She watched as Sophia delicately tested the water with one toe, then gradually eased herself into the pool. Why, she thought, did Alistair disapprove of the match? She, acidly, considered Conrad and Sophia to be perfectly suited.
'Well, what do you think?'
Conrad's deep voice behind her made her jump. He squatted down until his face was close to hers. Emma edged away and his blue eyes flickered with amusement.
'Think about what?' she countered icily, annoyed with him for the effect that he had on her. 'The weather? World politics? Religion?'
'Sophia.'
'Ah. As a matter of fact, she's not what I expected.'
'What did you expect? A gold-digger?'
'Like me?' Emma mocked.
'I never said that.'
'But you implied it.' For some reason she wanted an argument. She knew that she was being childishly aggravating, but something in her persisted.
'Let's get one thing straight, lady,' Conrad said grimly, 'OK, I admit I quizzed you when you first arrived, but you told me that you weren't after Alistair's money, and I believed you, if only in the absence of any evidence. It's obvious that you can't accept that.'
Emma looked at him dumbly. 'Sorry,' she muttered.
The sharp blue eyes raked over her face.
'I think you're being very unfair on Sophia. Are you sure that she knows that your idea of marriage to her is a business arrangement? A company merger?'
'Of course,' Conrad replied smoothly. 'As I said, it suits her as much as it suits me. Not that having her around wouldn't be a pleasure.' He shot Emma a quick, sideways glance. 'Isn't she most men's idea of physical perfection?'
'I wouldn't know!' Emma snapped, immediately regretting her burst of emotion, which she proceeded to cover under a veneer of indifference. 'But I'll take your word for it. You clearly have enough experience in that direction.'
Her fists clenched hard on the arms of the lounger. God, she thought, why on earth do I let this man bother me? She discarded the train of thought, because to
pursue it might throw up a few questions to which she could not provide the answers.
She heard Sophia's lilting voice calling from the pool, and they both looked in her direction.
'I think you're being summoned,' Emma said sweetly.
'When it's by a beautiful creature like Sophia, I don't object,' Conrad replied with equal silkiness.
He moved with an almost mesmerising grace to the side of the pool, and then dived in. Emma watched his tanned body slice through the water and emerge alongside Sophia.
He said something to her, and she laughed, throwing back her head and exposing the slim column of her neck. Conrad's lips trailed across the fine skin and Emma looked away.
It doesn't take a thousand guesses to hit on what they'll be doing later on this evening, she thought acidly. They should keep that sort of thing for the bedroom. She shut the door firmly before her mind could start inventing images of them in bed and picked up her book, struggling to get past the one sentence which she re-read three times before giving up totally. She stuck the book over her eyes and tried to take no notice of Sophia's girlish laughter and Conrad's deeper chuckles.
They might be marrying for all the convenient reasons, but it was clear to Emma that there was no shortage of physical attraction between them.
She rarely thought about men and marriage, but for the first time she felt a sharp twang inside as she contemplated what she had missed out on.
True there had been men in her life, but none that aroused more than friendship. Certainly none that had ever tempted her virginity. In fact, when it came to sex, she could never imagine what all the fuss was about.
Still, a virgin at twenty-four! What an anachronism in the twentieth century!
She turned over on to her stomach. The sun was blis- teringly hot and she felt like a piece of bread in a toaster, slowly being burnt. Water, water everywhere, she thought, and not a drop to swim in. because the last thing she wanted to do was jump into the pool and disturb whatever was going on.
She didn't have to look to know that Conrad was probably enjoying Sophia's company in more ways than one.
He had struck Emma as someone who worked hard, but who also played hard. The very last thing she needed to see was him playing hard with Sophia.
Alistair's wrong, she thought, Sophia is the ideal mate for a man like Conrad. He needed someone who didn't stretch his mind. His mind was stretched enough in his work.
She heard the splashing noises as they both emerged from the pool and remained rooted in her position with her back to them. It was rude, she knew, but something inside her had twisted with a feeling of sick pain when she had seen Conrad kiss Sophia's neck. Why on earth did her emotions keep failing her, when her head still remained screwed on and was telling her that she should be careful of Conrad DeVere in more ways than one?
When Sophia sat on the lounger next to her, Emma turned around, screwing her eyes against the sun.
'We thought you might like to come to a party at my folks' house tomorrow,' she said. Conrad's hand was resting on her shoulder, and Sophia touched it with her own.
It was a careless, intimate gesture which Emma deliberately ignored.
'It's a lunch party. There'll be tennis.'
'Tennis? I have to warn you that tennis isn't one of my strong points. It's been years since I held a racket, and even then what I did with it wouldn't have got me a place at Wimbledon.'
Sophia looked blankly at her, but out of the corner of her eye Emma could sec an amused smile playing on Conrad's lips.
'You mean you can't play?'
'You hit the nail on the head.'
'Oh, that's no problem.' Sophia waved aside her objection with a flippant gesture, 'I'm pretty hopeless as well. Actually, I only ever play tennis for the exercise.
I have to watch my shape' she pouted, raising her
face to Conrad '—or no one else will.'
Emma smiled politely and agreed to go.
