank you.' 'Something has happened to make you talk like this, Chanelle.' Her eyes met his and she tried not to blink. 'Like what?' He shrugged. 'You sound cautious.' 'I don't think so,' she replied, but she knew that was how she had sounded to him—because that was the way she was feeling. When the food eventually arrived, Chanelle wondered how she was going to eat it up here with him alone. Sharing a table with Steve in the dining-room or the Supper Room was quite another matter. 'You fool,' she told herself. 'What are you trying to do to yourself? Aren't you churned up enough without getting all involved with this man?'

In the afternoon, when she had finished working with Steve, she met Curtis Kendall in the foyer as she was going out for a swim in the pool. Their eyes met. 'I hope you enjoyed your lunch?' As he spoke, she shifted her eyes to his mouth, noticing again how his lips tilted up on one side as he smiled his sarcastic little smile and how his teeth—the top front two—were slightly out of alignment and that, instead of appearing unattractive, had the power to fascinate her. Looking back into his eyes, she said, 'It sounds as though you're hinting at something, but—yes, I enjoyed it immensely, thank you.' She moistened her lips and shook back her hair before she added, 'You—you seem to keep track of your guests.' His mouth turned up on the one side again. 'Not all. Some.' 'Surely you must be aware of resentment—on the part of the guests?' Her eyes seemed to change colour, lit up from within. His shoulders moved. 'You get seasoned to it.' She drew a long breath before she retorted, 'Well, so far as—as tracking my whereabouts are concerned I'd —I'd take it easy, from now on.' 'In other words you're filled with resentment?' He moved to one side. 'Enjoy your swim. Don't go too far out. There happens to be a strong wash.' 'Perhaps to put your mind at rest I should put you back on the right track again by telling you that I don't happen to be going into the surf. I'm going into the pool. That is, if you don't have any objections? Do you?' 'Not at all. The pool is all yours.'

'Knowing my whereabouts should make spying on me so much easier for you.' 'I have no doubt of it. Thanks for telling me.' When she spotted Steve lazing in the sun next to the pool she turned quickly and made her way instead to the beach. Somehow she had had enough of Steve Conway for one day. She wanted to be alone, so that she could think about going back home. Something told her that she was not ready to go back home yet. The golden beach was sprinkled with vivid sun- umbrellas and tanned sun-worshippers who shone with oil. Despite the strong wash that Curtis Kendall had spoken about the surf bobbed with heads. Chanelle walked up the beach, in the opposite direction to the people spread out on towels, or in deck chairs, and the heads which bobbed about in the foam-topped water, and while she walked she thought about Hilton Hardwick—the man who by jilting her had changed her entire life. It was such an old-fashioned word, she thought. She found that she could even think about it without wanting to die. At times she was even able to see Hilton for what he was. A tangy, off-shore breeze was blowing and the swells were pouring in. She spread her towel and slipped out of her beach jacket before she sat down and gazed at the water, which was very blue, except where the breakers turned over and the water looked cold and green and transparent before it broke in a great white frothy feather. She had no doubt whatsoever that Curtis Kendall would know how to tag the sea for washes and sat staring at those long, curling waves for several long moments before she lay down and rolled over on her stomach. Placing her cheek on one folded arm, she closed her eyes. The subtle vibrations of the sun's rays on her back were comfortably

hot and after a while she was conscious of this heat in waves. She should have been on her honeymoon, she thought, and her whole body was suddenly aware of what she had missed with Hilton. She was aware of a desire which she was unable to share with anyone and, in a sudden movement, she sat up. Her mind flew to Steve Conway ... a man who had, quite obviously, known many women, a man who, because of this experience, would know how to lead a young girl on. 'I couldn't,' she thought, and tried to fight down these crazy thoughts. The thought of being made love to by Steve frightened rather than excited her, and her heart hammered in wild panic. 'Don't,' she whispered. 'You couldn't lie and cheat that far. You're not made that way. You must stop leading him on, because it can lead to nothing.' Feeling an odd disinclination to go back to the hotel, she stood up and shook her towel free of the stubborn grains of sand. She knew that she couldn't face Steve after having harboured such thoughts, so she spread the towel again and lay down. Back came the burn of the sun's wavelengths to caress her body, warming her and filling her with the thoughts of how it should have been for her. As her longing mounted a vision of Curtis Kendall sprang to life. Her wild thoughts faltered and, lifting her head, she shook back her hair and allowed her gaze to drift out to sea. She was able to reject her thoughts for the very simple reason that she did not want Curtis Kendall to claim a place in her mind. Because she couldn't help it, though, she thought of how it had been in the speedboat with him when his lips had sought and found her own. Her thoughts had become a kind of drumming now, in her blood-stream. In her mind, she tried to get away from him, but she couldn't. She was a woman and, above all, a woman who should have been on her honeymoon. Curtis's hold on her thoughts tightened. Impatient and horrified with herself, she sat up. Out to sea the power and majesty of a tremendous wave overshadowed the small figure of

a lone surfer as he raced down the slope. The climatic moment came when the surfer stood upright, walked the board to find the perfect point of balance, then began the plunge towards the beach. Watching him, Chanelle thought that there was no doubt about it—it was an art—an art that must have taken months and months to master. Something tensed within her suddenly, as she came to the conclusion that she was looking at Curtis. She just sat there, looking at the figure on the board, breathing a little fast as he rode the waves, high, low or in the middle, but always, she noticed, across them, keeping ahead of the break or curve as it creamed along the length of the wave behind. When he eventually left the water, carrying his board, she held her breath, wondering whether he had seen her and whether she could be subjected to that sharp edge of his sarcastic tongue again. As he walked up the sand, towards her, she knew that he had known she was there and that she was going to be at the mercy of his barbed remarks again. She found herself wondering how she could have toyed with the idea of allowing him to kiss her—to have his way with her—and the thought was like an electric shock jolting sickeningly through her. She felt ashamed that she had even given him a place in her fantasies. Sea-spray glistened on his sun-tanned body and she watched him place his board on the sand near her feet and, for some unknown reason, she drew her feet up and buried them in the sand. She did not want him to see her feet. The thump of the breakers caused the sand to vibrate dully. A gull screamed above them. Urgently Chanelle tried to invent an excuse to get up and go, but because she could think of nothing to say, she waited for him to say something, tensing for the sound of his voice.

'You know,' Curtis gave her one of his disturbing looks, 'I might have known this would happen.' 'The thing that annoys me is that it has,' she was able to say, then she watched his mouth turn up. 'Anyway, now that it has happened, what are we going to do about it?' Reaching for her towel and her jacket and her bag, all at the same time, she said, 'If this is your strip of beach perhaps I'd better move on.' Her face was rigid with annoyance. She still did not take her feet out of the sand. Her eyes came up and their eyes met. 'For a girl with that flaming hair and sophisticated exterior,' he told her, 'you can be decidedly childish. This doesn't happen to be my strip of beach, as it so happens.' He lowered himself down beside her and she moved away slightly. She did not want him to touch her and she buried her feet deeper into the sand. 'What have you been thinking about, sitting here all by yourself?' he asked, and she felt the frantic colour come and go in her face. 'No, don't tell me,' he went on. 'Let me guess. Was it a man? It must have been a man, to make you look like that.' 'I was thinking of more than one man, as it so happens.' 'I get the scene. There just have to be a couple of guys in the picture. Right?' 'I knew you'd come up with something like that.' She swept her hair over one shoulder. 'What have I done to you?'

'Done?' His mouth went up again. His two front teeth claimed her reluctant attention again. 'Yes. You've told me all about your opinion of the girls who come to your hotel for a hectic good time, but,' she drew a breath, 'why single me out? I can only come to the conclusion that I must have done something—or neglected to do something, maybe.' She was thinking of the fact that he had saved her life and that she should have done something about it, but what? He was not the type to look for a reward. Or was he? What kind of reward had he in mind? 'This is another one of your roundabout ways of getting round to the fact that I once saved your life, isn't it? You're still asking yourself whether you thanked me adequately, is that it? Well, the answer is that you thanked me adequately. My role was a very simple one. I just happened to be on the spot and I didn't want to see you drown.' 'In that case, why are you always so intent on insulting me? Don't you have your hands full with your own affairs, without having me to worry about? Perhaps, though, you're in the habit of meddling with the affairs of your guests? Just because you happen to own the Castallaras Hotel it doesn't qualify you to interfere in people's lives— to try to arrange them while they happen to be using your hotel as— as an escape from everyday life.' 'Keep going,' he said. 'This is interesting. Escape? I'm waiting to hear more of this.' Chanelle knew that a pulse had begun to jump in her throat. She could actually feel it and hadn't even known she'd had one until this moment. 'Oh, let's not go on with it,' she sighed. 'You started it. Do you always start something you can't finish?'

She began to scoop up the sand with her fingers. She had broken one fingernail on Steve's typewriter and lifted her hand to examine it. She had been so careful with her hands, she thought, wanting them to be perfeet for her honeymoon. 'You don't make sense to me,' she murmured, biting the nail. 'Don't I?' She knew that he was looking at her finger. 'No, you don't.' She stopped biting and put her hand down on the sand beside her. She could see the fragile white circle where the ring had protected her flesh from the sun. There was even the mark where the stone had been. Hilton had insisted on a large stone. 'Haven't you lost a ring?' Curtis was saying, 'or did you merely leave it at home? Admittedly, it—simplifies a lot of things, leaving it behind.' 'As a matter of fact, now that you've noticed, I have left it somewhere.' This was true. She had left the ring with Hilton's mother after he had gone off with the Italian girl to Rome. She buried her hand in the sand and dug her feet in further. 'I'm surprised you notice such a small—ah—item about a person.' 'It's something you can't help noticing, in a place like this.' 'I can't believe that. There can't be all that many broken engagements...' She had spoken thoughtlessly and wondered whether she had fallen into his trap. 'Oh, it's not always a case of a broken engagement. Sometimes it's merely a case of finding quicker and easier entertainment by neglecting to wear the ring— or rings, as the case may be.' 'You make me sick!' she said angrily.

'Let's face it,' he said, 'I think you know, as well as I know, that the— er—entertainment, escape, profit motive—call it what you will, is the only one—or rather are the only ones that compel girls to act in the way they do—the way in which you happen to be acting on this holiday. Right?' She took her feet, with their delicately lacquered toenails, from out beneath the small pile of sand and stood up. She knew that he was looking at her toes and knew that she had been right in burying them, in the first place. Why should he look at anything as pathetically defenceless as her toes? Curtis stood up, next to her. He was only a step away from her. He took that step. 'Why do I make you sick, by the way?' 'It's the sort of feeling about you that's come on gradually—but it's come on, believe me.' She held her breath, in case he touched her. He didn't. Instead he stooped down and picked up her towel and began shaking the sand from it. When he had done this, he handed the towel to her. Their fingers touched and she moved away from him, aware of the fact that the touch of his skin had sent a faint thrill along her nerves. As she reached for her bag she said, 'It's a feeling that you yourself have invited.' She stooped down again for her jacket and wondered, as she impatiently tossed the garment across her arm, whether the skimpy bikini she was wearing had crept up at the back, but she was too self-conscious to check up on this. 'When are you going away with our friend Steve Conway?' he asked suddenly. For an instant she looked blankly surprised, then she said, 'In a couple of days' time, as a matter of fact. It's funny you should ask, but don't worry, I'll check out in the usual way—loud and clear, for everybody to see.'

'Where are you going with him—or shouldn't I ask?' 'It's no secret. I'm going to the Kruger National Park with him.' 'On a tour, you mean? Tell me something—you aren't kidding, are you?' Something inside Chanelle suddenly hurt. 'Yes, on a tour,' she said. 'In one of those beautiful, luxurious coaches with a whole lot of beautiful people.' 'Stopping at all the various motels on the way and back, of course?' 'Well, of course,' she replied, tense with hate. 'Stopping at all the various motels on the way and back, of course.' 'Well, let's hope you don't find yourself in queer street. Let's just hope that Conway toes the line. You work that one out for yourself.' 'I have every confidence that he will toe the line.' Glaring at him, she said, 'You're a fine one to talk about toeing the line!' 'Well,' he shrugged. 'I guess that's a matter of opinion. Anyway, let's see what develops.' 'It's a pity you won't be in on the kill, isn't it?' She was seized by an overwhelming urge to shout at him— to tell him to mind his own business and to leave her alone. 'Would you like me to be in on the kill? Maybe I could make a plan to be there.' He took her hand—the one with the white mark. 'I'd like to see a little less of this sort of thing going on.' Rubbing a finger across her own, he said, 'One thing puzzles me, why didn't you just keep it on? It wouldn't have made much difference to somebody like Conway, anyway.'

Snatching her fingers away, she said, 'You see bad in everything, don't you? You've always got to go and make,' she fought for words, 'a big Supreme Court case out of everything you see and hear, haven't you?' 'If I do, it's thanks to people like you, Chanelle. People who practise deceit to meet their own ends.' His eyes looked as he intended them to look—cold. Suddenly she laughed. 'That's right—up to a point. To meet my own ends I have had to practise deceit. I've had to lie, but I'm the only one who can be hurt. I've been hurt before, so why worry?' 'Okay,' he replied, before he left her, 'we'll hold that thought, Chanelle.'

'I was looking for you,' Steve said, when she got back to the hotel. 'Did you want to work?' she asked. 'I thought we were finished?' He laughed and his eyes, roving about her face, came to rest on her mouth. His dark hair, silver at the temples, was crisp and virile. He had good shoulders and narrow hips. 'I wanted to play, as a matter of fact, not work. By the way, where did you get to? I understood you were going to the pool, so I went along there. After a while I gave up waiting for you and ended up in the pub.' 'I went for a walk,' she told him. 'Why didn't you let me know?' His eyes sought her own. 'I would have gone along with you. Do you realise that time is running out for us at the Castallaras? Soon I'll have to be on my way.' There was a little pause. 'So will you, for that matter—unless you change your mind about the safari. That's still something we have to discuss.'

With a little stab of panic she said, 'Well, I can't discuss anything until I've had a shower. I'm dying for a shower.' 'By then it will be time for a sundowner. Where shall I meet you, Chanelle?' 'Well, down here—in the foyer.' With an uncertain smile she said, 'I'll see you later, then.' 'By the way, while you're under that shower, Chanelle, think about saying yes. I want you to come very badly, but I guess you know that, don't you? I don't have to tell you.' 'I'd like to come too,' she told him, but wondering whether, in the circumstances, this was perfectly true. She was suddenly afraid of Steve Conway. She had a feeling that he would expect her to finish something which she had started. 'Do something for me.' He took her hand and kissed her fingers while, fascinated, Chanelle watched him, holding her breath. His eyes came up from her fingers to meet her own. Vaguely she was aware of the fact that Curtis Kendall, showered and changed into a business suit, had come into the foyer at the far end. 'What is it you want me to do?' She gave her attention to Steve, but something inside her was wailing, 'Oh, no!' because she knew that Curtis had seen Steve kissing her fingers, one by one. 'Wear that white frock I've seen you in before—you know, the white lace. That coarse lace is very attractive. I like it.' 'Oh. Yes, as a matter of fact I like it too. I had intended wearing it.' She tried to sound elaborately offhand, because she had not intended wearing it, as it so happened.

