She wrapped the mirror carefully and made a nest for it between her clothes. She gave her hair a final brush, resting the ivory back against her cheek for a tender moment before tucking the hairbrush into her suitcase.
Her eyes were bright, but her expression was determined as she closed the lid. Even so, nostalgia bit deep as she silently mouthed: Goodbye old life . . . hello new . . .
CHAPTER FOUR
She had given her suitcase into the care of the airport authorities for it to be loaded onto the plane, said goodbye to Ally and little Samantha, promised to send a card to let them know that she’d arrived safely, and now walked through to the departure lounge to wait for her flight number to be called.
She glanced idly at the other passengers waiting to embark. They were mostly holiday makers, it seemed, families. Here and there she saw a more soberly dressed lone traveler wearing that distinctive air of business as if it were an extra garment. And there was one eye-catching female, also on her own, who looked as though she could have done with an extra garment—a jacket, for instance, to cover a skimpy top that would have looked better on a beach than in the busy lounge of an international airport. The top was outrageously if fittingly teamed with the tightest pair of trousers imaginable.
Catherine’s eyes lingered a moment longer, almost in horrified fascination, not quite dismissing the woman as a brash blonde, guessing instinctively that the girl would have a nature as generous as her body, which would have been superb in the right clothes. Strangely, because Ally was stick-slender and would only have come up to the other woman’s shoulders and they didn’t share one similar feature, she reminded Catherine of Ally. Both gave out the same waves of electric animation—nothing done in moderation, no half measures. That was how Ally had been before Ray’s death left her lost and disoriented, and how she had been the last few days, showing such unselfish delight in helping Catherine to get organized for this trip.
For once there was no frustrating delay and they boarded the plane on time. Predictable. Paul Hebden would be there to meet her at the other end, and anything he had a finger in wouldn’t dare to be subjected to life’s petty irritations.
She was shown to a window seat. Lovely! Had he arranged that, too?
A sound at her side made her look up to see who her companion for the flight was going to be, and she saw with a mixture of amusement and dismay that it was the woman in the skimpy top and tight trousers. Paul Hebden certainly hadn’t arranged this. She would not meet with his approval at all!
She had a clutter of possessions with her which she divided between the overhead baggage compartment and the floor, before turning her vivacious smile on Catherine.
‘Hi! I’m Deirdre Patterson. What’s your handle?’
‘Catherine Mason.’
At first Catherine was reluctant to be drawn into conversation, but gradually Deirdre’s brash, extroverted charm began to take effect. Simply by looking into her face, Catherine knew that wherever she went, fun and laughter wouldn’t be far behind.
‘I’m staying at the Ocean Beach Hotel,’ Deirdre said chattily. ‘Which hotel are you booked at?’
‘I don’t know,’ she replied truthfully.
She wasn’t normally forthcoming about her private affairs to strangers, but something in Deirdre’s expression told her that this had come out sounding too abrupt, as if she were deliberately withholding the name of her hotel in case the blond woman had thoughts of getting in touch with her once they were settled in.
Not wanting to sound unkind, she said, ‘I really don’t know. I’m not on holiday. I’m going out to work. My employer will have made the arrangements and I’m expecting to be met at the airport.’
Deirdre’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. ‘I had you figured out as a rich society girl, hopping from one luscious holiday spot to another. Your clothes fooled me. I know—with your fantastic figure it’s obvious. You’re in the glamour and beauty business. You’re the editor of a glossy magazine. Or—better still—a top photographic model and you can afford to dress like that because you get a discount. Anywhere near the mark?’
‘Not even vaguely close. I’m a down-to-earth shorthand typist and until now I’ve led a very mundane life. If someone had told me a week ago that I—’ There was something about this woman that encouraged confidences. Halting her runaway tongue, she said, ‘What about you, Deirdre? What sort of work do you do that pays well enough for you to take exotic holidays?’
