Edge of Paradise (6 page)

‘My advice is this. Don't consider Allycats. I know it would put us on our feet. While you were away I could find new premises and perhaps move in, and we'd be able to hold on until we've had a chance to make a name for
ourselves
and the jobs really start rolling in. But weighed against that is how you feel. It's a lot of money. If you're the teeniest bit uneasy about
anything
. . .' Her voice trailed off.

‘I'm not,' Catherine affirmed. It wasn't exactly a lie. She didn't feel the teeniest bit uneasy. She felt a lot uneasy.

Poor Ally, she could almost sympathize with her, torn as she was between wanting to slam the check straight into the bank and settle back in the knowledge that her most immediate and pressing problem was solved and that as far as the question of Samantha was concerned she could tell her in-laws, ‘Thank you but no, thank you,'—and guilt because she wasn't using force to talk Catherine out of it.

‘It isn't right,' Ally said. ‘Nobody is paid this much for secretarial work. Are they?' She looked at the check again, as though expecting it to acquire a voice and speak up for itself. ‘It doesn't add up. Just how many years has he paid you for in advance?' she joked feebly.

Catherine wondered what her reaction would have been if she'd told her it was just a retainer. Something to go on with until he decided if she would suit, in which case more would follow.

She decided not to risk it and said, ‘No time period was specified. Honestly, Ally, it's not what you're thinking.'

‘Isn't it?' Ally said, pathetically eager to be
convinced.

‘Remember Joanna Dunn?'

‘Of course. But what's she got to do with it?'

‘Nothing. Just drawing a parallel. She's working as a nanny for a millionaire Greek ship owner. Well, her salary, after everything's been found for her—keep, travel, uniforms and so forth—makes our joint earnings look like pin money.'

‘Mm, yes.' Ally reflected further on that. ‘I wouldn't like to say anything to spoil it for you. A chance like this might never come your way again. The Bahamas—all expenses paid and more besides. Oh, Cat, isn't it exciting? If you're sure? When I think about it properly I'm going to hate you, because nothing like this has ever happened to me, but right now I'm thrilled to bits for you. It is all right, isn't it?' She went on in this way for a while longer, her enthusiasm punctuated by the odd doubtful murmur, and then asked, giving a feeling of finality to the situation that took Catherine's breath away, ‘When do you go?'

The door of escape had closed so firmly on her that she thought she should have heard its loud clang. Gathering herself together, she said, ‘I won't know for certain until my plane ticket arrives—it's to be sent through the post—but he said early next week.'

She had such a silly feeling, a mingling of fear and excitement, as though she sensed that she had just committed herself to something
that
would change her for life, and she wasn't sure whether she should welcome it or be afraid.

Was it an omen? Paul Hebden's face came brightly to her mind, the distinctive jade eyes dark and disapproving, the strong mouth molded in disdain. She shrugged, trying to dispel the unfriendly image—too late for second thoughts, his or hers. If he hadn't wanted her to take on his typing he shouldn't have asked her in the first place.

Ally gasped, her voice vibrant with wonder, and if she noticed anything wrong with Catherine's expression she didn't comment on it. ‘I suppose it's all pretty much run of the mill to him; being a celebrity, he's probably used to shooting off somewhere at a moment's notice, but it's not going to give you a lot of time for shopping.' She giggled, a lovely, compulsive, infectious sound, pulling Catherine out of her gray mood. ‘Not that you'll need all that much time now that money's no object. It'll just be a case of going into the most exclusive shop and saying, “I'll have that, that and that.” I was thinking of the old hunting-for-a-bargain days and all that cheating camouflage stuff you do.'

‘It's not cheating, it's good strategy,' Catherine said, defending her trick of changing cheap belts and buttons for more expensive ones to add a touch of individuality, and buying a longer length than she needed and then cutting off the machine-stitched hem
and
turning it up again to give it that hand-hemmed haute couture look. ‘And I am not going on a mad spending spree.'

‘We'll see about that,' Ally declared. ‘It's time you got something good out of life instead of looking out for others.'