'Good.' There was an expression in his dark eyes which made her nervous. She didn't want him to look at her like that. 'I'll be waiting,' he added, and before she could do a thing about it, he had bent his handsome head and kissed her very lightly on the lips, but he had kissed her all the same, and right in front of Curtis Kendall. The telephone started ringing as soon as Chanelle entered her room. It was her father. 'Hallo,' he said. 'I tried to get hold of you earlier, but there was no answer.' 'Oh, I'm sorry. Anyway, here I am.' She dropped her jacket, along with her bag, on to the chair next to the telephone. Shaking back her hair, she began thinking of the shower she knew she was going to enjoy. The only way she seemed to be able to relax, these days, was under the shower or in the bath. 'What are your plans?' her father asked. 'Why do you ask?' Her voice grew cautious. 'Well, I ask for the simple reason that you happened to mention something about working—doing some sort of part-time work for somebody, or other. You also mentioned that you were considering going off to the game reserve. Does this arrangement still hold?' 'I don't know,' she replied. 'This is something I still have to think about, actually.' 'Oh?' Her father's voice sounded cautious now. 'You see, I don't want to come home yet. Not for a while, anyway. It seems a perfectly logical thing for me to do—to get away on this safari. You must admit that it seems strange that it should have cropped up like this, just when I needed something to crop up?' 'What about this work you were doing?'

'That's finished.' Her nerves were beginning to shriek now. 'I hope you know what you're about?' He sounded anxious. There was a little pause. The line was crackly. 'Yes, of course I know what I'm about. It's merely a tour. You know, one of those luxury coaches.' Not liking his mood, she said, 'I told you about it.' 'I know you did, but I've been giving it some thought. What's behind all this? Or should I say who is behind all this?' 'Nothing's behind it. Nobody's behind it. I just want to keep— occupied, that's all. If I think about everything I feel like going mad. There is a man, of course, at the back of it all, I suppose. No doubt you've guessed. But it's very shallow. The whole thing is very shallow. For one thing, he happens to be much older than I am.' Her voice was growing angry now. 'He chose me to—you'd use the word flirt—so he chose me to flirt with and I chose him. It's very simple. Nothing to get all het up about. It will fizzle out beautifully in the end. By then perhaps I'll be over the nasty big hump in the middle of wherever it was I was supposed to be going. Does that make sense?' 'There's no need to get bitter.' Her father sounded worried. 'You want to be careful with this man. Apparently he knows a sitting duck when he sees one.' 'Well, that's just too bad. That's his affair. I. ..' she began to grope for the fastener of her bikini bra, 'I don't care about anything, any more.' She couldn't manage to undo the bra with one hand, so she concentrated on pushing the pants down over her hip-bones. She couldn't help noticing that she was tanning beautifully and found herself thinking how attractive the tanned patches would look beneath the flimsy nighties she had chosen for her honeymoon.

'The point is, are you going on this trip?' her father asked. 'Yes, I guess so.' She knew dismay at the thought. 'Well, in that case, what do you intend doing about your excess luggage and your car? Will you be coming home first?' 'No, I'll leave from Durban. That's where the coach departs from.' Chanelle could almost see her father. A fairly large man, he was usually rather tanned and he had lost most of his hair on the top, yet it was difficult to imagine him with it. He had an almost shy way with him—a shy smile, and his teeth were good and very white. He always appeared relaxed and impressive and he had the kind of personality which would take over a boardroom, not to mention the kind of situations that went along with a boardroom, immediately he entered it. Although in fact she had not got round to deciding what she would do with her car and her excess luggage, if she went to the reserve, she said, 'I was thinking of getting in touch with the Elliotts. Perhaps I could leave them there.' The Elliotts were people they knew just outside Durban. 'You've apparently got it all worked out.' 'Yes.' Suddenly she felt ashamed. 'Do you want me to come home?' 'No—not if you don't want to. I'm worried about you. I don't mind admitting it, Chanelle.' 'Well, don't be. I've been exaggerating about a lot of things. When I first met this lady-killer I merely intended to take him for a ride.' 'You want to watch that he doesn't take you for a ride instead.'

'Well, it would serve him right. I've no sympathy, so far as men are concerned. Not any more.' 'How it turns out will depend largely upon you.' 'Yes, I know that.' She lowered her lashes. 'Well then'....' 'Be patient with me,' she begged, in a small voice. 'It's the one thing I want to be, just now,' he told her. Steve said, when she joined him, 'Why didn't you wear the white, Chanelle? Not that you don't look very attractive in that particular shade. What is it?' 'It's cognac gold.' 'It's very attractive.' 'It's a vineyard colour, actually.' 'Vineyard?' He laughed a little and began to usher her in the direction of the ladies' bar. 'Yes. There's sauterne amber and wine red. Wine red would look awful with my hair, of course.' 'Nothing would look awful on you,' he said, 'but I see what you mean, of course. Tell me, what happened to the white?' 'The white has a coffee stain on it,' she lied. At the last moment, because she resented this small claim he thought he had on her, she had decided against wearing the white.

'Had you noticed,' Chanelle asked, two drinks later, 'that I have this very faint little white mark around my finger?' She splayed her fingers upon the counter and Steve laid his hand over hers for a moment before he took it away. She had noticed, with a little fright, that she had blurred the words slightly. 'This would be because you wore a ring—or rings, quite obviously, up until a short while ago, would it?' Steve sounded faintly excited, she thought. 'It would. But you know I'm surprised you hadn't noticed. It has been noticed, you know. Some people are very observant, of course.' 'You aren't recently—divorced, are you, Chanelle?' This would please him, she thought bitterly, but she laughed. 'Oh, Steve! No.' She laughed again and this time it struck her as very funny. 'But you've given me something to think about, actually. It might well have ended up that way, so I suppose I should just be grateful.' Becoming serious again, she put her elbow on the counter and propped her chin in the palm of her hand. 'I suppose things could have been a lot worse than just being—chucked over for somebody else.' She was aware that she wanted to get things out of her system, like a man. She wanted to swear and to use slang and to get traditionally drunk. Sadly, she thought, 'You did these things to me, Hilton Hardwick. You made me want to swear and drink and fight with my father and fling myself at the first man who happened to come my way.' 'You're kidding, of course. You must be kidding, Chanelle? Who would want to—er—throw you over?' Slanting her blue eyes in his direction, she said flippantly, 'There's absolutely no need to be so fastidious, Steve. However, if you don't

happen to like the word I used, there is a good old-fashioned word, and the word is jilt. You must have heard of this word? I was jilted, right at the very last moment. This was to have been my honeymoon. It's really rather amusing, isn't it?' She took her chin from the palm of her hand and waved a hand airily. 'We weren't coming here, of course. We were going to a secret place. Afterwards I just wrote to the Castallaras and managed to get a booking. Well, after all,' her voice was hard, 'it was only for one. A booking for one, so it was quite easy, I suppose, for the Castallaras to fit one person in. It didn't really matter where I spent this honeymoon-for-one, just so long as I spent it. You see, I just had to get away ... that makes sense, doesn't it?' Turning, she gave him an amused glance. 'I guess anybody would want to get away—after that lot.' She laughed again because it did seem to her, now, after two drinks, to be very funny. 'And now, Steve, you know.' He cleared his throat. 'You're young, you're beautiful—you have nothing to worry about. You're well rid of him, I should imagine.' He picked up his glass and swirled the liquid around before he looked at her again. 'Tell me, Chanelle, what went wrong?' he asked. 'What usually goes wrong? It was another girl.' 'Darling,' he took her hand. 'You'll get over it. I'll see to it, personally, that you get over it.' Three drinks later she said, 'I've just decided to clunch—I mean clinch our deal, Steve.' For a moment he looked honestly blank. 'Deal?' he echoed. 'The coach tour. I want to go on safari with you.' Her look was wideeyed, utterly honest. 'I—I think I'm just a little tight,' she said miserably. 'You know that, Steve?'

Laughing softly, he said, 'What, after how many drinks? Three? Surely not?' 'I'm not used to it.' Behind them a voice said, 'Hi,' and Steve slid from his stool while Chanelle and Lowrie, who had just joined them, looked at each other. Lowrie was wearing a dark green trouser-suit which clashed excitingly with her silver hair. Her black eyes had a look of almost faint displeasure. 'Why is it that everybody always thinks that a cabaret star wants to be left alone?' Her black eyes swerved towards Steve. 'Darling, don't just stand there. You know what I always drink.' Chanelle watched the high angles which were Lowrie's cheekbones and the wide, exciting mould that was her mouth. 'Tell me,' Lowrie hoisted herself upon a stool, 'what have you been doing with yourself?' 'Working,' Steve told her. 'We worked all morning.' The black eyes roamed his face. 'We?' 'Chanelle has been doing some typing for me—typing out my brochures, as a matter of fact.' 'That was very sweet of her. Where did you work?' 'In my suite.' 'But not this afternoon. I rang through this afternoon, but there was no reply. I slept most of the morning.

'I was at the pool, and later the pub.' He put his hands on the counter and then placed his fingers around his glass while both girls watched his movements. 'And—Chanelle?' Lowrie looked at Chanelle. 'Did you have a marvellous swim, darling?' Chanelle could see that Lowrie felt cool towards the idea of her having spent the afternoon with Steve. 'I didn't go to the pool.' She felt politely probed as to her whereabouts. 'What did you do?' 'I went for a walk.' Giving Steve one of her narrow-eyed looks, Lowrie said, 'I'm surprised you could bear to be parted from her.' 'Oh, we enjoyed going our separate ways,' Chanelle couldn't resist saying. 'Didn't we?' She looked at Steve. 'You shouldn't admit that, not even in front of Lowrie,' he replied. Lowrie hunched a shoulder and looked over it. 'I asked my host to meet me here. Has he been in, by the way?' 'If you mean Kendall the answer is no. At least, I haven't seen him about. Have you noticed him about, Chanelle?' 'No, I don't want to see him about.' When Curtis did arrive he looked past Chanelle and Steve with an expression of indifference. Chanelle tried to get a grip on her muddled thoughts and refused another drink. 'Nonsense,' said Lowrie. 'This is on me.'

'Credit me with a certain amount of—er—intelligence when it comes to knowing when I've had enough, Lowrie,' Chanelle said, somewhat aggressively. 'Oh, come on. That doesn't sound like much fun,' said Lowrie, 'but on the other hand, whatever you decide to do, don't strain yourself for my sake.' Chanelle looked at Curtis, In the dim light of the bar, their eyes met in a long unsmiling stare. 'How much has he seen?' she asked herself. 'Oh well, thank you,' she murmured. Curtis appeared hostile, very much at odds with the atmosphere of polite social geniality that swirled about them. Chanelle was becoming more and more intensely aware of Curtis in a way that exasperated her. Lowrie was talking about hotels. 'I'd like to own one,' she was saying. 'Do you know that?' She looked from face to face. 'Well, I wouldn't,' Chanelle answered flatly. She began to sip at the drink which she had refused in the first place. 'Do you know what I would really like to be right now?' She tilted her body in front of Steven's, so that she could look at Lowrie. 'Lowrie, do you know what I'd utterly adore to be right now?' 'No.' 'I'd like to be a drunken sailor in port—just for one night. That's all. I'd love to get into the biggest, toughest fight there ever was—you know the kind of thing, where they tip chairs and tables over and dodge around the place. Honestly, I'd love that.' Curtis pushed a bowl of nuts towards her. 'Here, have some,' he said, 'and shut up.'

'I won't shut up. But I forgot, I don't make a very good sailor, do I? Actually,' she looked from Lowrie to Steve and then back at Curtis again, 'I make a very disappointing sailor, do you know that?' 'I don't think anybody is interested in your inconsequential change of subject,' said Curtis, and they shared a very hostile look. 'It must be very embarrassing for you—to be reminded,' she told him, feeling discarded and furious. Vaguely, she was aware that she was talking too much. She almost saw herself as a drunken sailor and began to laugh. 'What's wrong with wanting to be a sailor and drunk and in port and in a fight? You tell me that?' She stopped laughing and looked at Curtis again. 'Your sailor-in-port (drunk, in brackets) is easy to explain.' His eyes were cold. 'You obviously have a great urge to release some inner tension by performing an act of violence.' With calculated rudeness, he turned away from her. When it was time for them to leave Steve said, 'Will you take my arm, Chanelle ? Even your very attractive slim legs can't be aware of the slight unevenness of a fitted carpet at this precise moment.' Laughing very softly, he added, for her ears alone, 'I guess you were right, my sweet, you are just a little tight.' 'Well, if I am, it's for the very first time.' Chanelle was trying to keep calm, but frankly she was worried. Drinking, she thought, was like being a drunk sailor in port. It was man's territory. Nevertheless, she walked slowly, but under control. Behind them, Lowrie was saying, 'Have you noticed that Chanelle seems to be all tied up with Steve?' 'Maybe they have some sort of understanding,' Curtis replied.

In the foyer, Lowrie said, 'Well, I have things to do. I have a problem with the frock I'm wearing tonight. The problem is that I find that I no longer want to wear it. I want to look out something else. I get like that when I'm depressed.' 'Is it a problem I can help you with?' Chanelle asked. 'Come up and have a look at it. You were right, you shouldn't have had that last drink. Baby, you've got a lot to learn—but you've found yourself a good teacher, believe me.' Lowrie's laugh was bitter. 'I speak from bitter, bitter experience, of course.' In her suite, Lowrie said, 'There's the frock.' 'It's gorgeous, Lowrie. What's wrong with it?' 'It reminds me of someone. I'm depressed enough without wearing the thing.' 'Oh?' Chanelle felt that the colour had left her face. 'Chanelle, how much does Steve mean to you?' 'He means nothing to me, Lowrie, apart from the fact that he happens to be a very attractive man I happened to meet on holiday. Why do you—ask?' Her voice dragged. 'Because I happen to be in love with him. Actually, it was by mere chance that we met up again at this particular time. I've never stopped being in love with him.' 'Somehow I thought it might be Curtis Kendall.' Chanelle's voice was low. She wished that her head would stop swimming. 'Well, I'm a little in love with him too, I guess. He's got everything, let's face it—money, good looks, stability. Even a girl like me has to

have that, eventually.' She drew in a long, shuddering breath. 'Actually, I'll be honest with you. I'm trying to get Curtis Kendall to fall for me. We have something in common—the surf. It's like a religion with us. It's as good a something-in- common to start with, as any.' 'In the meantime, though, you don't want me to have anything to do with Steve Conway. Is that it?' 'I'm warning you, dammit. Steve will never be able to settle down. I should know. Why the devil do you think he likes the kind of life he lives? All those safaris?' Chanelle's swimming head became an aching head. 'Lowrie, I'll be honest with you, too. I happen to be getting over something—very slowly.' 'What, measles?' Lowrie's voice was sarcastic. 'I've been jilted. Isn't that a laugh, for these days? He met this Italian girl and cleared off to Rome and I had all the dirty work to do— cancel everything, let everybody know, return all the gifts.' She took a breath. 'After Hilton walked out on me I forced myself to smile. I kept on smiling all the time, no matter what it was I had to do. After a while I couldn't smile any more. I had to get away. My face was sore from smiling.' 'And now that your face isn't sore any longer you're ripe for an affair?' 'I'm not sure. I've never had an—affair with anybody in my life. Not even Hilton.'

'Steve makes the perfect lover, by the way,' Lowrie said, and Chanelle flinched. 'If you're wanting more than just a lover, then Steve Conway isn't the man for you. However, it's all up to you.' 'In any case, I've made up my mind to go on Steve's next safari.' 'Well, that's your funeral, darling. You'll have a job trying to get out of the inevitable, that's all I can say. I'm going to be madly jealous, but I'll be pretty busy concentrating on Curtis. I feel quite coldblooded about this. I want him. I'm sick and tired of cabaret work.' 'I see,' Chanelle's answer was soft. She resented the unrest Lowrie's remarked evoked in her.