‘I’m a hair stylist and—no, the tips aren’t that good.’ The animation slid from her face, her buoyancy snapping as suddenly as if it had been severed with a knife. ‘I’m twenty-five years old. Since I was sixteen I’ve been going with this guy, and for the past three years or more I’ve been saving like mad to chip in with the mortgage. Then, out of the blue, he packed me in. I dried my tears and took a long hard look at him, and I said to myself, “Deirdre, love, you must be nuts. What can he give you except a houseful of kids and years of scrimping and saving and making do?” Surely I was born for better things than that? I asked myself why I should waste myself on someone who couldn’t give me the things I so richly deserved and told myself that it was about time I found someone who could. Snag was, there aren’t that many millionaires going begging where I live. So I had all this mortgage money in the bank and no other use for it, so I thought, why don’t I go where they are? I’ve been kicked, now it’s my turn. From now on I’m out for all I can get. I’ve got three weeks to find myself a rich husband, and I’m not too fussy whose husband he is. I suppose a nice refined girl like you is shocked by that,’ she concluded with a touch of defiance.
‘Not so much shocked as concerned. Man-hunting has become a fashionable holiday pastime, but like a lot of other sports, it can be dangerous. I don’t think you’re as tough as you make out, and I think you could get hurt even worse than before.’
‘Sure I could. That’s the luck of the draw. I could just as easily fall into a life of luxury.’
‘I hope you do, Deirdre,’ Catherine said, and meant it.
* * *
The murmur of voices around them increased, growing excited as the first of the islands that formed the Bahama group came into view, denoting that the long journey was nearing its end. Soon other islands appeared; Catherine strained to look down at the scattered specks on the ocean which grew larger as the wings of the jetliner swept lower.
The pilot identified the islands by name over the communication system, giving tantalizing snippets of information about them that whetted her appetite to know more, especially about the privately owned cays. She saw the blue-green sea edged with creamy-white surf and beaches bleached white by centuries of sunshine. It was an unspoiled, unsurpassed beauty because of its centuries of neglect since Columbus dismissed the islands as mere stopping places. The ‘useless islands,’ King Ferdinand was reputed to have called them. He had certainly been proved wrong.
She realized with a new upsurge of excitement that they were now above New Providence and its satellite Paradise Island, connected by the spectacular Potter’s Cay Bridge. Towering hotel blocks and moving cars alike were reduced to toy proportions. The plane banked and she had a dizzy kaleidoscopic impression of sparkling blue water, yachts and cruise ships—which was hastily cut off, along with her circulation, by the urgent grip of Deirdre’s fingers ’round her wrist.
The blond girl moaned, ‘My stomach! I wish I hadn’t gone mad with the duty free.’
Catherine had thought that Deirdre was drinking too much, but she hadn’t liked to stress the point beyond cautioning that she’d read somewhere that alcohol was more potent while you were airborne. She felt that once you started moralizing with someone like Deirdre, it would be difficult to know when to stop.
‘You’ll be all right. We’re landing now,’ she said, offering sympathy.
Hardly had she got the words out than the wheels hit the ground and, with an increased rush of noise, the jet taxied along the landing strip.
Her wind
ow seat immediately lost its appeal. She was trapped where she was until Deirdre decided to move, and Deirdre, looking very wan indeed, seemed incapable of doing so.
‘Deirdre?’
‘I feel dreadful.’
‘I promise that you’ll feel better once you’re outside. Come on, I’ll help you with your hand luggage.’
‘Thanks. You’re a pal,’ Deirdre said faintly.
Wondering how anyone could pack so haphazardly, Catherine shared the untidy assortment, taking Deirdre’s rucksack and her bulging plastic carrier bag as well as her own neat shoulder travel-bag, leaving Deirdre to cope with her own canvas bag and camera. They seemed to be all she was capable of carrying.
As they waited for the main luggage to be unloaded, Deirdre blossomed into life. ‘Sorry about that. I’m fine now, though, just as you said I would be. Look—your boss is sure to give you some time off, so how about getting in touch with me at my hotel and we can go out on the town together, mm?’
Catherine didn’t dislike Deirdre; in fact, there was something rather likable and quite touching about the girl. But it would be miserable to go out on the town with her. She was delighted to be able to render a friendly brushoff.
