Sophie Weston - The Englishman's Bride

Good girl, thought Philip, surprising himself.

‘No. You can look it up. Try eucarida in the encyclopaedia and work from there.’

He could see that she would do exactly that.

‘Eucarida,’ she said, committing it to memory. ‘How do you know that? Are you here with the conservation group?’

Conservation group? Philip hesitated. He vaguely remembered the security report on the other groups in the hotel. Now he thought about it, he was not surprised. This was an area that was rich in uncodified species as well as wild men and wars.

‘No,’ he said regretfully, ‘I’m not with the conservation group. But once—a hundred years ago—I thought I might be a marine biologist.’

She tilted her head in the darkness. It was a perfect shape, under the long mermaid’s hair that curved onto her shoulders. Her shadowed body looked as if it had turned smooth and streamlined in the sea, so that was the element to which it now naturally belonged. He had a sudden almost overwhelming longing to run his hand down that smooth curve from the crown of her head to her unseen toes.

But she was saying, amused, ‘A hundred years ago? You don’t sound that old.’

Philip was disconcerted. In spite of the darkness—or maybe because of it—she seemed to sense it. She laughed again and began to dance a little in the water.

‘You’re not that old, are you?’ she teased.

She had a husky voice with a slight catch in it, as if she was constantly on the brink of tears or laughter. It fascinated him.

‘What makes you say that?’ he parried, wanting to keep her talking. Even though she could not see him, he smiled at the beguiling shadow.

‘Well, if you were, you wouldn’t be standing here talking to me, wishing you were in the water too,’ she said softly.

This time he was more than disconcerted. He was struck to the heart. He had not known he was wishing any such thing. But he was. He was.

Philip’s smile died.

I can’t afford this, he thought.

The girl did not pick up his turmoil. She did a little boogie on the spot. Those unseen toes were deliberately stirring a thousand shooting stars into zipping through the turbulent water.

‘Come on in. It’s lovely and warm.’

Oh, but he was tempted. He could not remember ever being so tempted before. To slip out of the grey suit, the tie and the good manners and slide into the water with her. To swim and play like seals. Not responsible to anyone. Not responsible for anyone. Just abandoning himself to the moment and the lovely, uncomplicated girl.

He was already discarding the lightweight grey jacket, standard garb for negotiators in tropical climates, when she put both hands on the sand bar and lifted herself out of the water. The water streamed off her in an unearthly glow. Long legs, long hair, limbs that were supple and warm and headily female. Philip’s body responded instantly and unequivocally.

She was unaware of that too.

‘They leave the swimming stuff in a hut under the trees.’

‘Do they?’ His voice sounded odd even to himself.

‘Yes, it’s amazing. Like a tree house only on the ground. There were a lot of sky-blue birds with tails like saloon dancers’ skirts zipping around it earlier.’

‘The Asian fairy bluebird,’ said Philip, in his most detached tone. His palms were wet. He clenched them, fighting for self-control. ‘You’re very observant.’

How long before she observed the effect she was having on him?

He saw a flash of white teeth in the darkness. ‘Thank you,’ said the husky voice, laughing. ‘Come on. I’ll show you where it is.’

For a moment he had a vision of them both swimming, playing out in the bay as she had been doing earlier. It was so clear, that vision. It was as if he had always known there would be this night, this moon, this girl.

If only—

Then the accustomed discipline struck. It staked him to the ground like fallen masonry after an earthquake. Remember your duty, his grandfather would have said.

Duty. Dignity. Appropriate behaviour. Good judgement. Responsibility.

‘No,’ he said in a strangled voice.

‘But it’s just over there.’

‘No.’

He had better command over his voice now, though he stepped unobtrusively away from her damp body. She was silver in the moonlight.

All he could think of was that she must not detect the effect she was having on him. That it would spoil a perfect moment.

‘I’d better not. I’ve played hooky long enough.’

She seemed disappointed. Blessings on her beautiful, spontaneous head, thought Philip. She actually wanted him to enjoy himself.

‘Not even for five minutes?’ she coaxed, that enchanting catch in her voice making it sound as if she really cared; as if her disappointment was real.

His head was still whirling. But his self-command was practised and he could switch it on at a moment’s notice.

‘Not even for five minutes,’ he said regretfully. ‘In fact, I must go. They’ll come looking for me if I don’t get back.’

‘Oh.’ More than disappointed; almost bereft.

He allowed himself to take her hand. Her fingers were long and slim and surprisingly warm after her swim.

‘Anyway, I’ve had my indulgence for the night,’ he said teasingly. ‘I met a water nymph.’

Her hand twitched in his.

Philip was annoyed with himself. Now, why did I say that? It makes me sound like an elderly classics master.

Maybe it was to prove to himself as much as her that he was not an elderly schoolmaster that he forgot about not spoiling the perfect moment. Hardly realising what he was doing, he pulled her towards him.

He heard her startled breath. He felt smooth shoulders and the damp stuff of her swimsuit over the glorious warmth of breast and hip. He felt bone and muscle and curving flesh. Even then, he might have stepped away.

But then he felt her response.

For a tiny second she was his, mouth to fierce mouth.

Then, like water, she slid out of his arms and dived back into the lagoon, powering away for the open sea.

Behind him, there were voices.

‘Sir Philip? Are you there?’ The minder, slightly ruffled, as if someone had taken him to task.

‘Are you all right, sir?’ That was his aide. Presumably the one doing the taking to task.

And the restaurant manager. ‘Can we seat the guests now, sir? We can start to serve the meal as soon as you like.’

Responsibility! Here it comes again, thought Philip. Back in the cockpit and off we go for another trip round the same old sticking points.

But they were his sticking points. And his responsibility.

He turned and went to do his duty.

But he sent a last, lingering glance after the silver trail flickering away from him, never to return.

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