CHAPTER FIVE IT was certainly, thought Chanelle, one of the most delightful and interesting ways to see all the scenic wonders of the country. They were at the end of the first day of travelling in the deluxe motor coach. Steve, relaxed and alive-looking in his well-tailored safari suit, had slipped into his role of the well-informed, courteous courier immediately the tour began, and she had to admit to herself that he was enough to turn any woman's head. The passengers hailed from all over the country— some of them from overseas. They were friendly, interesting and all looking forward to seeing new places, meeting new people and, especially, to visiting the Kruger National Park. The party also included three nuns, and Chanelle couldn't help noticing how they responded to Steve's charm. The journey had been punctuated by frequent stops and, although they had been travelling most of the time, the day had seemed leisurely. Apparently seats were not allocated and while excellent visibility had been built into each seat position, to ensure fairness there had been frequent changes of seating positions which seemed to appeal to passengers and which afforded ample opportunity of getting to know everybody. Motel, hotel and rest camp accommodation was usually based on two persons per twin-bedded room for the period of the tours, so Chanelle was surprised to find herself the sole occupant of a single room at the pretentiously lush and sprawling motel on the first night of the tour. When she expressed this surprise to Steve he said, 'Actually, there are always a very limited number of single rooms available, quite apart from what the pamphlets say.'

'Did—did you—wangle this?' she asked, feeling disappointed and something like fear along With the disappointment. Throwing back his head, he laughed, 'Oh, come off it, Chanelle. Would you like me to try to have your accommodation changed? It makes no difference to me.' She felt instantly ashamed. 'No, of course not. Somehow I thought I'd be sharing with someone, you know. For instance, I've been sharing a seat in the coach with a Sadie Selkirk.' 'Well, I'll try to organize something for you,' he offered, and because she felt that she had really misjudged him now she said, 'No, please don't go to all that trouble, Steve.' After dinner, which she had along with Sadie Selkirk and two other girls, she had a nightcap in the lounge with its typical motel decor of stone, wood and slasto. There was no sign of Steve and she could only surmise that he was having his meal in another part of the motel—in the Grill Room, maybe, with drinks in the pub beforehand with some of the male passengers. In her room, with its private shower cubicle, radio and telephone, she stood for a moment feeling lonely and depressed and found herself wondering whether Steve had been insulted by her questions with regard to the accommodation which she had been allotted. As she helped herself to a glass of water she was puzzled over the fact that she had been craving for water all day long. Perhaps it was the travelling, she thought. One of the tourists, a middle-aged woman, had expressed the view that she would never drink water while travelling. 'Ah never touch wah-ter,' she said. 'When Ah'm thirsty Ah hold until Ah can get hold of a mineral wah-ter some place. Being from America Ah was warned against drinking too much wah-ter in strange places. It could cause an upset tummy.'

Chanelle switched on the radio and was aware of the fact that she felt tense, so when Steve knocked on her door and called out, she was not really surprised. 'I came to see how you're getting along,' he told her. 'Oh, fine—a bit lonely.' The minute the words were spoken she felt a shock at having uttered them. What she really was getting at was the fact that she had been given single accommodation when she would so much rather have been with another girl. 'I was afraid of that,' he replied. 'I couldn't turn in before I came to find out how things were with you. Tell me, Chanelle, are you enjoying the trip? You are, aren't you?' He sounded eager to please, eager to have her say that all was well with her. 'Yes, very much.' Desperately she wondered whether she should ^ask him to sit down. At one end the room was arranged as a lounge with two comfortable chairs, a long coffee table, an attractive lamp and flowers. She was smiling, but was irritated by his visit. 'Would you like to sit down?' She regarded him with uneasy displeasure now. 'Thank you—just for a few moments.' He looked so businesslike, handsome and distinguished that she asked herself why she should feel keyed up about his visit. She poured herself another glass of water and he watched her. 'Would you like me to ring for something else for you to drink?' he asked, half rising. 'No, thank you. As a matter of fact, I had a nightcap with Sadie Selkirk and the others before I came back to my room.'

'A word of advice, Chanelle. Don't drink too much water on your travels. Some people are affected by it.' 'I'm terribly thirsty,' she told him. 'I've been thirsty all day. It must be the travelling.' She did not tell him about the queer hot feeling, like an unhealthy freak Berg wind, that kept floating up from her tummy into her mouth. It was nothing which could be described, except that it was there—a hot, uncomfortable feeling which made itself known as it crept up into her mouth and filled her with a wild desire to drink water. 'You look tired. Are you?' His voice was very gentle. 'No. I mean—yes. I'm ready for bed.' 'Has the trip so far taken your mind off things?' 'Yes. I'm beginning to see him for what he was, so it must have.' She laughed nervously. Steve's dark eyes went on possessing her and she was aware of the need for caution. He stood up. 'I'm glad you trust me, Chanelle,' he said softly, and after a little helpless pause she replied, 'Who said I trusted you, Steve?' She had to force her voice to sound light, slightly mocking and yet firm enough, she hoped, to put him back in his place. 'I can't get you out of my mind,' he said. 'You must know that, of course? I'd like to get to know you better.' Shrugging, she said, 'Well, I hadn't given it much thought—you know.' She might have known it, she was thinking bitterly. He had only been biding his time before he meant to try his little experiments on her.

'I wish you wouldn't,' she murmured, 'because nothing can come of it...' She began to realise that, like a fool, she had placed herself in this man's very experienced hands. 'I'd look after you, Chanelle.' After a moment he said, 'I notice you don't say anything.' 'What do you want me to say?—but in any case, Steve -' 'I just want to make you happy, Chanelle darling.' In an almost famished movement he had taken her into his arms. A gust of rage, mingled with panic, swept over her. She had invited trouble, and she knew it. 'I've never had it put as—as compact as that,' she said, in a strangled little voice. 'I—I know what you've been thinking and I know what I've been thinking, but apparently we were both quite wrong, Steve.' 'Don't you believe that for a moment, Chanelle. You're looking at this quite narrowly, believe me.' 'I'm sorry, I just don't see things that way.' So he had been experimenting on her? 'It's all right, Chanelle.' His mouth was seeking her own and she tried to turn her head away. 'No, it's all wrong, Steve.' 'It's not wrong. Ethics shouldn't get in the way of a man and a girl alone together. Not when anybody feels the way I feel about you.' A wave of despair washed over Chanelle like a flood of dirty water. 'Please, Steve, let go of me!'

'I don't think you really mean that,' he said against her auburn hair. 'I was hoping that you'd see things my way. Personally, I do believe you're looking at this whole thing from a very narrow point of view. Love is something to be enjoyed, not something to be examined.' 'Who spoke of love?' Desperately, she looked up into his eyes. 'This isn't love. Steve.' 'I had the feeling you were just more than a little attracted to me,' he said, his voice strained. 'Don't disillusion me by telling me that I was wrong. All I want to do is to make you happy, to help you to forget.' 'Forgetting is the sort of thing that comes on gradually,' she told him, trying to wriggle free. 'This sort of thing isn't going to help me to forget—I was wrong, it's only going to make me feel worse.' He held her closer. 'So you had thought about it?' he said triumphantly, and she knew that she had fallen into a trap. 'You did have something like this in mind? Take your time, then. Take it easy. I'm not going to hurt you.' 'I—I think I'm going to have hysterics in a moment.' She had no regard for his feelings now. 'I'm sorry if I misled you—now will you leave me alone?' As he released her he said, 'You were playing a game with me, of course.' 'No,' she told him miserably. 'It was a game with myself. I'm sorry, Steve. The blame lies entirely with me. I was suffering from reaction. I've been doing all sorts of crazy things.' 'You've provoked and encouraged my attentions,' he said. His eyes were cold. 'I know—I'm sorry.'

'I'll say goodnight. Remember about the water, will you?' When Chanelle was alone she cried—great, gasping sobs which made up for all the time she had fought them back at home as she struggled to go ahead with trying to patch up her life. She knew that she was going to look a sight in the morning and she didn't care. When she calmed down she lay in headachy silence, staring at the dark shape of the wood-stripped ceiling, aware that she felt cold and shivery. Automatically she drew her legs up against the pain, which seemed too vague to worry about. In the morning, however, the vague pain became a threat. She looked and felt terrible. Steve was nowhere in sight during breakfast. 'You're not eating,' Sadie Selkirk said, tucking in herself. 'Don't you feel well?' 'It's nothing—just cramps in my tummy,' Chanelle replied, while a wave of nausea gripped her. 'I don't know why. I shouldn't have cramps right now—but there you are.' She caught her breath. 'You know, Sadie, it just struck me, but we had mushrooms last night.' 'You did,' Sadie remarked, wiping her lips with her napkin. 'I didn't. I'm too smart to eat mushrooms at random. I like to know where my mushrooms came from and how old they are.' A new fright claimed Chanelle. 'I hope I'm not in for mushroom poisoning?' Why wasn't she smart? she asked herself. Everybody was so smart, while she got caught every time. 'Well, if you are, I'm sure half the people here at the motel are in for it too.' Shrugging, Sadie said, 'Everybody looks okay to me, Chanelle.'

'Actually,' Chanelle's face looked pinched, 'now that I come to think of it I had this feeling coming on before we arrived here—before the mushrooms. I just wanted to drink water and I had this peculiar hot feeling coming up from my tummy. Last night I felt shivery.' Sadie, obviously not wanting to have her own holiday ruined by this new friend, said lightly, 'Well, it looks as though you'll just have to grin and bear it. You'll have to ask our very handsome and distinguished-looking courier to keep driving into the side of the road, near some bushes, of course,' she laughed, 'because it looks as though you're in for a very upset tummy.' 'Oh—nooooo!' Chanelle's voice was just a wail. 'I can just see myself asking him!' 'Here,' Sadie fiddled around in her bag. 'Suck one of these.' 'What are they?' 'They're Varnies. Might nip things in the bud. I only hope so, for your sake.' Chanelle swallowed the tablet. 'Why don't you speak to Steve Conway about this?' Sadie said. 'After all, he must have been faced with this same problem before. Besides, these types have to know something about first aid and elementary nursing. He'll advise you what to do. He might even keep something in a first aid box in the coach, for all we know.' The colour drained from Chanelle's face. 'I couldn't, honestly!' 'Well, I will.' Before the coach was due to leave Steve said, 'Chanelle, I understand you aren't feeling so hot? This is a fine time to tell me!' They stood facing each other, making no contact. Steve's eyes were accusing.

'I didn't think it was anything—important.' She was thinking, 'What a honeymoon!' and while she thought about it she felt a different kind of sickness. 'It was a damned silly thing to go on drinking water at every stop we took,' he said. 'Why didn't you just stick to tea?' He was once more the efficient courier in charge. The part suited him, but she missed that soft look he always had for her. 'Anyway, I've got you something. Take the first dose now and a dose after—well, you know—each time.' 'How am I going to manage?' she asked helplessly. 'You have no option but to manage. Get that first dose down now. Take it in water—you'll see the instructions. Tell me if you are in trouble,' he told her, before he got into the coach. For Chanelle the day was a hideous nightmare. A nightmare of cramps and trying to pretend she didn't have them. A nightmare of dashing to rest rooms directly they stopped somewhere, because of course she didn't tell Steve to stop the coach. Once she even had to be sick in a rest room and staggered back against the cold, tiled wall. In all her pain and confusion the irony of her honeymoon-for-one struck her as funny and she began to laugh, smothering her hysterical laughter with the palm of one hand. Swallowing, she wiped the tears which had come along with the laughter from her eyes, took out her mirror and did things to her pale face to make it appear that she was not going through all this. Pretorius Kop seemed a long, long time in coming, but they were there at last. 'How do you feel?' Steve asked, after having tracked her down in the bungalow she was to share with Sadie.

'Terrible, I'm afraid.' She gave him a wry little smile. He did not smile back. 'Anyway,' she said, swallowing, 'thank goodness we're here.' 'Chanelle,' he said, 'do you realise that we leave this camp tomorrow for Skukuza? You'll have to get the better of this.' The sharp edge of panic nudged her again. 'I— knew, of course, but I hadn't really given it much thought, you know. I was just so—so thankful to be here at last, I'd overlooked the other—about going, I mean.' He shrugged impatiently and the gesture angered her. 'Surely you could warn people about drinking too much water,' she said. 'In advance—before they set out on safari?' His face was hostile. 'Are you criticizing the tour?' he asked sarcastically. 'No, of course not, but I just thought...' 'Just leave the thinking for me to do, Chanelle. Anyway, you'd better make the best of the stop-over here to be in some sort of shape for tomorrow.' The following day, after a restless night, when she knew that Sadie was silently cursing her, they left for Skukuza, keeping to selected game trails. After a break at Skukuza they were to go along the Lower Sabie Road and return to Skukuza for an overnight stay. 'I think I'd better rest in bed,' said Chanelle, trying to share her predicament with a reluctant Sadie. 'Don't you, Sadie?' She was sorry to have to do this to Sadie, who was so obviously fed up with it all.

'Yes, why don't you? It might do the trick. Keep warm and keep taking your medicine. Aren't you feeling better? Aren't things lifting up, for Pete's sake?' 'Well, yes, but I'm still battling.' 'It might be as well, in that case,' said Sadie, with frank callousness, 'for you to stay behind and not inflict your troubles on the others. After all, they all want to have a good holiday. Besides, the sort of thing you have—enteritis—is catching, isn't it? I hope I don't catch it from you. Frankly, it's worrying.' Sadie's remarks hurt because she felt that she had managed her troubles pretty well. She had not been aware of the fact that she had inflicted her troubles on other people as she had tried to cope alone and to pretend that nothing was amiss. 'I wish we could make arrangements for you to move in with somebody else, Sadie. I'm just a nuisance in the bungalow with you.' 'Well, I wouldn't blame you for wanting to be alone.' Sadie sounded more than just a little eager. 'If so, perhaps they could work something.' 'If they could, maybe it would be better.' 'You wouldn't mind? You wouldn't be nervous at night on your own?' 'Of course not. There's nothing to be nervous about.' As she spoke, Chanelle suppressed the spasm of fear which gripped her. 'Well, we'll see what we can do, then, shall we?' Sadie sounded businesslike now. 'I mean, it must be very embarrassing for you, and all that—having company when you feel so out of sorts.'

Before the coach left for Lower Sabie Steve paid her a visit. 'How are you feeling, Chanelle?' he asked, feeling her forehead. He was very professional about it. 'All right, but I'd like to rest, though. May I?' The smile he gave her might have been one of sympathetic understanding, but she had the feeling that it was a smile that bordered on just this side of impatience. 'Certainly, you do that. If you're in the least worried or unhappy about anything just go up to the office and have a chat to the Superintendent. The staff are equipped to deal with the odd calamity, but...' he gestured towards the built-in vanity basin, where her bottle of medicine stood forlornly waiting on her to take the next dose, 'that stuff seems to be doing the trick. It usually clears this sort of thing up pretty smartly.' 'Yes,' she put her teeth down on her lips as another cramp threatened her, 'I know.' She watched the coach leave in a red haze of dust and felt relief, mingled with a vast kind of loneliness. Most of the day she dozed, thankful to be able to do this. She did not even bother to go to the restaurant to see if there was anything suitable to eat. At the back of all her dozing she was aware of the sound of cars, caravans, station-wagons and Kombies as they came and went. The sky was a sheet of gold and scarlet by the time the luxury coach arrived back at camp. Sadie and one or two others called in to see Chanelle. Somebody, she forgot who, brought her a curio. When Steve called to find out how she was he said, 'This morning your hut-mate suggested that I should try to organize that you be by yourself. I've managed to do this. I had to wait until we got back to

find out what could be arranged. She said you felt that you'd prefer to be alone, in the circumstances.' So it was arranged! Chanelle slipped down further beneath the blanket. 'Yes.' She hoped she wasn't going to cry. 'You're shivering,' said Steve. 'I'm going to bring you a brandy and something very light to eat. Have you eaten?' 'No.' She sighed. 'I'm not very hungry, but in any case, I can get up and go along to the restaurant with the others.' 'You'll stay where you are.' His voice was sharp, utterly and completely in command, 'and try to knock yourself into some kind of shape for tomorrow.' The thought of tomorrow filled Chanelle with a new horror. 'Well, I won't burden you,' said Steve, when he had brought her brandy and soup with bread along, 'but I'll call in to see you before we turn in.' 'Thank you.' Her voice was small. She felt small. After he had gone she thought about him and thought was a pity it was that he appeared to have this weakness so far as women were concerned. Somewhere an African instrument was being played. Normally she would have found the delicate tuneless sound quite enchanting, but now the music filled her with despair. All about the camp there was a peculiar throbbing restless interest which she could not share. She turned her face to one side and closed her eyes and knew that they were wet.

