The Innocent And The Playboy. Sophie Weston
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man nodded. ‘Leave it to me.’
He went. Rachel found she had an arm round her shoulders. It was warm and sinewy and it felt like iron. Her heart began to slam uncomfortably. She made a move to draw away and the arm tightened as she had somehow known it would. It set her very slightly off balance, so that she had to lean against him.
She looked up, uncertain. He was smiling down straight into her eyes. His expression made her head swim.
‘And now take me to the seaweed.’
He took her down the shallow steps of the terrace into the midday glare. Even in her confusion, Rachel was aware of the eyes watching them. For days her fellow guests had seemed barely aware of her existence. Now she felt as if she were in a spotlight.
The pirate seemed unaware. Or, if he was aware of it, he did not care. Still with that long arm round her, he skirted the pool area, with its spectacular apricot-veined marble, and swept her off into the shade of the casuarina trees.
He let her go then. It was not practical to walk along the uneven, sandy path side by side. But he did not stop touching her. The path through the casuarinas was dotted with fallen vegetation—things like cones and scaly brown twigs. He put out a hand to help her skirt them. He brushed away the feathery branches that drooped over the path, holding them back for her to pass. Once or twice, perhaps by accident, his hand brushed her loose hair.
It was flattering. It was also slightly alarming. Rachel ducked her head and made for the beach without daring to meet his eyes again.
They came out through a grove of trees whose name she did not know. They were slim-trunked and fanned out to make a loose canopy overhead. The sun made a sharply etched lace pattern of shadows beneath.
‘We could sit here. In the shade,’ said Rachel, holding back a little.
In the garden her swimsuit had felt modest until he’d looked at her. Out here, with no companion but the ocean and the pirate, she suddenly needed the covering of shadows.
He shook his head.
‘No, we can’t.’
‘But I’d rather.’ Her embarrassment felt like panic. Her voice came out too high, too defensive. ‘I can’t take too much sun. My skin—’
He looked at her. It was like a caress. It silenced her. The sexy smile grew.
‘Believe me, your skin would not like sitting under manchineel trees.’
‘What?’
He put a hand against one of the slim branches. It was a large hand, long-fingered and brown as a nut. For no reason she could think of, Rachel’s mouth dried.
‘Manchineel,’ he said. ‘Poison apple. Didn’t anyone warn you?’
Rachel shook her head. ‘What’s to warn?’
He frowned. ‘Well, the fruit’s poisonous, but you probably would not eat that. The leaves give off a sticky sap like lime trees. It’s not exactly poisonous but it can irritate the skin. Some people react badly. There have been nasty cases of blistering. The bad thing is to be under the trees when it rains. The rain washes the sap off the leaves onto the people taking shelter beneath.’
‘Oh.’ Rachel looked at the beach, powder-white in a sunlight so intense that it seemed to hum. The sky was so pale that it was hardly blue. There was not a cloud in sight. She put her head on one side. ‘An immediate danger, do you think?’
He stopped frowning and gave a bark of laughter. ‘Maybe not today.’
‘I’ll bear it in mind for the next time it rains.’
‘Bear it in mind for the next time you look at your contract,’ he said cynically. ‘Suing Anders can be lucrative.’
Rachel stared. ‘My contract?’
‘Working conditions are not supposed to include poisonous trees. Unreasonable hazard, if you were not warned.’
‘Working conditions?’
But he was not listening to her. He was running across the baking sand to the shade of the coconut palms. He looked fit and free and utterly at one with the wild landscape. Rachel followed more slowly.
So he had not realised she was a guest. In fact he had made exactly the same mistake about her as she had about him, when she’d first seen him. She thought about the other guests, their casual acceptance of every luxury, their brittle laughter and their dark, dark tans. He had recognised at once that she was a misfit. It was not really surprising, she thought wryly.
By the time she reached the tree he had found her sunblock and towel. He shook the towel free of sand and spread it for her ceremoniously. Rachel laughed and sat down. But the misunderstanding still worried her.
She said, ‘Look, I know I don’t fit in here—’
He interrupted. ‘Why should you? You’re twenty years younger than most of them.’
It was closer to thirty years, if she were honest. Most of the house guests were Anders’ contemporaries.
‘That’s not the point.’
He dropped down beside her and Rachel fell abruptly silent. She found quite suddenly that she could not remember what she had been going to say. The pirate sent her an amused, comprehending glance.
‘Oh, but it is. You’re not here to fit in. You’re here to help them convince themselves they’re having a good time.’ The cynicism was harsh.
Rachel shifted uncomfortably.
‘I’m not—’
‘Yes, you are.’
He stretched out, propping himself on one elbow, and looked at her. His eyes were not unkind but they had a remote expression. Once again Rachel had the overwhelming impression of weariness.
‘What do you think you’re here for? To run aerobics sessions? Guide them round the reef?’
She opened her lips to correct him but he waved the suggestion away before she could speak.
‘It doesn’t matter what it says in the contract. Your real job here is to be their audience.’
‘What?’
‘Such an innocent.’ He sounded almost sad.
Unexpectedly he cupped her face. It was a tender gesture, quite without sexual intent. But it set something fluttering under Rachel’s breastbone that she had never been aware of before. She drew back instinctively. His hand fell.
She rushed into speech, the words tumbling out, only half-aware of what she was saying. More aware of the small reverberations she could still feel in every nerve and muscle. Aware of the need to hide that schoolgirl vulnerability to his fleeting gesture.
‘You don’t understand. It’s not like that at all. They don’t want me as an audience. They don’t want me at all. I should never have come. The way they look at me.’
He said quietly, ‘You’re talking about envy.’
Rachel shook her head violently.
‘No, I’m not. You haven’t seen it.’ She remembered last night’s barbecue, the way people’s eyes had glazed over as she’d approached. ‘It’s as if I’m spoiling things somehow. Like I’m an alien or something—some creature that’s put a tentacle out of the sea and pulled itself up the beach to spoil the party.’
There was a little silence. Rachel realised she was shaking.
At last he said slowly, ‘Spoil the party?’
She made a helpless gesture. ‘I know it must sound stupid.’
‘No.’ He sat up.propping himself against the bark of the coconut palm. ‘No, it sounds very lifelike.’ She felt his reflective gaze on her face. ‘They