Husband Not Included

So, any model with an ounce of sense normally concentrated on just getting on with the job. And since the company had obtained the services of a world-famous photographer, with whom she’d worked many times in the past, Flora could see no reason why there should be any real problems on this assignment in the Caribbean. Besides, there was definitely no point in crossing any bridges before she came to them. Right?

Busy lecturing herself, Flora found her thoughts sharply interrupted as Georgie gave a loud groan.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, quickly sitting up and regarding the other girl with concern. ‘Are you feeling all right?

‘It’s OK—I’m fine,’ the other girl told her sadly. ‘It’s just that I really hate finishing a good novel.’

‘You are an idiot!’ Flora sighed, brushing a tired hand through her long curly hair. She’d already come to the conclusion that maybe the plump, sandy haired girl wasn’t too bright. But it now looked as if Georgie was definitely a few sandwiches short of a picnic. ‘Why make such a fuss? It’s only a book, for heaven’s sake!’

‘But...but you don’t understand. It really was totally riveting,’ Georgie retorted, ignoring Flora’s protests as she firmly placed the large volume on the model’s lap. ‘There’s no harm in at least having a look at the book. I think you’ll be surprised.’

‘I doubt it!’

‘Well, it’s been on the New York bestseller list for I don’t know how many weeks—so, it’s definitely not rubbish,’ Georgie said firmly as she loosened her seat belt and rose to her feet, before announcing that she was going to stretch her legs.

Still convinced that the book wasn’t at all her sort of thing, Flora glanced idly down at the blurb inside the front cover. As she had suspected, A Time to Live—A Time to Die appeared to be the usual sort of Boys’-Own story concerning espionage and skulduggery in high places.

What sort of guy writes this rubbish...? she asked herself, turning over the book to look at the author’s picture on the back cover. She’d never even heard of Duncan Ross, and—What the hell?

Suddenly feeling as though she’d been hit very hard in the solar plexus, Flora felt her emerald-green eyes widen with shock as she stared down at the photograph of a dark-haired, ruggedly handsome man. What on earth was going on? What was her ex-husband, Ross Whitney, doing with his picture on the back of this book?

How could the publishers have made such a really stupid, stupid error? Goodness knows how or why they’d managed to get hold of the wrong photo—but surely the real author would be highly indignant at having his identity stolen by a completely unknown mining engineer? A man who was, moreover—certainly as far as she knew—busy working for a large, international company in South America.

Completely stunned, and with her mind in a total whirl, Flora desperately tried to pull herself together. Maybe she was wrong? It had, after all, been almost six years since she’d last seen Ross. And it was just a photograph. So, while the author of this book, Duncan Ross, might appear to be the absolute double of her ex-husband, the two men might well turn out to be quite dissimilar in real life. Right?

However, as she stared down at the large black and white photograph, which took up most of the space on the shiny back cover of the book, Flora could feel the tight knot of apprehension deep in the pit of her stomach gradually swelling into a large, heavy lump of total certainty.

It was no good. There was no point in trying to fool herself. Because, however strange and peculiar it might seem—and however hard she might cling to the hope that it was all a terrible mistake—she had no doubt about the identity of the man gazing out at the world with a slightly wry, mocking twist of his lips. She knew that it was a photograph of her ex-husband, Ross Whitney. Why, she could even see the faint scar beneath one dark, sardonically raised eyebrow—the result, as she knew only too well, of an accident on the rugby field soon after their wedding.

Besides, there were just too many coincidences for her to swallow. While two men might bear a very strong resemblance to each other, it was extremely unlikely that they would also have almost the same name.

Suddenly feeling breathless and dizzy, as if the world was spinning twice as fast as usual on its axis, Flora fell back against her seat, gazing blindly up at the roof of the plane as she tried to sort out the chaotic muddle and confusion in her brain.

Even if it was true, even if she had to accept the fact, however weird it might be, that the writer Duncan Ross and her ex-husband Ross Whitney were one and the same person—she could still hardly believe it! Goodness knows, they’d only been married for a very short time. But she had absolutely no recollection of Ross being in any way interested in writing novels. Surely... Well, surely she ought to have seen some sign of the fact that he was interested in becoming an author?