Later she got up to wash and brush her teeth, examining her tongue in the mirror, but the light was too bad to see anything. She looked out of the window, for something to do. The stars blazed overhead and the breeze was exhilarating and scented with wood-smoke, dry bush, dust and the vague, exciting kind of smells which went along with a game reserve. Suddenly she became extraordinarily aware of Curtis Kendall as she stood motionless and staring out into the night. Nearby a child cried and coughed and a woman raised her voice in quick anger. Thinking about how Curtis Kendall had treated her made Chanelle want to break down and cry despairingly herself along with the child. It all hurt so, when she had done absolutely nothing to him. The fact that she had caused him to risk his own life in the sea for her was not her fault. 'Why do men do these things to me?' she whispered. Steve's knock made her scurry back into her bed, after she had lifted the latch from the screen door which was fitted in front of the main door. 'Come in.' Her eyes were wide as she looked at him. 'Did you take your nourishment?' he asked—oh, civilly enough; 'Yes.' 'And are you going to be all right on your own?' 'Yes.' She felt like a child. 'By the way, Chanelle, this is not an advance.' His smile was merely a slight movement of his mouth and did nothing to his eyes. 'I know that.' 'Did you drink your brandy?' 'I was keeping it for—later.'

'Well, fair enough. It'll put a heat in your tummy— make you sleep. I'll leave you, then. You haven't a temperature, by the way. I think you're over the worst. You're not going to die, so cheer up, Chanelle.' This time he really did smile. 'I know.' She returned the smile. 'Thank you for everything.' 'Okay. Goodnight, Chanelle.' 'Goodnight.' She almost liked him, but not quite, after what he had expected of her. During the night the night noises frightened her. Had she not been alone, they would have thrilled her. Rubbish bins were knocked over in some mysterious way and she surmised this to be the work of hyenas or baboons. When the bin outside her own door went crashing on to the small concrete area she just about fainted with terror and, with her eyes glued to the wire mesh door, protected in turn by the wooden stable-type door, she had ridiculous visions of a hyena standing on his hind legs in an effort to open the door. By morning her head was aching and although her stomach complaint had eased up, she felt wretched. Steve, impatient and arrogant, took one look at her and said, 'Look, Chanelle, I'm going to have to leave you behind. You can't travel like this. I'm going to make the necessary arrangements for you to stay on here. You might have to move into another bungalow, but I'll try to have you fixed up somehow. I'll make arrangements too to have you taken care of. I'll call back here for you in two days' time, on our way out of the reserve. By that time you should be fit enough to travel back to Durban.' 'Oh, no, please. I'll be all right.' She knew by his expression, however, that he would not yield.

'I'm doing this for your own good,' he told her. 'Surely you realise that?' 'But....' 'Please pay me the compliment of keeping quiet,' he said. 'I'll be back presently to let you know what I've managed to arrange—in your own interest.' When he came back it was to tell her that everything was organized for her not only to stay on in the reserve but to remain in her own bungalow. 'You'll have no problems, no money problems—nothing. You're merely to stay here and get over your troubles. I'm sorry, but there you are. Besides, I have the other passengers to think of.' She looked at him with disbelief, mingled with anger. 'My troubles are over, Steve. I just feel a bit washed out, that's all.' 'You must admit, if you're honest with yourself, that you'll be better off here, just resting. You'll be quite safe. As a matter of fact, the Superintendent has offered to come along and see how you are. He'll also get one of the womenfolk to drop in on you.' And looking very handsome, freshly shaved and lotioned he left her, and once again, from her window, Chanelle saw the deluxe motor coach depart in a red haze of dust.

CHAPTER SIX SHE was alone now, and the thought added to her feeling of fright. Turning away from the window, she allowed herself to fall back on her bed and lay staring up at the thatch. Her misery had begun to show in her face. Whereas time had been so important to her before, as they travelled from one point to another in the coach, time had now become unimportant to her. Instead it loomed away in front of her. She imagined Hilton in Rome with the girl, in a marble-floored room with a ceiling which had blue and pink chariots painted on it. All about the camp there was activity. The sounds she heard should have been thrilling, but in the circumstances, the voices, vehicles and bird noises, mingled with the inexplicable excitement of the smell of sun-washed bush and dust, meant absolutely nothing to her. There was a knock at her door and, believing it to be one of the African men who were responsible for the cleaning of bungalows, she got up and opened the door. Curtis Kendall stood just outside her bungalow and she looked at him stupidly while, out of the confusion of disappointment, loneliness and self-pity, she felt relief. 'What on earth are you doing here?' she gasped. 'Never mind what I'm doing here, but in any case, you're breaking camp,' he told her. 'Breaking camp?' 'Yes. I'm taking you back.' She was still confused. 'Back where?'

'Back home.' 'Home? You mean to—my home?' 'No, I don't mean that. I mean back to the hotel. You can take it from there.' 'Who,' she moistened her lips, 'asked you to do this? My father? Has my father been in touch with you?' 'One thing.' 'Yes?' 'Nobody asked me to do this. I'm here because I decided it this way. It was a decision made not without profound thought, on my part.' 'Well—' she shrugged helplessly, 'how did you know where to find me? All these bungalows, for one thing.' 'Your friend Steve Conway told me where to find you. Look, to save all this beating about the bush—I arrived this morning, just before the coach left. I asked for you and Conway filled in some of the details. I guess he kept some back. However, that's beside the point. I can guess the rest. I told him you would be breaking camp.' She looked at him in amazement. 'Just like that?' 'Just like that.' 'But why?' She had forgotten how attractive he was, slightly crooked teeth and all. 'I've been following you up. I got details of the safari from the travel agent.'

'I'm still trying to work this out,' she told him. 'Why? Why did you do this? What's all this about my—breaking camp?' 'What did you expect when you allowed Conway to arrange this trip for you? You deliberately led him on, back at the hotel, until he saw you as you no doubt intended he should see you—sophisticated and living the kind of life he could only gauge by the kind of life he leads, and then, in this reckless frame of mind, you came on this tour with him.' 'Don't tell me you came all the way here just to tell me that?' 'I have no sense of distance,' he replied shortly. 'What kind of man leaves a girl behind when she's been sick? He told me you'd been sick, by the way.' 'He merely left me behind so that I could recover properly. He looked after me extremely well, as it so happens.' 'Did he toe the line?' His smile held a hint of malice. Ignoring his remark and the hint of malice, she said, 'He saw to it that I had all the necessary medicine and light food. He also happened to make the necessary arrangements for me to stay on here and for someone to keep an eye on me. I guess he couldn't have done much more than that. Even you will have to admit it. The tour had to go on.' 'Oh, sure.' His tone was sarcastic. He studied her for a moment before he said, 'You must have been a hell of a disappointment to him, that's all I can say.' His expression changed suddenly to one of amusement. 'Look, can't we stick to the point?' she asked, with some heat. 'You've explained exactly nothing to me. I'm completely in the dark.' 'Figure it out for yourself.'

'I can't. Anyway, I don't intend to break camp and that's all there is to it. I'm not going back on my arrangements with Steve. What right have you to come after me like this and to order me around in this fashion? Are you positive my father didn't get in touch with you at the hotel? After all, he could have rung the hotel and been put through to you.' 'Sure I'm sure. You appear to me to be a girl who needs to be rescued, from time to time. What medicines have you been taking, by the way?' 'That bottle there, next to the basin.' She gestured in the direction of the vanity unit and went on regarding him—puzzled over him. 'Are you definitely feeling better?' he asked, after reading the instructions on the label on the bottle. Chanelle knew she had coloured. 'I think so. I don't know.' 'If you don't know how is anybody else to know? Let me put it this way—are you okay to travel?' 'Would I be here if I was okay to travel?' she asked impatiently. 'Besides, even if I felt fit enough, do you think I'd do that to Steve?' 'I think I made it pretty clear to him that you'll be going back with me.' 'And—and he didn't even say anything?' She looked at him in blank amazement. 'I didn't give him much chance to say anything.' 'Why didn't Steve come back here to discuss matters with me?' She sounded, now, as she felt—annoyed.

'He seemed to think that you were old enough to make up your own mind.' There was a small twist to the smile about his lips. 'Tell me, have you had breakfast?' 'Yes, I have.' A bitter anger welled up against Steve Conway. She looked away, biting her lip. 'Well, I haven't. I'm going along to the restaurant to see what I can get. Are you coming? You could have some coffee and watch me eat.' 'I don't want coffee. I told you....' she broke off, impatiently, 'and I certainly have no wish to watch you eat.' 'Jokes aside,' Curtis said, 'you look terrible. Get back into bed and stay there. Spend the day there.' 'I spent the day here yesterday.' 'Another day won't hurt. Take it easy, and if you're well enough, we'll leave in the morning and take it in slow stages going back.' 'Oh, will we? You seem to have everything all planned out very nicely.' 'Yes, I have, so make up your mind about that. You're not going to be here when Conway and his tribe get back.' Chanelle stood her ground. 'We'll see about that. This is the biggest lot of nonsense I've ever heard of. Wasn't there enough to keep you occupied in running your four-star hotel? What I can't fathom out is what gives you the idea that I want to go back with you. And while we're on the subject, what gives you the idea that you can come chasing after me and start running my life for me?'

'I don't want to run your life for you. I just don't want to see you make a hash of it.' 'Well, that's very generous of you,' she answered sarcastically. 'Besides, my life is already a hash—not that I had much say over it.' 'There might be something worth saving.' He smiled, but she was irritated by his smile. 'By the way,' he went on, 'you might just be pleased to hear that I was able to get fixed up in a bungalow right near here. That was a spot of luck. I was lucky enough to be here this morning when a general move- on was in progress. This was a cancellation booking. It came through on the phone just as I was at the desk.' 'Frankly, it doesn't matter to me, one way or another,' she told him, but it did matter. It mattered a lot. She knew, slowly absorbing the knowledge, that she was relieved to know that Curtis was close to her. 'I'll drop in later to see how you are,' he said, ignoring her remark. 'I have a couple of magazines in the car. Perhaps you would like to have them?' 'Thank you.' She couldn't resist his offer and the thought of being alone again in the bungalow filled her with dismay. Curtis came back to see her at morning-tea time and again during the lunch hour when, on both these occasions, they went along to the restaurant together. 'You are making sure that I eat, aren't you?' she said. Walking loosely beside her on the dusty path, which was bronzed by the sun, he smiled and said, 'That's what I had in mind when I came back for you.'

'Oh, did you?' She felt both amused and annoyed. 'Uh-huh.' He gave her a sideways glance. 'I'll look in later on in the afternoon again, to see how you are, and if I'm satisfied with what I see, I might just take you out to spot game.' 'And I might just not come,' she replied, smiling. They were back at her bungalow after an enjoyable lunch. Chanelle was beginning to lose the taut look she had had when Curtis had first turned up at the camp. Ignoring her remark, he grinned and began to whistle softly while he opened the stable door for her. 'You will just do as you're told,' he said. 'Take a nap and I'll be back when it's time to wake you up.' There was something disconcerting about his elaborate concern for her and she shrugged, trying to disguise a certain amount of embarrassment. 'That remains to be seen,' she answered lightly, before she closed the screen door, giving it a somewhat stronger push than was absolutely necessary. From behind the gauze wire he gave her a grin before he turned away and began walking in the direction of his own bungalow. She did not sleep, and when Curtis came to her bungalow she welcomed the idea of having company. 'I came early to tell you that lions have been spotted just outside the camp. Are you all set to go?' 'Oh, marvellous! I'd love to go. I was just beginning to feel bored in this old bungalow.'

'And you think that spotting lion will solve the problem?' He waited for her just outside the door, as she did things to her face and hair and looked round for her bag, a light jersey and a headscarf. 'I think so. On the other hand, it might just lead to trouble. Everything I do always seems to lead to trouble, somehow. I don't plan it this way. It just happens.' 'Well, it's time you did something about it,' he told her. 'I'll have to think of something. Come on, Chanelle, make it snappy. We haven't all that much time before the camp gates close for the night.' When they were out of camp a surge of excitement went through Chanelle as she looked at the sun- tangled bush. 'Who told you about the lions?' she asked. 'I was in the shop. Everybody was talking lion.' Curtis was wearing khaki pants and shirt and a felt bush hat and suddenly she laughed, 'Where did you get the hat?' 'At the shop.' He turned to grin at her. He looked rakish with his tan and the new hat and his fascinating two front teeth which never failed to hold her attention simply because of their slight unevenness. 'I decided to treat myself.' 'You should have bought me one to keep you company,' she said gaily. 'You'd look far too dangerous, with all that red hair and a hat with a leopard-skin band.' 'It's not red, it's auburn.' 'Is there a difference?'

'Of course. Girls with red hair have more spirit than girls with auburn hair.' 'Well, you've done all right for yourself so far.' His voice carried a note of amusement and she found herself laughing. Through the wide windscreen they had a view of a vulture as it poised before wheeling down in great wide circles. 'Look, maybe there's been a kill already.' Chanelle was immediately alert. 'I hope not. You couldn't take that,' he mocked her. 'In any case, I hardly think so. From what I could gather those animals haven't had much peace with everybody flying out to view them.' Waiting until her heart regained its usual slow beat, she said, 'Actually, I'd hate to be in on a kill.' Just thinking about it made her feel sick. 'Talking about a kill,' he gave her a lazy look, 'I half- promised to be in on the kill, didn't I?' 'Except that this wasn't the kind of kill you had in mind, was it? You were hoping I would come to some sort of sticky end, weren't you?' 'Not hoping,' he said. 'Knowing.' In the distance, the sky was turning orange. 'I hope they're not too far off,' said Curtis, glancing at his watch. 'There's not all that much time before the camp gates close.' 'I'd hate to turn back without having seen them,' Chanelle answered, looking at the changing angles of light on the trees and the grass. 'I wonder if there's a pride?'

'No. According to what I was told there are two—a lion and a lioness, and I didn't want to mention this before, if the story is correct, there is a herd of buffalo close by.' 'Oh, gee!' Chanelle's breath caught. 'A herd of buffalo? That's quite something, isn't it? I don't trust buffalo. I don't think anybody trusts them.' He turned to look at her, narrowing his grey eyes a little against the slanting angle of the orange sun. 'Are you scared?' 'Yes, of course. Buffalo! A—a big herd?' 'I believe so. According to rumours there's been a lot of excitement this afternoon.' Curtis slowed down and then brought the car to a halt. They scanned the dusty bush. 'I thought I saw something,' he said, 'although this won't be the place. Apparently there's almost a traffic jam in the vicinity of the lions.' They watched a car approaching. It pulled up alongside them. 'There's lion back there,' the driver called out. 'You might just make it, but there's a herd of buffalo, man. I think there's going to be some fun, but I couldn't wait to see the result. I'm not at Skukuza. I'm to hell and gone at the other side of the camp. I've got a long way to go before the gates close. I would like to have stayed on, though, to watch the fireworks. Buffaloes have been known to attack and drive off lions, do you know that? But you can't move there, man. The cars are jammed thick. They've been inching forward all afternoon, cutting the lion off. They, of course, are trying to cross the road to get down to the river to drink.' 'How many—a pride?' Curtis asked.

