Best of Fiona Harper

No, not really. Because this was just a symptom, wasn’t it?

He shook his head again. ‘Sometimes I just don’t understand you, Allegra. You have the life a thousand other dancers would kill for. The life your mother dreamed about, would have given anything to continue, and yet still it’s not enough for you. Sometimes I think I’ve spoiled you, and that you’ve grown up a little bit selfish.’

Allegra blinked at him, stunned.

Selfish? When all she’d ever done was try to please everyone else, try to ease their sadness by showing them her mother had left a little bit of herself behind in her child?

Well, the compliments were coming thick and fast today, weren’t they? First she was soulless, and now she was selfish, too. She wondered that anyone still wanted her around if she was really that awful.

Maybe she was ungrateful and spoiled because she couldn’t stand the weight of her mother’s mantle on her shoulders a moment longer. It had been weighing her down since just after her eighth birthday. Once she had loved feeling that her talent had connected her to her mother, but now she wanted that connection broken, severed once and for all.

Her mother was dead. Nothing was going to change that.

And Allegra feared that if something didn’t change soon all the life would be sucked out of her as well.

She looked at the floor and then back up at her father, giving him one last chance to really see her, see past layer upon layer of expectation he’d pasted upon her, but his face was closed. He was still angry with her. For the comment she’d just made, for the performance last night, for the review he’d have to defend himself against to his arty friends.

Suddenly she felt utterly and totally alone.

The only remedy was to throw herself back into her work and hope the boiling pot of emotions she was busy trying to keep a lid on would flow out in her next performance, and give that critic good reason to eat his words.

‘I have a rehearsal at two. I have to go.’

And, without waiting to be dismissed, she turned and left her father’s study.

Nat was waiting for him at one of the airport bars. It was a pity they only had an hour or so together, otherwise they might have been able to go into Amsterdam for a meal. Finn didn’t mind too much about that, though. This was the life they’d chosen and they were used to it. There’d always be another time.

He walked up to Nat and pulled her into his arms for a kiss. Nat kept her mouth firmly closed and then slid away. Finn stopped and looked at her. Same Nat, with the jaunty honey-coloured bob, the girl-next-door healthy glow about her faintly tanned skin. As usual, there was nothing girl-next-door about the clothes. They were designer all the way.

She pushed herself back onto her bar stool and took a sip of a brightly coloured cocktail with a lime-green straw and an umbrella sticking out of it. Finn frowned. Where was the usual vodka and tonic?

‘What’s that?’ he asked, nodding towards the garish drink.

Nat’s smile started in her cheeks but didn’t make it all the way to her lips. ‘Dutch courage, I think they call it. Want one?’

He shook his head. ‘I think I’ll stick to beer, thanks.’ And he waved to get the bartender’s attention and ordered just that.

‘Finn…’ Nat folded her hands in her lap and studied them for a moment, then she lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eye. ‘There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to come out and say it.’

Finn went very still. She wasn’t pregnant, was she? Because that would be way ahead of schedule. He was only thirty. Plenty of time for that later.

Nat inhaled. ‘I’ve met someone,’ she said quickly and returned her gaze to her lap.

Huh?

‘Pardon?’ Finn said. It was the only word he could think of.

Nat sighed and reached for her cocktail. She held the umbrella-laden glass against her chest like a shield. ‘I can’t marry you, Finn.’

This wasn’t real. No, this definitely couldn’t be real.

This wasn’t Nat sitting opposite him sipping the wrong drink, saying the wrong thing. He must be having a weird in-flight dream and Schiphol airport must still be hours away.

‘Who?’ he said, and his voice sounded hard and flat. He couldn’t look at her.

He heard her fidget in her seat. ‘His name is Matthew, and he’s an architect. I met him at a charity do a few months ago, and then I bumped into him a few times after that. And, well, one thing led to another…’

How he hated that phrase. It implied that something couldn’t be helped, that the person in question had had no choice and, therefore, bore no responsibility.

‘He’s asked me to marry him,’ she said quietly.

That made him whip his head round. ‘But you’re supposed to be marrying me!’

