It Happened In Paradise: Wedded in a Whirlwind / Deserted Island, Dreamy Ex! / His Bride in Paradise

Nothing had happened, she reminded herself. He was just trying to keep her from thinking about the situation they were in and she responded with a positively flippant, ‘Don’t they all?’ Then, ‘Why? Do you want a souvenir? Pictures to sell to the tabloids.’

‘Would the tabloids be that interested?’

Pictures of Miranda Grenville, one-time society hostess, adviser to the Prime Minister, now businesswomen in her own right, filthy and dishevelled in an underground hell? Oh, yes, they’d love those. But clearly he hadn’t a clue who she was and she was happy to leave it that way.

‘There’s always a market for human interest stories,’ she told him as she dug the phone out of her bag, wiped it dry on the sleeve of her shirt and turned it on for the first time since she’d arrived in Cordillera. It lit up, then beeped. ‘I’ve got messages,’ she said.

‘They’ll keep,’ Jago replied, taking it from her. ‘This is more important. Shut your eyes.’

‘Why? What are you—’ A bright flash wiped out all the night sight she’d slowly built up. ‘Idiot!’

‘I told you to shut your eyes,’ he said, looking at the image on the screen for a moment before turning slightly. ‘And again,’ he said.

This time she didn’t hesitate as she caught on to what he was doing. With the camera in her cellphone he could take pictures, use them to ‘see’ exactly what the situation was, maybe find a way out. Or at least locate anything that might be of use to them.

He stared at the third image for so long that she leaned forward to see what held his attention.

‘What’s that?’ she asked, after a moment staring at the picture and trying to make sense of the vast piece of stone that was lying at a broken angle from the floor to the roof.

‘The eagle.’

‘The one that was part of the ceiling?’ she asked, shocked. To see something that huge just tossed aside was chilling.

‘I climbed up part of the way just now,’ Jago said. The screen lit up the tip of his finger, a short clean nail, as he pointed at the photograph. ‘There’s a shaft that leads directly out to the forest, but I couldn’t find a way through. It may be blocked with debris. Or the eagle might have fallen across it.’

‘Oh.’

He took another photograph, and then another. It seemed forever before he grunted with something like satisfaction. ‘Keep it pointed that way so that I know how far I’ve got,’ he said, carefully handing her the phone. ‘I’ll be right back.’

She looked at the photograph, trying to work out what had got him so excited. Had he seen some prospect of escape? No matter how hard she stared, all she could see was a jumble of stone piled almost to the roof.

She heard him pulling at it, the rattle as smaller stones moved. ‘Be careful!’ Then, letting out a breath of relief as he made his way back to her, ‘What was it? What did you see?’

‘The handle of a trowel,’ he said, passing it to her. It was one of those fine trowels that archaeologists used to scrape away the layers of soil. Pitifully small, but better than nothing. ‘Put it in your bag. Did you put the brandy in there?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Put the strap over your head so you don’t get parted from it again. There are bound to be more aftershocks.’

He used the same take it or leave it tone with which he’d told her to close her eyes and her first reaction to any kind of order had always been to ignore it. This time, however, she didn’t hesitate, putting the trowel in her bag, placing the strap over her head.

And she didn’t speak again until he’d painstakingly photographed all three hundred and sixty degrees of what remained of the temple. Kept her bottom lip firmly clamped between her teeth, containing her impatience as he carefully examined each image, instead fixing her gaze on the dark angles and planes of his face in the shadowy light from the small screen. Watching for the slightest sign that he’d found some way out.

Without a word he stopped looking, then turned his attention to the roof and carried on taking photographs.

She did her best to smother a pathetic whimper but he must have heard her because, without pausing in what he was doing, he reached out, found her hand in the faint light from the screen.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

‘Well?’ she asked, unable to contain herself when, finally, he stopped, looked through all the images and still said nothing.

‘Is this you?’ he asked.

‘What?’

She leaned forward and realised that he’d found the pictures taken at the christening. She’d taken a picture of Belle holding Minette.

‘No. That’s my sister-in-law. I was godmother to her baby last week.’

‘Why do I think I know her?’

‘I couldn’t say,’ she replied, unwilling to add glamour to her sister-in-law by telling him that, until recently, she had been the nation’s breakfast television sweetheart. ‘Maybe you’ve a thing for voluptuous women?’

