Avoiding Mr Right

She acknowledged the dry comment with a smile. She sipped her coffee.

‘A tourist?’ he prompted.

Christina was affronted. Her Greek was not that bad. ‘Of course not. I work.’

There was a small pause while he surveyed her. An odd little smile played about his mouth. ‘I see I have offended you. Should I apologise?’

He did not look as if he often apologised, Christina thought. She did not say it. She did not have to. Luc Henri laughed softly.

‘There are so many of the young, beautiful and indigent in Athens. All students who think they can live on air and the classics while they see the sights of Ancient Greece. You seemed to qualify.’

Their eyes met. Christina had the sudden sensation that the precipice had begun to fall away under her feet. And he had called her beautiful again!

She said breathlessly, ‘I’m not such a fool.’

He looked sceptical.

She insisted, ‘I’m not. I’m short of money because my bank has messed things up, nothing more. I’m not a student. I’m a practical woman. I’ve never tried to live on air and—and whatever it was in my life.’

‘The classics,’ he murmured.

His eyes were crinkling up at the corners most decidedly now. He looked as if he was enjoying himself. ‘I apologise. What do you—er—work at?’

Christina grinned suddenly. ‘I’m a deckhand.’

That shook him as it was intended to do. He blinked.

‘A—?’ He shook his head and took a mouthful of his coffee. Then he shook his head again. ‘It’s no good. I thought you said a deckhand.’

‘I did.’

His jaw did not quite drop but the blank look on his face was rewarding. Well pleased with this reaction, Christina helped herself to a buttery croissant, pulled the corner off and chewed with enjoyment.

‘But—why?’

‘Now that’s as long a story as your ancestry,’ she said demurely.

The dark face showed brief incredulity, as if he was not used to being denied what he wanted to know. His brows twitched together. ‘Are you suggesting a trade, Christina Howard?’

She looked innocent. He was not deceived.

‘My family tree for your extraordinary career choice?’

‘Well, I don’t tell people normally. And you obviously don’t talk about your family,’ she pointed out.

He seemed amused—suddenly, deeply amused. ‘So it would be a fair trade? Well, I see your point. And certainly I don’t normally talk about my family. You are quite right about that.’

His shoulders shook a little. Christina’s faint suspicions grew.

‘Are you sure I shouldn’t know you?’ she demanded.

He shook his head, his eyes brimming with that private laughter.

‘Then—’

‘Your career,’ he interrupted firmly. ‘Tell.’

Christina set her jaw. ‘You first. You might chicken out.’

‘O ye of little faith,’ he mourned. But his mouth still looked as if he was laughing inside. ‘Very well. My mother was French. My grandfather was a mad explorer and he dragged his family along with him wherever he went. My aunt Monique married a Brazilian tennis player who lived half his life in the jungle with remote Indian tribes. Very dashing and just possibly a touch madder than my grandfather. At least, that’s what my father used to say.’

‘And what is he—your father I mean?’

A brief sadness touched his face. ‘Was, I’m afraid.’

‘I’m sorry,’ murmured Christina.

It was clear that he had liked his father.

‘Was he an explorer too?’

‘No.’ He seemed to bring himself back out of the past. ‘No, he was more of—well, you would call him an administrator, I suppose.’

‘Civil servant,’ interpreted Christina.

Luc Henri looked startled. Then his lips twitched. ‘You could call him that, certainly.’

‘And you? Explorer or civil servant? Or neither?’

‘That wasn’t in the bargain,’ he protested. But he answered readily enough. ‘Civil servant, definitely. Explorers have horribly uncomfortable lives. I like to be comfortable.’

But there was something about the way he said it—to say nothing of the broad set of his muscular shoulders—that made Christina suspect that she was being teased again. She was not sure she liked it.

He turned compelling eyes on her. ‘And you? How did you become a deckhand?’

‘Oh; that’s easy. It was a bid for freedom.’

He looked astonished. ‘I have heard much about sailing but I’ve never heard that anyone but the owner of the boat had much freedom.’

Christina looked at him with new respect. ‘You’re right there,’ she agreed.

‘But it was still freedom for you? Were you escaping from a convent?’

She shook her head, laughing. ‘Very nearly. A polite girls’ school. Have you ever been to one?’

His eyes danced. ‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Don’t be afraid. It’s not an experience to be envied.’

