LITMIR.BIZ

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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.

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