She was curious to see who would be at this tennis party. She had been sightseeing briefly a couple of times, but on her own. She was beginning to miss the company of her friends, whose letters had been erratic but full of news about places and people who seemed a lifetime away.
She also managed to buy English newspapers once a week, which were at least one week out of date, but nevertheless fun to read. She sometimes read bits aloud to Alistair, and they discussed what was happening in England with the fervour of people isolated miles away from their native land. Alistair, though he had lived in Tobago longer than he cared to remember, and though it would never have occurred to him to leave it, still felt the need to know what was going on in London.
Maybe there would be Londoners at the party.
At any rate, from what Sophia had said, there would be enough people there for Emma to more or less lose herself in the crowd.
She was beginning to feel disproportionately tense in Conrad's presence. It would do her good to meet some other people and to readjust her emotional balance.
And of course, who knew? There might be someone there who would tell her a little bit more about Alistair.
CHAPTER FOUR
It was late in the morning before Emma was finally dressed, made-up, and, she felt, trussed like a chicken for the party. Two hours late. Not bad going, she thought. She quickly scanned her reflection in the long mirror, wondering if her stretchy flowered dress was really suitable for a tennis party. It would have to do. Her wardrobe wasn't exactly crammed with tiny white skirts and matching tops. In fact, her only white pair of shorts was in the wash, and Emma had no intention of rinsing them especially for the occasion.
She tiptoed towards Alistair's bedroom and peered in. Asleep. Emma frowned as she looked at him. He was supposed to be accompanying her to the party, but at the very last moment had cried off ill.
'Nothing to worry about, my dear,' he had said, when Emma had begun fussing worriedly over him. 'And stop clucking
like a mother hen. Anyone would think that...'
'That...?'
'That I'd never been ill before.'
'You never take to your bed if you don't have to,' she had said anxiously.
She had, in fact, been in two minds as to whether she ought to leave him, but the combined forces of Esther and Alistair had forestalled any last-minute cancellations on her part.
Her protests that it would be no bother to give it a miss had met with Alistair's dismissive wave of the hand, and a few mumbled words about never being one to spoil other people's fun.
Nevertheless as the chauffeur dropped Emma off at the villa she still felt a twinge of uneasiness.
In the space of a few weeks she had become more than a bit fond of the old man. In the privacy of her thoughts, she considered him her grandfather. He was her own flesh and blood. The thought that he might really be ill was surprisingly painful.
She tried to put her worries aside as she was ushered into the villa. The party was in full flow. She couldn't spot either Conrad or Sophia anywhere, and she absent- mindedly accepted a glass of fruit punch, liberally laced with rum.
Sophia's parents were a striking couple. They had lived in Tobago all their lives, as had their parents, and they couldn't understand why anyone would want to live anywhere else.
'England could certainly do with a sprucing up as far as the weather is concerned.' Emma laughed. 'I get letters from my friends and they always open with the words "it hasn't stopped raining for the past week". I miss London, though, even if it is grey most of the time.'
Sophia's mother tried to look sympathetic, but clearly found it difficult.
She took her elbow and shepherded her through the guests, introducing her, explaining Alistair's absence to his acquaintances with expressions of sympathy.
'The young people are outside.' She drew Emma through the open patio doors into the sprawling garden where a mixed doubles match was in full flow, watched by clusters of guests who were applauding with what seemed like much more exuberance than the game warranted.
The demon drink, Emma thought with a grin—doesn't it loosen up everyone? She gulped the remnants of her punch and took another glass from the bar, determined to make it last more or less until it was time for her to
leave. She did not drink much as a rule, and she had no intention of starting now.
Conrad was playing with Sophia. Emma watched openly as he tossed the ball into the air and sent it spinning across the net to his opponents.
His well-tuned body was embarrassingly mesmerising and she felt her eyes dwelling on his movements with painful intensity.
He and Sophia won in straight sets, which met with wild applause. As he saluted his enthusiastic spectators with mock solemnity, his eyes caught Emma's and she carelessly raised her glass to him.
'You took your time getting here,' he said as he approached her, tossing his tennis racket on a chair. The perspiration was still damp on his face and he wiped it with the back of his hand. 'I see you dressed for the occasion.'
'It was the best I could do.'
She flushed as the smile left his lips and he looked at her through dark-fringed eyes.
'Where's Alistair?' he asked abruptly.
'He wasn't feeling too good so he took a raincheck.'
'Did he get in touch with his doctor?' The sharpness in his voice startled Emma.
'No, he didn't,' she said, confused. 'Should he have? He said that it was nothing to worry about, that he'd be fine if he took his tablets and went to bed.'
The uneasy feeling was back with her. Should she have insisted that he call Doctor Tompkins? She was tempted to phone him and find out whether everything was all right.
'I'll see him when I get back,' Conrad was saying. 'If I'm in the least bit doubtful, I'll get in touch with the doctor. Alistair has a habit of sweeping aside anything to do with his health, unless he thinks it's absolutely necessary.'
Maybe it was the authoritarian tone of his voice, but Emma immediately felt herself relax. He might have his objectionable traits, but she knew implicitly that he could be relied upon. If they constantly rubbed each other up the wrong way, then that was an unavoidable personality clash and did not detract from his in-built self- assurance.
