She thought of Frances and decided that she would much sooner forget everything about the blonde bombshell with the brains to match.
The next two days flew past. She finalised a few of her jobs, ran around the shops madly trying to get herself a few more presentable outfits, which, in the depth of frozen February, was extremely difficult, and also telephoned Fiona, who confessed, rather sheepishly, that yes, she was seeing one of her brother’s friends, and yes, he really was rather nice, not at all like some of the guys she had dated in the past.
Was it any wonder, Christina thought, that Adam Palmer waltzed through life so damned confidently? The whole world seemed destined to jump to his tune.
On the day that she left England it chose to snow—a light flurry which, the weather forecasters predicted with a hint of amazement in their voices, would prelude the start of some unusually wintry conditions.
At the airport, the crew of six who were accompanying her, one of whom she had coincidentally met a few months earlier on one of her jobs, spent a good while crowing about their good fortune.
Four men and two women, they were, as she had expected, outgoing and sociable and immediately included her in their group.
‘Just think,’ Harry, one of the lighting men, laughed, ‘we’ll be missing all the thrills of trains brought to a standstill because of frozen tracks and cars that suddenly decide that it’s time to catch flu.’
Christina grinned and looked around the assorted group. They comprised the basic back-up team for a shoot, the minimal number of people, with only a few more due to arrive a few days later, including the models and their entourage.
‘Adam’s keeping the numbers down,’ one of the girls explained to her on the flight across. ‘He’s not a great believer in wasting money on fifteen when half that number could do the job just as well.’
‘Very sensible,’ Christina agreed, looking at the girl sitting alongside her. She was tiny, with flaming red hair and a sweet face that always seemed to be smiling even when she was serious.
‘Very. Hence the economy seats. He never flies first-class himself either,’ she carried on with admiration in her voice. ‘Isn’t that great?’
‘Amazing,’ Christina said. ‘What a paragon of virtue.’
There was no doubt that Adam Palmer inspired a great deal of loyalty and respect in his employees, if this cross-section of people was anything to go by. She found herself wondering whether his high-handed attitude was reserved specifically for her. From the looks of it, it certainly seemed that way.
It was a long flight, stopping at Barbados, and finally landing at Piarco Airport in Trinidad at a little after five in the afternoon.
Outside the aeroplane the atmosphere was steamy, and Christina immediately rolled up the sleeves of her cotton shirt as far as was possible. Even so, she was literally sweating by the time they made it into the airport terminal, which, thankfully, was air-conditioned.
‘I think I was born for this climate!’ Jennifer, her companion during the flight, announced. ‘Shame I won’t be able to tan, with my hair.’
Christina laughed. She found it quite easy to tan. It was one of the good things about her somewhat sallow complexion.
Around her was a hive of activity. She had known beforehand that this was a very popular time of the year for tourists, but she was amazed at the numbers of people swarming around the carousel, joining the queue through Customs.
Outside, two taxis were waiting to take them to their hotel, and she felt a little spurt of racing excitement.
How could she have ever balked at the prospect of being offered some freelance work by Adam? She must have been crazy.
As the taxis lazily manoeuvred the highway into the city centre, she gazed around her at the lushness of the vegetation, at the stalls filled with over-bright fruit that dotted the sides of the roads. She felt as though any minute she would blink and be back in her flat in England, wondering how many layers of clothing she needed before she ventured outside.
Two days later, she decided that it would be very easy to become accustomed to the slow pace of this sort of lifestyle.
Adam’s idea to get them there with enough time to explore before the carnival started in earnest had been a good one. It gave them all an opportunity to submerge themselves in the atmosphere of the place, a barely contained feverish excitement which infected them all and made their reactions to everything around them less inhibited.
She flexed her muscles on some shots that attempted to capture some of this sense of anticipation, but she was saving herself for the big event, two days when the nation would take to the streets in an orgy of music and dancing. The ultimate in masquerades.
And she knew the rest of the crew felt the same way.
They made exploratory trips to a couple of the beaches, with the assistance of one of Adam’s contacts on the island, who acted as their guide, sizing up possible backdrops for the shoots of the models in a few days’ time.
And by nightfall they all trooped back to the hotel, bone-weary. The heat had a way of sapping your energy. It had you up with the larks in the morning, but by nine at night you felt as though you could fall into bed and sleep for a hundred years.
Not that there was much chance of that. Their guide, a Trinidadian who insisted that they see as much as they could by night as well as by day, showed them all the spots where things were happening: the tents where the calypsonians competed, and the savannah where the kings and queens of the bands vied with each other for winning titles. And everywhere, by day and by night, on every radio in every possible place, there was the sound of the steel-bands, bursting into the air with a beat that made you want to jump up and dance.
Christina had never experienced anything like it before.
On the weekend before the carnival was due to begin the two models were due to arrive with their entourage.
‘They’ll probably be immune to what’s happening over here,’ Jennifer confided in her. ‘They see so much that they become blasé after a while.’
Christina pictured Frances’s exquisite face and she could see Jennifer’s point. There was a look of boredom beneath those perfect features, which probably only became animated in front of a camera lens.
