Dangerous Rhapsody

Emma shook her head. ‘No. Not really. I attended lectures sometimes, and I enjoy the occasional visit to the theatre. I like concerts, most kinds of music, and I adore reading.'

Christopher looked interested. ‘Do you now? And what do you like to read?'

She shrugged. ‘Most anything. I enjoy thrillers, romances, really anything that holds my interest.'

‘Have you heard of Christmas Holly?'

‘Christmas Holly.’ Emma frowned. ‘Of course, he's that private investigator Michael Jeffries writes about.’ She laughed. ‘They're rather good. I think I've read two or three of them.'

Christopher grinned at her. ‘Two or three!’ he exclaimed mockingly. ‘I'v written twenty-seven, I'll have you know!'

Emma was astonished. ‘You're Michael Jeffries!’ She drew on her cigarette incredulously. ‘How marvellous! Imagine meeting Christmas Holly's inventor. What a wonderful name, by the way. Wherever did you think of it?'

‘Well, Christmas is not so very different from Christopher, and Holly has thorns. Rather corny, isn't it, but at least it goes together. And my full name is Christopher Michael Jeffrey Thorne, so that explains the rest.'

‘Well, anyway, I think this is terrific,’ said Emma enthusiastically. ‘Writing after all is the necessary forerunner to reading, and I've never met a writer before. Do you live on Sainte Dominique?'

‘No,’ he shook his head, and she looked disappointed.

‘I live on Sainte Catherine, which is quite close by. Only a couple of miles from Sainte Dominique actually, so we'll be near neighbours. It will be a change to have someone to talk to who is interested in my work.'

‘That's good,’ Emma smiled. ‘Who lives on Sainte Dominique – apart from Annabel, of course?'

He shrugged. ‘Well, there's Tansy, she's Annabel's old nanny. I think you'll like her. She used to be Damon's nanny years ago. Then there's the other servants, of course. And Louisa Meredith, she's Annabel's governess.'

Emma was astounded. ‘But surely, if Annabel has a nanny, and a governess, she doesn't need me!'

Christopher looked thoughtful. ‘I wouldn't say that,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘Tansy is too old to take a six-year-old very far, particularly one in Annabel's condition. As for Louisa – well, she's a bit useless. Oh, she teaches Annabel to read in Braille, and she has conversations with her. I suppose Annabel is learning quite a lot, but as far as being a companion to the child is concerned, she's no help. To talk to a child, one has to treat them as equals, not talk down to them. Louisa could never forget herself sufficiently to romp with the child. She's far too reserved.'

‘I see.’ Emma sighed. ‘Who has been looking after Annabel?'

‘Brenda Lawson. She was a woman in her thirties. She's married a retired American businessman who has decided to make his home in Spanish Wells.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Are you ready?'

Emma nodded, and allowed him to help her to her feet, and walked with him out of the restaurant. In the entrance hall of the hotel, he paused.

‘How is your room?'

‘It's fine.’ Emma frowned. ‘Are we staying overnight?'

Christopher grinned. ‘That was the idea. Do you mind?'

‘That's not the point, surely,’ exclaimed Emma, involuntarily. ‘I mean, I understood from my instructions that we were leaving for Sainte Dominique after lunch.'

‘Damon's instructions,’ remarked Christopher dryly. ‘Look, he may be the big man back in England and the States, but here he's just my cousin, and I say what goes. Don't you want to stay?'

‘Well, of course my feelings are immaterial,’ Emma said, sighing. It was very flattering to know that this attractive man should be enjoying her company, but she couldn't help but feel that Damon would be furious if he knew.

Christopher was beginning to look a little annoyed. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You decide.'

Emma bent her head. ‘Please,’ she said, ‘I don't want to cause any trouble.'

‘All right, we stay. Good heavens, girl, no one's going to tick you off here. You're not in your hospital now, you know. Life proceeds at a much more sensible pace here. Besides, I want to show you the island. New Providence is quite a place.'

