Beyond Reach

‘I mean you’re as cold as the refrigerator. You’re frozen, solid as the block of ice in the—’

A man’s voice floated down the companionway. ‘Ahoy, Seawind… Anyone on board?’

Troy’s muttered profanity made Lucy blink. He said furiously, ‘Don’t think we’re through with this—because we’re not. I’m the boss on this boat, Lucy, and you’d better remember it.’ Then he turned on his heel and took the steps two at a time. She heard a stranger’s jovial laugh and then the murmur of masculine conversation.

For two cents she’d follow Troy up those steps, march down the dock and leave him in the lurch. Let him find another crew-member! What did she care? One of the reasons she’d become self-employed was so she wouldn’t have to deal with dictatorial male bosses. Because one thing was clear to her: what she had earlier labeled as Troy’s confidence wasn’t confidence at all. It was arrogance. Downright arrogance.

High-handedness. Despotism. Tyranny.

The buzzer rang on the stove. The crab dip was as perfectly browned as any her mother had ever made, and smelled delicious. Balancing it on top of one of the gas elements on the stove, Lucy heaved a heavy sigh. Tyrant though Troy was, she still wanted to sail out of the harbor the day after tomorrow. She wanted to hear the slap of waves under the prow and feel the helm quiver with responsiveness. She wanted to swim in the turquoise waters of a coral reef…

She reached for the packages of crackers she’d bought, and five minutes later was climbing the steps with a platter on which the crackers and some celery stalks were artistically arranged around the dip. ‘Hello,’ she said, with a friendly smile at the man sitting across from Troy.

‘Jack Nevil,’ he said bluffly, getting to his feet. ‘Skipper of Lady Jane… Is this for us? You’ve lucked out, Troy.’

Lucy smothered a smile. Troy said with a dryness that wasn’t lost on her, ‘I sure have… Want a beer, Jack? Or something stronger?’

‘A beer’d be great… and one for the lady?’

‘The name’s Lucy,’ she said limpidly. ‘I’d love one; it’s been pretty hot in the galley.’

Her eyes, wide with innocence, met Troy’s. He was quite aware of her double meaning, she saw with some satisfaction. He said blandly, ‘Jack, who was that chemist who won the Nobel prize—Prigogine? His thesis was that at a state of maximum disequilibrium, a system will spontaneously create its own order—I think that’s Lucy’s theory of cooking.’

‘If this dip is anything to go by, the theory works,’ Jack said enthusiastically. ‘Have a seat, Lucy.’

‘Oh, no,’ she said sweetly, ‘I’d better get back to work. Troy’s a hard taskmaster.’

‘Only that I have a preference for eating before midnight,’ Troy responded equally amiably. ‘Thanks, Lucy…see you later.’

And who had won that round? Lucy wondered as she went back to the steaming-hot galley. If she were an optimist she could call it a tie.

But Jack Nevil and her mother’s crab dip had probably saved her from being fired.

Two hours later Lucy twirled the last strawberry in the chocolate sauce and took another sip of the German dessert wine in her glass. She’d drunk rather more wine than was good for her in the course of the meal. Maybe to hide the fact that Troy had spoken very little as they ate. Or maybe so she’d have the strength to face all the dirty dishes stashed below. ‘What a glorious night,’ she said soulfully.

Jack had left before dinner, having demolished the crab dip and three beers. She and Troy were eating on deck, where the smooth black water was illumined by a three-quarter moon and stars glimmered in the blackness overhead. It was blissfully, blessedly cool.

‘That was an excellent meal, Lucy,’ Troy said brusquely. ‘But entirely too elaborate—I can’t have you spending all day in the galley when you’ll be needed out on deck.’

She took a gulp of wine. ‘Is that what’s called damning with faint praise?’ she said provocatively.

His eye-sockets were sunk in shadow, his irises reflecting the harbor’s obsidian surface. ‘And that’s another thing,’ he said, in the same hard voice. ‘You and I can fight like a couple of tomcats from sun-up till sundown tomorrow. But when the Merritts come on board there’ll be no more fighting. We’ll get along even if it kills us.’

To her horror she heard herself say, ‘You mean you’ll actually be nice to me?’

He banged his clenched fist so hard on the table that the cutlery jumped. ‘I’ve never in my life met a woman as contentious as you! Don’t you ever let up?’

‘I wouldn’t be so cranky if you’d act like a human being,’ she retorted. ‘It’s because you’re so—so unreachable.’

‘Unreachable is exactly what I am, and what I intend to remain,’ he answered grimly. ‘I said no male-female stuff and I meant it. And don’t, if you value living, ask why.’

