CHAPTER THREE

      THE arrangements for her flight to Nassau were less than exacting. An afternoon flight to New York brought her down there at four in the afternoon New York time, and a booking had been made for her at an hotel close by the airport where she spent the rest of the afternoon and that night. Then the following morning she flew on to Nassau, arriving there at lunch time.

      Most of the passengers on the flight from New York were elderly business men and their wives, on their way to spend a few weeks in the sun, but although they did not know who she was, or her circumstances, they were very kind to Emma, and she was not short of conversation on the flight.

      When they landed at New Providence's International Airport, she said good-bye to her new-found acquaintances and emerged from the Customs building alone.

      It was a marvellous day, with a clear blue sky overhead, and the white-clad stewards and porters about the airport looked cool and comfortable, which was more than Emma felt. She was still wearing the Donegal tweed suit she had worn when she left England, and apart from changing her blouse that morning she was dressed for a much colder climate. Her llama coat was slung over one arm, and her suitcases had been deposited beside her when she refused the services of a porter.

      But, as she looked around her, she could see no one who might conceivably be Damon Thorne's cousin, Chris. If this girl was a relation of Damon's she would most likely resemble him, but there were no dark-haired girls in the vicinity, and only a tall, slim, fair-haired man was standing watching her speculatively.

      Becoming embarrassed by his scrutiny, Emma turned away, wondering whether she ought to report to the information desk that she was going for a cup of coffee and would they contact her if anyone came looking for her. There was no point in her taking a taxi into the city; she had no idea where she should go.

      Lifting her cases, she turned towards the airport buildings again, but the man suddenly came to life, and walked swiftly towards her. As he approached, Emma wondered who he could be. Dressed in a lightweight tropical suit of a biege material, his almost silvery hair lifting slightly in the faint breeze, he looked about thirty, and was certainly very attractive.

      Reaching her, he said: ‘I'm sorry if you were beginning to resent the appraisal, but I've finally decided you must be Emma Harding, am I right?'

      Emma stared at him in relief. ‘Yes, I'm Emma Harding. Have you come to meet me?’ At his nod she continued, ‘Oh, thank goodness. I was half afraid … Mr. Thorne's cousin had forgotten all about me.’ She hesitated only a moment over his name.

      He grinned. ‘Didn't Damon tell you I should meet you? I mean, I thought at first you couldn't be the girl I was waiting for simply because you never gave me half a glance.'

      Emma smiled. ‘Are you Chris Thorne?'

      ‘Of course.'

      She laughed. ‘I don't know why, I was expecting a girl. You know, “Chris” being short for Christine.'

      He took her cases, and started to walk across to where a low slung white sports car was parked. ‘It's also short for Christopher,’ he said, slinging her cases on to the back seat, and helping her into the car. ‘And you're not quite what I expected, either. You're much younger, and much more attractive.'

      Emma blushed. ‘Why, thank you,’ she said, sliding into her seat. ‘I feel better already.'

      The drive to Nassau, with Christopher Thorne, was a memorable experience. He took the coast road, giving her the full benefit of the magnificent scenery. Emma thought she would never be able to describe the place to Johnny, and Joanna, back home, without sounding exactly like a travel brochure. But despite her assertions that the Bahamas held no appeal for her, she was unable to prevent a thrill of purely physical anticipation when she saw the fabulous pink-tinged beaches and creaming coastline. The names of the beaches were inviting too; Love Beach, Paradise Beach; Emma shivered expectantly.

      Christopher Thorne glanced at her and indicated a famous golf course on their right. ‘There's plenty to do,’ he said lazily. ‘Swimming, water-skiing, skin-diving. Can you swim?'

      ‘Oh yes, but I'm afraid the other two things you mentioned I've never tried.'

      ‘You will,’ he remarked, smiling. ‘I'll teach you myself.'

      Nassau was teeming with people at this time of day, but Christopher managed to ease his way between the swarms of cyclists, the taxis and the horse-drawn Surreys to swing into the forecourt of a huge hotel. The building was all white, with lots of windows with jalousies, and balconies overlooking the whole of Nassau. Christopher handed the car-keys to a waiting attendant, and then called the boy to take in Emma's cases.

      He helped Emma out, and said: ‘Come on, your room is booked. I guess you could use a shower and a change of clothes.'

      ‘Could I not!’ exclaimed Emma, nodding, and preceded him into the hotel.

      She left Christopher downstairs and went up in the lift with one of the boys who conducted her to her room. It was a magnificent place with modern Swedish-designed furniture and cream and green walls and coverings. Adjoining it was a bathroom for