Edge of Paradise (7 page)

The blond girl moaned, ‘My stomach! I wish I hadn't gone mad with the duty free.'

Catherine had thought that Deirdre was drinking too much, but she hadn't liked to stress the point beyond cautioning that she'd read somewhere that alcohol was more potent while you were airborne. She felt that once you started moralizing with someone like Deirdre, it would be difficult to know when to stop.

‘You'll be all right. We're landing now,' she said, offering sympathy.

Hardly had she got the words out than the
wheels
hit the ground and, with an increased rush of noise, the jet taxied along the landing strip.

Her window seat immediately lost its appeal. She was trapped where she was until Deirdre decided to move, and Deirdre, looking very wan indeed, seemed incapable of doing so.

‘Deirdre?'

‘I feel dreadful.'

‘I promise that you'll feel better once you're outside. Come on, I'll help you with your hand luggage.'

‘Thanks. You're a pal,' Deirdre said faintly.

Wondering how anyone could pack so haphazardly, Catherine shared the untidy assortment, taking Deirdre's rucksack and her bulging plastic carrier bag as well as her own neat shoulder travel-bag, leaving Deirdre to cope with her own canvas bag and camera. They seemed to be all she was capable of carrying.

As they waited for the main luggage to be unloaded, Deirdre blossomed into life. ‘Sorry about that. I'm fine now, though, just as you said I would be. Look—your boss is sure to give you some time off, so how about getting in touch with me at my hotel and we can go out on the town together, mm?'

Catherine didn't dislike Deirdre; in fact, there was something rather likable and quite touching about the girl. But it would be
miserable
to go out on the town with her. She was delighted to be able to render a friendly brushoff.

‘I'd love that, but I doubt if it will be possible. The island isn't all that big, I know, but transport could be a problem. I mean, it's unlikely that we'll find ourselves on the same part of the island. I don't even know if I'll be staying in New Providence. For all I know Nassau airport might be just a convenient place for my employer to meet me before going to one of the out islands.'

‘Oh, well, I can hope that you get in touch,' Deirdre responded cheerfully, before adding on an ominous note, ‘I shall be glad when I get my suitcase. I have a friend whose suitcase went missing en route and it spoiled her holiday.'

A foreboding chill shivered through Catherine's system as she thought what it would mean to her if she lost her suitcase.

‘Don't look so glum,' Deirdre said. ‘We can't both lose our suitcases, so if yours goes missing I'll lend you something to wear. My suitcase is full to bursting with pretties.'

Catherine hadn't been thinking of all her newly purchased, beautiful clothes, but of the irreplaceable things . . . the loss of her hairbrush set, her mother's last gift to her, would be tragic.

Despite her fears, she had to smile at Deirdre's words. Everything about Deirdre
was
‘full to bursting.' Her poorly-matched assortment of hand luggage, her magnificent bosom in her skimpy top.

Their suitcases were retrieved without mishap and Catherine released a long, thankful sigh. The rest of the airport formalities were soon cleared.

Deirdre was still clinging to her like a limpet. If the woman couldn't manage her hand luggage she certainly couldn't manage a heavy suitcase as well, so there was no possibility of casting her adrift until a porter had been found. This, apparently, was not going to be easy. Catherine wondered what it was about herself that landed her in situations of this nature. She always seemed to get lumbered with likable people, first Ally, and now Deirdre, who were incapable of managing their own affairs.

‘You say you're being met?' Deirdre asked with cunning speculation.

‘Yes.' She got the drift of Deirdre's thoughts—obviously she was hoping for a lift. She didn't have to put on a helpless expression and say, ‘I hope taxis are easier to come by than porters.'

Catherine hoped so, too. Failing that, she hoped that Paul wouldn't be there to meet her himself, but that he would have sent someone else to collect her. It took no imagination at all to guess that Paul's attitude to Deirdre would be one of disdain. Strangely enough, Catherine
found
that she didn't care that it might annoy Paul to be taken out of his way to give Deirdre a lift, but that she felt sorry for Deirdre herself. She knew what it was like to flinch under the power of Paul's disapproval, although she hadn't yet worked out what he disapproved of in her, and she didn't want Deirdre to be hurt or embarrassed. Oh, Lord, she thought, it's an Ally deal again. Because she felt protective toward Deirdre, even though she could give Catherine three years.