Catherine didn't know about that. She did know that it was pretty wonderful to see Ally looking, talking, acting in the old familiar way when they went shopping together. She'd always gone pelting at life, but of late she'd got into the habit of shrinking into corners, waiting to be pelted at. Yes, whatever happened, it was worth it to see Ally back on top, with an energy and determination and unarguable logic that swept all Catherine's protests to one side.

‘Buy this one, Cat. It won't crush in your suitcase. No, no, no,
Catherine!
This one will defy passing fashion whims—how can you say it's expensive when it will last you forever? Oh, you'll make a grand entrance in this.' She held up a soft, floating chiffon in subtle shadings of every blue imaginable, including the sapphire blue of Catherine's eyes. ‘Yes, Cat, I know what you're thinking. But every girl is surely allowed one bit of frivolity, and it's so
you
.'

‘You're right. I must be frivolous to let you talk me into it. And why have I bought all this beach wear? This is supposed to be a working assignment. No, not supposed to be,
is
.'

But the holiday feeling persisted.

She
decided to give up her small apartment. She felt that it would be too extravagant to keep it and pay rent for even a short period, and anyway, it would give her the impetus to find a better place when she returned. She rented it fully furnished, so she didn't have the problem of putting a lot of bulky furniture into storage. Ally volunteered to give a safe home to her bits and pieces, the pretty trivia she'd picked up to make her place more homelike, until she could take possession again.

There were some things she couldn't bear to part with for even a short time, and these she packed into her suitcase: a handful of treasured photographs; a falling-to-pieces rag doll called Belinda; her mother's very last gift to her, the brush and comb set, complete with its own matching mirror.

She wrapped the mirror carefully and made a nest for it between her clothes. She gave her hair a final brush, resting the ivory back against her cheek for a tender moment before tucking the hairbrush into her suitcase.

Her eyes were bright, but her expression was determined as she closed the lid. Even so, nostalgia bit deep as she silently mouthed: Goodbye old life . . . hello new . . .

CHAPTER
FOUR

She had given her suitcase into the care of the airport authorities for it to be loaded onto the plane, said goodbye to Ally and little Samantha, promised to send a card to let them know that she'd arrived safely, and now walked through to the departure lounge to wait for her flight number to be called.

She glanced idly at the other passengers waiting to embark. They were mostly holiday makers, it seemed, families. Here and there she saw a more soberly dressed lone traveler wearing that distinctive air of business as if it were an extra garment. And there was one eye-catching female, also on her own, who looked as though she could have done with an extra garment—a jacket, for instance, to cover a skimpy top that would have looked better on a beach than in the busy lounge of an international airport. The top was outrageously if fittingly teamed with the tightest pair of trousers imaginable.

Catherine's eyes lingered a moment longer, almost in horrified fascination, not quite dismissing the woman as a brash blonde, guessing instinctively that the girl would have a nature as generous as her body, which would have been superb in the right clothes. Strangely, because Ally was stick-slender and
would
only have come up to the other woman's shoulders and they didn't share one similar feature, she reminded Catherine of Ally. Both gave out the same waves of electric animation—nothing done in moderation, no half measures. That was how Ally had been before Ray's death left her lost and disoriented, and how she had been the last few days, showing such unselfish delight in helping Catherine to get organized for this trip.

For once there was no frustrating delay and they boarded the plane on time. Predictable. Paul Hebden would be there to meet her at the other end, and anything he had a finger in wouldn't dare to be subjected to life's petty irritations.

She was shown to a window seat. Lovely! Had he arranged that, too?

A sound at her side made her look up to see who her companion for the flight was going to be, and she saw with a mixture of amusement and dismay that it was the woman in the skimpy top and tight trousers. Paul Hebden certainly hadn't arranged this. She would not meet with his approval at all!

She had a clutter of possessions with her which she divided between the overhead baggage compartment and the floor, before turning her vivacious smile on Catherine.

‘Hi! I'm Deirdre Patterson. What's your handle?'

‘Catherine Mason.'