‘If it was so bad why didn’t your parents take you away?’

‘Parent,’ Christina corrected him swiftly. ‘She thought I was jolly lucky getting a scholarship to a school where the girls passed lots of exams. She could never have afforded to send me there without it. And I didn’t tell her. Anyway it wasn’t bad. Just boring.’

‘More boring than a deckhand’s life?’ he asked, a cynical note in his voice.

Christina gave him a straight look. ‘Deckhands travel. Until I came out here all the travelling I ever did was the journey to and from school.’ She took another mouthful of croissant. ‘But school was a long time ago.’

‘Not that long,’ he said drily.

Christina shook her head. ‘Don’t be deceived,’ she said calmly. ‘I’m older than I look.’

‘That’s just as well. You look about twelve at the moment,’ he said.

He leaned forward and brushed a flake of sweet pastry from her chin. Christina choked. He sat back, his eyes glinting.

‘There. Back with the adults again.’

She was blushing. ‘Thank you. Very kind of you,’ she said furiously, not meaning a word of it.

He did not pretend to misunderstand. He laughed. ‘My pleasure. So you ran away to sea twenty years ago. How have you lived since then?’

Christina sniffed. ‘I earn a decent living.’ She scowled at the sweet roll in her hand. ‘At least, I do when the bank lets me get at my money.’

Luc Henri shook his head. ‘Who on earth is mad enough to employ a girl like you as a deckhand?’

‘I’m perfectly competent,’ she flung at him, annoyed.

His eyes caught and held hers. He had extraordinary eyelashes, she saw now—thick and dark, defining those brilliant eyes like a painter’s charcoal line.

‘And perfectly beautiful,’ he returned softly.

Christina caught her breath. Again! She stiffened slightly. Her eyes slid away from his.

‘You should see me in my working clothes,’ she said, her voice a little strained.

‘I am imagining it.’ His voice was dry. ‘I’d be amazed if the rest of the crew do any work at all.’

Christina sat even straighter. ‘I don’t have affairs with colleagues,’ she said bluntly.

He looked amused. ‘Then who do you have affairs with?’

‘I don’t—’ she began heatedly and stopped herself at once, but it was too late. She had given herself away. He made no attempt to hide his triumph. His eyes gleamed with it.

‘Don’t you? I find that very interesting.’

Christina fought down a blush and regarded him with exasperation. ‘If you say I ought to, a beautiful girl like me, I shall scream,’ she told him.

His lips twitched. ‘I’m not that unsubtle.’

‘You surprise me,’ she said sarcastically.

Luc Henri’s slim brows lifted. ‘Because I pay you compliments you’re not used to?’

‘How do you know—?’ She bit the sentence off—too late again. This time she was furious with herself.

The look he gave her was almost tender.

‘Women who are used to receiving compliments don’t ignore them,’ he explained kindly. ‘You aren’t and you do. At least you try to. How old are you, Christina?’

‘Twenty-three,’ she flung at him.

He smiled. ‘You surprise me,’ he mimicked.

Christina ground her teeth.

‘Now tell me about these boats you work on.’

Christina tossed her head. ‘Private yachts mostly. Or tourist boats taking people scuba-diving. I’m good. I can get as much work as I want.’

‘And you earn enough to keep yourself?’

She gave her bubbling laugh suddenly. ‘When the bank lets me get at it.’

He looked at her curiously. ‘But surely it’s seasonal? What do you do in the winter?’

Christina gave a small, private smile. Here was an opportunity to get some of her own back at last. “That’s my business.’

She found that he was watching her; a frown between his brows. He did not seem to have noticed that she had balked him. He looked as if he was in a quandary—and that he was not going to tell her about it.

‘You’re an odd girl,’ he said abruptly.

‘Woman,’ she corrected him.

His mouth twisted suddenly. ‘An even odder woman. I wonder—? No.’

She was not going to ask. She was not even going to think of asking.

She took a mouthful of croissant. ‘Not that odd,’ she said calmly. ‘I work, I eat, I sleep like everyone else.’

The steeply lidded eyes lifted. ‘How wrong you are,’ he said quietly. ‘Not like anyone else I’ve ever known.’

It was not said provocatively but Christina straightened sharply. Her eyes locked with his. Challenge sizzled in the air between them. Luc went very still.