‘I’d love that, but I doubt if it will be possible. The island isn’t all that big, I know, but transport could be a problem. I mean, it’s unlikely that we’ll find ourselves on the same part of the island. I don’t even know if I’ll be staying in New Providence. For all I know Nassau airport might be just a convenient place for my employer to meet me before going to one of the out islands.’
‘Oh, well, I can hope that you get in touch,’ Deirdre responded cheerfully, before adding on an ominous note, ‘I shall be glad when I get my suitcase. I have a friend whose suitcase went missing en route and it spoiled her holiday.’
A foreboding chill shivered through Catherine’s system as she thought what it would mean to her if she lost her suitcase.
‘Don’t look so glum,’ Deirdre said. ‘We can’t both lose our suitcases, so if yours goes missing I’ll lend you something to wear. My suitcase is full to bursting with pretties.’
Catherine hadn’t been thinking of all her newly purchased, beautiful clothes, but of the irreplaceable things . . . the loss of her hairbrush set, her mother’s last gift to her, would be tragic.
Despite her fears, she had to smile at Deirdre’s words. Everything about Deirdre was ‘full to bursting.’ Her poorly-matched assortment of hand luggage, her magnificent bosom in her skimpy top.
Their suitcases were retrieved without mishap and Catherine released a long, thankful sigh. The rest of the airport formalities were soon cleared.
Deirdre was still clinging to her like a limpet. If the woman couldn’t manage her hand luggage she certainly couldn’t manage a heavy suitcase as well, so there was no possibility of casting her adrift until a porter had been found. This, apparently, was not going to be easy. Catherine wondered what it was about herself that landed her in situations of this nature. She always seemed to get lumbered with likable people, first Ally, and now Deirdre, who were incapable of managing their own affairs.
‘You say you’re being met?’ Deirdre asked with cunning speculation.
‘Yes.’ She got the drift of Deirdre’s thoughts—obviously she was hoping for a lift. She didn’t have to put on a helpless expression and say, ‘I hope taxis are easier to come by than porters.’
Catherine hoped so, too. Failing that, she hoped that Paul wouldn’t be there to meet her himself, but that he would have sent someone else to collect her. It took no imagination at all to guess that Paul’s attitude to Deirdre would be one of disdain. Strangely enough, Catherine found that she didn’t care that it might annoy Paul to be taken out of his way to give Deirdre a lift, but that she felt sorry for Deirdre herself. She knew what it was like to flinch under the power of Paul’s disapproval, although she hadn’t yet worked out what he disapproved of in her, and she didn’t want Deirdre to be hurt or embarrassed. Oh, Lord, she thought, it’s an Ally deal again. Because she felt protective toward Deirdre, even though she could give Catherine three years.
Deirdre let out an appreciative gasp. ‘Wow! Get a load of him.’
Catherine knew even before she turned her head that she would see a man who was eminently worthy of Deirdre’s admiration and had a long-suffering expression on his face, as if he were bored by it.
Yes, there he was, tall, suntanned and lean, a commanding blond god of a man who would always find himself under the surveillance of feminine eyes wherever he went. It was amusing to note that the eyes of every woman in the place were on him, and a flicker of sympathy went through her because she felt that in his shoes she too would have found it too much of a good thing, and that very probably she would have responded in much the same way as he did.
The bored weariness in his jade green eyes hadn’t escaped Deirdre’s notice. ‘Good looking—and doesn’t he know it, the arrogant devil!’ But her voice quickly changed its tone as he began to walk toward them. ‘Ooops! He’s coming over. Which one of us do you suppose he intends to pick up?’
‘Me,’ Catherine said stoically. ‘He’s Paul Hebden, my employer.’
‘R-e-a-l-l-y!’ Deirdre drawled out. The meal she made of that simple word, and the meaning she put into it, were nothing to the meal she was making of him with her eyes.
Paul’s attention was fixed not on Deirdre, but on Catherine. Not on her good cream suit which was already shedding the creases it had collected on the plane, not on the stark simplicity and bandbox freshness of her pure silk blouse, not even on the pleading appeal to be nice on her face, which did not match up to her clothes and was showing signs of fatigue—but on the messy conglomeration of luggage in her hands. He thought they belonged to her!
