Charlie's Dad. Alexandra Scott
black like the plate but with swirls of gamboge, a touch of shrimp-pink and that particular green... If only her brain could retain the colours. Fingers twitching, she longed for her sketchpad and paintbrush...
‘Aren’t you going to eat?’ The gentle query took her head round to look at him, eyebrows arching quizzically, mouth curving in sheer pleasure before she remembered to control them.
‘Oh, yes.’ A moment’s breathless glowing enthusiasm, then searing pain as she recognised that particular expression, the way his eyes moved slowly over her features before coming to rest, with quite unmistakable meaning, on her mouth. ‘Of course.’
Soberly, determined to ignore the knot of misery in her chest she switched her focus back to her plate, picked up her fork. ‘It is all so... so beautiful.’ Delicately she detached a scallop, raised it to her mouth. ‘Don’t you agree?’ What was intended to be a quick casual glance in his direction was arrested, caught and held.
‘Yes.’ The reply came slow and deliberate, making it obvious that the food was not on his mind. ‘Oh, yes, I agree.’
Beautiful. Even when he turned to exchange a few words with his partner on the other side, it was her face which occupied his mind. Such white teeth, not perfect exactly, with a slight overlapping of the front two, a generous, giving mouth which he would have liked to feel against his, and when she smiled... It occurred to him she didn’t do that often enough, but when she did her whole face lit up. She had an inner glow which intrigued, wakening his interest, a stirring of excitement which had long been absent from his life, except...
As he conversed his lips moved automatically. Except...
Except that he was picking up discouraging signals. He had been fully aware of that informative gesture of her left hand but... But, he was not going to allow the possibility of a husband in the background to deter him from finding out more about this intriguing woman.
Dead on her feet or not, Ellie found sleep elusive that first night in the Van Tieg apartment. Nothing to do with the heat of the sultry tropical night; that was held at bay by efficient air-conditioning. Nothing to do with that and everything to do with the man she had long ago dismissed from her consciousness. But if she had been as efficient in that as she believed, why was he now causing her so much emotional havoc?
Ellie groaned, pushed a hand through the heavy fall of hair and thrust her face deeper into the pillow. If only sleep would come. She was desperate for the chance to forget Ben Congreve for a few hours. In the morning, she knew from experience, things would look entirely more reasonable. For one thing there was no need for her ever to meet up with him again. Tomorrow would be her last day in Singapore. After that she would be flying back to her own life, to Charlie. Ah, yes, Charlie, on whom the whole sorry saga hinged.
And then, without any decision on her part, without volition or even co-operation, her mind was clicking with the memories which she had tried to hold at bay, sweeping her back through the years to the time when she had first known Ben Congreve. That halcyon, magical time... The knowledge that the whole exercise was mere self-indulgence had no power to stop her.
Twenty years old with the world before her. That had been her father’s smug description on the day she had been awarded her degree at Sydney University. And as a reward he had handed her a cheque to subsidise her declared longing to travel for a few months before settling down to a career in fashion.
‘Or teaching perhaps?’ Sir William had distrusted his daughter’s ambition to try her luck in the rag trade. His leaning was towards a more conventional and, as he thought, a more secure career.
‘Yes.’ Helen, as she had been known then, had long ago found it made life much easier to go along with her parents’ suggestions, or at least to go through the motions. ‘If there are no openings in the fashion world, I promise you, I’ll try teaching.’
‘Well, if you make for London, I’m sure you’ll find plenty of openings. Your mother and I are very proud of you—a year younger than most of your class and carrying off the top awards. The cheque is to show how much.’
‘You’re very generous, Dad.’ Reaching up, she kissed his cheek. ‘And you’re sure you don’t mind me going off on my own for a few years?’
‘We’ll miss you, of course. But you’ve lost a lot of your childhood through your mother’s illness and we both want to make up to you for that.’
‘Dad, you can’t help that—and certainly Mother didn’t ask to be struck down with multiple sclerosis. You don’t have to make up to me.’
‘Nevertheless, it’s what we decided. You know we would both like to go back to the old country, but since the climate here suits your mother so much more... Anyway, I ought to tell you, I’m thinking of retiring from the Diplomatic Corps. I’ve been approached by a major Japanese company to take over a management position here in Sydney, and I’m tempted for your mother’s sake...’
‘Dad, you dark horse. I’m the one who ought to be rewarding you, not the other way round.’
‘No.’ He grinned. ‘All I ask is that you write often to your mother. You know how she has missed England. Just keep the letters and postcards coming.’
‘I promise. Only...you won’t mind too much if I make my way to Europe via the Caribbean, will you? Some of the diving club are planning an excavation of an old Spanish galleon that’s been discovered off the Windwards, and they’ve asked me to go along.’
‘We-ell, I suppose you’ve made up your mind about that already. So...all I ask is that you’ll be careful. I don’t want your mother to be worried—you know the effect it can have on her condition if she’s anxious, especially if she’s anxious about her only child.’
‘I promise.’ Again she stood on tiptoe to drop a kiss on his cheek. ‘I promise I’ll be very careful. I’m not into risk-taking and I’ll write as often as I can.’
And that was how, a week after her twenty-first birthday she came to touch down in the Windwards, one of three girls in a group of seven from Sydney, joining several teams from American Universities excavating the seventeenth-century schooner which had foundered in a storm. And that was how she came to meet Ben Congreve, expedition leader and classicist, the man who was to have such a profound effect on her life—who was, in fact, to turn it upside down in the two short weeks of their acquaintance.
Never would she forget that first sight of him as, with others, he crouched on the sand examining the artifacts brought up that day from the sea bottom. Some remark brought a gale of laughter and he glanced up, his grin a dazzle of white against the dark face. He caught her eyes and straightened slowly, the smile fading while the dark eyes narrowed in interest. Lopped jeans and loose open shirt hid little of his sun-bronzed torso. Hair, also dark and fine, was raked back from his forehead with a touch of impatience she was to find only too characteristic.
Introductions began and his welcome had become more general, but his eyes had returned to hers, and even now, recalling the intensity of his gaze, she felt a throb of response. The world had, for that split second, halted on its axis before rushing on with the sound of an express train which only she had heard.
A beard, a shade or two lighter than his hair, had covered the lower part of his face, emphasising the faintly piratical look. The touch of natural arrogance might have been a warning. Except that those first few seconds took her far beyond the reach of warnings.
Little doubt then that on her side the attraction had been immediate and cataclysmic, and it had been an irritation that after that initial burning exchange he’d appeared to be only faintly aware of her. So many approaches by men who raised her blood pressure not a single point, and yet this man had ignored all her most blatant signals.
Afterwards, that was something he had denied hotly, laughingly assuring her he had picked her out at once, describing in detail how she had looked to him, then laughing again, grabbing her hands at that point, and pushing her back onto the sand and kissing her, teasing her, assuring her it was her swimming