She was deeply immersed in trying to solve the conundrum, and her distraught thoughts were interrupted as Georgie returned to her seat.

‘Hah! I just knew you’d be interested in that book,’ Georgie said triumphantly, placing some Duty Free perfume in the overhead locker before lowering her ample curves into the seat beside Flora.

‘Well...er...’

‘Doesn’t he look fantastic? Really drop-dead sexy—if you know what I mean!’ Georgie grinned. ‘I bet he has girls buzzing around him like bees round a honey-pot.’

Flora, her mind still trying to grapple with the extraordinary fact that her ex-husband appeared to have somehow turned himself into a best-selling author, could only stare blankly at the other girl.

‘Well, you might not think he’s up to much—but as far as I’m concerned he’s definitely a bit of all right!’ Georgie leaned over to take the book from Flora’s lap and gaze down at the photograph of the ruggedly handsome man. ‘I just can’t wait to meet him!’

‘Meet him...?’ Flora echoed in bewilderment.

So, OK—her brains might be a little scrambled, and she was possibly still reeling from shock, trying to come to terms with the sudden bombshell about her ex-husband’s new profession, but even so, Flora knew that the chances of Georgie bumping into a best-selling author—whoever he might be—were just about zero.

‘I don’t want to dash your hopes,’ she told the plump girl, ‘but I really don’t think there’s any likelihood of you meeting the author of this book. Certainly not in the near future.’

‘Of course I’m going to meet him! After all, he owns Buccaneer Island, doesn’t he? Besides,’ Georgie added, as if explaining matters to a rather dim child, ‘I overheard Claudia saying that Duncan Ross was definitely going to be on the island, just to make sure that everything ran smoothly. Which is one of the reasons why I’ve been reading his new book.’

Flora stared at the other girl in shocked silence for some moments. Completely stunned and almost unable to comprehend the appalling, horrific information that in only a few hours’ time she was likely to meet again the man she hadn’t seen for so many years, it was some moments before she was able to pull herself together.

‘Are you seriously telling me that...?’

‘Oh, come on!’ Georgie grinned. ‘Surely you knew that Duncan Ross was the owner of Buccaneer Island?’

Flora shook her dazed head. ‘No...no, I had no idea. I mean...I don’t understand any of this,’ she muttered, feeling as though she’d been suddenly dumped in a foreign country, completely unable either to understand or speak the language.

‘I wasn’t involved in any of the plans for this trip,’ Flora continued, brushing a trembling hand through her long, curly hair. ‘I mean...no one’s even told me the reason why we’re using Buccaneer Island. Surely... Well, surely there must be lots of other places in the Caribbean which are just as suitable for shooting a promotional film. Why didn’t they choose Barbados—or Antigua, for heaven’s sake?’

‘Hey—calm down!’ Georgie frowned at the almost hysterical note in the other girl’s voice. ‘I didn’t make the arrangements. All I know is that Duncan Ross, who owns the island, seems to have some connection with Mr Schwartz, the American marketing director of ACE. And in any case,’ she added with a shrug, ‘since most countries in the Caribbean have a strict law about their beaches always being open to members of the public, maybe it’s a good idea not to have too many people cluttering up the scene? Especially if you’re likely to be prancing half-naked over the sand.’

‘I never prance—and certainly not half-naked!’ Flora snapped, before quickly realising that it was totally unfair to take her shock and frustration out on Georgie. ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered, with a brief, apologetic smile. ‘It looks as though I must have got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning.’

‘That’s OK—forget it.’ Georgie gave her a friendly grin, clearly used to dealing with the more temperamental, prima donna type of model. ‘I’m really looking forward to the next few days. I haven’t been to the Caribbean before, and I can’t wait...’

Leaning back, allowing her mind to drift as the other girl continued to expand on the delights awaiting them all on Buccaneer Island, it was some moments before Flora suddenly realised that her troubles were now multiplying with the speed of light.

Oh, Lord—she’d forgotten all about her contract!

Claudia Davidson had been brutally frank about the cosmetic company’s basic rules: not only was Flora required to be pure in thought and deed—but they were also insisting on her being single! And yet within a few hours it was almost certain that she would be meeting the man who she regarded as her ex-husband...but to whom she was—alas!—still married.

