'But what about you?'
'Just do as I say. Don't wait for me. Lord, this would have to happen when we're adrift.' He was working feverishly as he snapped out the-orders, doing something Michelle couldn't see with some electrical wires.
'But I can't just leave you!' she gasped, fear and distress in her voice.
He turned his head and yelled at her. 'For God's sake stop arguing and get going!'
She turned then and flew up the steps, through the galley and up into the main saloon, remembering somehow to switch on the lights as she went. In the wheelhouse the sound of the alarm was almost deafening and she could see the blip on the radar screen as the needle of light traced endlessly back and forwards. With a sob of pure frustration, she looked at the instrument panel in despair. How on earth was she supposed to know which was the horn and extra lights? She half turned to run back down to Guy to ask him, but as she did so she looked through the starboard window and saw several lights seemingly suspended over the sea about four miles or so away. For a second she couldn't think what they were, but then, to her appalled horror, she realised that they were the lights of a big ship, its decks and superstructure high over the waterline. God, it was huge! And it was heading straight for them! Desperately her eyes ran over the seemingly endless knobs, dials and switches on the control panel. A label over one read 'AUXILIARY LIGHTS' and she pushed the button frantically. Immediately the decks were ablaze with light, and a huge bulb, almost as brilliant as a searchlight, began to slowly turn at the mast-top, its powerful beam cutting through the night. Michelle gave a gasp of relief, soon lost as she sought frantically for the horn. At last, after what seemed like light years, she found the button in the panel set into the bulkhead almost above her head. Thankfully she pressed it and heard its comforting howl surge stridently across the sea.
As she ran back to the galley she glanced again at the ship. It seemed much nearer already, now she could make out the darker mass of the hull against the darkness of the sea. Gasping with mingled terror and exertion, she began to carry food and bottles of drink from the galley to the dinghy, choosing haphazardly and continually glancing over her shoulder at the ship, the life vest she had hastily pulled en impeding her and getting in the way. Surely, surely the ship must see or hear them. If there was anyone
on deck, if they weren't all below. For an instant she had a brief but very vivid mental picture of the ship's crew, down below in well-lit cabins, eating, playing cards perhaps, all chatting and laughing to one another as they travelled on, unaware of the danger and threat they represented.
Scrabbling in the cutlery drawer, Michelle found a carving knife, unaware that she had cut her fingers in the process. She turned to go and stand by the dinghy as she'd been told, but then gave a sob of terror and ran instead down the corridor to the engine room hatch.
'Guy, it's a ship, a big one! And it's still coming on. I'm sure it hasn't seen us.' Her words were broken by panting, gasping sobs and she stared down at him. in as much terror as she would have stared down into the pit of hell.
He was still working away in the corner and his tone seemed quite calm as he said, 'Have you done everything I told you to?'
'Yes. Yes. Come on! What are you doing?'
'Then go back to the dinghy. When the ship gets to within half a mile cut the ropes and row as far away from the boat as you can. Do you understand?'
'No. I'm not going without you.' The words came out quite involuntarily, she hadn't had to think about them at all.
Guy's eyes never left his task, but he rapped out forcefully, 'You'll do as you're damn well told! Now get out of here and get back to the dinghy.
Anger flared through her, an anger born of abject fear and consternation. 'Don't you yell at me, Guy Farringdon!' she shouted back at him. 'I'm not leaving this boat without you and that's final!'
For a split second his eyes came up to look at her before returning to his task, then to her amazement she saw his mouth curl into a twisted sort of grin.
'For God's sake, this isn't funny,' she stormed at him. 'Will you please come out of there?' Her voice rose, very close to hysteria.
'Mitch,' Guy answered almost conversationally, 'be a good girl and do as I ask. I can take care of myself, you know.'
'Oh, Guy.' She stared at him helplessly.
Again his eyes looked briefly up at her. 'Please, darling,' he said firmly.