They were lounging by the pool, like lizards cooling themselves from the heat of the sun. Jennifer was wearing a huge hat that threw her face into shadow, but Christina was happily supine on a deckchair.
She felt wonderfully desultory. This was hardly like work at all. It was like a paid holiday. If she had the energy, she would probably feel guilty, but she hadn’t.
She was feeling healthier, more vibrant than she had in a long time.
Her tan was coming along nicely, and the sun had managed to do the impossible—make her hair look alive. It had brought out the reds and golds beneath the dull browns. She was quite pleased with the overall effect.
Next to her, Jennifer was reading bits and pieces from a tourist guide which they had picked up in the hotel. Christina was half listening, half thinking about how she would angle some of her shots the following day.
She had already taken quite a few pictures of the kings and queens of the bands, magnificent structures that towered above the little people supporting them, and which depicted an array of themes designed to haunt the imagination.
Her eyes were closed, hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses.
She was so completely relaxed that the sound of Adam’s voice above her made her eyes jerk open with shock. For the most fleeting of seconds, as her eyes adjusted to the dazzling sun, she thought that she must have imagined it. But no such luck. She couldn’t mistake that face anywhere.
He was standing next to her deckchair in a pair of pale green trousers and a shirt opened at the neck.
The blue eyes flickered over her as she propped herself into a sitting position, flushed with embarrassment.
Next to her Jennifer had stopped reading and was enthusiastically talking to him, while his eyes hovered betwee
n the two of them, giving Christina very little opportunity to compose herself.
She could hear her heart hammering away in her chest. If only she could drag her towel around her... But she knew that any such action would bring that awful suppressed grin of amusement to his lips.
So she remained as she was, half sitting, half lying, acutely conscious of the brevity of her bikini, two black strips of cloth that had somehow assumed the proportions of a handkerchief.
After what seemed like years of highly uncomfortable small talk, none of which Christina managed to take in, Jennifer was dismissed in that charming manner of his, and Christina watched in horror as her friend gathered up her belongings and headed towards the hotel.
Adam perched himself on the edge of the deckchair and gave her a long, lazy look.
‘So,’ he said, ‘how are you enjoying Trinidad?’
‘It’s lovely,’ Christina said, dismayed, thinking that she had been enjoying it a whole lot more than she would be from now on. ‘What are you doing over here?’ she asked as casually as she could, hoping she didn’t sound as tense and apprehensive as she was feeling. ‘I had no idea that you travelled the world every time there was a shoot for one of your magazines.’ The polite enquiry emerged tinged with anxious accusation.
‘I don’t,’ he replied smoothly, and if he had caught the tone in her voice he chose to ignore it.
‘Then why are you here?’ she asked bluntly, not caring at this point what he thought.
‘You sound worried at my presence over here. Are you?’
‘No. Why should I be?’ She attempted some light laughter, which emerged more like a choking sound.
‘How are you getting along with the team?’ he asked casually, but before she could answer he continued, ‘No, no need to reply. From the two I’ve spoken to, you’re all getting along swimmingly.’ The vivid blue eyes raked over her and he said flatly, ‘I hope that in between this wonderful social life you’re actually managing to remember that you’re over here to work.’
Christina looked at him indignantly. ‘Of course I’m remembering what I’m over here to do! You needn’t worry that you won’t get value for your money! Is that why you’re over here? So that you can check up on me?’
‘You over-estimate yourself. I have better things to do than fly halfway across the world to check up on you.’
His derisory reply brought a flush to her cheeks and she stared stubbornly ahead of her, at the pool.
‘It just seems strange that you’re over here,’ she persisted, and his mouth hardened.
‘It doesn’t seem strange to anyone else. It pays to sometimes be out there, in the field, seeing what’s happening first-hand. Delegation can end up by imprisoning you in an ivory tower, cut off from the lifeline of your company.’
‘In that case, I do apologise and stand corrected.’
He gave her a long, hard look and then said coldly, ‘I don’t like that tone of voice. I’m your boss and you’ll address me accordingly. The fact that we know each other is irrelevant.’
A faint pink colour stole up her cheeks. ‘I resent your implication that I would take advantage of being out here to enjoy myself and overlook the fact that I’m being paid to do a job. I bet you don’t run around levelling those sorts of accusations at your other employees.’
She was keeping her voice low and controlled as well, but she didn’t feel at all controlled. She felt hot and flustered.
‘I know the dedication of my other employees,’ he said coolly, ‘but, as you so eloquently reminded me, you’re an unknown quantity. I have your portfolio to go on and my sister’s enthusiastic recommendation.’
‘I never asked for this job.’
‘I’m aware of that and, despite what you think, I wasn’t implying anything. I was merely laying down a few ground rules.’
His eyes flickered over her semi-clad body, and she felt a peculiar frisson ripple through her.
‘I can’t imagine why you’d feel the need to do that,’ she pursued stubbornly, knowing that she ought just to let the matter drop.
