Sophie Weston - The Innocent And The Playboy

‘No, we can’t.’

‘But I’d rather.’ Her embarrassment felt like panic. Her voice came out too high, too defensive. ‘I can’t take too much sun. My skin—’

He looked at her. It was like a caress. It silenced her. The sexy smile grew.

‘Believe me, your skin would not like sitting under manchineel trees.’

‘What?’

He put a hand against one of the slim branches. It was a large hand, long-fingered and brown as a nut. For no reason she could think of, Rachel’s mouth dried.

‘Manchineel,’ he said. ‘Poison apple. Didn’t anyone warn you?’

Rachel shook her head. ‘What’s to warn?’

He frowned. ‘Well, the fruit’s poisonous, but you probably would not eat that. The leaves give off a sticky sap like lime trees. It’s not exactly poisonous but it can irritate the skin. Some people react badly. There have been nasty cases of blistering. The bad thing is to be under the trees when it rains. The rain washes the sap off the leaves onto the people taking shelter beneath.’

‘Oh.’ Rachel looked at the beach, powder-white in a sunlight so intense that it seemed to hum. The sky was so pale that it was hardly blue. There was not a cloud in sight. She put her head on one side. ‘An immediate danger, do you think?’

He stopped frowning and gave a bark of laughter. ‘Maybe not today.’

‘I’ll bear it in mind for the next time it rains.’

‘Bear it in mind for the next time you look at your contract,’ he said cynically. ‘Suing Anders can be lucrative.’

Rachel stared. ‘My contract?’

‘Working conditions are not supposed to include poisonous trees. Unreasonable hazard, if you were not warned.’

‘Working conditions?’

But he was not listening to her. He was running across the baking sand to the shade of the coconut palms. He looked fit and free and utterly at one with the wild landscape. Rachel followed more slowly.

So he had not realised she was a guest. In fact he had made exactly the same mistake about her as she had about him, when she’d first seen him. She thought about the other guests, their casual acceptance of every luxury, their brittle laughter and their dark, dark tans. He had recognised at once that she was a misfit. It was not really surprising, she thought wryly.

By the time she reached the tree he had found her sunblock and towel. He shook the towel free of sand and spread it for her ceremoniously. Rachel laughed and sat down. But the misunderstanding still worried her.

She said, ‘Look, I know I don’t fit in here—’

He interrupted. ‘Why should you? You’re twenty years younger than most of them.’

It was closer to thirty years, if she were honest. Most of the house guests were Anders’ contemporaries.

‘That’s not the point.’

He dropped down beside her and Rachel fell abruptly silent. She found quite suddenly that she could not remember what she had been going to say. The pirate sent her an amused, comprehending glance.

‘Oh, but it is. You’re not here to fit in. You’re here to help them convince themselves they’re having a good time.’ The cynicism was harsh.

Rachel shifted uncomfortably.

‘I’m not—’

‘Yes, you are.’

He stretched out, propping himself on one elbow, and looked at her. His eyes were not unkind but they had a remote expression. Once again Rachel had the overwhelming impression of weariness.

‘What do you think you’re here for? To run aerobics sessions? Guide them round the reef?’

She opened her lips to correct him but he waved the suggestion away before she could speak.

‘It doesn’t matter what it says in the contract. Your real job here is to be their audience.’

‘What?’

‘Such an innocent.’ He sounded almost sad.

Unexpectedly he cupped her face. It was a tender gesture, quite without sexual intent. But it set something fluttering under Rachel’s breastbone that she had never been aware of before. She drew back instinctively. His hand fell.

She rushed into speech, the words tumbling out, only half-aware of what she was saying. More aware of the small reverberations she could still feel in every nerve and muscle. Aware of the need to hide that schoolgirl vulnerability to his fleeting gesture.

‘You don’t understand. It’s not like that at all. They don’t want me as an audience. They don’t want me at all. I should never have come. The way they look at me.’

He said quietly, ‘You’re talking about envy.’

Rachel shook her head violently.

‘No, I’m not. You haven’t seen it.’ She remembered last night’s barbecue, the way people’s eyes had glazed over as she’d approached. ‘It’s as if I’m spoiling things somehow. Like I’m an alien or something—some creature that’s put a tentacle out of the sea and pulled itself up the beach to spoil the party.’

There was a little silence. Rachel realised she was shaking.

At last he said slowly, ‘Spoil the party?’

She made a helpless gesture. ‘I know it must sound stupid.’

‘No.’ He sat up.propping himself against the bark of the coconut palm. ‘No, it sounds very lifelike.’ She felt his reflective gaze on her face. ‘They really didn’t know what they were getting in you, did they?’

Before she could answer there were footsteps behind them. The manservant appeared at the top of the slope, bearing a rush basket.

The pirate looked up.

‘Our picnic,’ he said, amused.

He got lazily to his feet and went to receive it. He exchanged words with the man which Rachel could not catch. Then he brought the basket back to the shade of the tree.

‘He’ll pick it up later. All we have to do is eat, drink and enjoy ourselves.’ He looked at the pale crescent of sand and gave the first unshadowed smile she had seen from him. ‘Shouldn’t be too tough.’

It was not. They swam, then talked while Rachel unpacked the basket, finding delicacies wrapped in foil and cool-boxes. There was flaked crab in a spice that burnt the tongue, barbecued prawns soaked in lime, wonderful crisp bread, a cornucopia of exotic fruits, and wine—wine such as she had never imagined, sharp and sweet at the same time, the bottle icy cool in its astronaut suit.

The pirate did not eat much, she saw, though he watched her appreciation with lazy amusement.

‘It’s wonderful,’ she sighed at last, licking mango juice from her fingers.

He was propped against the tree.

‘You like your pleasures simple.’

‘Simple...’ She stared. Then, seeing he meant it, she burst out laughing. ‘And what would you call luxury?’

He was watching her with an odd, quizzical expression. He shrugged at her question.

‘Oh, something with linen tablecloths and at least three Michelin stars. You’d have to wear diamonds.’

Rachel choked. ‘I almost never wear my diamonds to swim,’ she said gravely.

His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘Why is that?’

‘It attracts the sharks. Or so they tell me.’

For a moment the strong face tightened. ‘I’ve heard that too.’

Rachel looked at him. He had been a friendly, easy companion over lunch. So why was she reluctant to ask him about himself? He was self-evidently not the usual type of visitor to the Villa Azul, in spite of his familiarity with the names of the staff and the quality of the company. What was more, he had elected to spend half the day in her company. Her curiosity was perfectly understandable. Yet she sensed a reserve in him which would not permit invasion. And she did not think he would be kind if she intruded too far.

So she did not ask him who he was and what he was doing as Anders’ guest. Instead she said carefully, ‘Meet a lot of sharks, do you?’

His expression was inscrutable. ‘My share.’