She hesitated for only a second longer, then turned with a sob and ran out on to the deck again. The ship, an oil tanker, was much closer now, apparently still unaware of their presence because it was still on the same course. Michelle could make out the huge, tower like structure towards the stern of the tanker now, the bright squares of light from the windows streaming out into the darkness. Oh, please, please make somebody see, somebody hear! She couldn't tell how far away it was; by day distances were deceptive at sea because you could see for such a long way, at night she found them almost impossible. But it was close, very close.
With a little moan of despair, she climbed into the dinghy and held the knife against the ropes. She went to slash through the first one, but something held her back and she couldn't do it. Biting her lip, she raised the knife again, determined this time. Guy had said he could take care of himself, she had to trust him. But just then the thunderous blast of a ship's hooter tore through the night, drowning out the sound of their own horn as if it was tile cheep of a bird. The ship had seen them! Oh, thank goodness!
Michelle heaved a great sigh of relief and climbed
back on deck, throwing off the cumbersome life vest and running to the wheelhouse to send answering bursts on the Ethos3 hooter, expecting to see the ship slow down and change course, but nothing seemed to be happening; it was still bearing down on them, although the siren-like sound of the hooter still blared out across the sea. She stared as it gradually grew nearer, held in a sort of frozen immobility, fascinated by the sheer size of the great ship as its bows surged towards them through the water.
The great steel hull was only two hundred yards away and Michelle was looking up at it, when she was suddenly pushed bodily to one side, as Guy ran into the wheelhouse. He did something to the controls, his hands working at frenzied speed, and then, most fantastically wonderful of all sounds, the engines burst into throbbing life. He threw-the wheel hard over to port, opened the throttles to their full extent and they surged through the sea, seemingly almost scraping under the bows of the supertanker. The wash of the ship crashed against the sides of the boat and threw it about worse than any storm, but then they were through and Guy reached out to turn off the ,horn and the alarm system, leaving only the angry remonstrative sound of the ship's siren to break the blessed silence.
Guy slowed down the engine and said casually, 'Sorry, that was a mite close.'
'Close?' Michelle turned on him furiously. 'We were almost killed! They didn't even see us till the last minute, and even then they didn't slow down or stop.'
'They couldn't,' Guy replied. 'A ship that size takes at least a mile in which to stop or change course. We were lucky she saw us at all, a small boat adrift at night. If she hadn't seen us we'd have been just another boat that disappeared without trace in the Bermuda Triangle.'
'The Bermuda Triangle?' Michelle stared at him in horror, then tried to take a grip on herself. 'How did you get the engines going?'
'I didn't. There's another, outboard, engine in case of emergency, but I had to wire it up to the battery generator before it would work.'
'You mean you were risking your life to do that when you could have got away in the dinghy? What if you'd been too late?'
'It was worth the risk; I had a rough idea of how long I'd got and I just had to work fast, that's all. Besides, this baby's too valuable to chance losing without a fight,' he added, patting the steering wheel.
'Why, you… you…' Words failed her. 'All you care about is your rotten boat! It doesn't matter to you that we were nearly killed, does it?' she raged at him. 'You wouldn'
t have stood a chance if the tanker had hit the boat. Even if you'd survived the impact you'd have been drowned in the wash. You're crazy! You're just stupid and crazy and…'
'Hey, hold on.' Guy topic 'hold of her arms and gently drew her to him as he felt the tremors of shock and ear running through her body. 'I'm not the only crazy one, am I? Why didn't you get away in the dinghy when you had the chance?'
She didn't answer him, not knowing herself why she hadn't. She pressed close to his warmth and strength, feeling suddenly cold and shivery. His arms tightened around her, giving comfort and security. Slowly the shivering stopped and she became aware of the closeness of his body against her own. Her nostrils were filled with the manly smell of him as
she stirred in his arms, fingers of sensuality spreading through her.
Slowly she lifted her head. 'Guy…'
'It's alt right, it's all over now.'