‘I know,’ Nat said, looking at him from under her lashes. ‘I’m sorry.’

Finn just stared at her. He was feeling so many emotions that he wasn’t even sure which one to pick out of the bag first. How about anger? A good one, that. Much better than disappointment or the sting of rejection. Or the creeping sickness telling him he’d been stupid to let himself get too attached once again.

‘Sorry doesn’t cut it, sweetheart! We had a deal, remember? You’ve got a—’

He’d been about to say ring on your finger to prove it, but a quick glance at her hand left him without ammunition.

Silently, she reached into her handbag, opened her purse and handed his diamond back to him. He took it between thumb and forefinger and stared at it, felt its weight.

This was real.

Nat gave him a weak smile. ‘We weren’t really ever going to get round to it, were we, Finn? It was a nice game, pretending we were ready for a proper relationship when really we hardly spent any time together. We did it because it was easy.’

It had been easy! What was so wrong with that?

‘We worked together, Nat! Wasn’t it nice to know there was always someone to come home to? To have someone who wouldn’t moan about the long hours and weeks spent apart? Someone who knew how to pick up where they left off without a lot of fuss? Is the wonderful Matthew going to put up with all of that?’

Nat sighed. ‘It did work, Finn. Did being the operative word. “Us” was a habit we’d fallen into, a way of keeping our freedom while telling ourselves we were ready for more.’

What was she talking about? He’d been ready for more. Hadn’t he? The anger quickly dissolved into confusion.

He looked at Nat and she looked back at him.

‘Now I really am ready for more,’ she said.

‘Just not with me,’ he replied, then pressed his lips into a straight line.

She shook her head. ‘Matthew wants us to move to a nice big house in the country and fill it with kids.’ She smiled to herself. ‘I’m amazed to discover I want that, too. I’m even thinking about giving up Amazing Planet and doing something UK-based.’

What? Cutesy early-evening nature programmes? Nat hated those!

‘But you’ll go mad staying in one place for that long! You always said you didn’t want to be tied down like that. This is a mistake, Nat! You love your job.’

She looked back at him, unblinking and contrite. ‘I love him more,’ she said simply. ‘I want to be where he is, Finn. I can’t stand being away from him.’

Finn slumped back into his leather-backed stool. She was crazy, but there was no talking to her. She’d made her choice and, even if she regretted it later, he wasn’t going to stop her. And he certainly wasn’t going to beg. So it was time to cut ties, to let her loose, he supposed.

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, watching the crowds bustle past. Families with whining kids and stupid big Spanish hats that no one born there would disgrace themselves by wearing. Elderly couples on city breaks who’d probably seen Amsterdam’s canals from the wrong side of a coach window.

He turned away, irritated, and found Nat watching him.

‘That was us, Finn. We were tourists.’

Finn glanced at the almost-empty cocktail glass. What exactly was in that concoction? Nat knew he’d never been on a package holiday in his life, knew he’d rather shoot himself first.

She stood up, looking very serious. ‘I want the real experience now, Finn. I don’t want to just whizz past the landmarks—dating, engagement, wedding—and still not really know what it’s like to live there.’

That drink had really gone to her head. She wasn’t making any sense at all.

‘I hate to ask, but would you do me a favour? Will you keep quiet about this until I get back from Tonga next week? I don’t want media speculation running rife while we’re both out of the country.’

He nodded. She could have anything she wanted. He didn’t care. He was numb. Just as well, really, because he was in no hurry to find out what a broken heart felt like.

She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. ‘Goodbye, Finn. I hope you find what you’re looking for.’

And then she was gone. Lost amongst the overladen trolleys and duty free bags.

The bartender plonked his bottle of beer in front of him and Finn took a long, long drink.

Jilted in the time it took to order a beer. Marvellous.

‘I want to see that lift again.’

Allegra picked herself up off the studio floor and glared at her partner. Damien, The Little Mermaid’s choreographer, continued to stare at them, his patience thinning rapidly.

So was Allegra’s.

