Rapture of the Deep

by Margaret Rome

  'What a typically male reaction!' She managed to imitate a trill of scornful laughter. 'Thousands of years ago when we lived in caves and wore animal skins, men were expected to be wild and women to be tame, to respond meekly to man's roving eye, his quick arousal, his desire for a one-night stand with­out any kind of serious commitment. But in today's society—as I've had cause to point out previously— women demand equal status with men, have fought for the freedom to choose for themselves not only their career but also with whom they go to bed! I'm not surprised that you're still a bachelor,' she forced a final mocking insult, 'obviously, you have yet to learn that much ground is lost by men being too quick too soon! Modern girls prefer subtlety to dom­ination, expect to be given time to decide whether to commit themselves to a flame that devours or to the steady warmth of a fire less easily extinguished.'

  It did much for her ego to see the caveman who flaunted his superiority so nonplussed. Her elation was such that she did not flinch even when he made a swift recovery and snarled,

  'Feminist is merely another word for a frustrated freak who wants to have her cake and eat it too! If the day should ever dawn when I'm reduced to allowing a woman to buy me a drink or a meal, or to giving her time to consider whether or not she wants me to make love to her, I'll retreat to a monastery! Grab yourself a notebook and pencil, Miss Dunross,' he snapped, seething with frustration. 'Having a dolly bird secretary could have been fun, but as you're obviously averse to filling such a role, I aim to make certain that you slave hard as any roughneck for every dollar you earn!'

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE tip of Catriona's pencil fairly flew across the page of her notebook as she raced to transcribe the minutes of a meeting called by Leon to instruct de­partmental heads upon the edict from head office, to test their reactions and to invite their comments. For almost an hour he had talked non-stop and at a speed guaranteed to strain the ability of the most expert shorthand writer, but in spite of his use of unfamiliar words and technical jargon that dripped smooth as black gold from oil men's lips, she was enjoying the challenge, elated by the assurance that in one area at least she could hold her own with the man who used words instead of thumbscrews, who had stretched her endurance to the limit on a rack of emotion.

  Yet as the meeting proceeded she was forced to acknowledge his superb handling of irate men whose stubborn opposition to his arguments was tempered with respect and the friendly rapport that enabled him to be on first name terms with every employee from the senior administrator to the youngest galley boy.

  'Look here, Leon,' the young toolpusher who was head of the drilling team jumped angrily to his feet, 'it's all very well for bosses sitting in comfortable offices to pontificate about making economies, but if they were brought out here to have their memories refreshed about the conditions in which my men work they'd sing a very different tune! Which has priority, the saving of a few dollars or the safety of drilling crews who have the vitally important job of keeping the well under control at all times in case gas seeping up the hole should cause a blow-out?'

  'Everybody's job is important on board an oil rig,' a grim-looking production supervisor reminded him. 'Your guys may get the oil out, but mine have the equally demanding job of ensuring that it's pumped safely to the mainland.'

  Fiercely the young toolpusher retaliated. 'They don't work covered from head to foot in mud, with soaking wet feet and—'

  'Nor do they have to clean up after themselves!' A third voice joined in the argument. 'Considering the fact that bedlinen is changed every day, fresh towels are supplied, filthy boiler suits are washed and per­sonal items of clothing laundered, a ratio of four stewards to almost two hundred other workers can hardly be considered excessive. Don't you agree, Leon?'

  Suddenly another voice exploded, 'What a load of—'

  Catriona kept her lashes demurely downcast as if revising the contents of her writing pad, so as to alleviate the embarrassment of the catering manager, whose explosive outburst had been cut short by a sudden reminder of her presence. She had to struggle to suppress a smile when, choking back his impreca­tion, he continued with mild heat,

  'If you want to see men working then come and cast your eyes over my galley slaves, the catering staff without whom this rig would cease being oper­ational within twenty-four hours! Working in a region that's fit for only fish and seagulls, meals become the highlight of every man's day. My staff has to provide round the clock service, often serving breakfasts and dinners to men sharing the same table, with food as good as any provided by a first class hotel!'