He bent his head to speak to her, his face only a few inches away. Michelle's lips parted as she stretched towards him. His lips touched hers gently, a kiss, of comfort, no more. For a moment she was 'content with that, content to feel the soft tenderness of his lips gently touching hers, but then a fierce hunger 'swept through her and she put her arms round his neck, pushing her lips against his and opening her mouth to kiss him with a sudden, almost desperate, longing.
Guy's hands tightened on her back, pressing into her flesh and hurting her. His mouth took hers greedily, with passion and abandon, heating the fire within her into a fierce, consuming flame. She pressed herself even closer against him, moving sensuously, feeling his body harden in response. Michelle moaned, a deep felt cry of physical need. She was on fire with desire, with a desperate craving for fulfilment.
Her own emotions so engulfed her that she was hardly aware that Guy had suddenly grown still. He made a sound, half groan, half exclamation, deep in his throat, and then his hands were at her arms, pulling them from round his neck, pushing her away.
'No!' Michelle gave a moan of protest and tried to get back in his embrace, but he held her rigidly at arm's length, his breathing uneven, thin beads of sweat on his brow. For a moment they stared at each other in the moonlight, Michelle's heart gradually slowing as the world stopped spinning and she became aware of her surroundings.
'Guy…' She looked at him beseechingly, wanting reassurance, wanting… not really knowing what she wanted, but feeling a desperate need for him to understand out of his manhood and wider experience to find and give her the means to see and cope with what had happened to her.
But there was anger in his face and in his tone as he pushed her roughly, almost violently away and exclaimed, 'You little fool! Don't you know what the hell you're doing to me?' His hands bunched into fists at his sides and he turned abruptly away. 'I'll go and finish fixing the main engines. You'd better unload the dinghy again.'
And then he was gone, leaving her alone in the' wheelhouse to try and fight the waves of frustration that rose to torment her, to still the tremors of awareness that left her raw and vulnerable.
It was some time before Michelle moved to obey him, and even then she wasn't fully in control of-herself, her hands still a little unsteady as she unloaded the dinghy. If she hadn't been so upset she might have laughed at the assortment of things she'd grabbbed in her panic: bottles of whisky and gin instead of water or minerals, and tins of cake and packets of chocolate biscuits instead of something more practical and substantial. Well, she thought with a flash of rueful satire, if I had left in the dinghy and managed to reach land at least I'd have arrived fat and drunk! The idea made her want to laugh, but somehow she wanted to cry too. She sandown on the step leading from the saloon to the deck feeling hopelessly perplexed and confused, floundering in a crazy mixture of emotions that frightened and yet fascinated her at the same time, which was more or less the same feelings that she had about Guy. She knew that it had been stupid to throw herself at him like that, that she'd been playing with fire, but
she couldn't help it, there was no way she could have stopped herself. After that terrible ten minutes of impending disaster from which he had saved her, some primeval instinct had made her turn to him— for comfort, in gratitude, or just because they were still alive and safe-—she didn't know. All she did know, with any certainty, was that in those few moments of their embrace she had experienced an emotion more violent and urgent than any she had ever known, one which had engulfed sanity and pride and carried her down into a swirling whirlpool of passion. Only to have it thrown back in her face as he had pushed her away.
She was still sitting on the step when Guy emerged from the engine room, wiping his hands on a piece of rag, a damp patch on the front of the white boiler suit where perspiration had soaked through. He paused when he saw her and eyed her a little warily as he came nearer. Then he saw the bottle of gin cradled in her arms.
'Have you been drinking that?' he demanded sharply.
'What? Oh, no.' She shook her head. 'It was one of the things I loaded into the dinghy. I put the craziest things in there.' He bent and took the bottle from her, put it away in a cupboard, without comment. 'Guy, I'm—I'm sorry.' She forced herself to look at him.
'Put it down to the heat of the moment,' he answered lightly, but then, his voice changing, he added abruptly, 'You don't make it any easier,'
Michelle's eyes widened. 'Do you mean you…'
'I don't mean anything,' he interrupted tersely. 'Go to bed, I'll put the rest of the things away.'
