Sally Wentworth - The Sea Master

by Sally Wentworth

  'Come here,' he ordered abruptly.

  Slowly she obeyed, having to force her legs into mobility. 'Guy, please don't be angry. I'm sorry if I deceived you, but I had to because I…' She started off in a rush, eager to see that look gone from his face, but her voice faded as his expression only grew grimmer.

  'Oh, please go on,' he insisted with icy politeness. "You were about to give me an explanation for all the lies you've told me, weren't you? It should make interesting listening.'

  'What—what do you mean?'

  'You know full well what I mean,' Guy bit but, his tone scathing. 'I doubt if one word you've said to me 6n this whole trip has been the truth. I've underestimated you, you're not the young innocent that I thought. Are you, Miss June Mitchell—if that's your name?' Adding, when he saw her face flush with colour, 'No, I see it's not. That was just another of the lies, was it?'

  'I'm sorry,' she began, feeling helpless before such sarcasm, but Guy interrupted her almost at once.

  'Oh, please don't waste your time in apologising— we both know you don't mean it.' His voice changed, had a razor like edge to it. 'So why don't you get down to telling me just who you are and why you stowed away on my boat?'

  Michelle looked at him in dismay; she had expected him to be angry about her passport, but nothing like this, Falteringly! she answered, 'But I didn't stow away. I told you, I fen in the river and drifted down to your boat. Then I fell asleep in the cabin.' .

  'And you really expect me to believe that?' he demanded scornfully.

  'It's true. I swear it.'

  'Really? And the address you gave me for your passport—was that true?'

  Michelle lowered her head, licking her lips. 'No,' she replied in little more than a whisper. 'That wasn't true.'

  'And your name—is it really June Mitchell?'

  She shook her head, feeling about three inches .tall and wishing she was anywhere but here, having to face the derision in his eyes.

  'So what is your name?'

  'Look,' Michelle said uncomfortably, 'let me try and .tell you what happened. I was at a party and I did fall in the Thames, just like I said. Only I was— well, sort of running away from someone and…'

  'Who?' Guy cut in abruptly.

  'Who doesn't really matter. All that does matter is that I finished up on the Ethos and fell asleep in the cabin where you found me. At the time I was rather fed-up and—and unhappy about—certain people in my life, so I decided to teach them a lesson. That's why I asked you to take me with you; I wanted to disappear for a while to give them a fright, make them worry about me.

  'Oh, come now, surely you can make up a more convincing story than that?'

  There was such utter disbelief and scorn in his tone that Michelle felt suddenly afraid, but she said with as much dignity as she could, 'I know I deceived you at first and I'm sorry, but I was upset and angry. I made up that story of being in France with a man because I didn't want you to know that

  I'd been on board since London, and I invented an address to send to for my passport because I didn't want to give you my real name and address.'

  'And that's the whole story, is it; that you were running away from someone and decided to teach them a lesson by coming to sea with me?' he asked more mildly.

  'Yes,' Michelle assured him, glad that he seemed to be accepting it at last.

  'You're quite sure you've missed nothing out?'

  'Qu—-quite sure,' she agreed with less certainty, wondering why he hadn't again demanded her real name.

  His voice suddenly savage, Guy demanded, Then just what the hell were these doing hidden away in the drawer in your cabin?' And he put his hand in his pocket and pulled but the jewellery she had worn the night she ran away, scattering the pieces on the dark plastic surface of the galley table where the diamonds rolled and sparkled, catching the sunlight and reflecting it on a hundred different facets.

  Michelle's first reaction was surprise because she'd forgotten all about them, then mounting indignation as she realised that he must have searched her cabin to find them.

  She turned on him angrily. 'How dare you? You have no right to go through my things!'

  'This is my boat and I'll go anywhere I damn well please,' Guy returned with equal heat. 'Now, just where did you get those and who do they belong to?'

  'They're mine.'