Any flip reply Lucy might have made died on her lips, because there was genuine pain underlying Troy’s voice and the moonlight lay cold along his tightly held jaw and compressed lips. He had a beautiful mouth, she thought unwillingly. Strongly carved yet with the potential for tenderness. What had made him so unreachable? Had filled him to the brim with suppressed rage?

Whatever it was, it was his secret. Nothing to do with her.

Swallowing the strange bitterness this conclusion caused her, Lucy let her thoughts march on. There was more than an element of truth in everything Troy had said. The meal had been too elaborate. And people didn’t pay high rates for a charter to spend their time listening to the crew fight all day. She downed the last of her wine and said forthrightly, ‘I’ll prepare simpler meals from now on. And I’ll do my best not to lose my temper again.’ She gave him a small smile. ‘Or at least not more than once a day.’

His mouth softened infinitesimally. ‘I should have told you there’s a very good delicatessen on one of the backstreets—you can buy a lot of stuff already prepared and freeze it. Quite a lot of it’s West Indian style, so the guests enjoy it. Plus, it would make life much easier for you.’

‘Oh. That’s a good idea.’ And because Troy’s voice, like his face, had gentled, and because she was alone on the deck of a yacht in the tropics by moonlight with a handsome blond man, she babbled, ‘I’m going to give the galley a good cleaning tomorrow before I bring in the supplies. The brass lamps and fittings are tarnished, so I’ll polish them, and then I’ll—’

‘It’s okay, Lucy… If there’s one thing I’ve learned today it’s that you’re a hard worker. Why don’t you go to bed now? You must be exhausted. You can take one of the cabins downstairs and I’ll sleep up at the bow.’

‘I think you just gave me a compliment,’ Lucy said dazedly. ‘A real one.’

‘I believe I did. Off you go.’

Struggling to collect her wits, Lucy muttered, ‘I’m going to do the dishes first, they won’t take long.’

He stood up. ‘I’ll give you a hand.’

As he stretched lazily, a bare strip of skin showed itself between his waistband and his T-shirt. She dragged her gaze away. ‘You don’t have to do that.’

‘Two confrontations with Raymond Blogden today, along with a yelling match with me, is more than enough for one woman. Come on, let’s get at them.’

‘You can be so darn nice when you forget about being angry,’ Lucy blurted, then, before he could reply, ran on, ‘I know—I shouldn’t have said that. My sisters always tell me I speak before I think, and they’re right. They’re right about nearly everything,’ she added gloomily, ‘it’s very depressing. But it seems such a waste when you could be nice all the time.’

‘You’d be bored,’ Troy said. Then he raised one brow in mockery as he gathered the dessert dishes from the table. ‘Besides, I was just practising for when our guests arrive.’

And that, thought Lucy, was that. After picking up the leftover chocolate sauce, which now looked sickeningly sweet, she followed Troy down the stairs.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_f0be56ad-0aea-5b2f-bfa0-9e3e49596d14)

LUCY woke at daylight. She knew exactly where she was as soon as her eyes opened. On board Seawind in Road Harbor. With four weeks ahead of her to cruise the Virgin Islands.

She jumped out of bed, filled with the tingling anticipation she had felt as a little girl every Christmas Eve. Except that this time she was the one who’d given herself a gift. The gift of time, she thought fancifully. What better gift was there?

Although even Christmas Eve hadn’t always been trustworthy, she remembered, her hands faltering as she pulled on her darkest shorts. Her father had died when she was three, and confidently, at three, four and five, Lucy had requested Santa Claus to bring him back. Only when her elder sister Marcia had laughed at her efforts had she ceased to hope that she would find him early in the morning under the Christmas tree among all her other presents.

She gave her head a little shake. She rarely thought of her father now. And she had a lot to do today. Reaching up to look out of the open port, she saw that the sun was already glinting on the water, and again she was swept with excitement. When she went to the supermarket today she’d leave a message on her mother’s answering machine, explaining her change of plans, then she was free. All she had to do was work hard and have fun.

And keep her temper with Tory Donovan.

She could handle Troy. She was through with big blond men.

Just as everything had gone wrong the day before, today the gods were with Lucy. Before she left for town, the galley, the brass and the woodwork were all gleaming with cleanliness. Near the delicatessen she found a spice shop that sold a series of recipe books with all sorts of suggestions for easy and tasty meals and aperitifs—just what she needed. She bought the first volume and several bottles of mixed spices, had a lemonade in a little restaurant and drew up her menus, then hit the deli and the supermarket.

It gave her great pleasure to stow everything away in her tidy galley. In the tiny microwave over the gas stove she heated rotis for lunch—West Indian sandwiches stuffed with curried chicken and vegetables, that tasted delicious washed down with ginger ale. Troy had been scrubbing the deck and polishing the winches; they ate in a silence that she was quite prepared to call companionable. When she’d cleared away the dishes, she tackled the three cabins that led off the saloon.