Antigua Kiss (17 page)

A record of West Indian steel band music was playing when she reached the living-room where most of the men and a few women had already foregathered.

A few men were wearing white dinner jackets, but most were informally dressed. Ash, instantly noticeable as the tallest among them, had on his grey linen suit with the Liberty scarf knotted casually inside the collar.

As Christie approached the two or three steps leading down to the lowest level, her host came to meet her.

'Perhaps you haven't noticed, but we now have a bunch of mistletoe—not plastic, please note. The real stuff, flown in from England—strategically placed right above you. And I propose to kiss every one of the pretty women here tonight,' he added, bending to brush a light kiss on her smiling cheek.

'And here's Ash to enjoy the same privilege,' he added, stepping to one side as the younger man joined them.

'Good evening, Christiana.' Ash gave a slight bow, his dark eyes gleaming appreciatively as he looked her up and down.

Stepping closer, he bent and, instead of kissing her cheek as Joss Hathaway had, put his lips to her startled mouth.

It was such a brief kiss that, to anyone looking on, it must have seemed merely a playful Christmas Night salute of no special significance.

But to Christie, unkissed for four years, the warm, soft pressure of a man's lips—particularly his—was a profoundly sensuous experience.

As before, in his arms on the beach below Heron's Sound, she felt a vibration of her nerve ends, a deep inner trembling.

He smiled down into her dazed eyes, a flicker of devilment in his own.

'Come and have something to drink—a restorative after that shock,'

he added in an undertone which, Joss having already moved away, no one else heard.

She allowed him to take her by the elbow and lead her to a garlanded table where, from a large silver bowl, one of the Hathaways' staff was dispensing the traditional rum punch, except that here it was chilled instead of mulled.

'You look as beautiful as I knew you could if you made the most of yourself,' Ash murmured, as she took the glass offered to her.

Christie smiled at the butler, and said, 'Thank you. Merry Christmas,'

before returning what she hoped was a composed 'Thank you' for the compliment.

'No problems bedding John down?'

'No, he's out like a light, but I'll peep in from time to time.'

They were joined by Mara and her husband, and all four walked out on to the terrace to look at the lanternlit gardens and the silver sea.

At half past eight dinner was served at tables for groups of six. Like the large artificial silver Christmas tree hung with pale pink and crimson baubles, the tables were laid with pink cloths and crimson napkins, with arrangements of crimson flowers amid silver-grey foliage, handsome sterling silver and crystal wine glasses.

To her surprise Christie found herself seated opposite Ash, with Bettina at another table. The tables being round and the groups small, conversation was sometimes general, sometimes with neighbours. A good deal of her attention was occupied by the man-on her right, a surgeon whose relaxation was sailing.

He was both personable and amusing, and separated from his wife.

When he learned that she was a widow, he became even more attentive. He was staying at The Admiral's Inn, sailing all day and hoping, she guessed, to find a feminine companion to share his evenings.

From time to time she was aware of being watched by Ash. His expression gave nothing away, but she wondered if he might be displeased at seeing someone else trying to charm her. Without analysing her motive, she was more forthcoming with Ian, the surgeon, than she would have been had Ash been seated elsewhere.

After dinner, the dancing began. She danced with Ian twice, then with Joss, then with Kate's husband, then with Ian again. She wondered when Ash would dance with her. He would surely do so at least once.

After three successive dances, Ian suggested a stroll round the garden. Their last dance had been a slow number, and he had held her too close for her liking.

She smiled, and said, 'I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me for a few minutes, Ian. I have to go and check on my nephew.'

'Don't be long. I'll be waiting for you.'

As she hurried away, Christie regretted her foolishness in giving him the impression that her attitude to him was the same as his to her.

All was silence in the darkened children's room. Not wanting to return to the party immediately, she sought a few minutes' sanctuary in her own room.

Had she switched on the light, what followed might never have happened. But the moonlight was flooding in, and she sank down into the armchair next to the window to enjoy five minutes of solitude.

