Thunder On The Reef

Ross’s mouth twisted. ‘It seemed a pre-emptive offer,’ he said, ‘leaving no room for negotiation. You have to want to be rid of someone very badly to put up that kind of money.’

‘Or have a fairly accurate assessment of their level of greed.’ She waited for an explosion of anger, but none came.

Ross merely shrugged. ‘They say everyone has their price,’ he countered. ‘Why argue?’

For me, she thought in sudden, swift agony. You could have argued for me—fought for me—told my father to go to hell and take his insulting offer with him.

But you didn’t, Ross—you didn’t...

Aloud, ‘Why indeed?’ she said calmly. ‘As a matter of interest, would you have gone for less?’

‘Probably, in the circumstances.’ He sounded almost casual, she realised, pain slashing at her. ‘I hope you’re not expecting a refund, Macy.’

‘Certainly not,’ she retorted briskly. ‘It was money well spent.’

‘I’m glad you think so,’ he said evenly, signalling to the hovering George to bring their main courses. ‘If they ever have to open you up for surgery, darling, they’ll find a bank statement where your heart should be—and showing a credit balance.’

Macy digested that, smarting, while they were being served.

‘So—what did you do with your own credit balance?’ she asked, once they were alone again. ‘Waste it—gamble it away?’

He was silent for a moment. ‘I made good use of it,’ he said at last.

‘To further your career as a photographer?’ She despised herself for asking.

‘No.’

The flat monosyllable was uninviting, but she persisted. ‘Do you still take photographs?’

‘Yes, but I’m commissioned these days. Thanks to you, I don’t need to pursue the precarious freelance existence your father objected to so strenuously.’ He drank some wine. ‘I’m obliged to you.’

‘Don’t be.’ Her bitten lip felt raw. ‘All the same, I’m glad for you.’

‘Are you?’ He sounded sceptical. ‘Why?’

She put down her fork. ‘Because you were good,’ she said slowly. ‘I always thought you’d be in some wilderness, making a record of it before the bulldozers moved in and spoiled it. Just as—you always planned.’

She’d nearly said ‘we’, she realised with a pang. Because it had been a mutual and cherished dream, or so she’d thought. One of the many, she reminded herself, that had died when he’d walked out on her.

‘How flattering,’ he said softly, ‘that you do remember some things at least.’

‘Not really.’ The last lobster tail tasted like poisoned leather. ‘Someone who hurt me as you did isn’t easy to forget—however hard one may try.’

‘And I’m sure one has tried,’ he said courteously. His voice hardened. ‘Just what the hell did you expect, Macy? That I’d turn down the money? God knows it was an offer no one could refuse. Wasn’t that the whole point of it?’ He paused. ‘Or were you just testing me?’

She shook her head. ‘No, it was quite genuine. You’d have been a fool to walk away from it.’

A fool for love, as I was. I trusted you, Ross. Even when my father told me you were for sale, I didn’t believe him. Even when I saw the evidence with my own eyes...

‘That’s what I thought,’ he said. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, as he ran a hand over his chin. ‘When you saw me earlier, you thought I was down-and-out, looking for handouts, didn’t you, my sweet? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m doing fine, which is why I’m so glad to be able to buy you dinner tonight. As a small thank-you for showing me the way—giving me my start in life.’

He shrugged. ‘As they say, I’d never have managed it without you.’

‘Think nothing of it.’ The night air was warm, but Macy felt deathly cold.

‘And now George is on his way to ask if you want dessert,’ Ross went on. ‘I recommend the Key lime pie.’

Macy shook her head. ‘Nothing more for me,’ she said. ‘I—I seem to have lost my appetite.’

‘Oh, don’t say that.’ There was mock concern in his voice. ‘You have to be able to keep up with Daddy, Cameron and the rest of the carnivores.’

‘How dare you say that?’ Macy, trembling, pushed her chair back. ‘You have no right. You’re not fit to—to...’

‘Lick their boots?’ Ross supplied silkily. ‘Quite right. There are whole gangs of far better qualified people hanging round Gilmour-Denys to do just that. But I never thought you’d be one of them, Macy. What a disappointment.’

‘Damn you.’ She got to her feet, her breasts rising and falling swiftly under the force of her tangled emotions. ‘Damn you to hell, Ross Bannister.’

‘Too late, darling. You already did that—four years ago.’ He rose too, and came round the table to where she stood. He took her by the shoulders, pulling her towards him. For one endless moment, she felt his mouth on hers, without gentleness, without mercy. An act of stark possession.

And somewhere, buried in the depths of her being, she felt a sharp, unbidden flicker of totally shameful response.

Then, just as suddenly, she was free, staring dazedly up into his cool, aquamarine eyes.

He said expressionlessly, ‘Goodnight, Macy. I’ll be seeing you.’

Shaking, totally oblivious to the interested stares from the adjoining tables, Macy watched him cross the restaurant, pause briefly to scribble his signature on the bill, then disappear out into the night.

CHAPTER THREE

MACY got back to the bungalow somehow. She slammed the door behind her, and stood, panting, her hands pressed against the woodwork as if she was somehow drawing strength from its solidity.

Her mouth felt ravaged. She could make no sense of anything that had happened that evening, but Ross’s kiss had burned itself into her consciousness forever.

She felt as if she was crumbling inside, the sane, rational core she’d come to depend on disintegrating. Meltdown.

Don’t be a fool, she thought, staring into the darkness. Ross sold you out in the worst possible way. Betrayed you totally. When he went, you had to drag yourself back from the abyss, and learn to live again. You were the one in hell, not him. Never forget that.

He’d actually thanked her for giving him his start in life, she recalled with stark incredulity. The sheer cruelty of it flayed her like a whip.

But that was all she’d ever been to Ross—a meal ticket—a step on the ladder.

Yet during those first dizzy months he’d made her believe she was everything in the world that he wanted. That she was necessary—even essential to him, like the air he breathed. And she’d accepted that precious valuation—gloried in it. Letting herself forget that no one was indispensable.

‘A freelance photographer?’ She could still hear her father’s voice, lifted in outraged astonishment. ‘Does that mean he’s not in any kind of regular employment?’

‘Well, in a way,’ Macy had returned defensively. ‘He earns fees from newspapers and magazines when he sells them picture spreads.’

‘And does that provide him with a living?’