'He promised,' Davina said bleakly. 'He promised he'd let it be.'

'Then it looks as if he can't-honey, if I were you I'd think twice about Steve. For all that he can be a bastard, he's got a hell of a lot going for him, and I don't only mean in a material sense. He's a man who would certainly look after you and I can't help thinking you need a bit of looking after.'

'But I want someone to really love me…' Davina stopped desolately, then went on with a shrug. 'All we've done so far is fight. You see-'

But Lavinia swirled into the kitchen at that point and said sternly, 'Come, girls. All our guests are here and it's not their fault that we have a domestic dispute in our midst. I need all hands on deck, now!' And she stalked out.

'Our guests!' Loretta marvelled at the same time as Davina said dazedly,

'A domestic dispute!'

They stared at each other until, reluctantly they had to smile. Then Davina sighed, but Loretta said, 'Chin up, chicken! I don't care what you show Steve Warwick, but you're going to show him something tonight! Let's go…'

'You're Davina Smith-Hastings, aren't you?'

It was an hour after she'd been more or less forcibly led into the party and she had to admit it had gone quite well. Lavinia had immediately taken her under her wing and introduced her to people simply as Davina, a friend of ours. But she'd still been sufficiently disturbed not to be able to take in many names or faces, and grateful that everyone she'd met had had a ready supply of small talk. One or two of the women had even commented on her dress and asked her where she'd got such a divine creation. And gradually she'd calmed down and been able to feel like just another guest among the cheerful throng, although she'd given Steve a wide berth. She had not, however, failed to notice a dark, attractive girl in red who appeared to have a slightly proprietorial attitude towards him, and had wondered if this was Loretta's contender from the island. But at all times, for a while, she'd had either Lavinia or Loretta standing by. Now, though, they'd both disappeared, into the kitchen, she guessed, and she was confronting a short, dapper man whose face was vaguely familiar and who had managed to jolt her out of her preoccupation. 'Why?' she said briefly. 'How is Darren?' A nerve moved in her jaw as she said tautly, 'Who are you?'

'Paul Grainger,' he replied easily. 'We were introduced earlier but I got the feeling the name didn't mean much to you.'

'It does now, Mr Grainger,' she replied coldly, 'and the face. But I refused all your television station's requests for an interview on your programme, and nothing has changed.' He shrugged. 'Do you know I have a film crew here on the island, Davina?'

'So what?' she said baldly.

'Well we're here to do a documentary on this unique place; I plan to introduce little segments like that into my programme, but it would certainly have-er-some added value if I could capture Darren Smith-Hastings' ex-wife say, cycling around the place. I could even speculate on why she is employed as a housekeeper, your true position with the Warwick family, I believe, although-' he looked her up and down '-one has to wonder whether Steve Warwick mightn't be your next project. Oh, look, there are so many things I could speculate upon. Did you marry Darren for his money, for example? Did you desert a sinking ship when he lost it? I could even put him in touch with you! The last time I interviewed him, which was not so long ago-he's making some sort of a comeback-he sounded as if he had a bit of a score to settle with you. He mentioned that you only married him to get your father out of the mire. Or-' he paused '-there is an alternative.'

'What?' Davina said in a strangled voice. 'You could give me an interview, Davina. In some faceless room on the island, so no one would know where you are. And you could tell me all about your turbulent life with Darren Smith-Hastings-'

'I think not,' Steve Warwick said from behind Davina. 'You know, Paul, I've never liked your gutter brand of journalism but this is entirely unethical, and it's with no regret that I must ask you to leave. Moreover, if I find you lurking anywhere around Davina, that is something you will regret.'

Paul Grainger stood his ground for nearly a minute then he murmured, 'Well, well-she has got you in. I just hope you don't get a touch of the shorts, old man. Goodnight.'


* * *

'Here.'

'No. Don't feed me any drinks, please,' Davina said rather blindly. 'It happens to me too often these days.' 'Sit down, then,' Steve Warwick said and put the brandy he'd poured her on a table beside a couch. They were in the den with the door firmly closed although the party had started to wind down, and he'd got her there with the minimum of fuss.

'You know what's going to happen now, don't you?' Davina said tightly instead of sitting. 'We're going to become an item on his ghastly little social round-up. And the papers will pick it up and…' She did sit down then.