Deirdre let out an appreciative gasp. ‘Wow! Get a load of him.'

Catherine knew even before she turned her head that she would see a man who was eminently worthy of Deirdre's admiration and had a long-suffering expression on his face, as if he were bored by it.

Yes, there he was, tall, suntanned and lean, a commanding blond god of a man who would always find himself under the surveillance of feminine eyes wherever he went. It was amusing to note that the eyes of every woman in the place were on him, and a flicker of sympathy went through her because she felt that in his shoes she too would have found it too much of a good thing, and that very probably she would have responded in much the same way as he did.

The bored weariness in his jade green eyes hadn't escaped Deirdre's notice. ‘Good looking—and doesn't he know it, the arrogant
devil!'
But her voice quickly changed its tone as he began to walk toward them. ‘Ooops! He's coming over. Which one of us do you suppose he intends to pick up?'

‘Me,' Catherine said stoically. ‘He's Paul Hebden, my employer.'

‘R-e-a-l-l-y!' Deirdre drawled out. The meal she made of that simple word, and the meaning she put into it, were nothing to the meal she was making of him with her eyes.

Paul's attention was fixed not on Deirdre, but on Catherine. Not on her good cream suit which was already shedding the creases it had collected on the plane, not on the stark simplicity and bandbox freshness of her pure silk blouse, not even on the pleading appeal to be nice on her face, which did not match up to her clothes and was showing signs of fatigue—but on the messy conglomeration of luggage in her hands. He thought they belonged to her!

At that precise moment the plastic carrier bag decided that it had had enough and a split developed in its side which in turn released an aerosol can of hairspray which rolled toward Paul's feet.

He bent, picked it up, walked the few remaining steps, froze her with a withering look and said, ‘Yours, I believe.'

‘It's Deirdre's, actually,' she said haughtily, feeling mean at drawing attention to the fact that Deirdre was the sloppy packer, but overjoyed to see the supercilious smirk very
nearly
turn into a smile.

He made no audible comment and she had to take that as an acknowledgment of her victory.

She performed the introductions and his manner toward Deirdre was on the very edge of civility, but at least it didn't drop into rudeness, which was something to be thankful for.

‘I'm staying at the Ocean Beach Hotel,' Deirdre volunteered. ‘That wouldn't by any chance be on your way?'

‘It would. May I give you a lift?'

‘How very kind of you to suggest it. Thank you, that would be most convenient,' Deirdre said, moistening her full mouth and pouting seductively at him.

Catherine looked on in growing despair. No wonder he held her sex in contempt when the majority of them behaved toward him as Deirdre was doing, flaunting her voluptuous body at him, sending him a message through veiled eyes that few red-blooded men could mistake for anything but what it was.

She was conscious that Paul had transferred his glance back to her and she tried to erase the stony disapproval on her mouth. He might, just might, think she was feeling possessive toward him, even jealous of Deirdre's easy ability to flirt with him, and nothing could be further from the truth. The color in her cheeks was embarrassment that Deirdre could
cheapen
herself in such a way; the red there had certainly not been roused by the green-eyed monster.

Whatever interpretation Paul had arrived at was not revealed by his expression or his next words. ‘I have a car parked quite near by. All the same, I think we need . . .' Without elaborating on that, his cool glance lifted from Catherine to scan the possibilities, the quick imperious jerk of his head all that was needed to summon up a porter out of thin air.

Catherine joined the lordly procession to the car, fuming inwardly and perilously close to—oh, help, no!—not tears! Self-pity would be the last straw. Yet would it have hurt him to show some sign that she was welcome? She found herself gnawing again on the puzzle. Why had he asked her to come if he didn't want her there? On the plane, in the odd moments when her mind had struggled free of Deirdre's incessant chatter, she had asked herself that question. In the end she had gone half way to convincing herself that she had imagined his unfriendly attitude. Apparently she hadn't. If anything, his manner had grown even icier.

