The Englishman's Bride. Sophie Weston
‘Ah, well, I can tell you about that. I was talking to one of the gardeners yesterday. He said that this place was all set up for people to have the last word in luxury tropical weddings. Only then the war broke out. These days all the guests they get are men in suits. So every time they see a woman, they think, wow, here come the good times again.’
‘Oh,’ said Lisa, her ferocity dying. ‘I didn’t think of that. Poor things.’
Kit grinned. ‘They’re demoralised. They’ve got a bunch of economists who told them to stop the music at dinner so they could talk.’
Lisa appreciated that. She gave her old naughty smile. ‘World Bank, I bet.’
Encouraged, Kit said, ‘And there’s some big-shot peace negotiator here who didn’t even notice the belly dancer.’
Lisa laughed aloud at that. But then her face darkened. She said in a hard tone, ‘I bet the ecology delegates wouldn’t notice either. I can’t tell you how long it is since Nikolai touched me.’
Ouch, thought Kit.
She dived into her mango juice. She really did not want to know about this. It was private. It was painful. And she was the last person in the world to know how to help.
But Lisa seemed to have forgotten that. Still staring out to sea, she said in a low voice, ‘He doesn’t want me any more, Kit.’
It was none of her business. She had always been hopeless about sex, anyway. How many times had Lisa pulled her back from the brink of disastrous relationships? That last one had nearly killed her, too.
And yet—And yet—She knew how Lisa felt.
She went over and put an arm round her competent sister.
For a moment Lisa stiffened. Then she dropped her head onto Kit’s shoulder.
‘I never thought it would happen to me,’ she said in a stifled voice. ‘I thought I could handle anything. You know?’
‘You can,’ said Kit stoutly.
‘Not this.’ Lisa detached herself from Kit’s comforting arm. Her voice was flat.
Despairing, thought Kit.
She said hurriedly, ‘Good sex is chemical, they say. Nothing to do with knowing someone. Or loving them. Take me, for instance—only last night I met a guy when I was swimming. We hardly spoke. But the chemistry was there all right.’
Lisa said nothing. That was unusual in itself. Normally she would have demanded all the details, delighted that Kit was showing some interest in men at last.
‘Scared me a bit,’ said Kit, fishing for a reaction. ‘I’d forgotten that attraction could be so strong. It may be nothing more than chemistry but it certainly shakes you up.’
‘Oh?’ said Lisa, indifferent.
‘Just goes to prove that relationships are a lot more than sex. You know me. Miss Iceberg of the century. Yet I fancied the guy like crazy and I didn’t even know his name. It didn’t mean anything.’
Lisa shrugged.
‘Surely it works the other way round, too?’ said Kit desperately. ‘I mean, if you’re committed to each other, you can weather a few—er—’
Lisa turned. ‘Nice try, Kit. Shame it won’t wash.’
‘What? Why?’
‘We stopped talking to each other before we stopped sleeping together,’ Lisa said brutally. ‘Tell me how we weather that.’
Kit gave up. There was nothing to say.
Philip ran his minder half way round the island on his morning run.
‘I spent too long in the conference room yesterday. I need to get my lungs open,’ he said.
He did, too. But he knew that he was really hoping to see the girl again. He didn’t.
Well, it was a long shot. And if he had seen her, there wasn’t anything he could do about it.
He went back to his meetings and put her out of his mind. And then, quite suddenly, he looked up from a diagram of new roads demanded by Rafek’s rival guerrilla leader and—there she was!
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