Charlie's Dad

‘Aren’t you going to eat?’ The gentle query took her head round to look at him, eyebrows arching quizzically, mouth curving in sheer pleasure before she remembered to control them.

‘Oh, yes.’ A moment’s breathless glowing enthusiasm, then searing pain as she recognised that particular expression, the way his eyes moved slowly over her features before coming to rest, with quite unmistakable meaning, on her mouth. ‘Of course.’

Soberly, determined to ignore the knot of misery in her chest she switched her focus back to her plate, picked up her fork. ‘It is all so... so beautiful.’ Delicately she detached a scallop, raised it to her mouth. ‘Don’t you agree?’ What was intended to be a quick casual glance in his direction was arrested, caught and held.

‘Yes.’ The reply came slow and deliberate, making it obvious that the food was not on his mind. ‘Oh, yes, I agree.’

Beautiful. Even when he turned to exchange a few words with his partner on the other side, it was her face which occupied his mind. Such white teeth, not perfect exactly, with a slight overlapping of the front two, a generous, giving mouth which he would have liked to feel against his, and when she smiled... It occurred to him she didn’t do that often enough, but when she did her whole face lit up. She had an inner glow which intrigued, wakening his interest, a stirring of excitement which had long been absent from his life, except...

As he conversed his lips moved automatically. Except...

Except that he was picking up discouraging signals. He had been fully aware of that informative gesture of her left hand but... But, he was not going to allow the possibility of a husband in the background to deter him from finding out more about this intriguing woman.

Dead on her feet or not, Ellie found sleep elusive that first night in the Van Tieg apartment. Nothing to do with the heat of the sultry tropical night; that was held at bay by efficient air-conditioning. Nothing to do with that and everything to do with the man she had long ago dismissed from her consciousness. But if she had been as efficient in that as she believed, why was he now causing her so much emotional havoc?

Ellie groaned, pushed a hand through the heavy fall of hair and thrust her face deeper into the pillow. If only sleep would come. She was desperate for the chance to forget Ben Congreve for a few hours. In the morning, she knew from experience, things would look entirely more reasonable. For one thing there was no need for her ever to meet up with him again. Tomorrow would be her last day in Singapore. After that she would be flying back to her own life, to Charlie. Ah, yes, Charlie, on whom the whole sorry saga hinged.

And then, without any decision on her part, without volition or even co-operation, her mind was clicking with the memories which she had tried to hold at bay, sweeping her back through the years to the time when she had first known Ben Congreve. That halcyon, magical time... The knowledge that the whole exercise was mere self-indulgence had no power to stop her.

Twenty years old with the world before her. That had been her father’s smug description on the day she had been awarded her degree at Sydney University. And as a reward he had handed her a cheque to subsidise her declared longing to travel for a few months before settling down to a career in fashion.

‘Or teaching perhaps?’ Sir William had distrusted his daughter’s ambition to try her luck in the rag trade. His leaning was towards a more conventional and, as he thought, a more secure career.

‘Yes.’ Helen, as she had been known then, had long ago found it made life much easier to go along with her parents’ suggestions, or at least to go through the motions. ‘If there are no openings in the fashion world, I promise you, I’ll try teaching.’

‘Well, if you make for London, I’m sure you’ll find plenty of openings. Your mother and I are very proud of you—a year younger than most of your class and carrying off the top awards. The cheque is to show how much.’

‘You’re very generous, Dad.’ Reaching up, she kissed his cheek. ‘And you’re sure you don’t mind me going off on my own for a few years?’

‘We’ll miss you, of course. But you’ve lost a lot of your childhood through your mother’s illness and we both want to make up to you for that.’

‘Dad, you can’t help that—and certainly Mother didn’t ask to be struck down with multiple sclerosis. You don’t have to make up to me.’

‘Nevertheless, it’s what we decided. You know we would both like to go back to the old country, but since the climate here suits your mother so much more... Anyway, I ought to tell you, I’m thinking of retiring from the Diplomatic Corps. I’ve been approached by a major Japanese company to take over a management position here in Sydney, and I’m tempted for your mother’s sake...’