'I see your tennis match was a walkover for you/ she remarked, realising that the one and a half drinks she had had were already beginning to have their effect. 'Is there anything that you can't do?' The question was uttered with a reckless disregard for its interpretation.
'You haven't seen the best of my accomplishments,' he murmured softly, the blue eyes gleaming with irony.
Emma knew that he was teasing her but it didn't make her feel any the less confused. Amazing how he could stir her emotions with a single sentence.
'Do you normally flirt with women, even though you're engaged?'
Conrad's lips tightened.
'Even with women you don't approve of?' she persisted.
'You flatter yourself if you think I'm flirting with you,' he muttered harshly, 'I call it trying to get a reaction.'
'What would your fiancee say?'
'You could always ask her and find out.' He gave her a mocking glance and Emma's fists clenched at her side. She summoned together her fast evaporating good humour and smiled at him.
'I can think of better things to discuss.'
Sophia was approaching, having changed out of her tennis outfit into a slinky gold trouser-suit, the bottom half of which looked as though it had been painted on to her body. The top was a mere strip of stretchy material that left little to the imagination.
She resembled some wild jungle animal, perhaps a puma, with her glowing bronzed skin and golden cat
like eyes. She linked her arm through Conrad's and Emma was struck at how physically well matched they were. There was something predatory about Conrad as well, but, in his case, latently dangerous.
Sophia looked at them and smiled, her yellow-gold eyes flickering invitingly over Conrad. 'Enjoying yourself?' she asked Emma.
'She's having a great time.' Conrad looked at her, one eyebrow raised in amusement, and Emma felt a strong urge to tip her drink over his head.
I'll leave you to continue enjoying yourself without me.' He sauntered off and Sophia turned to Emma, chatting politely about the various people at the party, most of whom she had come into contact with in her line of work, one way or another.
All the while, her eyes skimmed the crowd, acknowledging the appreciative glances of some of the men with pouting approval.
She was like a flower, some rare and beautiful species which only blossomed in the company of men. They were her sun and water. It amused Emma to see that, although she talked to her, it was absent-mindedly, as though she was merely passing the time of day until something more exciting beckoned.
'I should really be on a shoot in Istanbul,' she explained in a low voice to Emma, 'but Conrad insisted that I come over here for a while. He never usually insists on my dropping my work to be with him, so I decided to come over. Anyway, at the last minute I managed to persuade the photographer, who's a friend of mine, to switch the shoot from Istanbul to here, hence this crowd.' She gesticulated broadly at the milling crowd and sipped from her glass.
Emma had stopped listening. Her thoughts were whirring in another direction.
So Conrad had insisted that Sophia fly to Tobago to be with him. What was it he had said about not be
lieving in love? Obviously he couldn't bear to be apart from Sophia for too long. And you thought he was flirting with you, she reproved herself. The idea made her blush with shame.
Wishful thinking, she told herself, with punishing accuracy. True, there was something in his personality which made her feel defensive and angry, but why deny that he was a physically attractive man? He made no effort to deny it, for heaven's sake! He was fully aware of the effect that he had on women.
An alarming thought crossed her mind. What if he was aware of the effect he had on her? Emma shuddered.<
br />
She restlessly listened to Sophia's chatter, twirling her glass in her hand and inwardly cringing at what a fool she risked making of herself.
For starters, she was not his type any more than he was hers. Looking at it from that perspective was more to her liking and she dwelt on all the facets of his personality that she found disagreeable. His arrogance, his easy charm, that thread of ruthlessness which was sensed rather than seen.
Yes, he was not her type at all.
Anyway, he was the last person she should be attracted to anyway. He was engaged, for starters. Emma had always made a point of avoiding married men. An engaged man was more or less of the same ilk.
Besides, he had made his position quite clear on gold- diggers. She did not by any means fall into that category, but what if he were to find out about her connection with Alistair? Wouldn't he see her as the long- lost granddaughter who had travelled halfway across the world at the first possible opportunity, just to see what she could get out of an old, but extremely rich man?
True, he would find out in due course, but she had no intention of being around when he did.
So, she thought, reasons to avoid him.
She was feeling quite pleased with herself when Sophia gestured towards a tall, fair-haired man whom she proudly introduced as her brother.
'I got all the looks,' he joked. 'As you can see, Sophia's only passable in comparison.'
He had the healthy, tanned look of a beachcomber, and Emma was surprised when he announced that he actually lived in Trinidad and ran a nightclub. She accepted another glass of punch and listened to him as he told her about what was involved in running a club. He was clearly enamoured of life in the tropics, had no intention of ever leaving, and good-humouredly tried to persuade her that England was no comparison to an island where even the rainfall was warm.
Emma found herself laughing in response to him, liking his easy manner. He was much more like the sort of men she was accustomed to dating. He didn't rouse her and he was no challenge. She could relax with him, speak to him on friendly terms. Most of all, he did not threaten her self-control. She smiled as he began describing the girl he was going out with and who had had to remain in Trinidad for the weekend because of work.
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