‘Well, you don’t look terribly overworked at the moment,’ he drawled smoothly. ‘In fact I’d say that you’ve been spending quite a bit of time around the pool if that golden colour is anything to go by.’
There was a brief, lazy interest in his eyes and that made her angry. Did he imagine that she would giggle girlishly at this point and bat her eyelashes at him? She might look more appealing with a tan, but she was nothing compared to the Franceses of this world, and she resented his patronising imitation of flattery.
‘Well you’d be wrong,’ she said flatly, dragging the towel around her and not giving a damn what he thought. ‘This is the second time I’ve been by this pool. I tan easily without having to stretch out for hours lathered in suntan oil.’
She glared at him resentfully, daring him to say one more word about her abusing her position.
‘There’s no need to drape that towel around yourself,’ he said mildly, ignoring the expression on her face. ‘I’d really never noticed before, but you have a nice body. Not too thin.’
There was gleaming amusement as his eyes met hers, and she could have hit him.
‘Coming from an expert on women’s bodies, I suppose I should be flattered,’ she said tightly, ‘but I’m not. Because I don’t appreciate being sized up like a piece of meat.’
‘Is that what I was doing?’ he asked idly. ‘I had no idea. You’re obviously one of those women who finds it impossible to accept compliments.’
Her face was bright red now. She wished desperately that she could think of something cutting to say, but she couldn’t.
‘Is it because you feel insecure about the way you look?’ he asked with interest, and she felt as though she were dying a million deaths.
‘Spare me your attempts at psychology,’ she muttered between her teeth.
‘Do you?’ he persisted.
She could feel her body trembling. She didn’t even dare stand up and walk back to the hotel, because she wasn’t entirely sure that her legs would support her.
Did he find all this amusing? Did he think that their familiarity of sorts entitled him to make sweeping, insulting generalisations about her?
‘I’m perfectly happy with the way that I look,’ she bit out. ‘I may not look like a model, but there’s more to life than appearances, anyway.’
Now I sound defensive, she thought miserably. She wished that he would just go away and leave her alone.
‘You’re right,’ he agreed, releasing her from the stranglehold of his blue eyes and gazing around him with appreciation. ‘That pool looks damned inviting.’ He stood up and flexed his muscles. ‘Mind if I get into some swimming-trunks and join you?’
Christina shielded her eyes and stared up at him. It’s a public pool, she wanted to inform him; you can come back down here, but I’m sure as hell not going to be around.
‘Please yourself,’ she said, leaning over to pick up a magazine from the ground. She stretched out on her towel, not looking in his direction as he walked back towards the hotel.
The peaceful calm of the past few days seemed like a lifetime away. Now she would be tense every time he was around, watching him, over-aware of his every movement, reading all kinds of things into his remarks. You’d think that the mere fact of their having grown up in each other’s houses would have made her more or less immune to his impact, but if anything it exaggerated it. She looked at the man and could also see the boy, and that made her response to him confusingly intense.
She walked back to her room very quickly, hoping that she wouldn’t have the misfortune to bump into him on the way up, and she didn’t.
Later, as she joined the others at the bar for drinks, she realised that much of that laid-back relaxation which they had enjoyed together had vanished.
Their numbers had increased twofold, what with the models—Frances and a raven-haired beauty called Janessa—and their entourage, and of course Adam.
He glanced at her briefly as she walked towards the group, and then returned to his conversation with one of the crew, a middle-aged man called Sam whom the group tended to regard as a father-figure.
Frances was standing next to him, not touching him, but making it obvious that they were an item. She looked sickeningly elegant in a clinging turquoise dress, designed only for those with supreme self-confidence about their appearance, and Christina suddenly felt horribly plain in her loose-fitting flowered culottes and matching shirt.
A sudden thought struck her: was Adam’s unexpected appearance over here grounded in more prosaic reasons? Namely that Frances was here and relaxing with her, his lover, in the tropics for a few days was an irresistible attraction? Sure, he could throw in some valuable on-the-spot observations, but no doubt that was just an added bonus.
They had all decided to eat at the hotel and then participate in the party which was being given afterwards for the guests, but Adam informed them that they would have to count him out.
‘Promised to visit a couple of old friends over here,’ he said, and Christina didn’t know whether she was relieved or disappointed.
It would certainly be less stressful without him around, but would it be as invigorating? This reaction irritated her and she composed her features into a polite smile of interest and insincere regret at his absence.
The others were trying to persuade him to stay and she firmly kept her mouth shut. That would be taking hypocrisy just a little too far.
Above the heads, his eyes met hers and he gave her a knowing, mocking little look which she met with bland indifference.
As he turned to leave, Frances slipped her arm through his and gazed up at him with a mixture of awe and adoration.
‘We’ll see you later,’ she called out in a high, breathless voice which made Christina wince. Good grief, this was the beauty who also possessed brains? From where she was standing, she seemed the original bubble-head, bowled over by Adam’s heady combination of power, good looks and charm.
What on earth would they talk about when they were alone together? She found that she was standing there, staring at nothing, her mind going round in frustrating circles, and she had to make a mental effort to pull herself together.
Unwilling Surrender Page 10