Feeling totally sick to the pit of her stomach, she could see no way of avoiding the swift, ruthless and hideously embarrassing termination of her contract. And that wasn’t all. Not by a long chalk! She could virtually guarantee the fact that Claudia would go completely ballistic on discovering the truth about Flora’s marital status. And ACE weren’t exactly going to be whistling for joy either.

Shivering with fright, and trying to control her trembling limbs, Flora realised that she was now in deep, deep trouble. She had no doubt that the company would be in a strong position if they decided to take her to court in order to recover the costs involved in setting up this trip to the Caribbean. Because even if she hadn’t told an outright lie she’d still put her signature to a contract containing a clause which she had known to be false.

How could she have been such a fool? There was no way she would ever be able to repay the company’s expenses. In fact, if she’d been worried about her financial position before being offered this job it was a mere bagatelle when compared to the total bankruptcy which she was likely to face in the future.

Seething with frustration and anger, both at the malign fate which was about to engulf her and the incredibly foolish, outright stupidity of not having divorced Ross years ago, Flora struggled to contain her mounting hysteria, quite certain that her head was going to explode with pent-up rage and fury. But, as she continued to fulminate and rail against her own folly, she realised that there was absolutely nothing she could do to prevent the inevitable, total disaster which lay ahead.

Some hours later, as the small private plane which had been hired to transport them from Antigua slowly circled over the landing site on Buccaneer Island, Flora still hadn’t been able to find a solution to her problem. Certain that she’d never felt quite so frightened in all her life, she was in such a state of mental exhaustion that she couldn’t think of anything except the truly horrendous fate which awaited her just as soon as they landed.

It was almost as if she’d suddenly developed St Vitus’s Dance, she thought, miserably aware that her knees were knocking together like castanets. But, as the plane descended rapidly towards the green, grassy strip which lay alongside a wide sandy beach, she made a supreme effort to try and pull herself together.

Carefully descending the steps of the aircraft on legs which felt as though they were made of jelly, Flora found herself trailing behind Claudia Davidson and her entourage, who were walking briskly towards a small group of people clearly awaiting their arrival. Through the haze of shimmering heat, her eyes were slowly and forcibly drawn towards a man standing slightly apart from the others, leaning nonchalantly against a rather battered-looking old Land Rover.

Feeling suddenly faint, she was almost physically aware of the blood draining from her face at the sight of the tall, broad-shouldered figure and tanned, arrogant features of the person she hadn’t seen for so long. Drawing on her positively last reserves of courage, she took a deep, shuddering breath.

Here goes nothing! Flora told herself defiantly, putting on the performance of a lifetime as she walked slowly and steadily, with her head held high, towards her ex-husband, Ross Whitney. The man who, within the next few minutes, was almost certainly going to blow her world sky-high.

CHAPTER TWO

DELIBERATELY forcing herself to appear outwardly calm and collected, Flora knew her mind was in a complete turmoil as she walked slowly towards the husband she hadn’t seen for so many years.

Amongst all her other overwhelming problems, she now realised that she’d completely forgotten to put on her dark glasses. Not only would they have offered protection from the harsh rays of the sun, but—ridiculous as it might seem—she’d have felt a whole lot safer with her eyes well hidden behind the black shades. Unfortunately there was no way she could now begin fumbling through her large handbag. Not when she was striving with all her might to appear so cool and laid-back.

Despite knowing that total disaster lay only a few moments away, she couldn’t seem to stop her brain from frantically buzzing with completely hopeless, totally impractical plans of escape. But even as she desperately thought of trying to reach Ross before the others—and somehow managing to persuade him to keep quiet about their marriage—she knew that it was now far, far too late for any hope of rescue.

‘Ah, Mr Ross...!’ Claudia called out imperiously, ignoring the small group of people standing by an open truck as she strode purposefully towards the tall figure leaning nonchalantly against his vehicle.

‘We’re so grateful to you for allowing us to use this lovely island of yours,’ she told him with a beaming smile as she introduced herself and her faithful shadow, Helen Todd. ‘I understand that you’re a friend of that clever young businessman, Mr Schwartz?’