'No, two. Lion and lioness.' 'And buffalo—approximately?' 'Man, I'd say there's about a thousand.' He raised a hand. 'Well, I must be off. I don't want a fine for being late.' Chanelle's eyes were wide with fright. 'A thousand? What if they charge?' 'Then we'll charge too—in the opposite direction. Don't worry, I'll watch it.' Soon afterwards they saw the buffalo, which were at first just vague black shapes in the bush. Several cars moved slowly in front of them and it was obvious that the drivers were being more than just a little cautious. 'That buddy was right,' Curtis said. 'There could be anything up to a thousand. What a sight!' The animals could be plainly seen now. Magnificent —black, massive, muscular, with large horns which, in the case of old bulls, formed huge convex bosses, covering the head like a helmet. In front of Curtis the drivers of the cars thought wise to slacken speed again until they were barely moving. Immediately in front several buffalo were beginning to cross the road, in the direction of the river. Curtis slackened speed again while, beside him, Chanelle was tense with nerves. 'Well, so much for the lion and his good lady,' Curtis said, 'because it looks as though we're going to have to turn back.'

'I think so, too,' Chanelle's voice was tight. 'They might charge. I'm terrified!' Curtis reached for her hand. 'Don't be. I might not be the big coolheaded Steve Conway, but I'll make a plan.' She was aware of the teasing sarcasm in his tone and took her hand away. At that moment a car overtook them. The driver was breaking all the golden rules. He was not only exceeding the speed limit but was blowing his hooter in an endeavour to clear the road of buffalo. Obviously he was on his way to spot lion and nothing, not even a heard of buffalo, was going to stop him. Swearing softly, Curtis said, 'What the hell is he trying to do—cause a stampede?' Oddly enough, however, the hooter drove back the buffalo and the road was clear and the car was soon lost in a cloud of golden, sunfiltered dust. 'I think we'll do the same,' said Curtis. 'We'll break through while the going is good. Everybody else seems to be doing the same thing.' Chanelle's look was worried. 'Relax,' he said, without looking at her. 'There's nothing to worry about.' 'Look at all those cars ahead,' Chanelle gasped. 'They're parked all over the road. We've reached them —the lion and lioness!' In an effort to stop the two puzzled animals from crossing the road on their way down to the river all the cars had inched forward, from time to time, thus cutting off the lions and providing view space for other cars behind.

A huge ginger mane waved in the light wind and then a tail—two tails—whipped from side to side and there, glaring at them through half-closed yellow eyes, were the lions. 'Don't let them through!' somebody shouted, and Chanelle felt a surge of anger. 'Oh, how cruel,' she exclaimed. 'Why don't they let the poor things cross over?' 'This is an old trick,' said Curtis. 'One sees many melancholy happenings in the reserve. Sometimes, I'm afraid, one is forced to turn one's head away.' 'Oh, you can say that again,' she replied, on an angry breath, feeling ashamed and disgusted at all the sightseers with their clicking cameras. The sun was beginning to slant away now, covered by a reddish haze of dust. Time was getting on. Next to them, a driver called out to Curtis, 'There's going to be some fun, in a moment. Buffalo coming up. It will be interesting to know what those lions are going to do—what the buffalo are going to do, for that matter. Anyway, we'll see. Pity it's so late, though. Nearly time for the gates to shut.' Probably because of the time factor the cars in front had deemed it fit to allow the lions to cross over from one side to the other, and it was at this moment that sanity began to return to the sightseers. Buffalo were now something to be respected, and people were driving off. 'We'll follow everybody else,' Curtis said. 'Will we be able to reach camp this way?' Chanelle sounded worried.

'Yes. It's a bit longer, but we eventually reach a point where we branch off—back to camp.' He grinned at her. 'We're probably going to be fined for being late, do you know that? I hope you have some money?' 'If we are fined, we're not going to be the only ones,' she answered cheerfully. Curtis stopped the car further on, where high above the river they would watch the lion and lioness as they flopped down on a sand bank before deciding to do anything about drinking. 'That was a perfect ending,' Chanelle sounded happy. 'It reminded me of the film Born Free of "Elsa" fame.' 'Tell me,' said Curtis, looking at the red and beryl sunset, 'are you going to have a sundowner with me when we get back?' Suddenly she knew that she would enjoy a drink. 'Thank you. I'd love one.' 'I bought something today,' he told her. 'Just in case.' 'I'm glad you did.' They had the drink outside her bungalow and the drink sent a comfortable glow leaping up from Chanelle's tender stomach. She began to feel relaxed. At this time of the day the entire camp was of throbbing, restless interest. The sky still flamed with the last rays of a fantastically beautiful sunset. There was the smell of meat sizzling as those people who were not intending using the restaurant prepared the evening meal. People

came and went in the shadows which were beginning to thicken. For the first time in days Chanelle felt her first pang of hunger. 'Are you hungry?' Curtis asked, and she laughed. 'Yes, you must have read my mind. Madly hungry.' 'Well, watch what you eat,' he told her. 'I want you fit for the journey tomorrow.' There was a small silence and then she said, swirling the liquid around in her glass, 'This is going to be embarrassing for you—but I'm not going back with you. You've come all this way for nothing.' 'Are you going to sit back there and tell me you'll wait for Conway? Maybe he is the man you want after all?' 'I told you, I agreed to stay here.' 'Fair enough, but the fact still remains that, once he'd washed his hands of you, he failed to come back here with me to try to sort things out with you—to see if this was what you wanted.' 'I seem to remember you telling me that you didn't give him much chance to say anything,' she snapped back. 'However, no doubt he didn't come back here for the very simple reason that he trusted me to stay on, regardless of what you had to say on the matter.' 'And you in return trust him, I suppose?' 'Well, of course. He has to come back here, anyway. That comes under the tour.' 'That's not what I meant, actually.' He stood up and took her glass from her. 'Well, let's eat.'

Before going into the restaurant, with its oiled wood and arrangements of proteas and heather, they went to stand at the rail of the fence where they could look down at the Sabie River which glimmered in the half- light like mother-of-pearl. Chanelle took a deep breath. 'Isn't it wonderfully peaceful?' Next to her, said Curtis, sounding cool and detached, 'All sorts of things go on. It isn't always peace. Even wild animals have their differences.' For a moment she was quiet, then she said, 'Anyway, I'm pleased to have been able to experience this. I feel lucky to have been so happy for once during my freak honey—holiday.' Without turning, but she could feel the change in his voice, he said, 'Go on. You have all my attention. I'd like to hear more about this honey—holiday. Freak.' 'What I mean is that I'm glad I allowed Steve to talk me into coming on this trip.' 'It's a pity that he isn't here to share this moment of utter tranquillity with you, then, isn't it?' He took his elbows away from the rail. 'You know why he isn't here,' she replied impatiently, taking her own arms off the rail and standing back. 'Come, let's go and eat before we spoil things, because it's been a pretty good day, after all.' When they had eaten Chanelle said, 'I enjoyed that —very much.' 'I'm pleased to hear it. The chef certainly knows what he's about. There's a film show on—I checked up. Would you like to go?'

Hesitating, she said, 'No, I don't think so.' 'Is this out of principle, or don't you feel like going?' Laughing a little, she said, 'It's out of principle, of course.' 'Well,' he gave her an impatient look, 'that's kind of stupid, isn't it?' 'I suppose so.' 'In that case, let's go.' The film show was mainly about the Kruger National Park, and when it was over Curtis walked back with her to her bungalow. At the door he said, 'Well, goodnight.' 'Goodnight.' 'About tomorrow,' he went on, 'I want you to come back with me.' 'I'm sorry, I can't. Aren't you being a bit stupid about this?' 'I know when I'm being stupid, and I know when other people are being stupid too.' In the glimmering darkness he gave her a long look. 'I happen to know Conway's reputation with women, and you're just ripe for trouble. Don't start something all over again, something that you know damn well you won't be able to finish.' 'He expects me to go back with him.' 'To hell with what he expects! I'll see you in the morning. See that you have everything packed.' She turned away. 'I'm sorry, Curtis, the answer is no. I mean—after all, I didn't ask you to come. You make me feel awful.' Miserably, she added, 'It was such a long way to come.'

'I told you,' his voice was hard, 'I have no sense of distance— especially when I happen to want something.' 'I can't understand what it is you want.' 'Forget it,' he told her and, miserably, she went inside. He closed the stable-door behind the screen door which she snibbed. While she had to confess to herself that she wanted to go back with Curtis Kendall she felt that this would be unfair to Steve who, regardless of everything, had booked her on this tour. And yet, she argued with herself, had he really played the game with her? She had invited trouble—and she knew it. Right from the very word 'go' she had acted rashly, and she should have known that there would have been a bill to settle, so far as Steve was concerned. Her mind, with nothing to do now, began to fidget. She had swift, confused glimpses of the return journey with Steve. Would he try his experiments on her again? As she began to prepare for bed she knew a nervous and excited kind of fear. Her eyes kept moving towards the door. A latch was such a useless little thing. If only the wooden stable-door had a key to it. What would happen, for instance, if the wooden door, for some unknown reason, worked loose in the night? A sudden gust of wind, perhaps? While she was asleep. She would then be at the mercy of the baboons and the hyenas that prowled the camp by night. It was an effort to read and she was too keyed up to put out the light and she dreaded when the generator would go off later and she would have to rely on the mere flickering of a candle. There seemed to be a tension hanging in the air. It was a feeling that something was about to change, that the night would no longer be the peaceful thing it was, so when the kill took place, just outside the camp, she knew that this was what she had been expecting all the

time. A wild, terrible feeling took hold of her while, useless and helpless, she had to listen to the cries of an animal being killed. Of course, lion had been spotted earlier on and it was only natural that this should be the result. Immediately the whole camp was awake. There were voices and footsteps outside. With pounding heart and shaking hands, Chanelle groped for matches and a candle, because by now the generator had been cut off. People were calling out, 'Yes, it's a kill all right. Something big, by the sound of it. Wildebeest, most probably.' Every nerve in Chanelle's body was assaulted until she felt she couldn't stand it another moment. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run and hide. She wanted to cringe, whimpering, in a corner of the bungalow and pull a blanket over her head so that she couldn't hear. Covering her eyes with her fingers she moaned, 'Oh, don't. Don't! Don't let me hear any more of this, God. Please!' She was unconscious of a slow despair, knowing that nobody could do anything. When Curtis knocked and called her name she discovered that she was clutching the bedclothes against her throat and that her fingers actually ached. 'Just a moment!' she called back, getting out of bed and reaching for her gown. As soon as she had undone the latch of the screen door and opened the stable-door she said, 'Don't stand there. There were hyenas out there last night. They were trying to get inside the rubbish bins.' 'Okay,' he said, 'calm down, Chanelle, calm down.' She stood back for him to enter. 'It was awful,' she said, when he was inside, 'awful. I'm so thankful you came. Poor animal. Damn lions!'

'It's the way things are,' he told her. 'It goes on all the time. There's nothing you can do about it. All these things are a part of nature and are not for questioning or interfering with. That old proverb about "the survival of the fittest" has lost none of its ring of truth.' Feeling an anger, a hatred in her soul towards the lions, Chanelle said, 'I never hope to hear anything like that again. Thank goodness I didn't see it.' To her utter dismay, she began to cry. 'I'm absolutely shaking,' she said. 'I'm s-sorry, I can't stop shaking.' 'Let me get us both a drink,' said Curtis. 'I'll be all right in a moment. I'm sorry.' 'I could use a drink myself, actually. It's not the sort of noise I could take to.' 'But I'm scared of you walking about outside,' she told him. 'You should have heard those rubbish bins last night—one after the other—going over.' She bit her lip. 'They were either hyenas or baboons—or cheetahs, maybe.' 'Did you see them?' She knew without even looking at him that he was grinning. 'No, I didn't, but I heard people saying...' 'It seems to me you've been having a rough time.' The corners of his mouth lifted before he went out into the darkness. 'I'll be back,' he called out. 'Don't worry, I won't be eaten alive.' While he was away she latched the screen door and changed quickly into a pair of black slacks and a white sweater. Her mouth felt dry from the aftermath of fear and she noticed that her hands were shaking visibly and she could feel the trembling of her legs.

'Well,' said Curtis, when he had returned with brandy and ginger-ale, 'how are the shakes?' 'Still shaking.' She held out her hands for him to see. The camp was beginning to settle down again. 'I'm sorry it had to happen,' she added, and caught her left wrist in her right hand to stop it from shaking. There was an almost comfortable silence between them while he poured their drinks. As he handed her the glass his grey eyes met hers. The comfortable silence she had experienced with him was, for no good reason at all, shattered. 'Well, cheers,' said Curtis. 'Cheers.' After a moment he went on, 'Well, your little trip to the Kruger hasn't been all that much of a success, has it?' Giving the matter some thought, she said, 'I suppose you could put it that way. It's served its purpose, I suppose. That's the main thing.' 'Purpose?' Slowly, she looked up from her glass and their eyes met again. He seemed to be waiting for her to tell him something. 'Well, I wanted to—kick over the traces, and—well, I suppose you could say that, in a way, I did.' Shrugging her slim shoulders she gave her attention to the golden liquid in her glass again, swirling it round and round, trying to see how high she could make the level go up without spilling it over the rim of the glass.

'Careful,' he said. 'You're going to spill the damn thing if you aren't careful.' 'Don't worry,' she murmured. 'I won't.' 'How do you know?' he asked, somewhat impatiently. 'Tell me,' he said abruptly, 'how far did things go between you and Conway? You strike me, now that I know a bit more, as being an amateur, and amateurs never know when to stop.' 'Who do you consider to be the amateur?' she asked, 'me or Steve?' 'Look, are you kidding me or something? Let me pour you another drink, to steady your nerves.' 'What are you trying to do? Get me tight? I'm not all that amateurish, believe me.' For an instant he looked blankly surprised, then he reacted angrily. 'You can put that out of your mind. I have no intention of trying to get you tight.' 'Well, I'm pleased to hear that,' her tone was mocking, 'because I have absolutely no intention of getting tight. What do you think happened, anyway?' Her voice was stiff now. 'I tried to guess. I don't know.' 'Well, it's none of your business, anyway.' 'No—except that I decided to make it my business.' 'I can't think why.' She shrugged again, not looking at him. 'Chanelle, I think you're licked.'

She looked up. 'In what way am I licked?' 'You're dreading going back with Conway and you know it. You started something you know you can't finish. You've made a fool of Conway and a fool of yourself into the bargain.' 'It's not the first time I've made a fool of myself over a man.' 'I know that.' 'How do you know?' Looking at him angrily, she said, 'My father has been in touch with you, hasn't he?' 'No, I can assure you he hasn't been in touch with me.' 'Who told you, then?' She had the feeling that she had overlooked something, but she could not imagine what it was. 'You think you've trapped me, don't you? This is just all guesswork, on your part. Well, yes, it's not the first time I've made a fool of myself over a man, but let me put your mind at rest, it will be the last. The very last time. I was prepared to do it again—with Steve. Can you believe it? I was prepared to make a fool of myself over a man again because I felt that simply by leading him on I could get even with— with—get even. Anyway, I'm talking too much. My nerves have been on edge for ages and tonight was the last straw. I can't take much more.' 'Exactly, and for that reason if nothing else, you're coming back with me in the morning.' 'We've been through this before, Curtis. I am not coming back with you in the morning.' 'Okay.' He drained his glass. 'Suit yourself.'

