Thunder On The Reef. Sara Craven
felt uneasy. Some undreamed of sixth sense must have been warning her.
She turned her head slowly. Looked up, with an assumption of calm enquiry.
He was standing over her, close enough to touch. She had to force herself not to shrink away. But it was imperative not to allow him any kind of ascendancy.
She said coolly, ‘Ross. What a surprise.’
‘You could say that.’ He sounded faintly amused, as he hitched a chair forward. ‘Mind if I join you?’
His presumption galled her. She said between her teeth, ‘Yes, I bloody well do mind,’ and he laughed.
‘Now that’s far more in character.’ He looked her over, a tingling top to toe assessment that missed nothing on the way, and made her cringe inside with anger, and a kind of unwilling excitement. ‘You’re looking good.’
‘I wish I could say the same for you,’ she said tersely. ‘I didn’t recognise you.’
‘Now I,’ he said softly, ‘would have known you anywhere. The beautiful Macy Gilmour. I hope I’ve got the label right.’
‘Absolutely.’ She pushed the coins back at him. ‘Save these for your next meal.’
‘Always the soul of generosity.’
‘A family trait,’ she said. ‘But maybe you don’t remember.’
‘By no means. I recall all the details of every transaction between us, Macy, my sweet, sexual as well as financial.’ His voice lingered on the words, deliberately creating all kinds of intimate images. Deliberately winding her up, she realised with vexation, feeling swift blood rise unbidden in her face,
‘Fortunately, I don’t,’ she said crisply, trying to take control of herself, and the situation. She couldn’t believe what was happening to her. For four years, she’d striven to dismiss Ross Bannister from her mind as completely as he’d disappeared from her life. Of all the people in the world, she thought despairingly. Of all the places in the world. And of all the lousy, stinking, rotten luck.
‘So, what brings you to Fortuna?’ Ross asked lazily, sitting down in spite of her denial.
‘I’m on holiday,’ she returned shortly. To her annoyance, the waiter whisked away the bill and the money before she could stop him, lifting a hand to Ross in obvious camaraderie as he did so.
Above the enigmatic shades, his brows lifted sardonically. ‘Are all the usual flesh pots fully booked? I wouldn’t have thought this was your scene, although there are some good beaches.’ He paused. ‘I won’t tell you to watch out for sharks. You’ve been mixing with them all your life.’
‘You,’ she said, ‘were the first.’ She reached for her bag, and got to her feet.
‘Going so soon?’ Ross rose too, with a courtesy so exaggerated it bordered on insolence. ‘But our reunion has hardly begun.’
‘Wrong,’ she said. Her mouth was dry, her heart was hammering. ‘It never started.’
He stroked his chin meditatively. ‘I hope the beard hasn’t put you off.’
‘By no means,’ she returned. ‘It looks wholly appropriate. Wasn’t there a pirate called Blackbeard?’
‘Indeed there was,’ he said. ‘He used to operate round Nassau way.’
‘What a pity you don’t do the same.’
‘I prefer to work on a smaller scale.’ She’d forgotten his smile. Forgotten too how heart-stoppingly handsome he was, in spite of the scruffy hair and stubble. In fact, there was a lot about Ross Bannister she’d have preferred to dismiss permanently from her mind.
‘You’re not very relaxed for a holidaymaker,’ he commented. ‘You seem constantly on edge.’
‘Do you wonder?’ She paused. ‘May I be frank?’
‘You always were,’ he murmured.
‘Thank you.’ She faced him squarely, chin up. ‘The fact is, Ross, I’d hoped you were out of my life forever. Meeting you again is like the worst kind of bad dream.’
‘Well, that is being frank. Unfortunately for you, it could also be a recurring dream,’ he said. ‘This is only a small island. We could bump into each other quite regularly.’
‘No.’ She said it so loudly and vehemently that people at neighbouring tables looked at them curiously.
‘Alternatively,’ Ross went on imperturbably, ‘you could always ask your hotel for a transfer to another island.’
If the choice were hers, that was exactly what she’d be doing, Macy thought angrily. Only she couldn’t cut and run. Not yet. She had business to attend to. An important deal to get off the ground. Her personal emotions couldn’t be allowed to interfere with that.
She said coolly, ‘Using the excuse that I’d been frightened by a rat, I suppose. But, no, I don’t think so. I like it here.’ She paused. ‘How much, this time, Ross, to get you out of my life?’
He said softly, ‘Forget it, Macy. There wouldn’t be room for all the noughts on the cheque.’ He slanted a brief smile at her. ‘See you around,’ he added, and walked away.
* * *
Macy walked too, back up the street, oblivious to the jostling of other pedestrians, as she stared unseeingly ahead of her. Her head was whirling, her thoughts going crazy.
It had been four long years since Ross Bannister had walked out on her. Four years in which to heal herself, and rebuild her shattered self-esteem. Find a new identity.
She thought she’d succeeded. But his sudden reappearance, just when she needed it least, had shaken her world to its foundations.
For the first time, she realised just how much her hard-won security and confidence depended on never being reminded of Ross. Certainly of never seeing him again.
Yet, like some evil genius, here he was.
Under the laws of probability, she wondered just what the chances were of them bumping into each other like this. Probably a million to one. It had to be the most appalling coincidence of the decade.
She cursed herself silently for not staying safely in the confines of the hotel until it was time to go to Mr Delancey’s office. If she hadn’t taken time out to explore, shop-gaze and have a drink at that particular pavement bar, Ross might never have seen her.
She was surprised that he’d recognised her at all. She wasn’t the girl he’d left behind four years before. And she was astonished that, after all that had passed between them, he should want to make contact with her again, however fleetingly.
He could have no conscience, she thought bitterly. No sense of shame.
And there was no guarantee this was the only time they’d run into each other.
‘This is only a small island...’
Had she imagined the note of warning in his voice? She didn’t think so.
She felt sick again. She could always call her father and ask his advice. Except that she knew what he’d say. He’d summon her back instantly, and hand the Thunder Cay negotiations to someone else.
And she didn’t want that. She’d fought hard for her place on the Gilmour-Denys team. At first work had been a form of therapy in the wake of Ross’s desertion. Lately, she’d become involved for the sake of the job itself.
Among other things, she’d taken over the administration of the charitable trusts left by her wealthy American mother. The bulk of Kathryn Landin’s considerable estate, bequeathed to Macy personally, would come to her in four years’ time, on her twenty-fifth birthday.
Up to now, her father had acted as her trustee and adviser, while she’d merely