After a long moment she said, almost at random, ‘You don’t know me.’

His eyes still held hers. ‘Do I not?’

She shivered suddenly. ‘No.’ Her voice was sharp. ‘No, you don’t. This is an encounter out of space and time. Remember?’

He said softly, ‘You’re scared of me, Christina.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I’m not. I can take care of myself. I’m not scared of you or anyone.’

Luc looked at her for a moment. ‘If you’re not scared of me, what does scare you?’

She seized another mouthful of croissant and chewed it, avoiding his eyes. ‘I told you, I’m not scared.’

‘Then why won’t you look at me?’

Christina choked. ‘You’re imagining it.’ She met his eyes with a candour which cost her a lot of self-control. ‘Look, I’m not scared of being alone in the city with nowhere to stay tonight. What makes you more scary than that?’

There was an odd look in his eyes. ‘You tell me.’

‘You’re imagining it,’ Christina said again, too loudly.

Several of the other customers looked up, startled. The man at the next table was so surprised that he knocked over his glass of water. He dropped his Wall Street Journal and the liquid began to soak into it. He looked wretchedly uncomfortable as the waiter ran to mop the table.

Christina, who had been aware of the man’s gaze on them for some time, was not displeased. ‘Now he’ll have to find something else to pretend to do while he eavesdrops,’ she said.

Luc Henri’s eyes passed over the dark-suited, middle-aged man without interest.

‘Eavesdrops? I think you must be mistaken. He’s probably waiting for someone.’

She shook her head.

‘No. He came in not long after us and chose this table deliberately. He’s just been pretending to read that newspaper. He didn’t turn the pages once.’

A shade of annoyance crossed Luc Henri’s face. But all he said was, ‘Then he can’t have had a very entertaining morning.’

He looked at his watch, then raised a finger at the waiter for the bill.

‘Thank you for my breakfast,’ Christina said at once, retreating into formal manners. ‘I ought to be going.’

At once he said imperiously, ‘No.’

She paused, one eyebrow raised at his tone.

He smiled faintly. ‘At least let me lend you some money to cover tonight’s lodging.’

Christina looked at him levelly. ‘Lend? You mean give, don’t you, if we’re not going to meet again?’

Luc stared at her, his brows twitching together. He said something explosive under his breath. It did not sound polite. ‘I can afford it.’

‘Ah, but can I?’ she retorted.

His look was quizzical suddenly. ‘No strings.’

Christina’s heart missed a beat. She shook her head decisively. ‘Thank you, no. I should be able to crash on someone’s floor tonight. It won’t take long to get a job. I’ll ask around the waterfront cafés tonight.’

He said quickly, ‘Think of me as a brother. I would hope someone would do as much for my sister—or my niece when she’s older.’

Christina looked at him levelly. ‘I don’t feel like your sister. Or your nice.’

A little flame leaped into his eyes. She saw that she had made a mistake. She pushed her coffee-cup away from her and stood up quickly.

‘I’m grateful for the offer, truly I am. But when I set out on my own I promised myself I’d pay my bills as I went. I always do. So, thank you, but no.’ She held out her hand. ‘It’s been interesting meeting you. Have a nice life.’

He stood up as well. His face was thunderous suddenly. If she had been his employee she would have quailed at that expression, she thought. She was grateful that she did not work for him.

Luc’s face darkened. He flicked open his wallet and pulled out a thick sandwich of notes.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ he said curtly. ‘Take the money.’

The man at the next table did not know where to look. Out of the corner of her eye Christina caught his expression—half wretchedly embarrassed, half fascinated. She found that she sympathised with him. Luc Henri clearly was sublimely unaware of the scene he was making, or did not care what people thought of him. In contrast, the poor man at the next table was acutely aware of both. It made her all the more furious with Luc Henri.

She leaned forward across the table, glaring. ‘Try listening. I am not your sister,’ she hissed.

‘If you were I would have drilled some sense into you by now,’ Luc Henri flung back between his teeth. He was clearly in a right royal rage and saw no reason to curb his temper.

‘You don’t surprise me in the least,’ Christina said with poisonous sweetness. ‘“sense” being anything that agrees with you, I take it?’

He drew an angry breath. Then, even as she watched him, she saw him catch hold of his retort and wrestle it down like a man struggling with a wild animal. He closed his lips tight on whatever it was he had been going to say.