‘It would help if you put your hands where they’re supposed to go,’ she muttered darkly to Stephen. He was in a particularly infantile mood this afternoon.

Stephen helped her up, spun her into his arms and proceeded to take hold of her a good few inches south of where he was supposed to. Allegra clenched her teeth, prised his hand from her left buttock and moved it to her hip.

‘You’re no fun any more,’ Stephen moaned, not in the least bit repentant.

She placed one hand on his shoulder, the other on his cheek and got into position. ‘You and I have never had that kind of fun, Stephen, and nor are we likely to,’ she said, as she tipped her head to the correct angle.

Pity, that. Because Stephen was blond and finely sculpted, and just about the only man under fifty she saw on a regular basis who wasn’t gay. But Stephen had the morals of an alley cat, and made the most of being a good-looking straight male in a predominantly female profession. When it came to women, flirting was Stephen’s default position. However, as long as any physical contact between them was strictly professional, Stephen was pretty harmless. Most of the time she ignored it and they got along fine, but this afternoon she really needed to impress Damien and her partner was not making it easy.

‘I think there are a few of the corps that you haven’t slept with lurking in the corridors hoping to catch a glimpse of you. Why don’t you see if you can rid them of their girlish illusions once rehearsal’s over and leave me alone?’

‘Careful, darling,’ he said as he dipped her backwards and then lifted her into the air. ‘Or soon they’ll be calling you the Little Cactus instead of the Little Mermaid.’

The rehearsal went fine after that. At least, Allegra had thought it was going fine. She lost herself in the dancing, just as she’d done in the early days, and forgot about everything—the reviews, her father, even the telephone call that had made her heart soar, just for a moment. Instead she concentrated on bones and joints and muscles, on shapes and lines and angles. It was a blessed relief.

‘No, no, no!’ Damien shouted as they got to the end of a particularly difficult combination. The pianist who’d been accompanying them broke off mid-bar.

‘You’re supposed to be the picture of innocent longing, my dear,’ the choreographer said, turning away from her and running his hand through his hair. ‘Do try and put some feeling into it or the audience will be dropping off to sleep.’ He turned to the pianist. ‘From the top—again.’

So they did it again. And again.

Allegra looked deep inside herself, pulled out everything she could find in there—and there was quite a shopping list, she discovered. Grief for a lost parent and a lost childhood. Resentment for every person who’d pushed and pulled and ordered her around in the last decade. And, yes, longing too. Longing for a pair of deep brown eyes and a crinkly smile, for a life of adventure that could never be hers. She poured it all in there and when they’d finished that section she was drained.

She broke away from Stephen and headed for her water bottle on the floor near the mirrors, then she picked up her towel and wiped the sweat off her face, neck and shoulders.

She turned to find Damien surveying her with hard eyes.

‘I can see you’re trying, Allegra, but it’s not enough. I need more.’ He nodded to the pianist. ‘From the start of the adagio…’

Allegra walked over to Stephen, a slight twinge in her right ankle making her favour the other foot, and they assumed the starting position for their pas de deux. The pianist pounded the keys and Allegra closed her eyes, told her exhausted body it could do this and started to move.

After no more than ten bars of music Damien interrupted them. ‘More, Allegra! I need more!’ he yelled as she turned and jumped, spun and balanced.

‘More!’ he shouted as Stephen propelled her into the air, turned her upside down and then swung her back to the ground.

Damien stamped his foot in time to the music, driving them on through the final and most physically demanding section. ‘More!’

I don’t have anything more to give, Allegra thought, her body on the verge of collapse. Surely this has to be enough.

The music ended and she and Stephen slid apart and sank to the floor, panting. The choreographer marched over and stood towering above them. Allegra looked up.

‘Not good enough, Allegra. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but you’d better buck your ideas up by tomorrow’s rehearsal or I’ll replace you and Stephen in Saturday’s performance with Tamzin and Valeri. I will not have months of my hard work undone by one lukewarm ballerina. Now get out of my rehearsal and don’t come back until you’re truly prepared to commit to this role!’

