One Night Of Love

In that short skirt, Dyan showed a lot of leg as she got into the low car. She gave Oliver a quick glance under her lashes, interested to see whether it would have any effect on him. He saw all right; he blinked, but apart from that his face betrayed no emotion. The typical cool Englishman, Dyan thought, her lips twisting in intrigued amusement.

‘Where are we going, Mrs Logan?’ Oliver asked as they set off.

‘Well, you said in your letter that you were in a hurry, so I thought we’d go straight to the boat. And it’s Miss not Mrs. But please, call me Dyan.’

He gave her a sharp look. ‘Thank you.’ And added after a moment, ‘Do you live in Nassau?’

‘No. I’m only here because of your project.’ Glancing at him, she saw him frown a little, so said, ‘Unless you’d like to drive round the island for a while first? Have you ever been here before?’

‘Yes, I have—and I’d rather go straight to the boat.’

‘OK. Fine.’ They fell silent and to break it she said, ‘I hope you’re pleased with the speed that we’ve got the boat ready for you…Er—do you prefer to be called Ollie or Oliver?’

There was a second of silence in which she could almost hear him saying that he’d prefer Mr Balfour, but then he said, ‘Oliver will be fine.’ Adding, ‘I didn’t realise that the boat had been organised with any special speed; I expected it to be ready by now.’

Dyan choked a little, thinking of the endless hours she’d spent organising crew, provisions and equipment. ‘Oh, quite,’ she said faintly.

‘When will we actually leave?’ Oliver asked.

‘On tonight’s tide. After dark, when there are fewer people around. To maintain as much secrecy as possible,’ she explained.

‘You seem to be fully informed about this expedition, Miss—Dyan?’

‘Oh, yes, I am,’ she hastened to assure him because she’d detected a questioning note in his tone. ‘Fully informed on the whole project.’

‘I see.’

She glanced at him again, wondering at the coldness of his tone, but Oliver was looking out of the window at one of the island policemen directing traffic in his uniform of white shorts, shirt and helmet, and she could learn nothing from his hard profile. They were nearing the waterfront now and the streets were busy with people and cars. Dyan concentrated on where she was going and had no time to worry about Oliver until she eventually drew up in the car park near the dock where the boat was moored.

‘This way,’ she told him, and pointed down to the end of the dock. ‘The boat is called Guiding Starr. Starr spelt with a double R, after Barney Starr, the company head.’

‘The salvage boat belongs to the company, then? You haven’t hired it?’

‘No. The company owns all its own salvage vessels. This one was being used to help recover part of an oil-rig that had sunk in the North Atlantic, and had to be brought here and re-equipped for your project.’ Dyan let that sink in, wanting him to know that the company had pulled out all the stops for him, but he made no comment.

There was no way you could call Guiding Starr a beautiful ship. It had a large after-deck fitted with cranes and other lifting gear, an enclosed area where they kept the submersible, and a high bridge below a mast that had so many electronic tracking devices attached to it that it resembled a junk yard. The hull was black, the upper bulwarks white. A ship built to do a special job with no concessions to gracefulness. Aboard, it was much the same. The cabins were small and practical, but very comfortable. The galley was fitted up with the latest gadgets, and there was a decent rest area with television and videos for the crew when they were off duty.

Dyan led the way up the gangway and on to the ship where Russ was waiting to welcome them.

‘This is the captain, Russ Millar. Oliver Balfour,’ Dyan introduced.

They shook hands, the eyes of both men flicking over the other, summing each other up as they exchanged polite greetings.

Dyan hid a small smile of amusement. ‘I’ll show you to your cabin,’ she offered.

Oliver followed her below, apparently at home aboard a boat, ducking his head as they went down the companionway. Dyan opened the door of the cabin that had been set aside for him. It was one of the larger ones and should have been hers by rights, if the insurance company hadn’t insisted on sending Oliver along. Now, when Oliver stood inside it, the cabin suddenly seemed a whole lot smaller.

‘I’m sorry,’ Dyan apologised. ‘The boat isn’t really fitted out to carry passengers. But this is one of the largest cabins, and there’s a bathroom opening off it.’

‘You don’t have to apologise; it’s perfectly adequate,’ Oliver told her, dropping his bag on to the bed.

‘Great.’ She smiled at him again. ‘I’ll leave you to unpack, then.’

She turned to go but Oliver said, ‘Just a moment,’ and she looked back expectantly. ‘When am I going to meet the rest of the crew?’

‘At dinner, I expect. We don’t leave for a few hours yet, so I expect most of them are still on shore, making the most of being in port.’

‘I’d like to see round the ship.’

‘Of course. I’ll take you round myself. I just have to go back ashore for a few things.’

‘Shall we say half an hour, then?’

‘Make it an hour,’ Dyan said with a smile, the thought coming to her that she hadn’t brought anything very glamorous in the way of clothes with her. Although that hadn’t seemed important earlier.

The smile wasn’t returned. ‘Very well, an hour,’ Oliver accepted, but with another frown.

‘The steward’s name is Joe. If you need anything just ring for him.’

Dyan left him in the cabin and hurried ashore, wondering if Oliver was always this austere. But a man who could so easily accept her as the head of the salvage project could, in her eyes, be forgiven a great deal. And there was something attractive about him, too, which was why she went to a boutique in the town and carefully selected a few new things for the voyage: a couple of dresses for the evenings and some new casual clothes, things she definitely wouldn’t have bothered to buy if Oliver had turned out to be the middle-aged man she’d expected.

One of the crew was just going aboard as she got back to the ship and gave her a hand to carry her parcels, making her laugh as he tried to guess what was in them. Glancing up, Dyan saw a figure leaning over the ship’s side, watching them, and recognised Oliver. He didn’t return the wave she gave him, but raised the wrist that held his watch, letting her know that her hour was up. He had changed into lighterweight clothes, but he still wore a tie.

Dyan gave the crewman the rest of her parcels. ‘Drop these in my cabin for me, will you?’ She walked over to Oliver and lifted a hand to push back her hair, blown by the evening breeze off the sea. ‘Ready for the guided tour?’

His eyes were on her and this time he couldn’t—or else didn’t try—to hide the flicker of interest in them. ‘Quite ready.’

She took him round the deck first, explaining what the equipment was used for, telling him she’d show him the submersible once they were out to sea.

‘For security reasons?’ he questioned, but said when she nodded, ‘But surely anyone walking along the dock, or any boat passing by can see that this is a salvage ship?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘And don’t all salvage ships carry a submersible?’

‘Yes, but not like this one,’ Dyan told him, patting the covered underwater craft. ‘This is specially for your project, and we prefer to keep it under wraps.’

Below again, she showed him the galley and the rest room, gestured forward. ‘Those cabins are the crew’s quarters.’

‘How many are there in the crew?’

‘Fourteen; seven people on each watch. Plus the cook, the steward, and ourselves.’

‘You don’t count yourself as crew, then?’ he asked.

‘No. I’m always on call.’

His eyebrows rose and Oliver was about to ask her a question, but she led the way into the operations room, the heart of the ship, where every gadget that had been invented to help in the search for underwater wrecks had been fitted. It was like an extremely modern computer room with a large chart table in its centre. Oliver walked into the room and looked round in fascinated interest.