And also to consider how, without being ungracious, she could make it clear that she was not in the market for a holiday affair.

'A delicious meal, but hideously fattening, I'm afraid,' said a woman's voice, somewhere close by. 'What a bore it is, never being able to feast without having to fast the next day.'

Leaning forward to peer round the open curtain, Christie saw a man and a woman having a quiet cigarette on the low wall surrounding the neam tree in the centre of the small lawn outside her window.

'Yes, it is,' agreed the man. 'But I'm playing golf with George tomorrow, so that should work off some blubber.'

As their conversation was not of a private nature, Christie relaxed.

Preoccupied with her own problem, she only half-heard their next remarks.

Then a question, put by the man, regained her attention.

'What do you think of young Lambard's gorgeous new chick?'

'You mean the girl in black, with the huge grey eyes? Oh, she's not one of his chicks, Bill. I was told about her at dinner. Her brother was married to his sister, or maybe the other way round. Anyway, they were killed in a car smash. This girl has brought out the son, the little fair-haired boy. Ash is going to look after him, apparently, but she's going back to England early in the New Year.'

Christie heard a fruity male chuckle. 'That gives him plenty of time to become more than friends with her.'

'I don't think he has that in mind. He's still involved with Bettina as far as I know . . . unless that affair's over now. I did wonder why Miranda had put them at separate tables.'

'You weren't sitting where I was, Joanie. I had a good view of both Lambard and the girl in black. Believe me, she's in his sights, even if she doesn't know it yet. Can't say I blame him. She's a stunner— a much cosier armful that that skinny giraffe, Bettina. I wonder if she knows she's become redundant. Don't think she can, judging by the sultry looks she was giving him earlier today. Still, any woman who tangles with Lambard is bound to be jettisoned sooner or later.'

'Bettina won't be heartbroken if he has ditched her. What she really wants is a rich, indulgent older man. It was just sex between her and Ash—if you're right, and he really has dropped her. Oh, listen . . . isn't that
My Way
? Let's go and dance . . . work off some Christmas pudding.'

The couple strolled back to the party, their voices fading.

For a few minutes more Christie stayed sitting still in the moonlight.

Then she switched on the dressing table lights, and began to repaint her mouth. She found that her hand was trembling slightly. She had to rest her elbow on the table to draw a clean line.

When she returned to the party, she did so cautiously, on the look-out for Ian whom she wanted, to avoid if possible.

'My dance, I think, Christiana,' a voice said, making her jump.

She turned and looked up at Ash. For a man at a Christmas party, his expression was curiously grim. Without waiting for her assent, he swept her into his arms and propelled her on to the dance floor.

THEY danced in silence.

Ash held her close, his hand warm on the small of her back through the delicate silk. She could feel the hardness of his thighs, the solidity of his broad shoulder under her palm.

He made her conscious that, young and fit as she was, her strength was puny compared with his. He was a big, powerful man, and at the moment, for a reason she couldn't quite fathom, he seemed to be extremely annoyed with her.

Pressed against him, she could no longer see his expression. But she felt anger pulsing inside him, and her own trembling started again.

Only the tight clasp of his left hand stopped her right one from shaking.

The slow music ended. There was a short pause before a livelier number began. But by that time Ash, with a vice-like grip on her upper arm, was steering her away from the lights and voices and music, into the moon-dappled shadows of the garden.

It was more extensive than she had realised, and they were far away from the party before he let go of her.

He said curtly, 'I thought you didn't care for men who took it for granted that every young widow must be sex-starved.'

Christie didn't pretend to misunderstand him. 'I don't think Ian is one of those. He was merely doing his duty as a guest, and making an effort to be entertaining.'

'He's on holiday by himself. The Hathaways fell into conversation with him the other night at The Admiral's Inn, found he was alone, and invited him here today out of kindness. Of course he's looking for a woman. No man without one of his own is averse to some no-strings sex to complete his holiday.'