‘Dad, you dark horse. I’m the one who ought to be rewarding you, not the other way round.’

‘No.’ He grinned. ‘All I ask is that you write often to your mother. You know how she has missed England. Just keep the letters and postcards coming.’

‘I promise. Only...you won’t mind too much if I make my way to Europe via the Caribbean, will you? Some of the diving club are planning an excavation of an old Spanish galleon that’s been discovered off the Windwards, and they’ve asked me to go along.’

‘We-ell, I suppose you’ve made up your mind about that already. So...all I ask is that you’ll be careful. I don’t want your mother to be worried—you know the effect it can have on her condition if she’s anxious, especially if she’s anxious about her only child.’

‘I promise.’ Again she stood on tiptoe to drop a kiss on his cheek. ‘I promise I’ll be very careful. I’m not into risk-taking and I’ll write as often as I can.’

And that was how, a week after her twenty-first birthday she came to touch down in the Windwards, one of three girls in a group of seven from Sydney, joining several teams from American Universities excavating the seventeenth-century schooner which had foundered in a storm. And that was how she came to meet Ben Congreve, expedition leader and classicist, the man who was to have such a profound effect on her life—who was, in fact, to turn it upside down in the two short weeks of their acquaintance.

Never would she forget that first sight of him as, with others, he crouched on the sand examining the artifacts brought up that day from the sea bottom. Some remark brought a gale of laughter and he glanced up, his grin a dazzle of white against the dark face. He caught her eyes and straightened slowly, the smile fading while the dark eyes narrowed in interest. Lopped jeans and loose open shirt hid little of his sun-bronzed torso. Hair, also dark and fine, was raked back from his forehead with a touch of impatience she was to find only too characteristic.

Introductions began and his welcome had become more general, but his eyes had returned to hers, and even now, recalling the intensity of his gaze, she felt a throb of response. The world had, for that split second, halted on its axis before rushing on with the sound of an express train which only she had heard.

A beard, a shade or two lighter than his hair, had covered the lower part of his face, emphasising the faintly piratical look. The touch of natural arrogance might have been a warning. Except that those first few seconds took her far beyond the reach of warnings.

Little doubt then that on her side the attraction had been immediate and cataclysmic, and it had been an irritation that after that initial burning exchange he’d appeared to be only faintly aware of her. So many approaches by men who raised her blood pressure not a single point, and yet this man had ignored all her most blatant signals.

Afterwards, that was something he had denied hotly, laughingly assuring her he had picked her out at once, describing in detail how she had looked to him, then laughing again, grabbing her hands at that point, and pushing her back onto the sand and kissing her, teasing her, assuring her it was her swimming skill, the nearing thing to a mermaid he had seen, which had underlined his interest.

Idly she had brushed her mouth against the erotic silkiness of the dark beard, looking up through half-closed eyes. ‘Of course you know the mermaid is really the manatee—the sea cow.’ A heavy sigh. ‘Am I supposed to be flattered.’

‘Mmm.’ His voice was drowsy as he pulled her closer to the curve of his body. ‘The sailors were at sea a long time in those days, but, yes. You are meant to be flattered. I was talking about the mermaid of legend, the siren. That’s what you reminded me of. You seem to treat the ocean like your natural element. But your skin...’ He slid his palm the length of her back, his touch so sensitive it seemed every nerve-ending in her body responded. ‘Your skin is like silk, and your hair...’ His voice deepened to one of self-parody. ‘Your hair is like gold moidores.’

She was more than ready to join in the joke, even if it was at her own expense, and her lips barely touched his, parted in a tiny giggle. ‘The only ones you seem likely to encounter on this expedition. And even they are fake.’

‘What?’ Soporific and relaxed in the afternoon shade, with the sound of surf crashing on the distant reef and, closer, the soft, soft lap of waves on the shore all enhancing the feel of enchantment, he put his mouth on hers and murmured the drowsy question. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

She had not regretted having her long hair cropped before leaving Sydney, but the impulse which had prompted the colour change had been less successful. The pale gold did nothing for her, while sunshine and salt water on top of bleach was causing havoc. ‘It means I’m all illusion, unreal.’

‘Well, I really never believed in mermaids.’