‘You are an education, Miss Howard. My powers of argument seem to be deserting me,’ he said thinly at last. ‘Please be sensible...’

Christina stood her ground. ‘Don’t patronise me,’ she said quietly.

They stood sizing each other up over the table like duellists. Then he smiled. It was not one of his dazzling smiles. It was more like an insult.

‘You needn’t worry that I’d expect payment in kind,’ Luc Henri drawled. ‘Women come to me of their own free will.’

The man at the next table gasped. So did Christina. She felt her face flame. It did not sweeten her temper one iota. But it made her forget briefly that they were in a public place and that, unlike her arrogant opponent, she minded making a spectacle of herself. The anger coursed through her like a forest fire, but she wiped the expression off her face and gave him her most demure smile.

Leaning forward, she twitched the notes out of his hand. The man at the next table shuddered and backed his chair away with a scream of steel-tipped legs across the concrete.

Luc Henri’s eyes had narrowed to slits.

‘Not me,’ Christina said gently.

The narrowed eyes dared her, blatantly. Christina smiled. She stepped back and, with a quick little movement, tossed the notes high, high up into the air.

They were still falling on the startled patrons as she threaded her way between the tables and left.

CHAPTER TWO

CHRISTINA plunged along the street, her heart beating furiously. How dared he? Oh, how dared he? Interfering! Ordering her around! Lecturing her as if he were the head of the family and she a tiresome teenager! Pressing his money on her as if she were some scatterbrain who did not know where she was going to sleep tonight! As if he had the right!

Here her outraged musings brought her up short. The interfering Mr Luc Henri might not have any right to lecture her but there was no doubt that in one way he was right. She had not got anywhere to stay tonight. Christina grinned suddenly. She would end up on a bench in the bus station if she did not start making some calls right now.

In spite of Luc Henri’s patent scepticism, it was not difficult. Christina was a girl who took friendship seriously and people responded in kind.

Sue Stanley was waiting, the door already open by the time Christina arrived at the top of the steep stairs to her studio. They hugged. She yawned widely.

‘Oh, hell,’ said Christina in quick comprehension. ‘Night shift last night?’

She was a nurse. She nodded and led the way inside.

‘I’m sorry.’ Christina was remorseful. ‘I didn’t mean to get you out of bed.’

Sue chuckled. ‘Somebody has to. Mr Right still hasn’t put in an appearance.’ She hefted Christina’s bag squashily onto a rough wooden chair and led the way to the small kitchen. ‘What about you?’

Christina made a face. Her mother had spent half her life waiting for Mr Right to come and rescue her from the problems of everyday life. Meanwhile it had been her young daughter who had tried to manage their disorganised life, until her mother had died. The experience had given Christina a strong distaste even for joking about that mythical beast.

Sue knew her very well. She grinned. ‘No guy made a dint in the armour yet?’

‘And not likely to.’

Sue shook her head. ‘You’ll find out one day,’ she prophesied.

For no reason at all that she could think of, Luc Henri’s imperious face slipped into Christina’s mind. She remembered that odd, intent look in his eyes. Involuntarily she shivered a little. It was not an unpleasurable shiver.

That startled her. Luc Henri had nothing to do with her, she reminded herself. She would never see him again. She did not even want to see him again. Did she?

She said with less than her usual calm, ‘That’s nonsense and you know it.’

The balcony was a blaze of coral and scarlet geraniums in terracotta tubs. Sue led the way outside. Christina sank down onto the top step of the fire escape and looked round with pleasure.

She found Sue was looking at her measuringly. ‘Who is he?’

Christina stiffened faintly. ‘Who is who?’

She had first worked with Christina three years before on a boat attached to an archaeological expedition. All through the summer they had shared their confidences, their crises and their nail scissors. As a result they knew each other very well.

Now Sue was looking at her shrewdly. ‘Whoever kicked you out this morning.’

Christina relaxed again. ‘You’re on the wrong track, Sue. I came off a boat, that’s all. Then I found the bank wouldn’t let me have any cash until the weekend.’

She stared. ‘You? But you’re always so efficient about money.’

‘The bank seems to be less so—some administrative hitch,’ Christina said drily.

Sue could believe it, though she was less convinced that a man was not the cause of Christina’s present predicament. She said so.