'And that's; exactly what I intend to do,' she told him, feeling dismayed. 'You go back and manage your hotel and let me manage my own life.' 'You do that,' he told her, as the wire door banged closed after him.

In the morning, however, Curtis came along to her bungalow. 'Have you had breakfast?' he asked. 'No.' She tried to disguise the fact that her head was aching and that she felt depressed. 'Well, neither have I. I'm going along to the restaurant before I check out. You'd better come along with me.' 'Why had I better go along with you?' 'Because if you don't eat you'll get hungry. That follows.' She found his impatient concern rather exciting. 'Well, I can make a plan to eat when that time arrives. I don't need you to plan against my getting hungry, surely?' 'I have to disagree. Look, don't let's argue about this. Just let's simplify matters by going along to eat. Right?' She gave him a long look and then, with an impatient little hiss, took her bag from the bed. 'Okay, let's go.' Glancing at her face in the mirror, she added, 'I suppose I've got to eat.' 'That's up to you,' he snapped. In the restaurant the sun was sliding its fingers across everything, highlighting the wood and burnishing the copper and the

arrangements of proteas and heather. For a moment, before going inside, they stood looking down at the river which was a dancing dazzle of silver in the sun. Chanelle screwed up her eyes against the dazzle. There were a number of impala drinking, but no big game. 'Let's not waste any more time,' Curtis said finally. 'I want to get going as soon as possible.' Over the table Chanelle looked at him and tried to make up her mind whether he was merely trying to reduce her to nothing by coming here—after all, he could afford to waste money and take time off from his very flourishing hotel or whether he was genuinely anxious to help her. How much did he know? she wondered. Was it all guesswork on his part? She decided to be decent and do the right thing. 'Before you go,' she said, 'I'd like you to know that I'm grateful—if puzzled—by your concern over me. You understand, of course, why I can't go back with you?' 'The situation seems clear enough to me. What is there to understand except that you're willing to give it another go with Conway, and that will make Conway very happy.' She watched his jaw harden. 'Just watch you don't over-play your hand this time, Chanelle.' 'There's no need to be sarcastic. It's not that. I'd like to go back with you, as it so happens.' 'Okay,' he tackled his bacon and eggs, 'we'll hold that thought. In the meantime, let's get this over, shall we? I happen to want to get going.' 'So you've said before,' she snapped. They ate in silence and Chanelle found herself brooding on what to do. Steve had not exactly played the game, she reasoned with herself. So what did she owe him? Drawing a long breath, she pushed her plate to one side and picked up her coffee cup.

'Well,' Curtis wiped his mouth and flung down his napkin, 'I'm ready to hit the breeze.' 'Well, I'm going to sit here for a while...' her voice faltered, 'in the sun—drinking my coffee.' He glanced at her cup and said, 'You've finished your coffee.' 'I can order more, can't I?' She was beginning to wish that he would go before she howled. 'I've got no means of transport here. There's nothing for me to do, except to watch the river from outside for game.' 'You might be lucky. You might pick up another man, one with a car who'll take you out to spot game.' Her face was pale and her eyes seemed suddenly larger than they really were. 'I've had enough of men to last me a lifetime, thank you very much.' 'I can imagine.' 'Don't let your imagination run away with you. By the way, there's just one thing...' 'Yes?' He gave her a hard look. 'I'm not in the habit of picking up men.' 'No? Well, that's not the impression I got at the hotel, Miss Falkner, but now that I know just a little of the— er—case history we'll let that one ride.' 'What do you know of the case history?' Her voice was bitter. 'Why did you say it, then?'

'I was suffering from reaction.' 'I can't understand you.' She gave him a frustrated look. 'You might begin to, if you'd come back with me, but perhaps that's not important to you—to get to understand me.' 'That's not quite the same thing. Nothing seems important to me any more, anyway.' Shrugging, he said, 'So now we know.' He stood up and looked down at her. 'I'll say goodbye.' Chanelle watched him as he made his way from the restaurant, and when she looked down at her cup again she saw that it was wavering and knew that her eyes were misted over. For several moments she sat looking unseeingly down at the cup and then, without ordering more coffee, got up and went back to her bungalow where she sat on the side of the bed and cried softly. She felt like a wounded, stricken animal. That was how Curtis found her when he decided to come back. 'Have—have you forgotten something?' she asked, as he opened the screen door. He regarded her seriously. 'Yes—you. Break it up, Chanelle. What the hell are you trying to do to yourself? Where's your damned case?' 'It's over there!' 'I'm going to help you pack,' he told her. 'Am I going back with you, then?'

'Well, of course. That follows packing, doesn't it? I'm not leaving you here.' He lifted a hand impatiently. 'I've already made arrangements. I've told them at the office that you're leaving.' He lifted her case and tossed it on the bed. 'Why didn't you tell me?' he asked, and she allowed her eyes to lock with his for a moment. 'Tell you what?' 'About being thrown over for another girl—for being jilted practically at the very altar?' 'Who told you about me?' She was going to have to defend herself again, and because she was going to have to defend herself, she felt furious. 'Lowrie told me. I guess she knew she had to spill the beans.' 'Did Lowrie get you to make this wild trip?' 'I don't consider this a wild trip.' 'I can't see why you made it, though.' 'I've told you, I happen to know about Conway's reputation with women. I also happen to have found out that you were just ripe for trouble. I guess that makes enough sense. It does to me, anyway. I'd do the same for anyone.' He gave her a small smile. Now that he knew about her she wanted him to pity her. 'Even for a dog, I suppose?' 'Even for a dog.' He held up a hand. 'And don't forget, you said it, I didn't.'

There was a sudden silence, as though they had simultaneously run out of words. 'It was a nice little drive,' he said, smiling again, 'if nothing else.' 'I'll have to leave a note for Steve at the office,' Chanelle said, beginning to pack. 'I've already done that,' he told her. 'I see. You're pretty sure of yourself, aren't you? You were pretty sure—when you changed your mind and came back for me.' 'I didn't change my mind. I was coming back, anyway.' Sighing, she said, 'I suppose you might as well know —I'm glad to be breaking camp like you said.' 'Are there any shoes beneath the bed?' he asked. 'No, nothing.' 'Could you check?' he asked, irritably. 'There's no need to check. I didn't bring much. I left all my trousseau—all my holiday things with friends. I just packed what I thought I'd need up here in the reserve.' Looking round the whitewalled bungalow, she said, 'Well, this is the end of part two, I guess.' 'Part two?' He stopped closing her case to look at her. 'Part two of my freak honeymoon.' 'You'll get over it.'

'You aren't going to suggest that you'll see to it personally that I'll get over it, are you?' She was thinking of Steve. 'I said you'll get over it. I wasn't suggesting anything. My name doesn't happen to be Steve Conway.' 'I suppose I will get over it. You may just be right.' 'I am right.' He swung the case off the bed on to the floor. 'You are emotionally dependent on his memory, that's all it amounts to, quite apart from the fact that you suffered an assault on your self-respect by being jilted. I didn't think such things happened these days.' His tone was mocking and she gave him a look of fury. 'It's bad enough, without joking about it,' she said. 'I don't feel any better about it than you do.' He gave her a grin. 'Oh, go ahead, make a fool of me!' 'Credit me with a certain amount of feeling,' he said, sobering. 'I'm not trying to make a fool of you.' 'You don't take anything that has happened to me seriously, do you?' 'I take you very seriously, as a matter of fact. It's just that I don't rely on your reaction to a number of things. But I still take you seriously, believe me.' He looked round the bungalow. 'Okay, Miss Falkner, let's break camp.' 'I wish you'd stop calling me Miss Falkner. You make it sound like a crime by just being Miss Falkner.' 'Okay, Chanelle, all we have to do now is to get going,' he told her, and she felt happier than she had for a long time.

'And I don't have to let anyone know that I'm leaving?' 'Everything's organised,' he told her. 'You'll find, as you go along, that I'm just about as good, if not better, at organising things than our friend Steve Conway.' Directly they were out of the camp gate Chanelle found herself watching the bush for the flicker of an ear, the wag of a tail—game tracks.... They bad not gone very far when they saw buck which turned and fled, leaping incredible leaps. Then the impala trotted away and stood, a short distance off—watching the car pass. 'I didn't expect to be on my way when I woke up this morning,' she said, after a while. 'The world is full of surprises.' He slanted a look in her direction, his grey eyes touching hers. Plucking up courage, she said, 'You should smile more often, Curtis.' He turned to look at her again. 'Why?' 'Because it suits you, that's why.' 'Well, we might do a deal there. It suits you too, as it so happens. By the way, I'm going to take you to see a doctor, as soon as we are out of the reserve.' 'But I'm fine now. I don't have to see a doctor.' 'Nevertheless, you're going to see one. We must make sure the old bug is right out of your system.' He was all gentleness all of a sudden, speaking to her as one would speak to a child. He kept to the speed limit, which was slow enough for them to spot game which might otherwise have gone unnoticed had they exceeded

that limit. 'We've been very lucky,' he said. 'The animals are out in full force this morning.' 'This has been such a thrill,' she answered, relaxing visibly. 'The bush seems to be full of mystery, with all sorts of vague rustling movements—there always seems to be this vague rustling, have you noticed?' He laughed. 'You're letting your imagination run away with you.' 'No, honestly!' She laughed with him. 'It's all so exciting and yet so relaxing. And yet at night, especially when you happen to be alone, there are long, tense moments of absolute stillness. I'll never forget last night. I was terribly aware of those long, tense moments. Somehow I knew in advance what was going to happen. I was sorry it had to happen, actually. It's spoilt the affection I always feel towards lions.' 'What about a cat?' Curtis asked. 'They're the same. Look how they kill to eat—and not always to eat, either. Have you ever watched a cat playing with something it's caught?' 'Oh, I know.' She was silent for a moment. 'It grieves me just to think of it.' After a while he said, 'We'll spend the night at a hotel, somewhere. We'll take the trip home in slow stages. I don't want you cracking up again.' 'How can I convince you that I'm perfectly fit now?' she asked. 'You can't convince me. I can see for myself that you've had a good shake up. You need a tonic, maybe a course of antibiotics as well.'

It was at that precise moment that they came across a lone elephant and Curtis drove to the side of the road, keeping the engine running. The car bumped over the grass. 'Be careful,' she whispered. 'I'm always careful,' Curtis told her when, without any warning, the elephant charged, but it was a dummy charge and the great animal stopped suddenly. It stood for a while, angrily flipping sand over its head with its wrinkled trunk, then it turned and made off. Chanelle saw all this as she turned round and looked out of the rear window while Curtis, who had lost no time in driving off, watched through the rear-view mirror. 'Wow!' Chanelle laughed excitedly. 'That was a bit of unexpected excitement,' said Curtis. 'Yes. My heart is still in my mouth.' 'You can relax now,' he said, 'the old boy's lost interest.' 'Yes, thank goodness.' She almost liked him in this mood. 'I'm glad we saw him, though. It's just made the day.' With the National Road under him now, Curtis drove fast in the direction of the pale blue haze in the distance. 'So,' he said, just as though they had never stopped discussing her, 'you've been jilted. You're emotionally dependent on this guy's memory—not to mention the fact that you're worried about what the neighbours and all your friends are thinking—what they'll go on thinking when you go back home. Right?' If he was being sarcastic, it was impossible to tell. 'Let's forget it,' she answered. 'Let's change the subject.' 'No, let's not change the subject.' There was a small silence before he said, 'Chanelle, I want you to marry me.'

CHAPTER SEVEN 'Marry you?' She looked at him in disbelief. 'Are you kidding?' 'On the contrary, I'm dead serious.' 'Well, are you—crazy?' 'I'm perfectly sane, as a matter of fact.' His face was expressionless. 'What's prompted you to suggest such a thing?' she asked. 'Something always triggers something else off.' 'Well, I can't begin to think what's triggered this off!' 'You wouldn't have to go back,' he told her. 'It would give the neighbours something else to think about. People talk around, you know. Apart from that, if you marry me you'll be making your home in one of the beauty spots of the North Coast of Natal. That shouldn't be hard, for one thing. You'd have everything you want.' 'And—' she drew a breath, 'what do you expect to gain from all this?' 'Does it matter?' 'It matters very much.' She thought for a moment. 'Would this be your way of punishing me for the way you feel about girls?' she asked. 'If anybody is open to punishment it will be me, not you.' He turned to look at her, slackening speed a little. 'I don't seem to be making myself clear. I want to marry you. I have my reasons. Punishing you—or me— doesn't happen to be one of them.'

'And what about Lowrie ? I wasn't able to make out whether Lowrie was in love with you or only with Steve. From what I gathered, she's in love with both of you, for different reasons.' 'I'm sorry to disappoint you, but there's nothing— and never was— anything between me and Lowrie Diamant. I know you're not in love with me, but I'd treat you right.' He looked at her again and grinned. 'What am I to do—go down on my knees and thank you for offering to save my face from the neighbours and my various friends? For saving me from being humiliated and hurt by Hilton?' 'I don't expect you to go down on your knees. Don't think you're unique in being hurt—or humiliated,' he said. 'You're not.' 'All this seems ridiculous to me.' She rubbed a hand across her eyes. 'We're living in ridiculous times. Anything can happen. Half the time people get married for no good reason at all. Besides, didn't you tell me that nothing is important to you any more?' 'When would we get married?' she asked, in a small tight voice. 'Right now, if we could.' Trying to piece herself together, Chanelle found that she had no answer to give him. 'Well?' he said, after a moment. 'You must be joking, that's all I can say,' she murmured. He made an abrupt gesture, erasing her remark. 'I'm perfectly serious. Think about it.' 'I wouldn't dream about it,' she told him, but she did.

As the car ate up the miles she thought about marrying Curtis Kendall. Why not? During World War Two her father had been let down by a girl. It seemed to run in the family, she thought wryly, this being let down. On the spur of the moment, at an officer's party, Lieutenant Pat Falkner had proposed to a nurse he had only just met, and the nurse, Chanelle's mother, had accepted and, strange as it might have seemed, the marriage had turned out to be a perfect one. Chanelle was suddenly afraid she was going to cry and she clamped her teeth down on her lip. A small collection of pastel-coloured houses ushered in a small but busy town. Curtis said, not looking at her, 'I think we'll call it a day here. You don't want to overdo it, after being sick. I must find a doctor for you.' 'You mean—stay the night here?' she asked, and the situation caused by his strange offer of marriage produced in her a feeling of constraint. She knew an almost desperate need to emphasise her detachment somehow. 'Yes, that's what I meant. We'll find a hotel and you can take it easy until we leave again in the morning. But first, a doctor.' 'I don't...' she began, but he cut her short. 'You're seeing a doctor, and that's that, so don't argue.' Because of his concern for her something inside Chanelle suddenly hurt. The town stood out against the blue sky and when they got out of the car the air was the typical bracing air of the north-eastern Transvaal

which carried along with it the smell of wood-smoke, spicy sunbaked vegetation and bakery aromas. After making enquiries they visited a doctor who had rooms in a brand new block of offices. His rooms were wood-panelled and there were Persian rugs on the floors and huge shaggy chrysanthemums in the vases in shades of bronze, yellow and white. 'I have a long prescription,' she told Curtis shyly, who had been waiting for her in the waiting-room, 'although I can't think why.' He stood up. 'I could answer that one for you,' he told her. 'Did he tell you where to get it made up?' 'At any pharmacy.' 'In that case, let's find ourselves a pharmacy.' He took her hand. They found one downstairs and waited about until Chanelle's medicines were ready. In its tranquil setting the town was, nevertheless, a busy one. Modern buildings blended with the time- worn. The whole place bustled with its own affairs. 'I made enquiries at the garage about a hotel,' Curtis told her. 'They recommended the Eagle.' 'That sounds all right,' she replied, anticipating the marvellous hot bath she would have before dinner. 'Let's hope we get in.' However, no sooner had she said this than she began to panic. She was only too well aware of the fact that she was complicating her already complicated life. She seemed to have a knack for that, she thought bitterly.