While you, she assured herself in dreamy satisfaction, are the one I always believed was waiting out there for me. Somewhere. And now I’ve found you I mean never to let you go. With a sigh she rested her head against his chest, rubbing the warm skin, the brush of his silky hair a new and ridiculously exciting experience. ‘Have you ever been to Australia, Ben?’

‘No, I never have.’ He mocked her faint accent. ‘But I promise, it’s now top of my list of places I mean to visit.’

For a moment she detached herself, brushing some sand from the rush mat. ‘What are you planning to do when you leave here?’ Having been told that he and another member of the group had sailed down from Florida, she was toying with the suggestion that he might follow her to England. But they had known each other only a matter of days and he was bound to see her as trying to rush him into some kind of permanent relationship. She would do nothing to jeopardise the fragile budding attraction, and besides, she sensed something, a reticence which was hard to understand.

‘We’ve been planning to take her—’ he nodded vaguely in the direction of the yacht, which could just be glimpsed round the headland ‘—through the canal and into the Pacific. We have permission to spend some time on the Galapagos Islands collecting scientific data, then back up the West Coast and home.’ Gazing down, he traced the outline of her mouth with his forefinger. ‘One of my ambitions is to take her on a solo round-the-world, but this time Dan is coming with me. The solo will have to wait. Have you done any sailing, Helen?’

‘Not really.’ Regretfully she shook her head. ‘In fact, not at all. In the diving club we always used power boats—much more practical than sail.’

‘But much less romantic. But, look, why don’t I take you out now, so you can have a look round? You might find you would want to persuade me that solo was not such a wonderful idea.’

When he pulled her to her feet and stood there, the narrowed eyes and that half-smile challenging her, she found herself hanging onto every ounce of self-control. With a rueful expression and with fingernails pressing hard into her palms she shrugged casually. ‘I might. But I very much doubt it. But, since you’re so keen to show off your toy...’

The rest of that lazy afternoon they spent diving from the deck of the small sleek yacht into the shimmering clear water, and when the sun began to dip below the horizon they settled on towels spread on the deck, deliciously idle, occasionally sipping ice-cold drinks, watching as the ocean gleamed with every fiery colour in the spectrum.

‘Well, what do you think?’ Ben, perched on one elbow reached out to touch the back of her hand, stirring fine sensitive hairs and a thousand barely controlled emotions. ‘You ready to come beachcombing with me?’

‘Mmm.’ Impossible for her to speak when she was fighting to understand why that particular touch... light as a moth’s wing... should... Yes. She wanted to yell aloud. Yes, please. But she knew enough to recognise a rhetorical question when she met it, and had no wish to embarrass him. Or herself. How devastating if she were to agree then have him back off. Besides, for this moment it was enough to be with him as she was now. And to know that if he showed the least sign of wanting to go further, there would be no holding back.

As if sensing her feelings, he leaned over then and touched his mouth to hers, murmuring her name in a tone of such frustrated longing that she had no further thought of restraint. Her lips parted for him, hands twisting in his hair as she pulled his weight down.

‘Helen, you’ve no idea...’ His voice was low and hurried, and for the first time she was aware of sexual power. ‘You’ve no idea how I feel.’

At that she allowed herself a faint smile, and watched through half-closed eyes as she passed fingertips over the warm contours of his torso. Her voice was consciously sultry. ‘What makes you think I don’t know?’

‘You know where this is going to lead?’ His dark eyes had a heady, slumbrous look, and their entwined bodies were dark-gilded by the setting sun.

‘Mmm. What is there to stop us?’ Her heart was hammering against her chest. Or was it his?

‘Is it all right?’ The significance of that query occurred to her much later, but she knew that even fully aware her answer would have been the same.

Begrudging every inch that separated them, she reached up, biting gently but with fierce impatience on his lower lip. ‘Everything will be all right, if only...’ And in an attack of sudden modesty she murmured against his ear.

And he laughed. A deep, growly sound which resonated in his chest, primitive and satisfying in a way she could not describe and which she could never forget.