To her own, furious incomprehension, Christina blushed. Sue did not even pretend not to notice. ‘I knew it,’ she said gleefully. ‘Tell me, what’s he like?’

‘You’re not exactly tactful,’ Christina complained.

Which of course convinced Sue that her deductions were correct. ‘Oh, tact,’ she said dismissively. ‘No fun in that. Tell me about this dangerous heartthrob of yours.’

In spite of herself Christina laughed. ‘Why would he be dangerous?’

‘If he wasn’t dangerous, you wouldn’t notice him,’ Sue told her with brutal honesty.

Christina was a little shocked. Disturbed too at how well Sue seemed to know her.

‘What do you mean?’

Her friend sighed. ‘Chris, I’ve seen it too often. Most of the time you just don’t seem to notice. Strong men paw the ground with lust and you treat them like brothers. Or another girlfriend.’

Christina was moved to protest. ‘Nonsense.’

‘It isn’t, you know. A man is only going to get you to notice him if he picks you up by your pigtails and hauls you off to his lair.’ She sighed. ‘You’ll get it too.’ She sounded envious.

It did not amuse Christina. Sue saw it and, good friend that she was, stopped teasing.

‘Nothing to do with me if you like your men dangerous. Anyway, I can’t sit out here in the sun all day. I’ve got to get to the market before all the decent vegetables go. Make yourself at home.’

She went. She left Christina restless and uneasy.

Was Sue right? And if so, why had she never said it before? Had the encounter with Luc Henri, brief as it had been, awakened something dormant in Christina which Sue, who knew her so well, recognised? It was not a palatable thought.

It had to be nonsense, of course. He was a high-handed man who was used to having his own way. She hardly knew him. What she did know she didn’t like. It was a relief to know that she was highly unlikely to meet him again. And yet...

There had been something, hadn’t there? Something between them, tense but unspoken. Something she had never felt before. It had made her tingle when he’d looked at her, so that she’d been aware of him to her bones. Christina’s mouth dried as she thought about it.

This would never do. Life had to be managed. It was no good letting yourself be distracted by fantasies of a man you did not even know.

She armed herself with a pen and her address book, installed herself at the pay-phone in the dark little hall and began the business of managing her life again. Nobody offered her a job on the spot but she got enough tentative interest to restore her spirits. It almost succeeded in banishing Luc Henri’s disturbing image.

When Sue came back with her purchases the evening breeze was beginning to stir the hot city air. Christina was on the balcony. She had pulled on a cotton top and her long, bare legs were already turning to their habitual summer gold. Sue came to the French window and looked down at her.

‘You look wonderful.’ She sighed, flopping onto the sill. ‘I wish I was a natural blonde with legs to my eyebrows.’

Christina scrambled up. ‘No, you don’t. It wouldn’t go with your wardrobe. Coffee?’

‘I’d sell what’s left of my soul for some.’

‘You’ve got it.’

She went inside and busied herself with the ancient percolator.

Sue called out, ‘Any luck with jobs?’

‘There’s a four-day tour to Ancient Sites that needs a guide. Not really my scene but if I can’t get anything else...’

‘Did that take all day?’

Christina took Sue’s coffee out to her and sank onto the fire escape, cross-legged.

‘No. I did a few sketches.’

‘The Christina beachwear collection?’

The teasing was affectionate. Sue knew all about Christina’s Italian course in design and how seriously she took it. She worked at it in the winter, using the proceeds of her summer jobs to pay the substantial fees and her modest living costs.

Now Christina grinned. ‘Maybe. The sun out here is certainly inspirational.’

Sue stretched. ‘Mmm. I love this place. With sun like this who needs to work?’

‘Those who like to eat,’ said Christina prosaically. ‘Speaking of which, I ought to go down to the harbour tonight. I might pick up a job from one of the captains.’

She looked at Sue apologetically. They both knew that that was where masters looking for crews were likely to be found. Yet it seemed rude to go out and leave her friend the first night she was staying with her. Sue read her mind easily. She grinned at her over the rim of the mug.

‘Fine. I’ll even come with you. As long as you’re not on your own, the harbour’s fun. I can do with some fun to set me up for my next stint at the hospital.’ She stretched again. ‘I need to shower and change. Then, look out, Athens.’