'Well, what are we going to do about it?' said Curtis, breaking into her thoughts. 'Do about what?' She gave him a puzzled look. 'About finding the Eagle?' They had reached the car now and he opened the door for her and she got in. Curtis eased the car away from the kerb. 'I suppose you're right— about staying over,' she said, after conducting a brief argument with herself. 'I am right. You'll find as we go along that invariably I always am right.' Curtis found the Eagle without any trouble, and in the foyer after they had signed the register Chanelle looked at her case which had been placed next to the one overnight bag Curtis had thought fit to bring along on his mad goose-chase. The case which was hers seemed to sit in dumb reproach on the carpet. 'Don't think about it,' she told herself.

His room was just across the corridor from hers and they arranged that he should come to her room after they had both had a bath and changed. They went downstairs for a drink before dinner. 'How arc you feeling?' Curtis asked. 'I'm fine,' she told him, thinking that it had never been like this with Hilton. Looking back now, she supposed that Hilton had always been selfish, giving no particular thought to anybody else but himself. For

some unknown reason the look Curtis had given her as he enquired after her health had given her a shock of pleasure. The evening had turned chilly and Chanelle knew that she was more than ready for her dinner. 'Tell me,' said Curtis, 'are you thinking of Conway?' 'No.' She met his eyes. 'He was just somebody who happened to come along.' 'Right, what did you leave out, Chanelle?' His tone was mocking. 'Nothing.' 'Maybe you forgot something?' Although his voice mocked her his grey eyes were serious. 'I haven't forgotten anything.' She smiled faintly. 'Are you thinking of the other one, then? What's-his- name? Hilton, I think you said.' Although she had just been thinking about Hilton she said, 'No to that one as well. Does that make you very unhappy?' 'On the contrary. It makes me very happy.' Although the Eagle was nothing like the Castallaras it was attractive and well run. The whole place gleamed with oiled wood; the upholstery was floral and there were oil paintings, in gilt frames, in all the public lounges. Curtis ordered wine with their dinner. Because she had known they would be stopping overnight at hotels and motels on the safari tour Chanelle had packed three of her

trousseau frocks she knew would pack easily into the one case which she had allowed herself. She had chosen now to wear the offwhite vest dress in soft wool which she didn't have to be told was an absolute stunner of a dress. It was almost unbelievable that the man she had in her mind when she had bought her gorgeous honeymoon clothes had never even set eyes on them. 'Well,' Curtis looked at her and there was a compelling intensity in his eyes, 'in that case, you might have given some thought to my suggestion?' 'You mean about—getting married?' Crumbling her bread roll, she tried to find the right words. 'I don't seem to have answers for anything, these days. I'm confused. Actually, if I had known that you were going to—er—propose I would never have left the reserve. I'm still not sure whether you are serious? What is this, Curtis, a game?' Suddenly she was angry. 'I thought I'd made myself clear,' he flared up. He wasn't detached now, he was annoyed. 'I want to ask you something,' she said. 'Well, what's stopping you?' he asked. 'Why do you want to marry me?' 'I've told you, I have my reasons. You'd have to— trust me.' Suddenly she began to laugh. 'Trust you! I trusted Hilton. I trusted Steve. I lied just now—I did leave something out. On the way to the reserve Steve said, "I'm glad you trust me, Chanelle," then promptly tried to make love to me. Can't you understand? I don't trust men. Not any more.'

'Don't think you're unique about not being able to trust the opposite sex. I don't trust anybody either, for that matter.' He shrugged. 'For that reason alone, I guess we could make a go of things.' She thought about this for a moment, her mind dazed and hurt, and then she said, 'I'll marry you.' 'Good. That calls for another bottle of wine—a bottle of champagne.' His smile sent another shock through her and warning bells clanged away somewhere at the back of her mind—but she ignored them. 'I'm likely to get—silly—if you do,' she said. 'I've already had too much wine. I must have, to have said yes.' 'I won't let you get silly,' he told her, signalling for the wine steward, and she laughed bitterly. 'Don't say it, Curtis. They all say that.' 'Don't say what?' 'What you were about to say. You were going to say, "You are my responsibility now, Chanelle," weren't you. They all say that.' 'There's a difference. I happen to mean what I say.' While the wine steward attended to Curtis she sat back and studied her husband-to-be with some bafflement. After a moment she said, 'Tell me, when is the great day to be?' 'As soon as I can make a plan.' He grinned at her while his eyes flickered over her frock. 'You have everything ready.' 'That happens to be rather a tactless thing to have said.' She looked at him huffily.

'Well, it's true, isn't it?' he answered reasonably, and there was a resentful silence. When they had finished their meal they looked at each other, for what seemed to be a long time, and Chanelle knew, quite suddenly, that she had come to terms with herself. She was going to marry Curtis Kendall and she found herself wondering what he'd be like to kiss... but perhaps kissing wasn't going to fit into the scheme of things. Perhaps, she thought bitterly, he just wanted her around to help run his Hotel Castallaras. 'Well, that's settled, then,' said Curtis, and she noticed that his face was just a little pale, but otherwise he appeared unaffected. 'This is almost like a Daphne Dent novel. She writes all about deserts and sheiks and marriages of convenience and all that sort of thing.' She took a gulp of her champagne and laughed, spilling some of it. 'Here, let me take that before you get hysterical,' Curtis said. 'You're too late. I am hysterical. I'll have to phone my father, do you realise that? Where can I get hold of a phone?' 'There's a phone in your room,' he told her, sitting back and watching her. 'Oh yes, of course, I forgot. You must come with me, Curtis. I'd like you to meet my father...' 'That will have to wait.' She stood up. 'Are we ready, then?' He was round to her side of the table, helping her with her chair, getting in before the waiter. 'Ready for what?'

'Ready to go and phone my father. He must know about this.' While she spoke her eyes rested on his teeth. She put out a finger and touched the front two. 'You've got slightly ingrown middle teeth, did you know that? Like ingrown toenails.' 'Is that what prompted you to say yes?' he asked. 'In a way, it was,' she replied, laughing. Before they phoned her father, however, they went for a walk up the main street, and Curtis made no attempt to link his arm through hers, even when she caught her heel on an uneven, cracked pavement stone. 'You don't know how I feel about all this,' she said, as they stood gazing into a shop window at some furniture she said she liked. 'I understand how you feel, because I feel much about the same,' he replied. 'You might say that I'm engaged all over again,' she went on, 'and I'm not impressed one way or another.' 'That happens to be rather a tactless thing to say, doesn't it?' he asked, quoting her exact words to him. His tone was sarcastic, more than, mocking. 'It's an insane thing,' she went on regardless. 'The world is full of people who've done ridiculous and insane things,' he told her. 'That's the way it goes.' 'I don't know what my father is going to say.' 'Things have changed since your father's day.' They began to walk away from the window, leaving the glitter of the shop behind them.

'Don't you believe it. Things haven't changed all that much. Still, he's not going to understand this, after Hilton.' At the mention of Hilton Curtis swore, and she began to laugh, suddenly amused. 'That's not a very nice thing to say about Hilton.' She felt on edge— slightly hysterical. She was still in the same hysterical, slightly aggressive mood when she insisted on telephoning her father. 'I can't wait any longer,' she told Curtis. 'I want to ring him now. Let's turn back. This is a crazy walk, anyway.' They had some difficulty in putting the call through and then finally, when she heard the familiar voice, Chanelle said, 'I phoned you to tell you that I'm going to be married.' Her father almost shouted, 'Good God, Chanelle! What do you think you're doing? I thought you were supposed to be going to the Kruger National Park? Who is this fellow, anyway? The one you told me about? The—the safari tour chap?' 'No. This one is a hotel owner. He owns the hotel I went to.' Swinging one leg as she sat on her bed, she watched Curtis. 'Where the devil are you?' 'I'm on my way out of the reserve—I mean I'm already out. I'm ringing from a hotel called the Eagle. We're spending the night here.' 'You're still with the tour, then?' 'No, I -' her voice faltered. 'I broke camp, as a matter of fact.' 'You're not making much sense.' 'I'm here with Curtis.' She stood up. 'His name is Curtis Kendall.'

There was a pause before her father said, 'Are you already married to him?' 'No.' 'What are you doing at a place called the Eagle with him, in that case? Just think about it.' 'I am thinking about it.' 'I think things have progressed far enough,' her father said. 'I should never have allowed you to go away by yourself in the first place, not in the state of mind you were in.' 'Well, I'm madly happy now.' She made a face at Curtis and sat down again. 'Are you in love with this chap? You can't be. For your own sake I only wish you were, but how can you be sure, after such short notice?' Pat Falkner sounded baffled. 'I am in love—madly. This is the perfect match, I can assure you.' She made a face at Curtis again and then, just to reassure her father, she said, 'No, honestly, we're terribly in love. I just wish you could see us.' 'When do you plan to be married?' 'As soon as possible. We'd get married this very minute, if we could—but of course we can't. But you're not to worry. That's what I phoned you about.' 'I wish you'd give this more thought. You appear to be rushing things. Things can't possibly work out, under the circumstances.'

'Oh, nonsense, of course it will work out. Didn't yours?' Chanelle felt suddenly guilty. 'This is the real thing, please don't worry. Nobody could have been happier than you and Mother and look how you started off. You met and proposed to her the same night.' 'Things were different. There happened to be a war on. People were inclined to act rashly.' 'In a way, I feel as though I've been to war and back,' she said. 'You're not doing this out of some sort of revenge, are you?' 'No, of course not. I'm doing it because I love him.' She made a face at Curtis again, but she was feeling wretched now, just thinking about what she was doing to her father. 'Is this man—this Curtis...?' 'Curtis Kendall,' she filled in. 'Is he in love with you?' 'Oh, yes, of course he's in love with me.' She glanced at Curtis and grinned. 'Aren't you?' she said. 'Madly.' His smile held a hint of malice. Laughing into the receiver, Chanelle said, 'He said madly. Now do you believe me?' 'I don't suppose I have any option. I gather he's there with you. Do you want me to have a word with him?' 'No, I don't think so. Not now, anyway.'

When she had replaced the receiver she said, 'Well, how did it go? Madly in love! Honestly, it's just too priceless!' 'Cut that out,' Curtis shocked her by saying. 'Don't be sarcastic with me, Chanelle.' She saw that he had gone pale. They shared a look of antagonism. 'Goodnight.' After he had gone she went to stand next to the window and pulled back the frilly drapes so that she could see down into the wide country town street, which suddenly blurred because she was crying again.

Over the breakfast table Curtis said bluntly, 'The car refuses to start.' 'Refuses to start?' Her eyes came up to meet his. 'But it was going all right yesterday.' 'That may be—but it's ceased to go all right today. I had to get a push to the nearest garage.' 'What's wrong?' she asked. 'It needs a new starter motor.' 'Oh, well, that's fine. As soon as they fit a new one we can be on our way.' 'It's not as simple as that. Apparently, they have to send somewhere for it.' Looking at him in blank amazement, she said, 'What? In a place like this? I mean it's not just a dorp, it's quite a large town,'

'Meaning that you don't believe me?' 'I didn't say that.' There was annoyance in her voice. 'Well, don't say it. You might well regret it.' 'How long is this going to take?' She knew a sick feeling of nerves. 'How the devil should I know? A day, maybe. Two days.' There was genuine annoyance in his voice. 'Well, I suppose we'll just have to make the best of a bad job,' she said, 'won't we? It means we're going to be cooped up here together.' 'I hoped you'd say that,' he said sarcastically. During the day, in between pestering the garage people, Curtis was irritable and moody and he offered no apology for his moodiness. Chanelle went for a walk by herself and did a little shopping. When she had finished she strolled past the garage and stopped when she saw Curtis speaking to one of the men there. 'How's it going?' she called out, approaching them. Although it was the first time that she had set eyes on the garage attendant he said cheerfully, 'All set, Mrs. Kendall. Sorry about the delay. Anyway, you'll be on your way soon, I promise you.' It was at this particular moment that Chanelle realised fully what she had done. In promising to marry Curtis Kendall she had signed away the rest of her whole life. The thought was like a jolt and she was aware of the feeling of half excitement, half fear running down the length of her spine. 'Oh, good...' she said, in a breathless little voice.

'Why?' The attendant gave her a sly grin. 'Don't you like our little town? Haven't you been happy here?' 'It's not that. I—we've enjoyed our stay, but—well, you know how it is. It's always nice to—get back.' Although she laughed lightly when she said it, she experienced a feeling of helplessness that amounted to exasperation. 'It means the end of a nice little honeymoon, though. Am I right?' She laughed. 'Well, yes, it does, but...' she shrugged, 'there you are. All good things have to come to an end, I suppose.' She glanced at Curtis with a kind of mock despair. Steve Conway and party turned up at the hotel towards a wonderful coral sunset. For Chanelle, the hotel was suddenly full of unrest and tension. She and Curtis were in the lounge leading immediately off the foyer when the tourists arrived. 'Well,' said Curtis, 'so the great safari man himself has caught up with you again? This appears to be their stopping-over place for the night.' 'It would appear so.' Chanelle tried to keep her voice calm, but the nerves twisted about beneath her skin and they felt like huge coils all let loose as they did so. Watching her moodily, Curtis said, 'If that guy tries any more of his stunts on you, Chanelle, I'll break his blasted neck for him.' 'Oh, stop it,' she cut in, 'we aren't married yet!' 'That's beside the point.' 'I don't think it is. I'm still a free agent.'

'Do you want me to answer that?' He was becoming more hostile. 'You can't. There is no answer,' she told him. 'The answer is that we're going to be married.' 'Yes, and you caught me on the rebound.' 'That's your problem,' he said. 'And what a catch!' His voice was sneering. 'I don't feel any better about it than you do.' She knew that the desire to hurt her had returned again. 'Why are you going on at me like this?' she asked. 'You asked me to marry you. You got what you wanted, didn't you?' 'What have I got?' His voice was full of bitterness. It was at this particular moment that Steve Conway came into the lounge. 'I thought I spotted you when we came in,' he said. 'So we've caught up?' Glancing at Chanelle, 'How's the tummy?' 'Fine, thank you.' Chanelle tried to keep up the impression that everything was normal between the three of them. 'How did the rest of the trip go?' 'Well.' Steve hitched the razor-sharp creases in his khaki drill slacks. Before he sat down he raised dark brows. 'May I, by the way?' 'Of course,' Chanelle said quickly. 'Well,' Steve sat down, 'the rest of the trip had to go on, of course, and go on it did. It went very well, actually. Saw lots of game—wild dogs, the lot. I was sorry to find you'd thought wise to break camp when we got back. Somehow I didn't think you would.' Steve spoke now as though Curtis did not happen to be present.

'I think Chanelle is old enough to please herself what she does,' said Curtis. 'Quite,' Steve answered smoothly. 'Still, there is the little matter of what happens to be known as ethics.' 'Oh, I'd be the first to agree,' Curtis's own voice was smooth. 'But ethics shouldn't get in the way all the time, surely. Fathom that one out for yourself, in case you don't grasp what I'm getting at.' Flushing slightly, Steve looked away, like a small boy who has been scolded for something he knows he has been guilty of at some time or another. 'You recall the occasion, I think?' Curtis said again. 'Look, I didn't come here to create ill-feeling,' Steve replied. 'I happened to see you on my way in. You're running behind schedule, aren't you? I hardly expected to find you here.' Curtis eyed him coldly. 'I thought fit for Chanelle to consult a doctor, for one thing. For another, my car happens to be out of commission. Your concern over Chanelle, by the way, happens to be rather late in the day, don't you think?' 'Not at all. I don't know whether Chanelle thought fit to mention this, but I did all I could for her, and that goes for the medicine I chose to give her as well.' 'Curtis knows about that.' Chanelle felt the colour coming and going in her face. 'Well, now that we have caught up it might be as well for you to continue with the tour, Chanelle. After all, your seat is still vacant and you paid for it.' With calculated rudeness Steve ignored Curtis.

