Shores Of Love

He was sympathetic but adamant that she had no claim against the hotel. ‘Madam should have made sure that the window was securely latched before she went out,’ he said. They would inform the police, of course, but there was little hope of catching the culprit and recovering her property. Surely madam had taken out insurance against this sort of thing happening?

Madam hadn’t, and she turned from the desk in dismay. With the loose change in her pocket she had barely enough left to buy lunch. And how was she going to get home tomorrow without a plane ticket? She couldn’t even think of anyone in London who could forward her a loan. With her spirits at zero she made her way outside and stood on the broad tree-lined pavement completely at a loss as to what to do now.

‘They weren’t much help, were they? I couldn’t help overhearing.’

She turned at the sound of the voice and looked at the middle-aged man who’d followed her out Instinctively on her guard, she took in his appearance. He seemed harmless enough, but you never could tell. At least he was well-dressed and groomed. The typical English gentleman abroad. Dark blazer and flannels and some sort of regimental tie over an immaculately white shirt. He had a clipped moustache and a friendly smile on his rather bland face.

‘No, they weren’t,’ she answered at last. ‘But it was my own stupid fault.’

‘Damned awkward being stranded in a foreign country,’ he sympathised. He held out his hand. ‘I’m Roger Smith. Here with my wife and a couple of friends.’

She shook hands and gave him a polite smile. ‘Avalon Rivers.’

He looked at her sadly. ‘Did they actually take everything?’

She gave a resigned nod. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to get home now. My hotel room is paid for tonight but tomorrow I’ll have to sleep on the beach then try to get a job somewhere.’

He shook his head doubtfully. ‘I think you might need a work permit. As for sleeping on the beach, I wouldn’t recommend it. Far too many odd-looking characters going around.’ He paused as if he’d had a sudden inspiration. ‘Look here, Miss Rivers…I don’t know if the idea will appeal to you or not but there is a way I can help you out of your predicament. It’s entirely up to you, of course.’

Experience had taught her to be wary of unsolicited offers of help. There were usually strings attached.

As if sensing her reluctance he went on quickly, ‘The truth of the matter is that you’d be doing both my wife and me a great favour. We’re sailing back to England tonight but the girl who was doing our cooking has decided to stay on. She seems to have formed some kind of attachment to a local boy and is quite devastated at the thought of leaving him. Anyway, the position is yours if you want it.’

It sounded almost too good to be true and she said cautiously, ‘It’s a wonderful offer, Mr Smith, and I’m grateful, but I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook.’

He laughed and brushed her objection aside. ‘I admire your honesty, but you’ve nothing to worry about. We don’t go in for haute cuisine aboard the Caprice. Just plain, simple cooking. I’m sure you can manage that.’

A voice in her head was telling her to be careful. All this seemed like too much of a coincidence to sit comfortably, but she stifled it. She was in danger of becoming a distrustful cynic. Anyway, the offer and Mr Smith seemed genuine enough. If she passed up this chance she’d still be left with the problem of how to get back to England.

‘The trip shouldn’t take too long,’ he went on persuasively. ‘And of course I’ll see that you’re well paid at the end of it.’

That was enough to settle the matter and she smiled at him. ‘All right, Mr Smith. When would you like me to start?’

He rubbed his hands together briskly. ‘Good show. I’ll take you to the boat now and show you around.’

They went by taxi to the harbour where he led her down the gangway on to the deck of a motor-cruiser. She knew nothing about boats but she could tell affluence when she saw it. Beneath the bridge there was a hatchway and once they were down the short flight of steps he proudly showed her the layout. There were two large and luxuriously furnished cabins at the front. The main lounge and dining-room was amidships, and to the rear of that was the galley where the meals were prepared. A door led from the rear of the galley and he pushed it open. ‘This will be your own cabin. It’s small but I’m sure you’ll find it comfortable enough.’

She showed her appreciation with a smile. ‘It’s very nice.’

He beamed with pleasure. ‘Now, then…My wife and my friends are shopping at the moment. I’ve to meet them for lunch back at the hotel. We’ll be gone for most of the day and don’t expect to be back until late this evening.’ He fished a sheet of paper from his inside pocket and handed it to her. ‘This is a list of provisions we need. I was going to fetch them myself but this can be your first job.’ Next he handed her a card. ‘This is the name and address of the supplier. Everything has already been paid for. I’ll give you money for a taxi and you can go and collect them some time this afternoon.’

She stopped telling her tale and looked at Fraser resentfully. ‘You don’t believe a word of this, do you? You think I’m making it up as I go along.’

‘Get on with it,’ he growled impatiently. ‘At the moment I’m keeping an open mind on the matter.’

