The Englishman's Bride. Sophie Weston
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looked away. ‘How’s your cottage?’ she said with a palpable effort.
‘Very luxurious. Lisa, what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Where’s Nikolai?’
Lisa shrugged. ‘Having a drink with other boffins, I suppose.’
Kit was concerned. ‘Why didn’t you go too? Not because you were waiting for me?’
Lisa shook her head. ‘Didn’t feel like it.’
Kit’s concern grew. ‘But surely, Nikolai must have wanted you with him.’
‘Who knows what Nikolai wants?’ said Lisa with sudden bitterness. ‘Oh, forget it! Tell me how you like your cottage. Found out how the fans work yet?’
Kit gave up. Lisa would tell her what was going on in her own good time if she wanted to.
So she said cheerfully, ‘Yup. Sussed the fans. Sussed the electric blinds. Got rid of the television and the mirrors.’
Lisa gave a rather forced laugh. ‘You and your anti-mirror campaign!’
Kit grinned. ‘I’ve been beaten by the one in the bathroom. It’s fixed to the wall.’
Lisa managed a better laugh this time.
‘Anyway, if it weren’t for all the drawer lining paper with wedding bells on, I’d really feel at home now.’
Her attempt at a joke was partly rewarded. Lisa threw back her head and laughed uninhibitedly.
‘Oh, they do like their wedding bells,’ she agreed. ‘They’re quite convinced people will start getting married here again as long as they don’t admit that they ever had a reason to stop. Have you seen their brochures? You can’t go on a fishing trip without it being called a honeymoon cruise!’
Kit pulled a comical face. ‘Even the basket of shampoo and stuff in the bathroom has got a gift tag in it. For the Bride,’ she said in disgust. ‘It feels as if I’m here under false pretences.’
Lisa’s smile died.
‘You and me both.’
There was a nasty silence. Kit waited for her sister to retract—or confide what was wrong. She did neither.
Instead she got up and went to the balustrade. She stood there scanning the horizon. She had obviously bought a native sarong locally. It stirred gently in the sea breeze.
‘It should be the ideal place for a honeymoon,’ she said almost to herself.
‘Or a love affair,’ said Kit. She was not quite sure why she said it. ‘My cottage is as near isolated as you can get and still be fifteen minutes’ walk from breakfast. A classic lovers’ hideaway.’ Her voice sounded odd, even to her own ears.
Lisa seemed to notice that at last. She turned, looking at Kit with sudden concern.
‘Are you all right with that? I didn’t think. You’re not jumpy about being on your own?’
‘I’m jumpy about being in a room full of strangers,’ Kit said drily. ‘On my own I can handle.’
‘Because you could always sleep here if you are,’ said Lisa, not attending. ‘Unhappy about being alone, I mean.’
Kit shook her head in undisguised horror. She could see where this was going. It had to be stopped—and soon.
‘Look,’ she said frankly, ‘I said I didn’t want to be a gooseberry. Well, I don’t want to be a buffer zone either. You and Nikolai have your problems, you sort them out on your own.’
Lisa did not answer for a moment. Then she said in a low voice, ‘You’re right. Sorry, Kit, I shouldn’t have tried to involve you.’
‘What is it with you two?’ said Kit, torn between exasperation and sisterly sympathy.
But Lisa made a little gesture, silencing her. And soon after she said she was tired and wanted to go to bed.
So Kit wandered back to her cottage on her own. The cottage that she’d said herself was a dream of a lovers’ hideaway.
She gave a little superstitious shudder as she remembered that. What on earth had made her think of that, much less say it?
‘You’re suffering from evening-class withdrawal,’ she muttered to herself bracingly.
But really it was not something she found easy to laugh about. In the privacy of the scented night she could almost—almost—imagine it.
If she half closed her eyes she could pretend that there was a man walking beside her. She knew he was tall but his features were shadowy. She knew his voice, though. It was a deep voice that seemed to reach through to the core of her.
Her lips parted. She knew that voice all right. It was so calm, so controlled. And beneath the control? Kit’s breath came faster.
He had been so cool with his talk of wildlife. So removed from the allure of the night when his busy companions had called him back into the bright hotel rooms. But the mouth on hers had been fiery hot. And he had not found it easy to let her go.
What am I thinking? Have I cast him in the role of my lover, then? Kit stopped dead, shaken. Even though it was only in her imagination, she did not like it. She knew just how dangerous imaginings like that could be. She fought for common sense.
‘If you have exciting dreams tonight, you have no one but yourself to blame,’ Kit told herself with irony. ‘You’ve got to get a hold on that imagination. You can’t go to pieces because you’re in a tropical paradise.’
Paradise was just about it. The night was full of noises. Birds squawked. She wondered if they were the iridescent blue ones she had seen earlier. What had the tall stranger said they were called? Fairy bluebirds?
‘Never mind paradise. This is turning into Fantasy Island,’ Kit told herself crisply. ‘Get a grip, for heaven’s sake.’
But it was not easy when insects chirruped a lullaby. Leaves rustled. But Kit had told Lisa the truth: she was not afraid of the sound of nature or of her own company. It was people—their demands and then their careless, unthinking cruelty—that frightened her.
And yet she had kissed that man as if she was not frightened at all.
‘I must have been out of my mind,’ Kit muttered.
Her body gave a little remembering shiver of delight that told her she still was.
Jet lag or not, it was a long time before she got to sleep.
The banquet was interminable. Philip was sitting next to the development minister. The minister had been at university in Michigan and was full of cheerful stories.
Philip tried to concentrate. He really did. But his mind kept slipping sideways to the girl. Her husky voice. Her seal-smooth body. Her sheer joy in the water.
Her mouth under his.
He shifted in his seat and found the minister was laughing expectantly. He clearly wanted Philip to agree with something he had just said. Long experience had taught Philip how dangerous even a noncommittal nod could be. He really had to get a handle on this evening.
He said with his usual gentleness, ‘I’m sorry, Minister. I missed that.’
The minister sobered. There was something oddly intimidating about that quiet courtesy.
He forgot the joke he had been telling. He said sharply, ‘You do realise this is all useless? Without Rafek, no agreement will be worth the paper it’s written on.’
To the minister’s fury, Philip nodded as if he had just made a brave stab at a crossword clue.
‘Good point.’
‘Well, what are you going to do about it?’