  'Gentlemen, please!' With his usual economy of words Leon stepped in to referee the verbal punch-up. 'Don't let's waste time arguing about who con­tributes most to the running of the platform. I don't need to be told that every man aboard is here be­cause his skills are essential to our operation, nor do I need reassurance from experts in charge, who've learned their jobs on oil installations all over the world, all I ask is that you try to see the situation from my point of view. As Director of Operations, I have the job of communicating to you all directives received from head office and doing my best to ensure that they're implemented. Perhaps I've been wrong,' even Catriona was affected by the de­spondency of his shrug, 'but in the past I've always prided myself upon the fact that we work, not as individuals in search of personal glory, but as a team whose main aim has always been to maintain pro­duction and at the same time ensure the safety and welfare of the men aboard this rig. Never be in any doubt that the aim remains the same! Economies have been asked for not demanded because of a worldwide depression that has turned the com­mercial marketplace into an arena of cut-throat competition, but it has to be you, the experts in charge, who make the relevant decisions! Without your co-operation my task will be made ten times more difficult. Am I asking too much of you guys…?'

  Catriona wanted to jump to her feet and applaud the cleverly-calculated, beautifully-delivered perfor­mance that had raised the oil men's pride yet at the same time had managed to reduce tough, belligerent individuals to the level of schoolboy miscreants shift­ing uncomfortably in their seats. Undoubtedly, she excused her own lapse of will power, her rugged boss possessed a magnetism that made him a danger to opponents of either sex.

  'I suppose,' the gruff production supervisor was the first to respond to Leon's appeal, 'I could take a second look at my figures.'

  'And I might start laying down the law to gluttons who consider six 'I-bone steaks a normal meal,' the catering manager grudgingly conceded.

  'You can count on all of us, Leon,' the young toolpusher spoke up for the rest of them, 'we'll do everything we can to help.'

  'Thank you, men.' When Leon's mouth relaxed into a smile of appreciation Catriona noticed indica­tions of strain that must have been building up inside him during the past hectic weeks. For the very first time his amber eyes lacked the sparkle of a lion on the chase; his voice had grown gruff with over-use, and when he sat back in his chair to flex tired shoul­der muscles she was reminded of a strong beast too long overburdened.

  'Catriona!' She swung round startled and blushed when Geoff Barclay's teasing grin communicated his awareness of her close scrutiny of her boss. 'I've had a washroom set aside for your personal use for the duration of your stay on the rig. Being a family man myself, with a couple of daughters, I know how upset girls can become if they're deprived too long of the chance to pretty themselves up.'

  Because of the length of time they had spent travelling, tramping around the rig, and the couple of hours she had spent working in an atmosphere thick with the eye-smarting smoke of tobacco, her choice of ultimate luxury at that moment would have been soap, hot water, and clean, soft towels.

  'Thank you, Geoff, for being so understanding.' Swiftly, she gathered up her belongings and followed him out of the room full of men still engrossed in conversation. 'I hope your womenfolk appreciate your good qualities as much as I do,' she addressed her remarks to broad shoulders leading the way down a narr
ow alleyway. 'Most men, our boss included, strike me as being single-minded experts at protecting their own interests.'

  'Don't blame Leon too much,' he tossed across his shoulder, 'he's had more opportunity than most to practise self-preservation.'

  'You've known each other a long time, then?' she queried, alerted by a previously unnoticed trace of transatlantic accent.

  'Since boyhood,' he nodded. 'We played together as children in a small oil town that seemed to have a rig on every street corner. Like many others, we worked our way through college by roustabouting and roughnecking on the land rigs. Our training was done in the field, working around the mud pits, before we qualified as engineers and began working for whichever oil patch offered the best prospects— whether in frozen Alaska, the sweltering Gulf States, or the inhospitable North Sea. But whereas most of the time I've been lucky enough to keep my family with me, Leon has no close relatives. He lost both parents when he was around eight years old and the aunt who brought him up—although she must have had some good in her to take him in the first place— was kept too busy holding the interest of a succession of boy-friends to have much time to spare for Leon.'

