Dangerous Rhapsody

Feeling more ready to face the world, she went downstairs again. It was after one o'clock, and she was feeling quite hungry. To her relief, Christopher was waiting in the foyer, and came to meet her eagerly as she emerged from the lift.

‘Come on,’ he said, grinning appreciatively. ‘I'm starving!'

‘So am I,’ replied Emma, and allowed his fingers to link with hers as they walked through to the restaurant.

Their table, which Christopher had reserved earlier, was situated on a terrace overlooking the harbour. They had Martinis first and then Emma allowed Christopher to choose what they would eat. They ate fresh melon, followed by shellfish and green salad and french fried potatoes, and completed the meal with a fruit salad and fresh cream topped with nuts. Coffee was of the continental variety, and Emma had two cups.

She leaned back, replete, and accepted a cigarette from Christopher. When he had lighted hers, and his own, he said: ‘You enjoyed that?'

‘You know I did.’ She smiled. ‘Did I seem to have an enormous appetite?'

He laughed, and shook his head. ‘No. I like to see a girl enjoy her food, instead of only picking at things which aren't fattening. I should say you had no worries on that score.'

‘Not at the moment, although I'm afraid this life won't be so demanding as my work at the hospital, and I may find myself putting on a couple of inches here and there. I shall have to be careful.’ She smiled.

‘What did you do in England? I mean, I know you were a nurse, but what were your hobbies? Did you go out a lot?'

Emma shook her head. ‘No. Not really. I attended lectures sometimes, and I enjoy the occasional visit to the theatre. I like concerts, most kinds of music, and I adore reading.'

Christopher looked interested. ‘Do you now? And what do you like to read?'

She shrugged. ‘Most anything. I enjoy thrillers, romances, really anything that holds my interest.'

‘Have you heard of Christmas Holly?'

‘Christmas Holly.’ Emma frowned. ‘Of course, he's that private investigator Michael Jeffries writes about.’ She laughed. ‘They're rather good. I think I've read two or three of them.'

Christopher grinned at her. ‘Two or three!’ he exclaimed mockingly. ‘I'v written twenty-seven, I'll have you know!'

Emma was astonished. ‘You're Michael Jeffries!’ She drew on her cigarette incredulously. ‘How marvellous! Imagine meeting Christmas Holly's inventor. What a wonderful name, by the way. Wherever did you think of it?'

‘Well, Christmas is not so very different from Christopher, and Holly has thorns. Rather corny, isn't it, but at least it goes together. And my full name is Christopher Michael Jeffrey Thorne, so that explains the rest.'

‘Well, anyway, I think this is terrific,’ said Emma enthusiastically. ‘Writing after all is the necessary forerunner to reading, and I've never met a writer before. Do you live on Sainte Dominique?'

‘No,’ he shook his head, and she looked disappointed.

‘I live on Sainte Catherine, which is quite close by. Only a couple of miles from Sainte Dominique actually, so we'll be near neighbours. It will be a change to have someone to talk to who is interested in my work.'

‘That's good,’ Emma smiled. ‘Who lives on Sainte Dominique – apart from Annabel, of course?'

He shrugged. ‘Well, there's Tansy, she's Annabel's old nanny. I think you'll like her. She used to be Damon's nanny years ago. Then there's the other servants, of course. And Louisa Meredith, she's Annabel's governess.'

Emma was astounded. ‘But surely, if Annabel has a nanny, and a governess, she doesn't need me!'

Christopher looked thoughtful. ‘I wouldn't say that,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘Tansy is too old to take a six-year-old very far, particularly one in Annabel's condition. As for Louisa – well, she's a bit useless. Oh, she teaches Annabel to read in Braille, and she has conversations with her. I suppose Annabel is learning quite a lot, but as far as being a companion to the child is concerned, she's no help. To talk to a child, one has to treat them as equals, not talk down to them. Louisa could never forget herself sufficiently to romp with the child. She's far too reserved.'

‘I see.’ Emma sighed. ‘Who has been looking after Annabel?'