‘Well, no—not exactly,’ the tall man drawled. ‘Although I know his brother-in-law very well, I haven’t yet had the pleasure of meeting Bernie. However, I understand he is due to join us later on today,’ he added, before explaining that he only used the pseudonym ‘Duncan Ross’ for his books. ‘So, please call me Ross—and I hope you enjoy your stay on Buccaneer Island.’

‘I’m quite sure we will!’ Claudia trilled, smiling coyly up at the handsome man, a faint flush on her cheekbones as she nervously patted her hair.

Slowly coming to a halt beside them, Flora had been momentarily distracted from her own fear and trepidation by the amazing sight of that normally hard, tough and ruthless woman Claudia Davidson now simpering like a bashful schoolgirl. But she found herself being suddenly jerked back to harsh, cruel reality as Ross turned slowly to face her.

‘Oh yes...’ Claudia waved a limp, heavily ringed hand in Flora’s direction. ‘This is Miss Flora Johnson. She’s going to be the model for our Angel Girl campaign.’

‘An “angel girl”...? Well, well!’ Ross drawled, his vivid blue eyes beneath their heavy lids glinting with sardonic amusement as he gazed down at Flora. And then, with what she could only think of as bare-faced insolence, he proceeded to conduct an analytical appraisal of her, beginning at the top of her curly head and travelling slowly down over her slim figure before coming to a halt at the pink toenails of her feet in their light sandals.

Damned cheek! Flora gritted her teeth, fuming with resentment and anger. Despite feeling quite faint and sick with dread of the forthcoming explosion, which she knew could be only seconds away, she was sorely tempted to give his face a good, hard slap. How dared the foul man treat her as if she were standing there stark naked?

‘However, you won’t be seeing very much of her,’ Claudia continued in a dismissive tone of voice. ‘When she isn’t in front of the camera, Miss Johnson will have to stay indoors during the heat of the day, to make sure that she doesn’t get too suntanned.’

‘Really...?’ Ross murmured, lifting a dark, sardonic eyebrow as he blandly regarded the flushed cheeks and angry glint in the large green eyes of the girl standing beside him. ‘That doesn’t sound much fun.’

‘Miss Johnson is not here to have “fun”,’ the older woman corrected him sharply, clearly annoyed that he was paying attention to anyone other than herself. ‘This is strictly a working assignment as far as she is concerned. Isn’t that right, dear?’ she added, turning her hard, beady eyes in Flora’s direction.

Numb with fear of the storm about to break over her head any moment—and quailing beneath the grim note of warning in Claudia’s voice—Flora could only give a weak nod of agreement.

‘Never mind, Miss...er...Johnson,’ Ross drawled coolly. ‘I’ll certainly do my best to make sure that your “working assignment” proves to be a pleasant and... er...an interesting one.’

The other two women might have missed it, but Flora had no difficulty in hearing the low, ironic note of grim amusement which lay beneath Ross’s bland words. He’s playing with me, she thought, staring down at the ground for a moment before slowly raising her head to find herself being regarded by blank blue eyes and a cool smile which held no hint of recognition.

Totally confused, for a few brief seconds she almost managed to convince herself that Ross really didn’t know who she was. But then, as he gave her a swift, piercing glance before turning back to the two older women, she realised that she’d been momentarily living in a fool’s paradise. Whatever game he might be playing, it certainly wasn’t good news for her—not if that harsh gleam in his eyes and the cruel, mocking curve of his lips was anything to go by.

Unfortunately, she was given no time in which to mull over the question of exactly why Ross appeared to be pretending not to know her. Almost before she knew what was happening, she was being swept up in the general melee as they were joined by Georgie, and the small group of people who’d come to meet the plane.

With her mind in a complete daze, Flora barely noticed the luggage being loaded onto a truck which soon vanished into the distance. Nor was she given any time to acknowledge the loud, cheerful greetings from some of her old acquaintances. In what seemed the twinkling of an eye, she found herself seated beside Georgie in the back of Ross’s large open Land Rover, with Helen and various pieces of hand luggage occupying the bench seat in front of them, and being driven along a grass track edging a wide, sandy beach.

Luckily there was no need for her to say or do anything, since Claudia, seated in the front passenger seat next to Ross, was clearly intent on claiming his full attention.