They stopped at Deirdre's hotel to drop her off. Paul got out of the car with her to summon a porter to carry her baggage.

‘Now don't you forget,' Deirdre said on bidding them goodbye. ‘If it's at all possible, get in touch with me and we can go out
somewhere
and have fun.'

‘Will do,' Catherine agreed feebly, wishing Deirdre hadn't repeated her invitation in Paul's hearing. ‘Goodbye. Have a good time.'

‘I intend to,' Deirdre said, winking cheekily. ‘Bye.'

Once they were on their way again Catherine said, keeping her eyes fixed front, not wishing to look at Paul's forbidding profile, ‘Thank you for giving Deirdre a lift.'

‘It was on our route,' he replied ungraciously. ‘I hope you didn't mean it when you said you'd contact her.'

Of course she hadn't meant it. ‘Would you have preferred me to tell her the blunt truth, that we have nothing in common and that her idea of fun certainly isn't mine?' she tossed at him impatiently.

‘No.' His laugh was harsh. ‘You're not a fun girl, are you? It's strictly business with you.'

Obviously he was digging at her because she'd turned down his invitation to have dinner with him back in England.

‘There's a time for fun and a time for business. I don't believe in combining the two,' she said firmly.

‘We've arrived,' he said brusquely, slamming the brakes on so fiercely that if she hadn't been wearing a seatbelt she would have shot straight through the windshield.

He didn't offer to get out of the car, just turned to look at her. ‘Don't get in touch with
your
brash blond friend,' he said savagely.

‘Is that an order?'

‘Yes.'

She was too incensed to speak. She hadn't intended to seek Deirdre out, she didn't particularly fancy an outing with her, but she would not knuckle under. Paul couldn't keep her working every minute of the day. He would have to allow her some free time in which to do whatever she wished. If she was within striking distance of Deirdre she might just change her mind and take her up on her invitation.

She opened her mouth to say as much, but closed it again without uttering a word. She had risen early, it had been a long, tiring journey and she was wilting under the delicious, incredible heat.

‘Well?' he demanded, reading her silence and detecting mutiny.

‘I'm too weary to disagree with you,' she replied with a certain brave dignity.

On both sides it was a most unsatisfactory way to end an argument, but at least it had the effect of dinting his composure. She didn't at all mind making him feel guilty, she felt that his behavior rated it, but she could have done without the minute inspection of her face, which was minus makeup and looking decidedly worse for wear.

He took her hand away from the strand of hair she was unconsciously fiddling with and
said
stiffly, ‘I'm sorry.' Apparently apologizing didn't come easy to him. ‘It's inconsiderate of me to harass you or to detain you for a moment longer than is necessary from the cool shower you're obviously longing to take.'

He got out of the car, snapped his fingers and a man came running toward him to receive the keys of the rented car.

‘Garage it, Joseph, and bring Miss Mason's baggage up.'

The man, a Bahamian, gave him a teeth-flashing smile and would have moved 'round to Catherine's side of the car to assist her out, had not Paul waved him away, intent on doing that job himself.

‘Come,' he said, opening the door for her and taking her elbow to guide her first into the hotel and then into the lift which transported them to their floor.

‘We have adjacent rooms,' he said, stopping at a door and opening it for her. ‘Your luggage shouldn't be long. I'll come back when you've taken your shower.'

The pat he gave her bottom to send her inside was excessively familiar, but not distasteful.

She thought that she would wait for her luggage to arrive before she took her shower. In any case she wanted to look at and gloat over her room. It was more luxurious than any hotel room she had ever been in before. The bathroom was tiled in palest green. She
resisted
its cool invitation to inspect the elegant simplicity of the furniture, which provided masses of drawer and hanging space; the wide double bed, instead of the single she had expected; the welcoming touch of a vase of bright, exotic flowers.

She wandered out onto the balcony and the view that met her eyes took her breath away. Casuarinas wafted gently in a breeze that was as soft as silk against her cheek. White sand. Translucent sea reflecting many textures of color, taking its mood from the changing tones of the sky.