It was hard, at this distance, to understand how they had been able to keep their affair from the others during the next few days. Possibly because they had been similarly preoccupied, and it had not occurred to either Helen or Ben to flaunt what they’d felt for each other. Or at least what she’d felt. Time seemed to prove that for Ben Congreve it had been little more than a holiday romance, passionate and exciting while it lasted, a very enjoyable interlude, but one that was easily forgotten once he sailed off to another continent. To another life—where he had a fiancée waiting, the preacher booked and the wedding gown ordered.

But of course she had known nothing of those when he had first made gentle and skilful love to her, nor on the subsequent nights, when things had grown still more intense and passionate. And even if she had known, she was uncertain the knowledge would have been a deterrent.

It had been a long time before she was able to admit as much—after she had passed through periods of desolation and anguish. Only then was she honest enough to admit that nothing would have kept her from him. And in one way at least she had never regretted it. Oh, for heaven’s sake, why be coy? There was no way she regretted what had been the definitive experience of her life.

But that was not to say she hadn’t been deeply wounded when, one evening after he had sailed off, after all his promises, she’d overheard the casual conversation between two of the American girls who had known him well.

‘Yeah.’ The tall blonde straightened up from the bowl where she was scrubbing at the deposits on some old pottery lids. ‘In the fall, I understand. They have known each other for ever and Ben’s parents are delighted with the engagement. She’s a year or two younger—about twenty-three or four—and filthy rich, of course. But those are the circles they move in, so I imagine...’

Unwilling to hear any more, Helen walked away, eyes filmed with misery, throat choked as she stared over the ocean, that same glorious expanse of water which had shielded them, which had absorbed their cries of pleasure.

The pressure in her chest was causing real pain. So, this was what it was all about, that first slight reticence, the avoidance of so many personal details, no offer of an address or telephone number where he could be contacted. He had taken her parents’ Sydney number with the assurance that her London address would soon be available, and what was it he had murmured in her ear just before they said goodbye?

‘I shall be with you just as soon as I can... Just one or two problems to be sorted out and I shall be on a flight. No chance of sailing—much too slow.’

So, she had stood on the headland until the last tiny patch of sale had vanished from the horizon, confident and happy that soon they would be together again. And even after overhearing that conversation she didn’t lose hope. She was simply impatient to be done with this stupid diving exercise so she could find herself an address in London. Where she could wait for his call to bring an end to this agonising uncertainty. Nothing else in the world mattered to her.

CHAPTER TWO

SINGAPORE the following day was as frantic and fascinating as Ellie remembered. She and Jenny spent a diverting morning drifting round the prestigious stores and the more ethnic boutiques, buying this and that. Several presents were bought for Charlie and friends at home, then, after lunch at Raffles, they were driven, exhausted, back to the apartment.

‘It is just so hot.’ Jenny sighed with relief as they walked into the air-conditioned rooms, going straight to the space-age kitchen, reaching into the refrigerator for a jug of fresh orange juice. She filled two glasses, one of which she handed to Ellie. ‘I suggest we have a siesta in preparation for this evening.’

‘This evening?’ Ellie, who was deeply weary, stifled a yawn. ‘What do you mean? Don’t forget I’m on an early flight tomorrow.’

‘That is exactly why I’m suggesting a rest this afternoon. Tonight we eat out, maybe dance. You see—’ she strolled back to the salon, Ellie in her wake ‘—we’ve been invited out to one of the newer nightspots.’

‘I hope this hasn’t been laid on for my benefit, Jenny. I wouldn’t have thought Robert was all that keen. In fact, last night I heard him say his idea of a perfect evening was to spend it at home alone...’

‘I hope he didn’t say that exactly. If he did then our guests might have taken it as a hint for them to leave early...’

‘Which is exactly what they did not do.’ Ellie laughed. ‘No, Robert was more diplomatic about it. In fact, I think he said “alone with a few friends”—which is most likely why they all hung on till gone midnight.’

‘Mmm. Well, Robert is nothing if not diplomatic—though he can be very ruthless too when the mood takes him.’ She paused, walked to the mirror above the side table and fiddled with a jade earring. She was studiedly casual. ‘What did you think of Ben Congreve?’