For a moment Michelle stiffened, ready to defy him, but then she shrugged and stood up. There was no point in arguing, and lie was right; after the peak of fear and tension she now felt drained and exhausted and would be better off in bed. Away from Guy, his closeness and the disturbing feelings that closeness inspired.
She woke the next morning in a strangely contrary mood, one minute on top of the world, laughing and singing, the next strangely uptight, close to tears and wanting to hit out viciously at something, anything. Fortunately Guy was up ahead of her and had made his own breakfast; she couldn't have faced standing over the cooker in this heat. The sun sweltered down from a cloudless blue sky, but it was a humid heat, quite unlike the dry heat of the Mediterranean countries. Michelle did her chores automatically by now, becoming more efficient every day, so that she was out on the deck sunbathing by ten o'clock. Luckily she'd had a faint tan left over from last year when she had spent a couple of weeks at a villa in the south of France that belonged to one of her mother's admirers. Then the man had become more than just an admirer and she'd been sent home out of the way. By now her skin was turning a very satisfactory golden colour and she could spend quite long periods in the sun without burning.
But today was especially humid, she could feel it as soon as she walked on deck and within half an hour she was soaked with perspiration. She thought of getting herself a drink, but knew that she would only feel thirsty again ten minutes later. The top half of her bikini was wet with sweat, the edges of the thick material nibbling her armpits every time she moved and making them sore. Reaching behind her, she untied the strings and lay down again on her front. That was better, it was much looser now and didn't rub so much. And besides, she would be able to brown the pale mark where the strap had been.
Guy passed her several times as he went from the flying bridge down to the engine room, checking on his work last night, she supposed. He was wearing the usual pair of denim shorts, his legs and top half tanned a deep, dark brown. He was whistling as he worked and taking no notice of her. In fact he had hardly taken any notice of her at all today except to say good morning and that he didn't want breakfast. A growing sense of resentment filled her; how could he be so offhand, act as if nothing had happened between them? Did he have to so obviously display the fact that he was immune to her proximity? But then Michelle remembered his remark last night— that she didn't make things any easier. Did that mean, she wondered, that she had come close to breaking his iron resolve?
She let her mind drift
back, remembering the way he had returned her kiss for a few crushing seconds before he had thrust her angrily away. Wondering what would have happened if… if… She stirred and lifted her hair off the back of her neck. It was hot, so hot. She sat up, holding the bikini top against her. From here she could see Guy sitting at the controls of the flying-bridge, sunglasses shielding his eyes as he gazed out to sea, but although they had sighted one or two ships in the distance that day, they were still far enough away from Bermuda for the horizon to be empty.
The idea came to her when Michelle remembered all the girls she'd seen sunbathing topless in France. There it had been an accepted thing, with only a few lascivious men or pop-eyed boys to spoil the naturalness of it. But here, on the Ethos? She looked up at Guy's uncommunicative back view and decided that he wouldn't approve. If she'd been the kind of girl he'd first thought her, then she could probably have sunbathed completely nude for all he cared, but since he'd found out that she was a virgin his attitude had changed radically. Now—- a thrill of fascinated temptation filled her—now it would be interesting to see whether she could prove that he wasn't immune to her. Casting the bikini top aside, Michelle lay down where Guy could see her if he looked round.
She closed her eyes. Mmm, it felt good! She had never exposed her breasts to the sun before. Sensuous pleasure was mixed with nervous anticipation. What would Guy do when he saw? She felt at once brazen and frightened to death. ,But she had to prove to herself that he really found her attractive, wanted her despite the self-imposed barriers that he'd put up. In the beginning he'd said he'd only wanted her because she was female and available, not caring about her at all, but how, if he wanted her now despite himself, then surely that must prove that he cared a little? Opening her eyes, she sneaked a look up at the fly-bridge; Guy was still sitting with his back to her, facing out to sea. Michelle dosed her eyes again and began to doze in the sun.
Sally Wentworth - The Sea Master Page 11