His face was pink now. Allegra was speechless. She looked at the clock. They still had half an hour. He couldn’t really be—

‘Get out,’ Damien said, and pointed to the door.

So Allegra left. She quickly changed her shoes and pulled on her stretchy black trousers, then she picked up her things, pushed the studio door open with her hip and walked out.

And she kept on walking. Out of the rehearsal studio, out of the building and out of her life.

CHAPTER FOUR

ALLEGRA’S brain was swimming. She’d just jumped out of a helicopter and onto Finn McLeod! And now he was standing over her, grinning like a maniac while the wind whipped around them, offering his hand.

She took it. How could she have done anything else?

She couldn’t tell if this was better or worse than her late-night fantasies when she’d been stuck on an island with no one but Fearless Finn for company—and entertainment. A big blob of water fell out of the sky and crashed onto her scalp, but Allegra was only aware of it in a distant, out-of-body kind of way.

The awareness that came from the warm hand clasped around her own? Now that was very much up-close and immediate, and definitely, definitely in her body. Just that simple action had caused her flesh to tingle and her pulse to do a series of jetés.

She was touching Finn McLeod. Actually holding his hand.

And as she looked into his eyes once again she realised that while TV Finn was just plain gorgeous, In The Flesh Finn had the kind of presence that made a girl’s nerve endings sizzle and her eyes water.

Or could that have something to do with the rain?

To be honest, she didn’t really care. She didn’t care about anything now; she was a million miles away from her life and Finn McLeod was holding her hand and talking to her in that beautiful Scottish accent of his. All she wanted to do was stare into those impossibly deep brown eyes…

Oh.

He’d been talking.

And now he’d stopped. He was also frowning at her. Why?

She suddenly became aware of the tension in his arm muscles, of the tugging sensation in her shoulder socket. He was pulling her. She was supposed to moving, getting up. Not letting her behind get damp on the sand. Not gawping at the most gorgeous-looking man she’d ever seen in real life.

Thankfully, she was well used to telling her body to do things it had no real inclination to do. She issued a command to her feet and legs and they obligingly pushed down into the sand, levering her upwards with the help of Finn’s hand, until she was standing opposite him.

Nobody moved for a few seconds. Not even the guy with the camera.

She’d done what he’d wanted, hadn’t she? She’d stood up. So why was he staring at her as if he wasn’t sure if she was human or not?

The downside to not being able to tear her gaze away from the deep brown eyes was that she was now privy to the slideshow of emotions flashing through them.

Bewilderment. Concern. Uncertainty.

And since he hadn’t looked anywhere else but right back at her since she’d sent him crashing onto the moist sand, the only conclusion she could come to was that he must be feeling all of those things about her.

Not good, Allegra. Pull yourself together. You know how to do that, don’t you? You should do. Part of the training. It should come as naturally as the other basics, like pliés and tendus.

She wrenched her gaze from his and stared out to sea, fixed it on the retreating black blob of the helicopter flying low over the water. It was much farther away than she’d thought it would be. Just how long had she been sitting on the beach, staring into Finn’s eyes?

‘Okay,’ she heard Finn say. ‘We’d better start sorting out some kind of shelter before it gets dark, or tonight will be our most miserable on the planet.’

She turned to face the land and watched him as he trudged up the beach towards the dense green vegetation fringing its edge. The camera guy, however, didn’t move. He just kept pointing his lens at Allegra, his feet braced into the sand.

She’d forgotten about the unseen bodies behind the camera when she’d phoned Finn’s producer back and agreed to do this. When the show aired it often seemed as if Finn was totally alone in whatever strange and exotic world he was exploring. And that was what she’d latched onto when she’d marched out of the rehearsal studio and had dug for her phone in her pocket—the chance of her very own private adventure with Fearless Finn.

Another drop of rain hit her scalp, as fat as a water bomb. She stared back at the camera lens, doing nothing, saying nothing. Just what exactly had she got herself into?