And so it was. Emma soon forgot her anxiety in the pure enjoyment of the places Christopher took her to see. He insisted she brought her swim suit with her, and afterwards she was glad she had.

First of all they explored Nassau itself. Christopher showed her the Straw Market, and provided her with a huge straw hat to shade her eyes. He bought himself a straw hat, too, but his was much more conservative in design and she laughed when he tilted it extravagantly and did an impression of Maurice Chevalier.

Bay Street provided them with plenty of window shopping, but they did not buy anything. Emma had no desire to arrive on Sainte Dominique already loaded with gifts to take back home.

In the harbour, boats of every kind were moored, from small sailing vessels used for fishing, to sleek catamarans gleaming with chrome and white paint-work.

They hired a Surrey and toured the city in true tourist style, the sleepy back streets a reminder of days when pirates swaggered through the town. Emma could hardly believe some of the anecdotes Christopher related to her, but the island's history interested her so much that she determined she would buy some books about it at the first opportunity.

Afterwards they sought the beach, and the creamy warmth of the blue-flecked waters. Emma had never bathed in a sea so warm, or so inviting, and she was tempted to stay in the water for the rest of the afternoon. But Christopher teased her mercilessly by continually ducking her, so that at last she walked up the beach with him and lay back on the towels he had provided. Her straw hat shaded her eyes, and she felt wonderfully content. She could almost believe she was here of her own volition, and not because Damon Thorne had given her no other choice.

Christopher was a very good companion. His literary background had provided him with the gift of creating interest out of the simplest things, and his knowledge of the area was extensive. He had travelled throughout the Caribbean, and knew Jamaica and Trinidad very well indeed.

Emma was a born listener, and lay on her stomach now looking down at him as he told her about the slaves who had come to the West Indies.

‘Poor devils,’ he said, his eyes half closed against the glare. ‘They left one sort of slavery for another. At least in the southern States they could be assured of food and shelter. Some of them were hard pushed to stay alive here in the beginning.’ He sighed. ‘And the white population in those days considered the Africans a people who required leadership and discipline to survive. They wouldn't believe they were capable of providing for themselves.'

Emma made a move with her lips. ‘I'm surprised you don't write about the islands. Your books are always set in the States.'

Christopher grinned and propped himself up on his elbows, so that his face was only inches from her own.

‘Tactics, honey, tactics,’ he said cheerfully. ‘My books sell very well in the States, and as it's my bread and butter, who am I to disappoint my fans?'

‘Mercenary creature!’ Emma wrinkled her nose at him, and then lay back again. It was very warm, and she was feeling quite drowsy.

Christopher looked down at her now. ‘Aren't you glad we didn't go back to Sainte Dominique today?’ he asked.

Emma opened her eyes. ‘If you mean am I enjoying myself, you know the answer is “yes”,’ she replied comfortably. ‘But I have a distinct feeling of guilt every time I really consider it.'

He grimaced. ‘Well, don't have. Nobody expects us. I told Annabel I wouldn't be back today.'

‘Did you indeed?’ Emma was indignant. ‘Were you so sure your charm would work, whatever I turned out to be?'

He grinned. ‘Honey, if you'd turned out to be another Louisa Meredith, we most definitely would have returned today.'

Emma smiled. ‘Oh, well, I suppose one day more or less won't make much difference.'

They went back to the hotel soon after six. Christopher informed her that his room was on the floor below, and that he would meet her in the bar for a drink before dinner.

Emma showered, changed into a sleeveless coral chiffon gown which she had made herself for a dance before Christmas, smoothed her dark hair and descended the stairs in high-heeled white sandals. She was glad she had brought the dress with her. Christopher was wearing a white dinner jacket and he looked approvingly at her as she came in.

‘Did I tell you that I like the way you dress?’ he asked, as she sipped a glass of some strange concoction which he had provided, the top of which was covered with various slices of different fruit.

She looked at him over the rim. ‘Mr. Thorne, you're flirting again!'

‘No, I'm not. I mean it.’ He grinned. ‘And the name's Chris, in case you forget.'