Finally managing to find and put on her dark glasses, Flora knew that if she hadn’t been feeling so sick with nerves she’d have been able to appreciate the amusing, grim irony of being grateful to the awful woman. Thanks to Claudia’s determination to monopolise Ross’s attention she was being given a short break in which to try and get her act together. But, gazing blindly out of the vehicle, she was unable to savour the entrancing view of pale white sand and sparkling blue sea. Not when her whole attention was now focused on the one, overriding problem: how to prevent her ex-husband from spilling the beans?

She had no idea why Ross was pretending not to know her. He appeared to have transformed himself into a very successful author and had clearly made a new life for himself here, in the Caribbean. So, maybe he regretted their brief marriage as much as she did? However, as long as he didn’t open his mouth and ‘tell all’ before she had a chance to get him on his own and swear him to secrecy about their brief marriage, it was just possible that she might be able to prevent her career from going down the tubes.

Preoccupied with her overwhelming problems, it was some time before Flora noticed that they had left the coastline of the small island behind them and were now speeding inland along a grass track bordered on each side by shady groves of palm trees. On reaching a clearing, she saw that they faced a large plantation house whose green lawns were surrounded by brightly coloured trees and shrubs. But, instead of driving up to the house, their vehicle veered off to the side, winding its way through yet more palms and banana trees heavy with fruit before coming to a halt outside a small wooden building.

As Ross jumped out, helping Claudia and Helen down from the vehicle before leading them towards the front door, where their suitcases awaited them, Flora studied the tiny cottage. It looked enchanting, with a bright red corrugated metal roof set over white walls, a pale pink front door and window frames, and the whole surrounded by a pretty pink and white wooden veranda. She was just thinking that it must be every little girl’s dream-a large, magnificent dolls’ house of their very own—when Georgie gave her a sharp dig in the ribs.

‘How about this for a taste of luxury! Not bad, huh?’

‘Hmm...?’

‘Come on, Flora! Have you been asleep or what?’ Georgie stared at her in surprise. ‘Didn’t you hear Ross say that we’re all being allocated separate guest cottages?’

‘No, I...”

‘He was telling Claudia that this type of local building is known as a popular house, or “case”,’ Georgie explained quickly as Ross helped the older women with their luggage. ‘Apparently, they were originally designed for families who worked on the old sugar plantations, and are still used throughout the Caribbean. So, Ross decided they’d make perfect guest suites for his visitors and had some prefabricated units shipped over from Antigua,’ she added, peering through the trees towards where other small pastel-coloured buildings were scattered haphazardly amongst the lush vegetation. ‘I can’t wait to see mine.’

However, after Ross had dropped Georgie off at her cottage—which she was apparently sharing with the make-up and hair stylist—the atmosphere within the vehicle became positively glacial. Fully determined to sort matters out as quickly as possible, Flora was thrown completely off-base at being roughly ordered by her ex-husband to sit in the front passenger seat.

‘I don’t mind driving everyone to their cottages. But I’m damned if I’m going to act as a hired chauffeur to some flibbertigibbet model!’ he growled, waiting with barely concealed impatience as she hurriedly changed seats.

‘OK...OK, there’s no need to be so rude,’ she snapped, furious with herself for having so instinctively obeyed his harshly voiced command. ‘I didn’t make the arrangements to stay on this island. So how am I expected to know how you run things? In fact,’ she added grimly, ‘I’d never have come within a mile of the damned place—not if I’d known you’d be here!’

He gave a low bark of sardonic laughter, which only served to inflame her already raw nerves to screaming pitch.

‘Now, now, Miss Johnson,’ he murmured, ‘there’s no need to lose your temper.’

‘Oh, no...?’ she ground out through gritted teeth. ‘Well, that’s all you know! Because it looks as if losing my temper is the very least of my problems. And what’s with this “Miss Johnson” nonsense anyway?’ she added belligerently, turning to scowl at his handsome tanned profile. ‘You know very well who I am.’

‘Of course I know who you are,’ he drawled coolly as he brought the Land Rover to a halt outside a cottage screened from the other small houses by a thick hedge of flowering shrubs. ‘I’ve just been told that you’re Bernie Schwartz’s new Angel Girl. I also have it on good authority—from his own brother-in-law, no less—that Bernie seems to think you’re the best thing since sliced bread. How about that?’