At that precise moment the plastic carrier bag decided that it had had enough and a split developed in its side which in turn released an aerosol can of hairspray which rolled toward Paul’s feet.
He bent, picked it up, walked the few remaining steps, froze her with a withering look and said, ‘Yours, I believe.’
‘It’s Deirdre’s, actually,’ she said haughtily, feeling mean at drawing attention to the fact that Deirdre was the sloppy packer, but overjoyed to see the supercilious smirk very nearly turn into a smile.
He made no audible comment and she had to take that as an acknowledgment of her victory.
She performed the introductions and his manner toward Deirdre was on the very edge of civility, but at least it didn’t drop into rudeness, which was something to be thankful for.
‘I’m staying at the Ocean Beach Hotel,’ Deirdre volunteered. ‘That wouldn’t by any chance be on your way?’
‘It would. May I give you a lift?’
‘How very kind of you to suggest it. Thank you, that would be most convenient,’ Deirdre said, moistening her full mouth and pouting seductively at him.
Catherine looked on in growing despair. No wonder he held her sex in contempt when the majority of them behaved toward him as Deirdre was doing, flaunting her voluptuous body at him, sending him a message through veiled eyes that few red-blooded men could mistake for anything but what it was.
She was conscious that Paul had transferred his glance back to her and she tried to erase the stony disapproval on her mouth. He might, just might, think she was feeling possessive toward him, even jealous of Deirdre’s easy ability to flirt with him, and nothing could be further from the truth. The color in her cheeks was embarrassment that Deirdre could cheapen herself in such a way; the red there had certainly not been roused by the green-eyed monster.
Whatever interpretation Paul had arrived at was not revealed by his expression or his next words. ‘I have a car parked quite near by. All the same, I think we need . . .’ Without elaborating on that, his cool glance lifted from Catherine to scan the possibilities, the quick imperious jerk of his head all that was needed to summon up a porter out of thin air.
Catherine joined the lordly procession to
the car, fuming inwardly and perilously close to—oh, help, no!—not tears! Self-pity would be the last straw. Yet would it have hurt him to show some sign that she was welcome? She found herself gnawing again on the puzzle. Why had he asked her to come if he didn’t want her there? On the plane, in the odd moments when her mind had struggled free of Deirdre’s incessant chatter, she had asked herself that question. In the end she had gone half way to convincing herself that she had imagined his unfriendly attitude. Apparently she hadn’t. If anything, his manner had grown even icier.
They stopped at Deirdre’s hotel to drop her off. Paul got out of the car with her to summon a porter to carry her baggage.
‘Now don’t you forget,’ Deirdre said on bidding them goodbye. ‘If it’s at all possible, get in touch with me and we can go out somewhere and have fun.’
‘Will do,’ Catherine agreed feebly, wishing Deirdre hadn’t repeated her invitation in Paul’s hearing. ‘Goodbye. Have a good time.’
‘I intend to,’ Deirdre said, winking cheekily. ‘Bye.’
Once they were on their way again Catherine said, keeping her eyes fixed front, not wishing to look at Paul’s forbidding profile, ‘Thank you for giving Deirdre a lift.’
‘It was on our route,’ he replied ungraciously. ‘I hope you didn’t mean it when you said you’d contact her.’
Of course she hadn’t meant it. ‘Would you have preferred me to tell her the blunt truth, that we have nothing in common and that her idea of fun certainly isn’t mine?’ she tossed at him impatiently.
‘No.’ His laugh was harsh. ‘You’re not a fun girl, are you? It’s strictly business with you.’
Obviously he was digging at her because she’d turned down his invitation to have dinner with him back in England.
‘There’s a time for fun and a time for business. I don’t believe in combining the two,’ she said firmly.
‘We’ve arrived,’ he said brusquely, slamming the brakes on so fiercely that if she hadn’t been wearing a seatbelt she would have shot straight through the windshield.
Edge of Paradise Page 5