‘Come on, Dave,’ Finn yelled from under a huge palm tree as the water bombs began to multiply. Allegra couldn’t be sure, but it seemed as if someone up there was aiming them directly at her, and they were an awfully good shot. Her long-sleeved shirt only had a few dry patches on it now, and water was dripping from her shorts down her bare legs.

Dave merely adjusted the focus ring on his camera, keeping it pointed straight at Allegra. ‘Not my job, mate!’ he yelled back. ‘I’m here to capture you two battling to survive the elements.’

She narrowed her eyes at the beady lens still trained on her, then took off up the beach, following her secret crush. If she stood next to Finn, that contraption would have to focus on something other than just her.

The camera—and Dave—followed.

‘You can look smug all you want,’ said Finn to his colleague, ‘but this storm is picking up fast and I doubt they’ll be sending the speedboat to pick you up and take you back to the hotel anytime soon.’ He bestowed a crinkly-eyed grin on Dave that made Allegra want to sit back down on the damp sand again. It was the hint of determination behind the laughter in his eyes that did it. The soft hairs behind her ears stood on end.

‘I reckon you’ve got two choices,’ Finn added. ‘Either you put that thing down and help us build a shelter big enough for three, or you can get all the footage you want, and when we’ve finished making our two-man lean-to we’ll make sure you get some great shots of us waving to you from the warm and dry.’

Fair choice, Allegra thought. Dave might not like it, but at least he had an option.

Dave grunted and pulled his camera off his shoulder. ‘I need to get the rain cover on, anyway,’ he muttered. ‘But I’m going to have to film some of the time—or Simon will have my hide.’

‘And a lovely rug for his office you’d make, too,’ Finn said, then pulled an absolutely huge knife from somewhere on his person and marched over to a clump of bamboo poles almost as thick as Allegra’s arms and began hacking at the base of one of them.

In no time at all he’d felled a good few. She stood there, watching him. It was odd, this sensation of being totally superfluous. Normally when she was at work everything revolved around her. She hadn’t realised how much she’d taken that for granted—or how much she’d actually liked it.

It was as if he’d totally forgotten she was there.

She coughed.

Finn hacked at bamboo.

She coughed again. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

Finn’s head snapped round, and she realised that her existence had indeed slipped his mind. He turned back to the bamboo before answering. ‘Yes. Go and collect some palm leaves and split them down the middle.’ And then he reached into a little pocket on his trousers, pulled out a small folding knife and tossed it onto the ground behind him.

Allegra reached forward and picked it up. She eased it open and stared at it.

She didn’t think she’d ever held anything like this before in her life. No need for tools like this in the cultured and contained garden squares of Notting Hill. She didn’t even know how to open it without cutting herself.

She almost opened her mouth to say as much, but then thought better of it.

She’d wanted something different, hadn’t she? No point complaining that ‘different’ was much less comfortable than she’d thought it would be. She just hadn’t expected to feel quite so much like a fish out of water.

The knife lay glinting in her hand.

Palm leaves? She looked around. Well, no shortage of them nearby, it seemed. It didn’t take more than ten minutes for her to gather a whole armful of such material. She dragged them back to where Finn was finishing with the bamboo and dumped them in a pile on the ground.

Finn rose from sitting on his haunches and put his hands on his hips as he scanned the area, looking for heaven knew what. She hoped it wasn’t snakes. But it didn’t matter what he was looking for or what he asked her to do. She’d seen every episode of his show and she knew he could look after himself in this jungle. And her. As a result, if Finn McLeod asked her to stand on her head and sing Twinkle, Twinkle, she’d do it. No questions asked.

So when Finn asked her to clear a patch of ground with a stick, she cleared a patch of ground with a stick, and she didn’t think about snakes. And when he showed her how to make rope out of vines and creepers, she plaited until her fingers were sore and numb with cold.

Meanwhile, Finn and Dave rigged up a simple triangular structure by lashing the bamboo poles together with her lumpily woven twine. It had a raised platform and a sloping roof frame that rose high at the front and joined the base at the back. Once it was steady enough, they blinked against the rain and worked on thatching the roof with the leaves she’d collected.

It was dry inside. Warm might have been stretching it a little.