At
first Catherine was reluctant to be drawn into conversation, but gradually Deirdre's brash, extroverted charm began to take effect. Simply by looking into her face, Catherine knew that wherever she went, fun and laughter wouldn't be far behind.

‘I'm staying at the Ocean Beach Hotel,' Deirdre said chattily. ‘Which hotel are you booked at?'

‘I don't know,' she replied truthfully.

She wasn't normally forthcoming about her private affairs to strangers, but something in Deirdre's expression told her that this had come out sounding too abrupt, as if she were deliberately withholding the name of her hotel in case the blond woman had thoughts of getting in touch with her once they were settled in.

Not wanting to sound unkind, she said, ‘I really don't know. I'm not on holiday. I'm going out to work. My employer will have made the arrangements and I'm expecting to be met at the airport.'

Deirdre's eyebrows lifted in surprise. ‘I had you figured out as a rich society girl, hopping from one luscious holiday spot to another. Your clothes fooled me. I know—with your fantastic figure it's obvious. You're in the glamour and beauty business. You're the editor of a glossy magazine. Or—better still—a top photographic model and you can afford to dress like that because you get a discount.
Anywhere
near the mark?'

‘Not even vaguely close. I'm a down-to-earth shorthand typist and until now I've led a very mundane life. If someone had told me a week ago that I—' There was something about this woman that encouraged confidences. Halting her runaway tongue, she said, ‘What about you, Deirdre? What sort of work do you do that pays well enough for you to take exotic holidays?'

‘I'm a hair stylist and—no, the tips aren't that good.' The animation slid from her face, her buoyancy snapping as suddenly as if it had been severed with a knife. ‘I'm twenty-five years old. Since I was sixteen I've been going with this guy, and for the past three years or more I've been saving like mad to chip in with the mortgage. Then, out of the blue, he packed me in. I dried my tears and took a long hard look at him, and I said to myself, “Deirdre, love, you must be nuts. What can he give you except a houseful of kids and years of scrimping and saving and making do?” Surely I was born for better things than that? I asked myself why I should waste myself on someone who couldn't give me the things I so richly deserved and told myself that it was about time I found someone who could. Snag was, there aren't that many millionaires going begging where I live. So I had all this mortgage money in the bank and no other use for it, so I thought, why don't I go where they are? I've
been
kicked, now it's my turn. From now on I'm out for all I can get. I've got three weeks to find myself a rich husband, and I'm not too fussy whose husband he is. I suppose a nice refined girl like you is shocked by that,' she concluded with a touch of defiance.

‘Not so much shocked as concerned. Man-hunting has become a fashionable holiday pastime, but like a lot of other sports, it can be dangerous. I don't think you're as tough as you make out, and I think you could get hurt even worse than before.'

‘Sure I could. That's the luck of the draw. I could just as easily fall into a life of luxury.'

‘I hope you do, Deirdre,' Catherine said, and meant it.

* * *

The murmur of voices around them increased, growing excited as the first of the islands that formed the Bahama group came into view, denoting that the long journey was nearing its end. Soon other islands appeared; Catherine strained to look down at the scattered specks on the ocean which grew larger as the wings of the jetliner swept lower.

The pilot identified the islands by name over the communication system, giving tantalizing snippets of information about them that whetted her appetite to know more, especially about the privately owned cays. She
saw
the blue-green sea edged with creamy-white surf and beaches bleached white by centuries of sunshine. It was an unspoiled, unsurpassed beauty because of its centuries of neglect since Columbus dismissed the islands as mere stopping places. The ‘useless islands,' King Ferdinand was reputed to have called them. He had certainly been proved wrong.

She realized with a new upsurge of excitement that they were now above New Providence and its satellite Paradise Island, connected by the spectacular Potter's Cay Bridge. Towering hotel blocks and moving cars alike were reduced to toy proportions. The plane banked and she had a dizzy kaleidoscopic impression of sparkling blue water, yachts and cruise ships—which was hastily cut off, along with her circulation, by the urgent grip of Deirdre's fingers 'round her wrist.