'Perhaps you shouldn't assume that everyone is like you, Ash,' she answered coolly.

'You know the saying—It takes one to know one. Anyway, even if his interest in you were not of that nature, he's years too old for you.

Forty-five if he's a day.'

'You surely don't imagine that, on the strength of sitting next to a man at dinner, I'm in danger of losing my head over him. How ridiculous!'

she expostulated.

'The moment when a butterfly breaks out of the chrysalis and spreads its wings for the first time is precisely the moment when it's most in danger of being snapped up by a predator,' he told her dryly.

'In that case, it's highly imprudent to be out here with you,' she retorted. 'Of all the bare-faced predators, you must be the—' She broke off, regretting the quick flare of indignation.

'You've been listening to gossip, Christiana.' His response was as cool as hers had been heated. 'I've never done anything to you to justify that statement.

One light Christmas kiss under the mistletoe hardly constitutes a pass, would you say? Unless its effect was more potent than I had intended.'

He knew, she thought furiously. He knew what that brief kiss had done to her.

'Come, let's not quarrel, tonight of all nights. It's supposed to be the season of goodwill. If I'm prepared to accept that your intention was not to lead the man on but merely to make him feel liked, perhaps you can accept that my motive was, for once, a desire to protect.'

'Very well, I accept that,' she answered him, in a low tone.

'Good. Then I suggest that we rejoin the others and dance again.'

His gesture invited her to precede him along the path by which they had come.

She hesitated. 'In a moment. First there's something I think I should tell you. I—I've decided to accept your offer, Ash. I know you gave me until New Year's Eve to make up my mind. But as it's made up already, there seems no point in delaying. I should like to stay in Antigua and help you to run Heron's Sound.'

He was silent for such a long time that, remembering her letter of resignation airmailed to England and by now received by the Principal, she felt a quiver of panic.

'You . . . you haven't changed your mind, have you?' she asked anxiously.

'No, no—certainly not. But I've been thinking it over, and there is one proviso I must make.'

She gave a small sigh of relief. 'A proviso? What kind of proviso?'

Again he was silent for some moments and, with his back to the moonlight, she could not read his expression.

At length he said quietly, 'I think, for a number of reasons, that if we're going to work together and, at times, live in the same house, it's advisable for us to marry.'

Christie stepped back a pace, as if from a physical blow. For some minutes shock struck her dumb. She couldn't believe she had heard him correctly. That Ash, the island's arch-philanderer, should now be proposing marriage to her—to her, of all people!— was as paralysing as being told that a tidal wave was on its way and would strike Antigua in fifteen minutes.

'You can't be serious,' she said, at last.

'Perfectly serious, I assure you. It's not a spur-of- the-moment suggestion, but something I've thought over carefully. Would you like me to enumerate my reasons?'

'Yes . . . yes, I should. Frankly I think it's the maddest, most outrageous suggestion I've ever had put to me!'

Ash. folded his arms across his chest. 'It's clear from your earlier remark about my predatory tendencies that you've heard various things which don't redound to my credit. Probably grossly exaggerated, but not without an element of truth. At any rate my reputation is such that no young and attractive woman can associate with me without some people concluding that our relationship is far from platonic. Were we both to sleep at Heron's Sound, with only the staff to chaperone us, not many people would believe we'd occupied separate bedrooms. I don't wish that kind of gossip to attach to you.'

He paused, his dark eyes unfathomable in the deeper shadow cast by his frowning brows.

'Not only for your sake,' he went on, 'but also for John's. He's going to grow up here. I don't want him to overhear slighting remarks about us such as I heard about my father when he married a much younger woman. The knowledge that one's parents are held in contempt by other people can be very wounding to a child. We stand
in loco
parentis
to John, you and I. You've decided to stay here and run the house which I regard as my home. It's the logical course of action to regularise the situation.'

'But we're almost strangers!' Christie expostulated. 'Do you realise it's less than a month since we first laid eyes on each other?'