‘I haven't forgotten,’ she replied, and accepted a cigarette. ‘It's been a wonderful day. Thank you.'

‘Don't thank me, I should be thanking you,’ he returned. ‘No matter what you may think, I don't find every woman I meet as attractive as you, Emma.'

‘Thank you, again.’ Emma glanced away, not wanting him to think she had any intentions of considering this a serious declaration. No matter how likeable he was, and he was indeed very likeable, Emma knew she could never become closely associated with any relation of Damon's.

After dinner, there was dancing in the ballroom to a rhythmic all-Negro band. The music was streamlined and seductive, and no one could have failed to find their pulses moved by the beat.

Emma danced with Christopher several times, and twice two older men approached her and she danced with them, much to Christopher's annoyance. But she had to admit she liked dancing with him best for he was a good dancer, and his hands were cool and not hot and sweaty. He held her close, and she could feel his breath on her neck and the faint odour of his after-shave lotion was pleasant to her nose.

‘You dance well,’ he said once, looking down at her.

‘Well, it's not from practice,’ she said, smiling. ‘I don't attend many dances back home.'

Patently, he didn't believe her, and she wondered what he would say if she told him the truth about her relationship with Damon. Obviously their association had been forgotten by his family. After all, they had never met her; she was only a name to them, and that was a long time ago.

At eleven-thirty they stood on the terrace in the light from the hall behind them. It was a wonderful evening. The moon hung crazily in a sky as blue as sapphire velvet, while Emma thought she had never seen so many stars.

‘Let's take a Surrey and tour the town at night,’ said Christopher, turning towards her eagerly.

Emma hesitated, and then shook her head. ‘I don't think we'd better. It's getting late, and tomorrow is going to be quite a day for me. I think I'll go to bed, if you don't mind.'

Christopher pulled a face. ‘Aw, Emma, that means you're going whether I mind or not.’ He shrugged, and then capitulated. ‘All right. I'll take you to your room.'

‘That's not necessary,’ she replied.

‘I know it's not. But I'm going to do it all the same,’ he retorted.

In the elevator, he smiled at her expression. ‘Don't worry. I don't expect to come in. I just want to see you get there safely. There might be some dubious types roaming the corridors.'

Emma giggled. ‘Honestly, Chris!'

At her door, he put a hand on either side of her as she leant against the doorpost. ‘You have enjoyed yourself, haven't you?'

‘Enormously,’ nodded Emma, smiling.

‘Good. Good night, Emma.’ He bent his head and put his mouth to hers. The touch of his lips was cool and pleasant, and Emma responded almost involuntarily. His mouth hardened, and then he drew back. He was breathing rather faster, and he looked a little pale. ‘I'll go,’ he murmured huskily, and squeezing her fingers he walked away along the corridor.

Emma watched him go feeling a pleasant sensation of tiredness combined with a kind of contentment. Her first day in the islands had been a memorable one. Christopher was one of the nicest men she had ever met, and she might, she just might, be going to enjoy her stay here.

CHAPTER FOUR

SAINTE DOMINIQUE’S bay was a small, peaceful island, situated on the Windward side of the Abaco Cays. That morning, as their launch cruised its way towards their destination, Emma had seen dozens of tiny islands and atolls, sprouting out of the sea. She had spent the journey leaning on the rail enthralled with her surroundings. Some of the islands were covered with houses and resembled villages set in water instead of amongst fields. Others were quite deserted, their white beaches seemingly untrodden by human foot.

It was another wonderfully clear day, and the early morning mist had dissipated leaving a vista of blue sea and sky as far as the eye could see. Now that she was nearing her destination, Emma was beginning to feel twinges of nervousness. It was all very well for Chris to aver that she would receive a very warm welcome, but he was not going to be staying, he would be returning to Sainte Catherine almost immediately, and she would be left alone with strangers.

The launch could not go right in because of the shallowness of the water, so Christopher and the boatman, a dark-skinned Negro, pulled on thigh-length waders and Christopher carried Emma up on to the sand. The boatman brought her cases, and Christopher took charge of them.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘This way. I should have thought the reliable Miss Meredith would have had Annabel on the beach to meet you.'