‘If I have, believe me I’m over it. What about this?’ he asked, flipping on to the next picture.

‘That’s Daisy. She’s my assistant. My sister-in-law’s sister. It was a joint christening and I was godmother to her little boy too.’

‘So where’s number three?’

‘Three?’

‘Doesn’t everything come in threes? Wishes? Disasters? Babies…’

‘Not in this family,’ she said sharply.

‘That would be the family you’re taking a break from?’

Had she really said that? To this total stranger. Except that when a man had kissed you—twice—he could hardly be described as a stranger. Even when you didn’t know what he looked like. Anything about him. Except that he knew when to be tough and when to be gentle. And when a girl needed a hand to hold in the dark.

Maybe that was enough.

‘The same family whose photographs you carry about with you?’

‘It’s…complicated.’

‘Families usually are,’ he said with feeling.

‘What about you? Will your family be glued to the twenty-four hour news channels? Or flying out to help in the search?’

‘It’s unlikely. They have no idea I’m in Cordillera.’

‘Really? I assumed you’d been here for quite a while.’

‘Nearly five years.’

‘Oh.’

‘We’re not what you could call close.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s my choice.’

‘Right.’ Then, ‘Mine don’t know, either. Where I am.’

‘You said.’

She had said rather a lot for such a short acquaintance, but then the circumstances had an intensity that speeded up the normal course of social intercourse.

‘Of course I’ve only been gone a few days,’ she added, feeling guilty.

‘I’m sure you’d have got around to sending a postcard eventually.’

‘I don’t send postcards.’

‘Or call? They seem to have been calling you.’

‘Those messages? Probably business,’ she said dismissively. ‘Belle and Daisy and I have a television production company. We’re due to start work on a new documentary soon.’

‘Oh, well, the good news is that we needn’t worry about them worrying about us.’

That was the good news?

‘Okay, Miranda Grenville. We seem to have just two options. I may have found a way through the roof. The first part of the climb would be fairly easy. Up the back of the eagle where it’s sloping to the ground. But after that it’s going to be a tough climb, finding footholds in the dark. See?’

He showed her the picture of a dark gash in the roof where the light hadn’t reflected back, suggesting space.

‘Unfortunately I can’t say what we’ll find when we get there. We might still be—’

‘What’s the alternative?’ she asked.

‘We could try and clear this corner.’ He flipped forward to a photograph that showed a corner where the wall had subsided. ‘The ground falls away there, so it’s unlikely to be blocked with debris once we’re through.’

‘If we can get through,’ she said.

‘If we can get through,’ he confirmed. ‘The third option is to stay put and hope that the sniffer dogs are on their way.’

‘I don’t think I’ll hold my breath on that one.’ Manda did her best to swallow down the fear. ‘I imagine they already have their paws full.’ She tried not to think about what was going on outside. The suffering… ‘Which would you choose? If you didn’t have to think about me?’

There was a telling pause before he said, ‘I think clearing the corner might be the most sensible option.’

He was lying.

‘If you were on your own you’d go for the climb. Admit it.’

He hesitated a fraction too long before saying, ‘In the dark it could be suicide.’

‘You think I’m not up to it, is that it?’

‘I’ve no idea what you’re up to, but it’s not that. If there’s a shock while we’re up there—’

‘Shut up, Jago.’

‘Miranda…’

‘If there’s a shock it could all come down on top of us.’ He didn’t say anything. ‘And climbing would be quicker.’

‘True,’ he admitted. ‘Did you say something about a packet of mints? Or did they dissolve when the water leaked?’

‘You’re in luck, they’re the chewy kind.’ She felt around in her bag until she found them, unwrapped two mints and handed him one. Then she snapped the rest of the pack in two and gave half to him. ‘Here. Don’t eat them all at once.’

‘No, ma’am,’ he replied and her eyes were now so accustomed to the low light levels emitting from the phone that she clearly saw him tuck the sweets into his shirt pocket. ‘Okay, here’s the plan. I’ll go up and take a look to see if it’s possible, then I’ll come back for you.’

‘Leaving me down here? No way!’

‘You want your mints back?’ he asked.