She glared at him in angry silence for a moment longer then went on, ‘Well, there were a lot of provisions. Four medium-sized crates, in fact, and I wondered why they needed so much stuff for a short trip to England. The taxi driver just left me and the crates on the quayside and I had to manhandle them aboard myself.

‘Anyway, Mr Smith and his party came back about nine-thirty. He introduced me to his wife and the other couple then he went to the bridge and I heard the engines start up. When we were clear of the harbour he came down and examined the crates. Three of them were filled with cans of peaches and he told me to lay them aside because they were a present for someone back in England. I thought it odd at the time. Whoever heard of giving tinned peaches as a present?

‘Well, everything went well until last night. I’d been keeping out of the way as much as possible and just doing my job. I wasn’t keen on the two women, anyway. In spite of their airs and graces you could tell they were a pair of hard-bitten good-time girls. They wore flash jewellery and—’

‘Never mind the women,’ snapped Fraser. ‘I’m only interested in what happened last night’

She pouted at him. ‘I’m doing my best.’ She took a deep breath then went on…

It had been the sticky patch on the galley floor that had caught her attention and she had traced the source to one of the cans of peaches. Rather than let them go to waste she had pulled the leaking can from the crate, opened it with a tin-opener and emptied the contents into a bowl. She had looked at the result and frowned. A big can and so little an amount of peaches? She had peered into the empty can and found that it had been split into two separate compartments. Turning the can over, she had attacked the bottom with the opener and spilled the contents on to the worktop. White powder? My God! It had been cocaine or something very like it!

‘How did you know it was drugs?’ Fraser asked her.

She eyed him scornfully. ‘Well, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t talcum powder. Not after the trouble someone had taken to hide it.’

His mouth twitched and he nodded. ‘Go on.’

‘Well, I opened another tin and that was the same. And then it suddenly dawned on me that I was the one who’d brought it aboard. If Customs had stopped and searched the boat before we left Portugal Smith could have denied all knowledge of it. He could have said that I applied for the job as cook then used the opportunity to smuggle the drugs myself. It would have been his word against mine. Anyway, that was when Mr Smith came through and caught me. To cut a long story short, he pulled out a gun then locked me in my cabin and said he’d deal with me later.’

‘I’d prefer to hear all the details,’ Fraser said curtly. ‘Everything!’

She shrugged. ‘At first he tried to deny that it was drugs, then when he saw that I didn’t believe him he tried to bribe me. I told him what I thought of drug dealers and that when we got ashore I was going straight to the police. That’s when he got nasty and pulled the gun.’

A shiver ran down her spine. It was probably delayed shock, she told herself. She’d be having nightmares for the next six months and peach melbas would never taste the same. ‘He…He was going to kill me,’ she said in a subdued voice. ‘I could see it in his eyes. He only needed to wait until we were further out to sea then he could dump me overboard and watch me drown.’

She closed her eyes and shivered again and suddenly she found herself being supported in Fraser’s arms. He held her tightly for a moment and the world stopped swaying.

‘I…I’m all right now,’ she muttered. ‘You can let

go.’ He led her to a rock and made her sit down then he went to the Land Rover and returned with a flask. ‘Take a sip of this. You’ll feel better.’

She raised it to her lips and drank, then coughed and spluttered, ‘What…what was that?’

‘Whisky and honey. A well-known remedy around here for everything from depression to pneumonia.’

A warm glow spread throughout her and she breathed deeply at the sweet, clean air. God, it was so good to be alive. Even in a place like this.

As she got to her feet he eyed her closely then, apparently satisfied that she wasn’t going to keel over again, he said, ‘How did you manage to escape from the locked cabin?’

‘I climbed out through the porthole,’ she said mat-ter-of-factly. ‘It was dark but I knew we were close to the shore. Then I saw the light and I knew there must be people so I jumped.’ She shivered again. ‘What I didn’t bargain for was how cold the water would be. I was frozen stiff and getting cramp. I remember a big wave…and crashing down on a rock…Then waking up in Kirsty’s cottage.’

He studied her in silence, his eyes betraying nothing, then he remarked drily, ‘That’s a pretty farfetched story.’

She made a sound of disgust ‘I knew you wouldn’t believe me.’

‘I find it hard to believe that anyone could squeeze themselves through a motor-cruiser porthole. Even someone as slim as you.’

‘Well, I did,’ she retorted. ‘It wasn’t easy. I got stuck but managed it in the end.’

‘Hmm…’ His blue eyes surveyed her again, then he said quietly, ‘Take down your jeans.’

Her mouth fell open. ‘What…?’