Emma sighed, and followed him up the incline and through a belt of palm trees. They came upon a clearing through the trees where several thatched huts indicated that this was the native village, where the servants who worked at the house were housed.

Beyond the village, another clump of trees hid the homestead itself.

Damon Thorne's house was low and modern, without having the type of structure which would be out of place on an island like this. Shutters were bolted back from windows which stood wide to the morning air, while climbing plants in a glory of colour overhung the walls. The gardens in front of the house were a riot of colour also, and Emma recognized oleanders and hibiscus, as well as more common varieties such as roses and nasturtiums. Wide, shallow steps led up to white double doors which at present were standing open, and Christopher glanced at Emma to make sure she was behind him before mounting the steps and waiting for her by the door.

‘Go on,’ he said, prodding her into the hall. ‘No one's going to bite you.'

The hall was cool with a tiled floor and white panelled walls. Doors led off to the various regions of the house while a horseshoe staircase drew attention to a white-balustraded gallery.

Immediately at their entrance, a tall, slim woman came walking towards them down this beautiful staircase, her eyes cool and aloof, appraising Emma.

Christopher stood down Emma's suitcases, and grinned. ‘Well, well! If it isn't the inestimable Louisa, herself. How are you, my old love?'

Louisa Meredith ignored him, and came towards Emma. ‘You must be Miss Harding,’ she said coldly. ‘You were expected yesterday.'

Emma flushed, disconcerted. ‘Oh, but I understood … I mean … Mr. Thorne seemed to think …’ She faltered. Then she stiffened her shoulders. ‘You are Annabel's governess, are you not?'

The woman nodded faintly. ‘It is obvious Mr. Thorne was thinking only of himself. Unfortunately, his action had unexpected consequences.'

Emma stared at her. ‘In what way?'

‘The nurse who had charge of Annabel left three days ago. Yesterday, with no one to entertain her, Annabel went exploring alone. Unfortunately, she fell in the swimming pool; she can't swim. Had Henri, one of the servants, not been nearby, she would have drowned.’ She spoke the words in a hard, unfeeling voice, as though she was discussing the weather, and Emma was terribly shocked.

She did not know what to say. She shook her head. ‘I'm very sorry,’ she said, glancing at Christopher, who grunted unintelligibly.

‘When did this happen?’ he asked.

‘Yesterday afternoon. As I said, fortunately Henri was passing by, and heard her cries. We thought we had better keep her in bed today, to avoid any ill effects.'

Christopher grimaced at her. ‘And what were you doing at the time? Polishing your nails?'

‘That remark was uncalled-for!’ exclaimed Louisa angrily. Although she was only in her thirties she seemed much older, and Emma thought glumly that she had indeed made an inauspicious start to her duties.

‘Well, anyway,’ said Christopher, shrugging, ‘Emma wouldn't have arrived much before tea-time if we had come yesterday, so you can hardly consider her to blame.'

‘Did I say I was blaming Miss Harding?'

‘You implied it. Oh, well, shut up about it. Where is the kid? I may as well see her before I leave.’ He walked towards the stairs. ‘Come on, Emma, I'll introduce you. Leave your cases. Louisa, get someone to take the cases to Emma's room. If you tell me where she's sleeping, I'll show her that too.'

‘I'm not the housekeeper here,’ retorted Louisa, turning away.

Christopher compressed his lips. ‘No, ma'am, you're not. But either you do as I say, or I'll personally make it my business to report you to Mr. Thorne.'

Louisa did not look disturbed. In fact, if anything, her face assumed a rather smug expression. ‘That may not be as difficult as you may think,’ she remarked slyly. ‘Naturally, I had to wire Mr. Thorne of Annabel's accident. I sent the cable this morning, and of course I had to tell him that Miss Harding had not yet arrived.'

‘You …’ Christopher bit off an epithet. ‘Emma, come along. I can't stand any more of this.'

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