‘Stuff the mints…’ She didn’t care a fig about them. ‘Stuff you.’ He wasn’t going to abandon her. ‘Give me my phone back and I’ll find my own way.’

As she made a grab for it, he moved it out of reach. ‘You think I’d abandon you?’

‘Not intentionally. But once you’re up there…’ He’d be exhausted. It would take a superhero to climb back down into the dark. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t going to happen. ‘Let’s just say that experience has led me to have very low expectations of the average male.’

‘Then it’s your lucky day. The one thing I’m not is average.’

‘No?’ Actually, she probably thought he was right, but she wasn’t about to pander to his ego. ‘So where do you fit? Above or below the median?’

‘You’d better hope that it’s above.’

‘I’ll let you know.’

‘Cat,’ he replied, but softly so that she was sure he was smiling. Then, leaning into her so that she could see the screen, ‘Okay. This is the way we go,’ he said, pointing out the route he’d chosen.

‘What about this way?’ she suggested, pointing to what looked like a fissure. ‘It looks easier.’

‘Did I ask your opinion?’

‘But—’

‘This isn’t a committee, lady.’ She hadn’t realised the voice could reflect the expression so clearly, but it was obvious that he wasn’t smiling now. ‘Pay close attention because I’m going to say this just once, then I’m going, with you or without you.’

Damn…

She hadn’t meant to do that. It wasn’t that she doubted him or his good intentions but she was so used to people listening to her opinions. Being in control…

Whatever he thought, he didn’t wait for her to answer one way or the other but, having made his point, he looped his arm over her and pulled her closer. Then, with her chin pressed against his shoulder—she hadn’t imagined the strength—he laid out the route they’d take, pointing out crevices for hands and feet that she’d never have seen. Finally, when he was done, he took her hand and placed the phone into her palm, pressing her fingers around it.

‘You should keep it,’ she said. Doing her best to make up for… Well, just about everything.

‘Probably,’ he admitted, wrapping her fingers around it. ‘Keep it safe.’

His way of proving that she could trust him not to abandon her? Or, having picked out his escape route was he simply freeing up his hands for the climb?

It didn’t matter, she decided, as she slipped it into the large breast pocket of her shirt where it would be easily accessible. Then she looked up into the dark void and knew exactly what he’d done.

He’d given her the best light source in case she needed it to find her way and, feeling really bad for doubting him, she said, ‘Here, take the mini-light.’

‘Sure?’

She didn’t answer, but pressed it into his palm. Then, as he turned it on to light his way, she looked up. ‘How high is it?’

‘Just be grateful these people didn’t build on the scale of the Egyptians,’ he replied, evading the question.

‘How high?’ she insisted.

‘About ten metres,’ he replied, far too glibly, not looking back.

‘Don’t patronise me, Jago.’

He was close enough for her to feel him shrug, then he turned slightly so that she could see his spare, finely chiselled profile. ‘Does it matter?’ he asked.

‘I like to be in possession of all the facts.’

‘A bit of a control freak, are you?’

‘Not at all. You can ask anyone. I’m a total control freak.’

‘Then here are the facts for you. We start at the bottom and we keep going until we reach the top. Simple.’ Then, ‘What did you do with that bottle of brandy?’

‘Need a stiffener before you face it?’ she asked, passing it to him.

The light went out and she heard him unscrew the cap. ‘Give me your hands.’

About to ask why, she thought better of it and held them out without a word as he placed one of his own beneath them. Then he poured the spirit over both of their hands and she let slip something brief and scatological as the spirit found its way into the scrapes and grazes, bringing tears to her eyes.

‘Antiseptic,’ he said. ‘And it’ll dry out your skin. Help with grip.’

‘Thanks,’ she said cryptically.

‘Don’t mention it.’ He tucked the bottle back into the bag hanging from her back, then said, ‘You’d better give me that.’

‘Are you sure about that? It’ll be a bad look,’ she warned as she lifted the strap over her head and surrendered it to him. ‘It definitely won’t match your shoes.’

‘You know that for a fact, do you?’

‘I can’t believe you’re wearing silver sandals.’

‘Please tell me you’re kidding.’ Then, ‘No. Don’t say another word. I’d rather not know.’

