A Masterful Man

Davina raised an eyebrow. ‘It would be better if I knew—were I to take the job, Mr Warwick, and may I remind you that you showed no spirit of polite reticence at all concerning me, so I don’t see why I should be at all polite to you.’

He chewed his lip then laughed softly. ‘OK. After my mother died, my father remarried a woman young enough to be his daughter who bore him a daughter posthumously, thereby providing me with a half-sister young enough to be—my daughter. All of which induced a spirit, talking of those things, of fierce resentment and dislike in my grandmother—my father was her only child. She perceived that Loretta, my stepmother, married my father for his money, then spent a considerable amount of it, turned his life upside down and wore him into an early grave. Added to this, my grandmother is an indomitable, energetic and fiercely opinionated lady, anyway... Well, need I say any more?’

‘No,’ Davina mused, and frowned. ‘Why does the child need mothering?’

‘Because her mother is not much of a mother,’ S. Warwick said, and there was something in his voice that was as cold as naked steel.

Davina narrowed her eyes but said only, ‘A month...is not a long time for anyone else to do much mothering.’

‘What I had more in mind was someone who is good with kids, someone who wouldn’t mind babysitting without making the kid feel she’s being—palmed off.’

‘Well, that is being pretty frank, Mr Warwick,’ Davina murmured.

‘You asked for it, Mrs Hastings,’ he replied.

‘So I did.’ Davina stood up again and looked around consideringly.

‘If you’re wondering how you would cope with this house and a child, I have a cleaning lady, a local, who comes several times a week—she’s due tomorrow—and does the laundry as well,’ S. Warwick said. ‘To be honest she’s a bit rough and ready and she’s dynamite when it comes to breaking crystal and china, so while you can leave all the heavy jobs to her you will still need to—well, supervise, anyway. But all meals, as well as the entertaining we will undoubtedly be doing, would be up to you. What kind of things do you like photographing—only scenery?’

Davina turned slowly to look at him. ‘No. Flowers, birds—’

‘Ah.’ He stared at her with the utmost gravity, something she was later to come to mistrust devoutly. ‘Are you aware then, Mrs Hastings, that one third of the plants on Lord Howe are unique? That hundreds of thousands of sea birds nest here each year, and that one of the world’s rarest land birds lives here? I won’t bore you with all the species but the island is a haven for terns of all descriptions from Sooties to Noddies; red-tailed Tropicbirds nest here as well as masked boobies and Providence petrel, fleshfooted shearwaters, otherwise known as Mutton Birds, which nest in burrows in the ground... As for the plants, flowers and trees, there’s pandanus, banyan, island cedar, island apple, juniper, sallywood, kentia—of course kentia palms—’

‘As a blackmailer, Mr Warwick,’ Davina broke in tightly, ‘you’re incredibly obvious.’

He said nothing for a moment then he murmured, ‘You see me quite dashed, Mrs Hastings—by the way, did I mention that Lord Howe has the southernmost coral reef in the world?’

They eyed each other until he added, ‘Besides which, we have Ball’s Pyramid only a dozen or so miles south of the island—now that is certainly worth photographing.’

‘What on earth...?’ Davina bit her lip.

‘Is Ball’s Pyramid? A sheer, pointed, eroded stack of rock that is the world’s tallest monolith and it floats out of the ocean like a castle in a fairy-tale.’

‘Does one have to be a fairy to get to it?’

He grinned. ‘Not at all; one takes a boat or you can fly over it. I happen to have a couple of boats,’ he added modestly.

‘Boats, bikes, airlines,’ Davina muttered and sat down suddenly. ‘I gather your troublesome female relatives have not yet arrived?’

‘No. You have three days of—relative peace.’

‘Why did you get me here so early?’ she queried.

‘Well now, seeing as I was expecting a competent motherly middle-aged type, you can’t really accuse me of any nefarious intentions, can you, Mrs Hastings?’ His eyes mocked her.

‘Then why?’ Davina said angrily.

‘Simply so you would have a chance to acclimatise before you were expected to deal with them.’

She picked up her drink and sipped it distractedly.

‘You have your own quarters, incidentally,’ he said after a time. ‘Would you like me to show you them before you make your final decision?’

* * *

One of the buildings behind the house was a chalet-type edifice which turned out to be a small but luxurious self-contained unit. There was a bedroom with a double bed, furnished in toning shades of smoky blue, a matching blue bathroom and a combined kitchenette and living-area with cane furniture, terracotta tiles on the floor, ivory blinds and soft sage-green walls. Everything, from the Sheridan bed-linen to the bathroom fittings, the quality of paint, enamel and tiling work, the co-ordination of colours was of an exceptionally high quality and standard. There was even a wall-phone.

Davina looked around with raised eyebrows.

‘You’re impressed, Mrs Hastings?’ S. Warwick remarked.

‘Very nice,’ she contrived to say equitably. ‘Very House & Garden, in fact.’

‘Is that a compliment or the opposite?’ he enquired.

Davina shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘Just a bit of a surprise, perhaps. It looks more like a guest-house than staff quarters.’

‘It doubles as either.’

‘Well...’ She didn’t go on.

‘I await your decision with bated breath, Mrs Hastings,’ he said with irony after several moments.

They faced each other across the living-area and Davina discovered two things. That she would like nothing more than to tell him to go to hell, but that she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it.

‘Tell me something,’ she said a little huskily as this dawned on her. ‘What happens if I do turn out to be—exotic but quite useless?’

He smiled, just a bare twisting of his lips, his eyes remained a cool, watchful, curiously mocking hazel, and he said, ‘I would pack you back to the mainland very swiftly, Mrs Hastings—but you aren’t, are you?’

Davina licked her lips because she sensed an odd sort of tension between them that she couldn’t quite define. ‘How can you know, though?’

‘I’ll just have to rely on my intuition. In fact,’ he said drily, ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you were extremely competent—’

‘That’s a change of heart!’ She flashed him a cutting little look.

‘And intelligent,’ he went on, unperturbed, ‘and that is quite a waste, doing what you’re doing with your life. I’d also be very surprised if you were a—frigid bitch, Mrs Hastings, but if you care to continue to masquerade as one, so long as it gets my job done, you’re welcome to it.’

Davina gasped then paled slightly as she suddenly realised that this powerful, worldly man who could switch from insulting her with lazy mockery to malice aforethought incensed her, yet his attitude puzzled her... Why? she wondered numbly. I would have hated him if he’d made the traditional pass; I have to hate him as it is for...everything else; why should it be at all important to prove to him that I’m...anything?

‘Mrs Hastings?’ S. Warwick said, and added with sudden impatience, ‘Look, if you really don’t want the job, I’ll send you back first thing tomorrow morning and they’ll just have to find a replacement. It’s up to you,’ he added curtly. ‘We’ve been—’ he glanced at his watch ‘—fencing with each other for over an hour now and I’m getting tired of it. Yes or no?’

The effect of this was to wipe away all other thoughts from Davina’s mind other than that he was the most arrogant bastard... ‘Yes,’ she said crisply. ‘I’ll stay.’ And might just as well have said, So do your damnedest...

He raised his eyes ceilingwards. ‘I might have known!’

‘And what might you have known, Mr Warwick?’ she asked through her teeth.

‘That all the foregoing was entirely unnecessary. Women,’ he said scathingly, ‘have to be the most entirely unstraightforward creatures—God alone knows why!’