The Bride Of Santa Barbara. Angela Devine

      CHAPTER ONE

      ‘OK, BETH. This is the most important day of your life. You’re getting married today. So let’s have a really big smile.’

      With a hesitant tilt of her lips Beth turned to face the photographer. Behind him she could see the towering blue hills that rose like a painted backdrop behind the city of Santa Barbara. Above them the sun was just beginning to rise, sending a faint pink glow along the ridge-tops and lighting up the palm trees and white stuccoed houses on the waterfront. The air was still moist and fresh with no hint of the heat that would blaze out later in the day. A gentle breeze blew from the land, sending a sound like wind chimes rippling through the masts of the yachts in the marina and ruffling her veil. She stole a swift glance behind her and saw that the ocean was taking on the same rosy pink hue of the sky. It was a perfect day for taking photos and a perfect day for a wedding. Feeling half shy and half foolish, Beth let her thoughts dwell on the prospect of marrying Warren. All the doubts of the last three years would be swept aside in one glorious moment. The uncertainties would be gone forever...

      ‘You’re frowning slightly, honey,’ warned the photographer. ‘I want a really big smile. Radiant. Joyful. Yes, like that.’

      Finally Beth pushed away her doubts. A wistful look crept into her light blue eyes and a hesitant half-smile played around the corners of her wide mouth. She concentrated on happiness and suddenly her whole face lit up. Her lips parted into a beaming grin and the cleft in her chin grew more accentuated than ever.

      ‘That’s great!’ exclaimed the photographer. ‘Any time you want a job as a professional model, you just come straight to me. Now can you lean a little against the railings of the launch? Yes, like that. I want to catch the background of the harbour behind you.’

      The varnished deck of the motor launch was bobbing gently under Beth’s feet and the long white dress hampered her movements. But, looping her train cautiously over one arm, she did her best to obey his orders.

      ‘See if you can actually sit up on the railing a little,’ he urged. ‘I want your curls fluttering in the breeze and the veil blowing out behind you. That’s fine.’

      Darting a swift glance over her shoulder, Beth saw the pearly pink curve of a sail gliding towards them across the water like the outstretched wings of a bird. She scrambled into a precarious position on the railing, pushed the lace veil out over her right shoulder and ran her long slim fingers through her blonde curls.

      ‘Like this, Michael?’ she asked.

      ‘Great,’ agreed the photographer. ‘Now if you could just— ‘

      But what he was going to say Beth never found out, for at that moment there was a terrific thud and the cabin cruiser plunged sharply beneath her feet as if an earthquake had struck. She snatched wildly at the railing, missed and fell into the harbour with a terrified shriek. A torrent of salt water poured into her mouth. Flailing wildly, she tried to fight her way back to the surface. Normally she was a good swimmer, but then she did not usually swim in a wedding-dress. The folds of material were rapidly filling up with water and dragging her down, the veil was wrapped tightly around her neck and her lungs felt ready to burst. One of her white satin shoes slipped off her foot and she kicked wildly, trying to free the other one. All around her there was nothing but an explosion of bubbles and green blurry water and inside her chest was the beginning of a searing pain. Suddenly strong arms appeared from nowhere and dragged her to the surface. She opened her mouth and took in a long, choking gulp of fresh air. Her wet veil felt like a strangling rope around her throat and she fought with a new vigour to try and free herself. Then to her relief the encumbrance was suddenly torn loose and flung away. Beth became aware that somebody’s strong arm was flung over her left shoulder and holding her tightly under her right armpit. For an instant she lay motionless with relief in that reassuring grip. Then she saw her veil beginning to fill with water and sink beneath the green surface of the waves.

      ‘Oh, no, my veil!’ she gasped, struggling wildly to try and grab it. ‘I can’t lose that.’

      ‘I’ll buy you a new one,’ promised a deep masculine voice.

      Lean brown fingers thrust aside her wet curls and she caught a glimpse of keen dark eyes. Then her rescuer began to swim in a strong, effortless side-stroke, dragging her after him. Raising her head, she saw the gleaming white stern of a yacht dead ahead of them. When they reached it, the stranger shouted to somebody on board and a rope-ladder came splashing down into the water beside her. By now Beth was shivering with cold and shock and her first fumbling attempts to get a grip on the ladder were in vain. With an impatient oath the man in the water grabbed her by the back of her dress and hoisted her almost bodily over the stern of the yacht. A moment later he had hauled himself up beside her.

      ‘Are you all right?’ he demanded.

      Beth opened her mouth to speak but was seized by a paroxysm of coughing. With an involuntary gulp she ducked her head over the rear of the yacht and was violently sick into the water.

      As she straightened up, shuddering and gasping, she saw a sight that took her breath away. On the green surface of the water where the motor launch had been bobbing only moments before, there was nothing but a single red lifebelt surrounded by a few scraps of floating wreckage.

      ‘What happened to our boat?’ she demanded, her voice sharp with alarm.

      ‘It sank,’ replied her rescuer. ‘And you’re lucky you didn’t go down with it.’

      ‘But Warren and the photographer...where are they?’

      Her voice was shrill with fear and the stranger grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her round to face the south.

      ‘They’ve swum to the wharf,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, they look fine.’ Beth followed his pointing finger to a spot where the grey outline of Stearns Wharf could be seen jutting out into the water. Sure enough, Warren and Michael had already climbed out on to the wooden planks of the wharf and were wringing the water out of their soaked clothing. As she watched, Warren turned and made an obscene gesture towards the yacht.

      ‘You reckless, destructive bastard!’ he shouted across the water. ‘I’ll sue you for this.’

      ‘We’ll