He didn’t wait but, using the small light, he began to move away from her. Having mentally slapped herself on the wrist for being a bad girl—but honestly, any man who seriously believed any girl with a grain of sense would wear silver sandals in the rainforest deserved to be teased—she began to follow him, further scuffing the toes of her expensive loafers as she crawled after him on her hands and knees.

Sensible, after all, did not have to be cheap. Or lack style.

Ahead of her, Jago stood up, turning back to take her arm and help her to her feet. About to remind him that she could manage, she felt her knee buckle slightly. Muffled by all the other aches and pains she was suffering, she’d forgotten about her knee.

‘Okay?’

‘Fine.’ There was a long moment of silence and she knew he was looking at her, trying to gauge just how fine she really was. ‘Absolutely dandy,’ she assured him. ‘No problem. How’s your head?’

‘I’ll live.’ Then, ‘Let’s get on with it.’

In the darkness she found her ears filling in the pictures; the sound of cloth brushing against skin as he moved, of muscles stretching as he reached up, using the tiny light to illuminate the first of the hand-holds that he’d pinpointed on the photograph. Then everything went dark again.

He didn’t begin to climb away from her, however, but reached back and found her hand, lifting it to a narrow crack so that she could feel it for herself, would know how far to stretch, what she was looking for. Have a starting point.

‘Got that?’ he asked.

‘Got it,’ she assured him.

‘Okay. We’ll take it one move at a time. I’ll give you a running commentary of my moves so that you can follow them.’ Then, ‘We’re climbing blind and it’s not going to be easy and it’s not going to be quick. Stop for rests whenever you need to. Don’t try to rush it.’

‘Yes, sir.’

She didn’t actually leap to attention and salute, but the voice implied it and he didn’t actually sigh. His momentary pause was enough.

‘I hear you, Jago,’ she added quickly, wanting him to know that she was with him every step of the way.

‘Right.’ Then, ‘Whatever you do, don’t panic. If you’re in trouble, tell me. I’d rather come back a few feet to give you a hand than climb back down to the bottom after listening to you scream all the way down.’

She swallowed, lifted her chin.

‘If it helps,’ she replied, ‘you have my promise that I’ll do my best not to scream.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

MANDA bit back a yelp as her hand slipped, scraping her knuckles against sharp stone.

It had seemed easy enough at first. The back of the eagle had formed a slope, a fairly steep one, and there were plenty of hand-holds—fissures, small ledges just big enough for her feet, where it had cracked as it had fallen.

But then they reached the wall itself and the climb became harder. Her muscles began to burn with the effort of pulling herself up, her arms to shake and it soon became obvious that all the hand-holds in the world wouldn’t get her to the top if she didn’t have the strength to hold on.

Breathing was becoming a problem too, her chest aching with the strain. Only by concentrating on the calm, steady voice of Jago, guiding her onwards and upwards, was she able to block out the worst of it. Keep moving.

She didn’t manage to completely stifle her difficulty in breathing, however, and finally he paused above her and said, ‘Are you okay?’

‘Peachy,’ she managed, going for sarcasm in an attempt to disguise her pain.

‘There’s a good ledge here. We’ll take a rest…’

‘Right.’ Excellent. Except that her fingers were numb and she didn’t have the strength to move. Instead, she leaned her face against the cold, damp rock wall.

‘A couple of feet,’ he prompted.

Forget the comfort of the ancient leather sofa in the Belgravia mansion that she had, until recently, called home, his rock ledge sounded like heaven right now.

And about as close…

Above her, small stones were dislodged from the wall and for a moment she thought that he was moving on without her.

‘Jago…’

Even as the word was involuntarily torn from her he was at her side, his arm, then his body at her back, holding her tight against the wall. Taking the strain.

‘Let go,’ he said, his mouth so close to her ear that his neck was tight against her head, his breath, no more than a gasp, warm against her cheek. ‘I’ve got you.’

‘I can’t…’

‘Trust me.’

How many times had she heard those words? How many times had they been hollow lies?

‘I’m okay,’ she told him, hating this. ‘Just catching my breath.’ She hated being weak, hated needing a prop. Just once she yearned to be the strong one, but she did as she was told, flexing her fingers, so that the blood flowed, painfully, back into them.

‘Where did you put your mints?’

‘What’s the matter? Have you eaten all yours?’