  She heard his deep, throaty chuckle. 'He was a regular Huckleberry Finn in those days, a red-haired, freckled, barefooted urchin who never went hungry simply because there wasn't a woman in town whose heart-strings weren't plucked by his look of pathos as he hung around their porches at meal­times.' When he halted suddenly and turned round to face her she was surprised by his sombre, worried expression.

  'Leon hasn't changed much in that respect, Catriona, the woman hasn't been born yet that he can't twist around his little finger. But, probably because of the emotional thrashings he received as a youngster, his attitude towards the opposite sex has always seemed tinged with distrust, as if he suspects that, just like his aunt, all females are too shallow and fickle in nature to remain faithful to any one man.'

  Sensing that she was expected to show some sign of shock, or at the very least indignation, Catriona searched for words to convey the suitable reaction of a loving fiancée but managed only one stilted word.

  'Really?'

  To her relief he seemed too concerned to notice her brevity. Brooding deeply, he nodded, then con­tinued outlining his theory. 'Leon's deep-rooted cynicism was illustrated by an incident that occurred some years ago when we were both members of a team of divers employed to explore the possibilities of a stretch of water off the coast of Australia. Sharks, curious, unpredictable creatures that pose the great­est threat to divers, were abundant. One female in particular seemed to form an attachment to Leon. Each time he dived she would appear, then begin lazily circling, encroaching closer and closer, her rows of wicked teeth bared in the semblance of a smile; narrow eyes glinting, and with huge fins that brushed past Leon with a gesture that was almost flirtatious. He grew very fond of that shark and in spite of our warnings he allowed the caprice to esca­late to the stage where he was permitted, even en­couraged, to reach out a hand to tickle the underside of her belly as she glided slowly past him. Then,' he sighed, 'the inevitable happened. Without rhyme or reason, she attacked. Fortunately, Leon didn't lose his head but reacted swiftly by repelling her with a heavy blow on the end of her nose, then, instead of trying to make his escape, he swam straight towards her—a shock tactic that resulted in the shark turning tail to swim away, never to be seen again. Ironically, he christened that maneater Mary Lou, after his aunt,' he concluded heavily, 'and to my certain knowledge she was the last female ever to persuade Leon to relax his guard.'

  He smiled down at Catriona's startled face. 'Perhaps now you'll forgive my ill-mannered show of surprise when you were introduced as his fiancée? Leon needs someone like you, Catriona, a girl who'll give him what he swears he doesn't want but which every other man takes for granted—a stable home life, tender loving care, and later on perhaps, when he's ready for it, the most priceless gift of all, the replica of himself that's handed to a guy all pretty and pink and giftwrapped in a dainty baby shawl!'

  As Geoff was so obviously delighted by the pros­pect of seeing his friend settling down at last, she had no heart to disabuse him, but as she indulged in a refreshing wash and ran the comb he had so thoughtfully provided through wind-tangled tresses her conscience rebelled against the need to continue a deception she had been driven into by necessity and which, because it suited his purpose, Leon was constructing into a web of deceit inside which she felt trapped by the knowledge that any attempt to escape would result in the immediate destruction of her aunt's new-found happiness.

  Reluctantly, when she felt she could dally no longer, she made her way back to the office where the meeting had been held and felt speared by an accusing glare immediately she stepped over the threshold.

  'Where the blazes have you been?' Leon growled, pausing his prowl of the empty room as soon as she appeared.

  'Enjoying a wash and brush-up,' she countered, mustering spirit in order to conceal her nervousness. 'There's nothing in my contract that states I have to be at your beck and call twenty-four hours a day!'

  'And do you feel better for it?' His tone, implying that no improvement was obvious, spilled acid on to her already smarting pride.

  'I'm aware that I look a sight,' she snapped, hating his slow, amused perusal of a shirt shrunk by many washings, tightly confining thrusting breasts with the aid of one tiny mother-of-pearl button upon which modesty was imposing an impossible strain, and upon the flowing line of thigh and rounded but­tocks that looked poured into a skin of faded denim. 'I suspect that you deliberately set out to embarrass me by leaving me no time to change!'