‘Ben Congreve?’ The mere mention of the name she had been trying to forget brought her out in a cold sweat, heart hammering loud enough to be heard across the room. ‘Oh, he seemed pleasant enough.’ She was immediately struck by the banality of the description for such a man—it was sure to make Jenny suspicious. ‘Oh, more than that, I would say a very interesting man.’

‘But not interesting enough for you, Ellie?’ It was a carefully judged question, and without turning her head Ellie was aware of her friend’s close scrutiny. ‘Now, I wonder why that should be?’ Jenny’s ridiculously high heels tap-tapped on the marble floor as she strolled to join her friend at the window. ‘I wonder why that should be, my dear? I would have thought most women would have immediately been struck by him.’

‘And what about you?’ Time for a diversionary tactic. ‘Are you one of those knocked sideways by the famous writer?’ Her smile, the teasing expression, were indications that they were engaged in an amusing game, nothing more.

‘At one time,’ Jenny confessed, hands outspread to show she was concealing nothing, ‘I might easily have been, but now I am in what looks like being a permanent and very constant relationship. Whereas you...’

‘Whereas I—’ deliberately she copied Jenny’s apologetic and self-mocking gesture ‘—I have Charlie.’ And what, she asked silently, did Ben Congreve know about constant relationships? The thought, the words she had so often used as explanation and excuse, combined to make her feel as if a large rock had invaded her chest. ‘And I’m not in the market for any kind of relationship right now, permanent or casual.’ Especially the latter, since she knew exactly how much heartbreak would ensue.

‘Mmm.’ Jenny’s non-committal expression was clearly sceptical, but she was disinclined to pursue the subject. ‘Anyway, I shall send Ay Leng to your room with some tea, then you can have an hour or two to prepare for the evening. ‘Oh...’ She grimaced as she stepped out of her shoes. ‘My poor feet... Robert tells me I ought not to torture myself with such high heels, but if they were lower, no one would notice me.’

‘That,’ Ellie grinned, ‘is something I find very hard to believe.’

‘Well...’ Jenny shrugged, raising dark, elegant eyebrows. ‘Forget about me and tell me what you’re going to wear this evening. If any of your clothes need pressing, one of the maids...’

‘No problem about that. Most of what I have with me has already been whisked away by some invisible hand, dealt with and returned to the wardrobe. Dinner and dance, you say.’ Ellie frowned over the poverty of her choice. ‘I think last night almost exhausted my selection. I didn’t expect to be going out two nights in succession.’ It seemed appropriate to emphasise the dullness of her life with a joke.

‘I’ve already told you what I think of that.’ Jenny had indeed expressed her opinion forcefully on more than one occasion. ‘I know all about your wonderful rapport with Charlie, but still, it’s time you got out and about a whole lot more...’

‘Tell me what to wear.’ Ellie regretted having provoked a lecture on that subject, especially today, and determined to change the direction of the conversation. ‘Better still, tell me what you are going to wear—that will give me some idea. I do have a floaty cotton skirt and a camisole top, if you think that would be any good.’

Five minutes later, with the matter decided, Ellie was left alone in the bedroom, only too glad of the chance to lie back on her bed, eyes closed, and try to blot from her mind all thoughts of the man who had so unexpectedly come back into her life. And she was at least partly successful, for although his image was firmly etched on the underside of her eyelids—the old Ben Congreve, bearded and piratical, rather than the new cleanshaven svelte version—the scenes she was reviewing were happy ones.

There was a bittersweet pleasure in reliving those early enchanted days, and kindly sleep overcame her before the cruel memories intruded. Though when she woke, her cheeks were damp.

‘You look wonderful, Ellie.’ Jenny, an exotic firefly in a brilliantly coloured cheongsam, had no idea that her very presence made the most sophisticated western woman feel clumsy and inadequate, turned with an enquiring look when she heard her friend laugh.

‘Compared with you, I feel drab and colourless. And I think most people would agree with me. Shall we ask Robert to judge?’ she asked as her host came in.

‘No, best not.’ Jenny grinned. ‘I think you’re entirely wrong, but it would be unfair to put him to the test. I daren’t risk it,’ she quipped with total self-assurance. ‘Ready, darling?’