Jago shifted, crushing her against the temple wall as he struggled to reach his own, slipping the wrapper with his thumb, praying that they weren’t sugar free—how likely was that?—as he found her lips.

‘Take it!’ he said, but instead of just doing as she was told, she bit it in two, leaving half behind for him. Always having to have the last word… ‘Miranda!’

‘Shares…’ she gasped, and Jago didn’t have the breath to argue, but palmed it into his mouth before grabbing for a small crevice in the wall, his muscles screaming as he bore her weight as well as his own for what seemed like hours.

In reality it was only seconds before she said, ‘Okay. I’ve got it now.’

‘Sure? If you can just make the next move…’

‘Go!’

Tough. Foolhardy. Determined not to slow him down. Miranda Grenville might be the most irritating woman he’d ever met, but she still earned his grudging respect as he edged carefully back to his original position on the ledge.

He reached out instinctively to grab her as he heard her foot slip, her grunt as some part of her anatomy collided painfully with stone, afraid that her mouth had finally outreached her strength.

All he got was a handful of air and then, somehow, she was there, alongside him.

‘Shall we go mad and have another mint?’ he asked.

‘My treat,’ she managed, biting one of her own in half and sharing it with him.

They both sat there for a while, side by side, their backs against the temple wall, chewing slowly while their breathing recovered and the feeling began to flow back into tortured limbs.

From above them a few small stones rattled down the face and Manda stopped breathing as Jago threw his arm across her, pinning her back against the wall, waiting for another aftershock.

Waited. And waited.

Finally she shuddered as she let out the breath she was holding and Jago slumped against her. ‘A bird,’ he said. ‘It must have been a bird. Good news. If a bird can get in, we can get out.’

‘Sure,’ Manda agreed.

She wasn’t entirely convinced. The bird could have been trapped like them. Or it could be a bat. One of those big, hairy, fruit-eating bats…

‘Why don’t you talk to your family?’ she asked, into his neck, not wanting to think about bats, or what else might be tucked up with them. Lurking in the crevices into which she was blindly poking her fingers. Not wanting him to move. Wanting to stay exactly where they were.

His only response was to remove the arm he’d thrown protectively across her and say, ‘We’d better get on.’ But even as he made a move she caught at his sleeve.

‘Tell me!’ Then, shocked at herself, knowing that she could never talk about her own miserable childhood, she apologised. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s okay. I’ll tell you when we get out of here. Over a cold beer.’

‘Another date?’

‘It sounds like it.’

The climb was both mentally and physically exhausting. Feeling in the dark for each hold, convinced that every dislodged stone was a new tremor, Jago’s worst fear was that he’d reach up in the darkness and find only chiselled-smooth rock.

He’d done some rock climbing as a young man and field archaeology was for the fit, but he understood why Miranda wouldn’t wait for him to make the climb, find help and come back for her.

He didn’t think he could have remained at the bottom in the darkness either, but with every move he was waiting for the slip behind him, tensed for her cry. He was unable to do anything but keep going and guide her to his own footholds. Praying that he wasn’t just leading her into a dead end.

At least she was listening, didn’t panic when she couldn’t immediately locate the next hand-or foot-hold.

‘How’re you doing?’ he asked.

If it had been physically possible, Manda would have laughed.

Doing? Doing? Was he kidding?

A muttered, ‘Fine…’ stretched her ability to speak to the limit.

It was a lie. She wasn’t ‘fine’. Not by any definition of the word.

The muscles in her shoulders, arms, back were quivering with exhaustion. Forget the ‘burn’. Her calves and thighs were on fire and she couldn’t feel her feet. She was just moving on automatic.

Then, as her fingers, wet with sweat—or blood—slipped, her forehead came into sharp contact with smooth stone and for a moment everything spun in the dark. As she sucked air into her lungs, hanging on with what felt like the ends of her fingernails, she managed to gasp, ‘If I fall you’re not to climb down.’

He’d stopped moving. ‘You’re not going to fall.’

‘Promise me,’ she demanded. ‘You have to get out. I want my family to know what happened to me.’

‘Like I could look them in the eye and tell them I’d left you lying on the floor of the temple, not knowing if you were dead or alive.’ His breath was coming hard too. ‘Stop gassing and move. You’re nearly there.’