  'Into one of the demure-nun outfits you've taken to wearing in the office? Not likely! It was quite a revelation seeing you dressed as a saucy little tart, amply confirming my theory that your aim was to titillate my curiosity. I much prefer your honest, trash-with-flash image.'

  'Trash with flash!' she gasped, casting a horrified glance at the cast-offs that had drawn not the slight­est hint of criticism from her spinster aunt. 'How dare you!' she choked. 'You know perfectly well that when you arrived at the cottage I was ready to begin decorating!'

  'So you were,' he agreed, displaying the cynicism of a man wary of being twice bitten, 'and because I wasn't expected, you dressed to complement your flirtatious nature. In future, please don't bother wrapping up in pretence for my benefit, I much prefer stark naked reality!'

  'I'll bear that in mind,' she spat, incensed by his laboured insistence that she had set out deliberately to capture his attention. 'Such knowledge might just come in useful if ever I'm foolish enough to allow your preferences to assume one iota of importance to me! Meanwhile,' she rushed on, unbearably goaded, 'perhaps you'll begin revising your opinion that all women are fashioned in the same image as your aunt. I for one am no femme fatale hungry for masculine attention!'

  'Who told you about my aunt?' His cold, emo­tionless tone was more deadly than temper. 'On second thoughts, I hardly need ask. Geoff's continu­ous residence in a household full of women is turning him into an inveterate gossip!'

  'Please, Leon, don't be angry with him!' Her re­morse ran so deep that in her agitation she was not conscious of using his Christian name. 'Geoff did explain a little of your background, but only because he felt it might help me to understand you better— and then only because he'd been given the impres­sion that you and I are more than just good friends. You must be aware,' she urged desperately, alarmed by lines of displeasure tightening his features into a mask of cold disdain, 'how horrified he'd be if ever he were to be charged with breaking the confidence of a friend. All he wanted was to enlist my sympa­thy—he certainly had no idea that he was delivering a weapon into the hands of an enemy!'

  'Is that how you see us, Kate?' His lips twisted. 'As sworn enemies locked in conflict?'

  As the question hung in the air between them she hesitated, undecided whether his change of tactics was just another trick, or if his lack of fire was a gen
uine reaction to the weeks of strain and overwork that had upset her own equilibrium. Weary or not, the king of beasts was not to be trusted. Yet when he shifted sideways into a patch of shadow that darkened the hollows beneath high cheekbones and doused every glint in his fiery hair, she was swamped by an urge to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  'Aunt Hanna has often accused me of perversity,' she almost apologised in a tone so muted he was forced to step nearer in order to catch the trembling words. 'From our first moment of meeting I've felt some dark spirit of recalcitrance pulling me in a direction I hadn't intended to go. I can't lay claim to a previously angelic disposition,' heavy lashes lifted to direct a pleading look from green eyes dark with puzzlement, 'but neither can I remember ever being so beastly to any person other than yourself.'

  It was his turn to look surprised, to scour her face with the narrow-eyed, watchful stare of an animal with hackles half risen. A blush of mortification seeped slowly into her cheeks while she waited with eyes downcast, wrestling with the knowledge that her foolish, trusting heart had delivered her into the hands of an unscrupulous adversary.

  However, Leon's response, though slow in coming, held no trace of derision but was more a hesitant, over-cautious acceptance of her olive branch.

  'Strange that you should say that,' he admitted, sounding as if his vocal chords were being jerked by clumsy fingers. 'My reputation for being beastly is well known, yet there have been times,' he paused, then forced the surprising confession, 'especially during the past weeks, when your aptitude for hard work and willing co-operation have lulled me into a mood saintly enough to rout the devil!'

  'Oh…!' Her head lifted to reveal a face startled as a round-mouthed child's and as diffidently un­certain how to cope.

  Predictably, Leon took charge, rescuing her from the morass of confusion into which she had been plunged by proffering an invitation in a voice hold­ing more than a hint of amused transatlantic drawl.