  He laughed in her face. 'What a great little actress you are, whatever your name is. But you've told just one lie too many.' Without warning he reached out and caught her wrist, twisting her arm up behind

  her back. 'There's only one way I'm going to get anything near the truth out of you, and that's by force. Now, where did you get them? Did you steal them? Are you on the run from the police? Is that why you hid on my boat?'

  'Not It's-not like you think. I told you they're mine. You swine, you're hurting me. Let me go!'

  'Oh, no. Not till you've told me what I want to know.'

  He jerked her arm up higher and Michelle cried out in pain. 'It's true, I tell you. They were presents.'

  'Presents? Who from?' Mercifully he stopped pulling on her arm.

  'From—from…' She tried to speak, but her voice was muffled by pain and sobs.

  'Tell me,' he shouted at her. 'Were they from men?'

  Hastily, afraid he would hurt her again, Michelle cried out, 'No! They were from my mother! And Peter.'

  'Who's Peter?’

  'He's my—he was my fiance.'

  Guy let her go so suddenly that she almost fell, then he spun her round to face him. 'You're engaged?’

  Tremblingly Michelle nursed her injured wrist. 'I—I was. I'm not any more.'

  'What do you mean?' he demanded, his voice so thunderous that she jumped. His face, too, was black, his brows drawn together and his jaw thrust forward in anger.

  Michelle cringed inside, but she managed to say unsteadily, 'That night I fell in the river—I'd been to my engagement party—that's what the jewellery was for, you see.' Her finger came out to point at the ring. 'Peter gave me the ring and my mother gave me the rest. But—but…' she bit her lip as the memories came back, then went on wretchedly, 'but then Peter kept giving me a lot to drink, and he took me outside to his car. He wanted to make love to me, but I couldn't—not like that, but he'd had a lot to drink too and wouldn't stop when I said no. So I ran away from him and tried to hide, and that's when I fell in the river.'

  Guy was silent for such a long time that she sneaked a look at him. He was staring at her, a white, set look to his face, but when he saw her looking at him, he frowned and said, 'Did anyone see you get on the Ethos?'

  Dumbly she shook her head and Guy's voice sharpened.

  'Are you saying that no one knows you're here? That as far as your parents, your fiance knows, you could have drowned in the river?' he asked incredulously.

  Michelle gulped, then nodded, knowing how angry he would be.

  She was right; he straightened up and glared at her. 'You heartless little bitch! Don't you ever stop to think about other people's feelings?'

  'I told you—I was unhappy. I wanted to teach them a lesson.' It sounded silly now, pathetic, but she had been so bitter and resentful at the time that it had seemed the natural thing to do.

  'You let people who care about you think you're dead for nearly two weeks? My God, you're something else!'

  Stung, Michelle retorted, 'I didn't know it would be this long. I thought it would only take a few days.'

  Guy looked at her scornfully and the derision was hard to take. She opened her mouth to try and explain why she'd done it, but then closed it again; he would never understand because he'd never had to experience anything like that. He turned and took a couple of impatient steps around the galley that always seemed too small to contain him.

  Then he said curtly, 'Go and get-your things together.'

  She looked at him nervously. ‘Why?'

  'Because I'm going to hand you straight over to the authorities, that's why. They'll contact your p
eople and see that you're sent home.'

  'That won't be necessary. I've already written and told them that I'm okay.'

  His eyes, cold and disbelieving, swung round to her face, 'How—and when?'

  'Yesterday,' Michelle admitted. 'When you'd gone ashore. I wrote the letters and—gave them to a boy to post.'

  'Well, I suppose that's something Although you know perfectly well that it must take days for letters to reach England. What exactly did you tell them?'

  'I told my parents that I was alive and well.'

  'And your fiance?'

  Michelle licked lips gone suddenly dry. 'I told him that I didn't want to marry him any more.'

  Guy's jaw came forward and he eyed her keenly.

  'Did you tell any of them how you got here, that

  you were with me?’

  She shook her head silently. '

  'Why not?'

  'Because I don't want to go back. I want to stay with you.’