'Now do you understand why I-'

'Yes, but he could have bumped into you on the beach, Davina. So it was Darren Smith-Hastings,' he said meditatively. 'I wondered if you'd cut your name in half.' 'So what if I did?' she said shortly. 'Do you think he wants you back-it sounded a bit like dog-in-the-manger stuff, to me.' 'He doesn't,' she said bleakly. 'You seem very sure of that.' She rubbed her face. 'I am. All he was trying to do, I would imagine, is retain some part of his reputation by coming over as the wronged husband, particularly if he's trying to make a comeback.' 'I see.'

She looked up wearily and stared at him for a moment.

Then she said flatly, 'You don't believe me, do you? At best, you're wondering about that too now, aren't you?'

'No.'

She got up abruptly and moved restlessly across the room. 'I'll have to leave. I-'

'Davina, I said no.'

'I'll still have to leave,' she murmured impatiently. 'And go where?'

'I don't know, but-'

'So you're afraid Darren Smith-Hastings is likely to pursue you if he finds out where you are, in a mood of-vengeance, say, despite what his public face is?'

She shivered suddenly and whispered before she could stop herself, 'Yes…'

There was silence for a couple of minutes as she stared out of the window through a sudden haze of tears. Then he said, again from right behind her, 'Well, I think in that case your best bet is to throw your lot in with me, my dear. Because, for one thing, he doesn't scare me in the slightest.'

She froze, then turned convulsively, her lips working as she struggled to speak but no sound came, her eyes wide and shocked.

'While, for another thing,' he said barely audibly as he looked down at her and raised a hand to touch her cheek, 'we want each other and there's not a damned thing we can do to change it.' 'No.' She swallowed. 'I mean there is…' 'No, you were right the first time, Davina, there's not. Let me show you.' And his arms closed round her and for the life of her, despite her agitation and confusion, it was impossible not to feel safe suddenly. 'Steve…'

But he started to kiss her, deeply and searchingly, and his hands moved on her body finding the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips, caressing the bare skin of her back and moulding her to him. Then he moved one hand to her hair and the pins she'd used fell out and he spread his fingers through its thick, silken disarray before he released the halter bow at the back of her neck-and all the while he held her against the strong, hard length of him and kissed her as she'd never been kissed before. So that she was conscious only of him and the intimate plundering that neither hurt nor repelled her but did strange things to the pit of her stomach, as if a slow fire was starting to burn and spread through her whole body. A languorous warmth sparked with a dangerously mounting sense of excitement, a tingling all over her, a sense of relief that she could be made to feel like this after all, and a sense of wonder at the marvellous feel of him against her. A desire to explore him as he was her and feel the muscles of his back and shoulders under her hands, the taut diaphragm, to see her skin against his…

But she gasped as he lifted his head at last, gasped a little for breath, but also because she hadn't wanted it to end, and because his long fingers drew the front of her dress away, exposing her breasts. 'Steve…' Her eyes were suddenly wary. But he said, 'Shh… I'm not going to hurt you.' Nor did he, as he still held her with an arm around her waist and used his free hand to touch first one nipple then the other and the most exquisite sensation ran through her body.

'Oh, God,' she whispered and tilted her head back, closing her eyes as those fingers strayed briefly to the soft skin beneath her arm and then he bent his head again and trailed his lips down the column of her neck to the valley between her breasts and, once again in turn, took each nipple in his mouth.

'Steve…please…' Her body trembled in his arms with desire and unthinkingly she raised a hand and pressed it through his hair. 'It's too much…'

'Perhaps you're right-for here,' he murmured, raising his head and looking into her eyes. 'But now do you see, Davina?'

She couldn't answer as her lashes fluttered up and down; she couldn't breathe properly, she found. Her pulses were still racing and she yearned for him to touch her again because it had been the sweetest kind of torture she'd ever known, and it was more than torture to have to stop… As the weight of all this hit her, delicate colour flooded her cheeks, her neck and her breasts, and her eyes dilated suddenly.

'Hey,' he said softly. 'Don't for one moment think you're alone. Letting you go now is going to take about every ounce of will-power I possess, but I've just had a thought.' And he moved her slightly away so he could do up her dress. 'There,' he said with a faint, grave smile and his arms still around her. 'Almost proper. Will you be all right if I leave for a few minutes?'