'Chanelle will continue the rest of the journey with me,' Curtis cut in. Turning, Steve drawled, 'Maybe I'm missing the point, Curtis, but I think that's up to Chanelle. As you yourself said, a moment ago, she's old enough to please herself what she does.' 'Don't fool yourself. We're to be married shortly.' 'Oh, I see.' Steve lifted his shoulders in the slightest of contemptuous shrugs. 'May I wish you luck?' He stood up. 'I'll be seeing you, no doubt, before the morning, but in case I don't, I'll say cheerio—and by the way, Chanelle, don't you think we might both have had ulterior motives when we planned that you should come along on this tour?' Chanelle's breath caught at the remark. 'I wish you'd stick to the point,' Curtis stood up. 'The point is that you were about to leave. Right?' As Steve walked away from them Chanelle saw that he was pale beneath his tan. Frustrated, she looked up at Curtis and then got to her feet. 'I seem to go through one hideous scene after another,' she said, in a furious little voice. 'Well, of course. That follows when you get yourself involved to that extent,' he told her abruptly. During dinner she said, 'Now that I've let my father know about this I suppose I'll have to go through with marrying you.' 'Or you could let me down, in much the same way as Hilton let you down.' Curtis shrugged. 'If that happens, you don't have to make a

long speech—just say no and finished with it. Let's finish this meal in peace, shall we?' 'You must be easily pleased,' Chanelle went on persistently, 'to want me this way.' 'I'm so drugged by you that I'd do anything to keep you,' he answered sarcastically. While they ate Chanelle did her best not to look in the direction of Steve Conway and party at the far end of the dining-room. 'I'm taking you out after dinner,' Curtis told her. 'I don't intend giving Conway the opportunity of speaking to you again.' 'How can you take me out? The car is in the garage.' Immediately Chanelle was embarrassed and wished frantically that she had said your car and not the car, as if they were already husband and wife and the car was something to be shared between them. 'There's a theatre around the corner. I checked up on what's showing. It's Birds and Beasts.' He gave her a devilish grin. 'That could apply to you and Conway.' 'I don't get you.' Her voice was stiff. 'Chanelle, the bird. Conway, the beast.' He made a deliberate ceremony out of holding her exasperated gaze. 'You have everything all figured out, haven't you?' 'It becomes almost a habit, Chanelle, this figuring everything out.' Looking at him, Chanelle was aware of the fact that they were playing some kind of game and she found herself wondering when and how it was all going to end.

They walked in silence to the theatre. The minds of both of them continued to paint pictures. And in the darkness next to him, an uncontrollable part of Chanelle's mind kept thinking about the man she had promised to marry who was sitting next to her in a sulky silence. This sulky silence was like a bond between them. At her door afterwards, he said, 'Goodnight, Chanelle. I shall dream fondly of you.' Before she could think of something to say, several rowdy people got out of the lift and stood laughing in the corridor. 'Give me your key,' said Curtis, and then he unlocked the door and pushed it open. 'After you. We look soft standing out here.' Although he had been in her room before when they had phoned her father she was conscious of her heart beating loudly in her throat. He slipped his tie knot down. 'Have you packed?' he asked. 'I want to get the car first thing in the morning, and then hit the trail.' 'It won't take long to pack,' she told him. 'I didn't bring much.' For a moment his grey eyes held a hint of admiration as they flickered over her frock. 'You brought enough.' A hypnotic glance seemed to draw them closer and it brought about the desire to explore the feeling by some physical contact. Chanelle was aware of the dangerous emotions stirring in her. Something told her that it only needed one small movement on her part to find herself in his arms and she had no intention of making that move. When she dropped her bag she was aware that she had drawn a quick short breath, then she found herself in his arms. As his lips came down on hers he said, 'It—always takes something to trigger something else off.' She made no serious effort to stop him kissing her.

Afterwards he said, 'That had to happen, I guess.' He stood looking at her for a moment before he went towards the door and opened it. 'I'll see you in the morning.' 'Oh,' she said, in a small voice, 'well—yes.'

CHAPTER EIGHT IN the morning, she stood outside the hotel on the pavement while Curtis stacked their cases away in the car. A new moon still hung low in the sky and was soon lost in the azure and rose-pink and flame and brilliant orange fantasia of the sunrise. 'Right,' he gave her one of his disturbing looks. 'We're all set for home.' Her eyes, without a will of their own, lifted to meet his. Home! Curtis drove fast and they had nothing to say to each other until eventually he said, without turning, 'The trouble with women is that they talk too much.' When she glanced at him she saw that a slow smile had reached the corner of his mouth. 'What's the matter?' he asked. 'Lost your tongue?' 'No, I was just thinking.' 'Thinking, or—scheming?' She was very conscious of him so close beside her and this was only natural, she thought, conducting a brief argument with herself, after what had happened the night before. 'I'm not the scheming type. I only wish that I was,' she replied in a small voice. 'Why do you wish this?' 'Well, they seem to get what they want, in the end.' 'And what is it you want, in the end?' he asked softly. 'Hilton?'

'No, Hilton is no longer a part of my life. I realise that now. He also happens to be married and in Rome, I believe.' 'Chanelle,' he asked, 'were you very much in love with him?' 'Well, yes, I was, actually.' 'Was?' 'I loved him enough to have wanted to marry him, didn't I? I didn't take that step lightly, believe me.' 'That's what I had in mind.' After a moment he said, 'In other words, not as lightly as you've taken this one.' His mouth went up again, but his smile was not amused. 'By the way, you didn't tell me about your folks. I put two and two together as I listened to you speaking to your father on the phone.' 'Oddly enough, my father had been let down by a girl. It seems to run in the family, being let down. Anyway, he went along to an officers' party and there he met a rather lovely nurse. It must have all been madly...' she spread her hands, trying to find a suitable word. 'Well, there they all were, in uniform, with the war raging away somewhere and with the kind of recklessness that comes along with war and goodbyes and that sort of thing. I almost feel as though I'd been there. Everybody in khaki and a great haze of cigarette smoke over everything. Anyway -' 'Too many anyways,' said Curtis, turning to grin at her, 'anyway, you were saying ...?' 'Well,' she smiled back, 'anyway, my father, who must have looked very dashing in uniform, met my mother for the first time while he was in a very reckless mood, and he proposed to her and ...' she shook her head and the auburn hair bounced about her cheeks, 'I don't

quite know why—perhaps she had been let down too or he'd been killed, or something, but my mother...' 'Mother-to-be,' he corrected, taking her hand. 'Mother-to-be—where was I?' Laughing, she took her hand away. 'My mother,' she took a deep breath, 'accepted.' Laughing, she added, 'Of course, my pop's argument is that there was a war on—just as though that explained everything.' 'Well, you've had a great big war raging away inside you somewhere, Chanelle,' he said. 'Have they always been happy? Your folks, I mean?' 'They were. My mother is not alive.' 'I see. I'm sorry about that. It shows how little I know about you, doesn't it?' he smiled—that old Curtis smile which was always so stinted, somehow, and yet so attractive. 'I know even less about you,' she told him. She turned to look at him and saw his grey eyes narrow slightly. He rubbed his tongue across the corner of his mouth. 'Chanelle, do you remember the Brandhoek air disaster?' He wasn't smiling any more. She, guessing what was coming, moistened her own lips. 'Yes. Yes, I do.' 'Well, it claimed the lives of both my parents. My father was doing a business trip and my mother was going along with him. A kind of second honeymoon, you could call it.' He lifted his hands from the steering wheel for a moment, then let them fall back again with a small thud. In a flat voice he said, 'I was left with the Castallaras on my hands—being the only one. I decided to—well, to try to carry on. It hasn't been easy. I'm not that old that I always know what I'm

doing. There's been a lot to learn. There still is a lot to learn. Fortunately for me, the hotel had begun to build up a fantastic reputation. Like you, in a way,' his voice had begun to drag, 'there was a girl....' 'Oh?' She felt suddenly unsettled and nervous. 'One particular girl,' he went on. 'Money-mad.' Swallowing, she said, 'N-not Lowrie, then?' 'No—I told you before. Lowrie's been kicked around. I'm sorry for her. Apart from her work she's got nothing. She told me about you— but I told you about that too.' 'What happened to the girl?' she asked. 'I got over her, if that's what you mean. It didn't come easy, after the air disaster.' Chanelle recognised her happiness. After all, she did not want to marry him if there was still a girl at the back of things. In fact, she began to feel the return of a serenity she had not experienced since before she met Hilton Hardwick. Hilton, with his moods and his unpredictable ways. She was beginning to see that she had been lucky to escape. It would be a case of starting from scratch, so far as she and Curtis were concerned, without any of the hardships of being in love. She was beginning to feel reasonably sure that they would make a success of their marriage. After all, her parents had. They had grown to love one another very much. 'Curtis -' she began, on a sudden impulse. 'Yes?'

'You'll give me time, won't you? I mean, you won't rush me—about things, will you?' He did not reply immediately and then he said, 'I don't know. I'll be honest with you—I don't know, but I can promise you one thing, Chanelle.' 'What's that?' Her breath seemed to be suffocating her. 'I'll be more than just a little patient.' Her senses jumped when he took her hand and, turning it, placed her palm against his lips. A pang of unreasonable happiness shot through Chanelle. It was going to be all right. They stopped for lunch at another one of those sprawling, lush motels and, strangely content, she found herself enjoying every moment of the meal. 'Next stop home,' said Curtis. 'We have a lot to see to when we get home.' 'Could we be married very quietly?' she asked. 'We could.' His eyes mocked her.

It was very late when they reached the Castallaras. Curtis had phoned from the motel to say when he expected to get back, and in view of the fact that Chanelle had vacated the hotel, he had made the necessary arrangements for her accommodation. 'You're lucky,' he told her. 'They were able to fit you in. Had there been no accommodation you might well have had to move into my flat before we were married.'

He turned into the imposing driveway to the hotel, leaving behind the well-windowed homes, conditioned and designed to give maximum comfort in the long hot Natal summers. The headlights picked out the tall palms which towered above vivid bougainvillea and scarlet and pink hibiscus. Light spilled out from the hotel. Upstairs, in the Silver Dagger Supper Room, couples would be dancing to the music of the Alessandro Trio and the spotlight would be about to centre on the glamorous Lowrie Diamant. 'I was wondering about that.' Her voice was shy. 'Well, why the devil didn't you ask, instead of wondering about it?' His voice had changed and she had the feeling that, now he had her promise to marry him, he didn't quite know what to do with her. She also had the feeling that he was as nervous as she was herself. 'I'll have some food sent up to the flat,' he was saying, 'and then you can go to your room and settle in. It's pretty late. How's that?' 'I suppose that's all right.' There was a little pause. 'There's nothing to settle in really. All my luggage, and my car, was left with the Elliots. I didn't expect to be coming back to the Castallaras.' She felt on edge and craved for a hot bath. They went right up to his flat and she was conscious of an exciting series of confusions. There were flowers in the luxurious living-room, which she realised, with a sickening little jolt, would be her living-room one day. The windows were open and the sound of the sea was terribly loud and she knew that it was the tide at full. Curtis was watching her mockingly. 'Welcome home,' he said.

'Thank you.' She was a bundle of nerves now that she was finally here. She was in two minds about the whole thing now. 'You—you frighten me when you say that about—home,' she said. 'Now that I'm actually here, I'm frightened.' 'Don't be. There's nothing to be frightened about.' His voice had changed again. He came over to where she was standing. 'You know I—love you, don't you? You must know.' 'I -' she felt like flopping out. 'I didn't know—why didn't you tell me? I wouldn't have agreed to all this.' 'Why not?' His voice was hard. 'Well, it was all right while we both—while I thought...' 'What did you think?' 'It seemed all right,' she tried again, 'when our feelings were mutual—when love wasn't involved.' He made no attempt to touch her. 'Would you like a drink before we eat?' he asked. She knew that a war was going on inside him somewhere as well now, but he had complete control. 'Yes, please.' She stood looking at him with her wide- set blue eyes. He passed her a drink and she took it, running a finger round the inside of the glass. 'I'm staggered,' she said. 'I wish that it could be different,' he told her. 'I wish you could be happy and not just staggered.' The glass blurred before her eyes. 'Curtis,' she said in a tight little voice, 'would you mind if I didn't eat here? I'd like to be alone, if that's all right with you. Besides, I'm not very hungry.'

'Of course.' His handsome face was rigid. 'I'll have something sent along to your room.' She was surprised to find that she had been given her 'honeymoonfor-one' room back, and for a long time she cried—hopelessly, despairingly—knowing that she couldn't possibly marry him when all he wanted to do was to love her and she had no love left to give him. Something inside her had been crushed. It had been all right knowing that she and Curtis were prepared to get married in different circumstances. It had merely been a case, she argued with herself, of pooling what they had left to pool. Eventually she bathed and even ate something. She was relieved that Curtis made no attempt to phone her or to come along to her room. The sun dazzled on the sea in the morning and she lay looking at it through the open door which led to her balcony. Why, she thought, why had there been a Hilton in between? Suddenly she felt an urge to get up and go to the beach which was, as yet, untrampled by the holiday- makers. She wanted to be able to sort herself out—to think. The foyer, apart from the staff on duty, was deserted. Outside, the air was scented, just as she remembered it, with the purple and pink petunias which grew in the blue and green glazed pots. The pool, blue and excitingly shaped, lay completely unrippled beneath the blue sky. As she walked along the beach in the direction of the rocks, she saw him. Only Curtis could surf like that, she thought. She stood still, watching his downward, sideways, hissing plunge to the beach as his surfboard streaked ahead of the crest of a wave, and suddenly she was afraid for him. 'Be careful,' she whispered, 'out there—all alone.'

As she watched him going back for more, she felt a stab of fear. When at last he came out of the water she was conscious of a deep sense of joy. She watched him as he came towards her, carrying his board. 'Hello,' he said. The tone of his voice was reserved. 'You're an early bird,' while she stood wondering how a girl told a man that she had just suddenly discovered that she loved him— desperately. Instead she said, 'Aren't you scared out there,' she waved a hand in the direction of the breakers, 'all alone?' 'It's like mountain-climbing,' he told her, 'or bullfighting, for that matter, where you name the degree of danger. You can come as close to danger as you like.' 'Yes, I suppose so.' She shivered a little in her bikini which she had had topped with a Ming yellow jacket. 'Curtis, I'm sorry about last night,' she said, and wished she could stop shivering. 'I'm sorry too,' he replied. 'While we're on the subject, I want you to know that I'd never hold you to anything.' 'Something has happened,' she told him. 'What has happened?' He laid his board on the sand. Water glistened on his tanned skin. She gave him a small smile. 'Something always triggers something else off and I want you to hold me. I want to marry you—very much. I—I love you.'

'You don't have to say that, Chanelle.' 'I mean what I say. What I felt for Hilton, I can see that now, was nothing short of a disaster.' 'You could get over me,' he said, very softly, 'just as you got over him.' 'I couldn't.' Her voice broke. 'I wouldn't want to.' When he put his arms beneath her beach jacket and drew her bikiniclad body close to his own she caught her breath as she felt the warmth of his skin beneath the chill of the water. Behind them, the tide was unimportant.