  His face hardened. 'That's impossible and you know it. I'm taking you ashore right now so that your people can be informed immediately.'

  'No, I won't go.'

  She stood in trembling defiance as he took a menacing step towards her. 'What did you say?’

  'I said I won't go—and I'm not going to tell you my name either!'

  He glared at her furiously for a minute, then to her surprise, said, 'All right, don't,' adding sneeringly, 'Do you really think that not telling me is going to make any difference? Just how many girls do you think were reported missing in the Thames on that night? All I have to do is to radio back to England to find out who you are. I can have the information within an hour.' His left eyebrow rose disparagingly. 'Well, are you going to be sensible or do I use the radio?'

  Michelle looked away, feeling the prick of tears behind her eyes. Reluctantly she answered, 'My, name's—Michelle Bryant.'

  It didn't mean anything to him. Coldly he went on, 'And your parents' address?'

  She lifted her head to look at him, watching for his reaction. 'I told you, "my parents are divorced. My father lives in America and I haven't seen him for a long time. My mother lives in London and will be too busy with her new play to do more than have her secretary send me a plane ticket home.'

  Guy frowned at the bitterness in her voice. 'Just who are your parents?'

  'My father is Sir Richard Bryant and my mother

  is Adele Verlaine. I see you've heard of them,' she

  added cynically as she saw his eyes widen in

  recognition.

  'Who hasn't?1 He stared down at her. 'My God, Mitch, what did they do to you to make you hate them like this?'

  'I don't hate them, not really. I just wanted them to notice me, to realise I was there, that's all,' she burst out. 'They were always so busy—with new plays, new films, new wives, new lovers. And because I couldn't act and wasn't beautiful like my mother they had no time for me. I was just in the way.' She reached out and caught hold of his shirt, looked up at him pleadingly. 'Oh, please, Guy, can't you see? Can't you understand?'

  His Bands came up to cover hers, held them still as he looked down at her searchingly. 'Maybe I can,' he said at length. 'But you must see that it doesn't make any difference. I can't take you with me. I have to hand you over to the Bermudan authorities today.'

  'No!' She threw herself against him. 'I won't go!'

  'Mitch, there's no other way.' He tried to push her away, but immediately he' did so she put her arms round his waist and clung tightly. 'Please don't make me go back!' She raised her head and looked at him, her eyes wet with tears. Tremblingly, her eyes searching his face, she said, 'I—I love you. Please don't send me away.'

  For a brief second she thought she saw some sort of reaction in his face, but then it set into a hard mask and he wrenched her arms free and pushed her forcefully away. 'No, you don't.'

  'It's true!' Anxiously she tried to convince him, but he rounded on her fiercely.

  'Is it? Or is it just another one of your lies? Okay,' he cut in as she was about to interrupt, 'maybe you think you are in love with me, but last month you thought you were enough in love with someone else to get engaged to him. And maybe next month you'll have fallen for another man and will have forgotten that I ever existed.'

  'No.' Michelle shook her head helplessly, knowing that he didn't even want to believe her. A tear of humiliation ran down her cheek and she put up a hand to knuckle it away like a child.

  Guy turned to stare put of the window. His voice gratingly harsh, he said 'Go and get your .things together; I'm taking you ashore.'

  'No.'

  There was almost a tired note in Guy's voice as he said, 'It's no use fighting me, Mitch. You're going ashore if I have to carry you.'

  'No, I won't go and you can't make me.' Raising her chin defiantly as he turned angrily to face her, Michelle played her last card. 'Because if you do I'll tell everyone that you kept me on your boat by force and that you…' for a moment her courage almost failed her as she saw the growing menace in his eyes, but then she drew a long breath and went on determinedly, 'and I'll tell them that you molested me!'

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  For a moment there was a shattering silence before Guy said, 'Are you trying to threaten me?'

  'Yes,' Michelle agreed, 'I think I am.'

  'And do you really think anyone is going to believe you?' he demanded incredulously.

  'Why shouldn't they? After all, it's partly true,' she reminded him, gathering her courage. 'You did try to-'-to make love to me.