‘Brenda Lawson. She was a woman in her thirties. She's married a retired American businessman who has decided to make his home in Spanish Wells.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Are you ready?'

Emma nodded, and allowed him to help her to her feet, and walked with him out of the restaurant. In the entrance hall of the hotel, he paused.

‘How is your room?'

‘It's fine.’ Emma frowned. ‘Are we staying overnight?'

Christopher grinned. ‘That was the idea. Do you mind?'

‘That's not the point, surely,’ exclaimed Emma, involuntarily. ‘I mean, I understood from my instructions that we were leaving for Sainte Dominique after lunch.'

‘Damon's instructions,’ remarked Christopher dryly. ‘Look, he may be the big man back in England and the States, but here he's just my cousin, and I say what goes. Don't you want to stay?'

‘Well, of course my feelings are immaterial,’ Emma said, sighing. It was very flattering to know that this attractive man should be enjoying her company, but she couldn't help but feel that Damon would be furious if he knew.

Christopher was beginning to look a little annoyed. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You decide.'

Emma bent her head. ‘Please,’ she said, ‘I don't want to cause any trouble.'

‘All right, we stay. Good heavens, girl, no one's going to tick you off here. You're not in your hospital now, you know. Life proceeds at a much more sensible pace here. Besides, I want to show you the island. New Providence is quite a place.'

And so it was. Emma soon forgot her anxiety in the pure enjoyment of the places Christopher took her to see. He insisted she brought her swim suit with her, and afterwards she was glad she had.

First of all they explored Nassau itself. Christopher showed her the Straw Market, and provided her with a huge straw hat to shade her eyes. He bought himself a straw hat, too, but his was much more conservative in design and she laughed when he tilted it extravagantly and did an impression of Maurice Chevalier.

Bay Street provided them with plenty of window shopping, but they did not buy anything. Emma had no desire to arrive on Sainte Dominique already loaded with gifts to take back home.

In the harbour, boats of every kind were moored, from small sailing vessels used for fishing, to sleek catamarans gleaming with chrome and white paint-work.

They hired a Surrey and toured the city in true tourist style, the sleepy back streets a reminder of days when pirates swaggered through the town. Emma could hardly believe some of the anecdotes Christopher related to her, but the island's history interested her so much that she determined she would buy some books about it at the first opportunity.

Afterwards they sought the beach, and the creamy warmth of the blue-flecked waters. Emma had never bathed in a sea so warm, or so inviting, and she was tempted to stay in the water for the rest of the afternoon. But Christopher teased her mercilessly by continually ducking her, so that at last she walked up the beach with him and lay back on the towels he had provided. Her straw hat shaded her eyes, and she felt wonderfully content. She could almost believe she was here of her own volition, and not because Damon Thorne had given her no other choice.

Christopher was a very good companion. His literary background had provided him with the gift of creating interest out of the simplest things, and his knowledge of the area was extensive. He had travelled throughout the Caribbean, and knew Jamaica and Trinidad very well indeed.

Emma was a born listener, and lay on her stomach now looking down at him as he told her about the slaves who had come to the West Indies.

‘Poor devils,’ he said, his eyes half closed against the glare. ‘They left one sort of slavery for another. At least in the southern States they could be assured of food and shelter. Some of them were hard pushed to stay alive here in the beginning.’ He sighed. ‘And the white population in those days considered the Africans a people who required leadership and discipline to survive. They wouldn't believe they were capable of providing for themselves.'

Emma made a move with her lips. ‘I'm surprised you don't write about the islands. Your books are always set in the States.'

Christopher grinned and propped himself up on his elbows, so that his face was only inches from her own.

‘Tactics, honey, tactics,’ he said cheerfully. ‘My books sell very well in the States, and as it's my bread and butter, who am I to disappoint my fans?'

‘Mercenary creature!’ Emma wrinkled her nose at him, and then lay back again. It was very warm, and she was feeling quite drowsy.

Christopher looked down at her now. ‘Aren't you glad we didn't go back to Sainte Dominique today?’ he asked.