  He looked at her scornfully. 'You're wasting your time. Nothing you can say is going to stop me handing you over.'

  'Not even the fact that I'll give a press interview and tell the whole world that you abducted me? You don't really think that anyone will buy any of your boats then, do you, Guy? That's if they don't arrest you and put you in prison, that is.'

  A flame of anger lit the grey eyes. 'You know Mitch,' he told her viciously, 'you're really a dirty fighter. When you want something you don't care how many lies you tell or who you hurt so long as you get your own way, do you?'

  She flushed, shook her head, then said, 'I'm sorry. I just want to be with you.'

  He looked at her coldly for a long moment, then seemed to make up his mind. 'Aft right, you can stay onboard.'

  'And you promise not to tell the authorities I'm here?'

  Scornfully he agreed, 'No, I won't tell them.' Then, his tone changing abruptly, he went on, ‘We've wasted enough time. Go and stand by to untie the mooring ropes, I want to take her over to the water point to refill the tanks.'

  'You're leaving for Miami today?' Michelle asked him, glad that mere was something impersonal to talk about, something practical to do.

  'No, the broker is going to draw up a contract for me to sign, and then there's the import licence from this end and the export licence from England to be seen to. Also I want to check the engines over after we've filled up with fuel and water.'

  'But we'll be leaving soon?' Michelle asked anxiously, thinking of the letters she'd written. .

  'Just as soon as I can make it. I don't want to stay here any longer than you do.'

  But two days later he was still waiting to sign the contracts. He was told there was a delay in obtaining the import licence because the office had closed for the weekend and he would have to wait until Monday. During those two days Guy was completely unapproachable. He seemed to have placed a steel barrier between them that she couldn't penetrate. He didn't talk to her much except to give orders and when he wasn't busy on the engines or some other part of the boat, he sat on deck in the sun and fished, or read a book. When he did look at her his eyes were cold, implacable, and Michelle knew that he deeply resented-the way she had blackmailed him into letting her stay. She too was wretched and miserable, knowing that she'd made the greatest mistake of her life in telling him that she loved him, that he didn't care for her and now probably never would.

  Only once did they have a real
conversation. They were sitting across the dinner table .from one another when, at the end of the meal, Guy broke the long,

  uncomfortable silence by asking abruptly, 'Your fiance—how long have you known him?'

  Michelle looked up in surprise. 'Peter? Just over a year.'

  'How old is he?'

  'Twenty-two.'

  'And what does he do?'

  'He works in his father's stock broking firm,' she answered uneasily, wondering where all these questions were leading.

  'He sounds extremely respectable,' Guy commented drily.

  'Yes, he is.'

  He leaned forward, said persuasively, 'Look, Mitch, I know you said he went too far and frightened you at your party, but I'm sure that if you saw him again you'd soon make it up.'

  'No, I wouldn't,' Michelle answered positively. 'Because I was never in love with him.'

  'But you must have thought you were to get engaged.'

  'No.'

  'Then just why did you get engaged to him?' Guy demanded on an exasperated note.

  'Because he's middling.'

  -His eyebrows rose incredulously. 'Did you say middling?'

  'Yes. He's middling good-looking, middling clever, middling rich, middle-class; just middling everything.'

  'I suppose you had a reason for finding his talent for mediocrity so attractive,' Guy remarked, his tone heavy with sarcasm.

  Michelle flushed, but answered steadily. 'My mother is very flamboyant, she's a creature of moods, especially in private, either on top of the world or depressed. And she's always going abroad or is away on tour somewhere. And then there are her lovers; I always have to keep out of the way when they're around because she doesn't like them to know she has a grown-up daughter. And besides,' she added, cynically, 'I make her realise how old she is.' She paused, then went on, 'I suppose I got engaged to Peter just because he was so ordinary and so—so dull.'

  Guy's mouth drew into a grim line. 'And you think you would have been happy with him?'

  She lifted her head to look at him. 'I might have been—if I hadn't met you.'