Davina looked surprised.

'A rather sore point with some,' he said wryly.

'So you don't own your land?'

'Not freehold, no. We have a system of perpetual and special leases for islanders only, which is designed to protect the island as well as the locals. For example, if you wish to sell your lease it has to be valued and offered to island residents first, at that valuation. Only if it's not purchased by a resident may it then be offered for sale on the open market.'

'I suppose, then,' she said slowly, 'a lot of it is passed down from generation to generation.'

'You suppose right.'

'So-I asked you this before but we got sidetracked-'

'Yes, my grandfather was descended from one of the early families to settle on the island.'

Davina was silent for a time. It was obvious that Steve Warwick was a very well-respected resident of Lord Howe Island-everyone they'd spoken to had made that quite clear-and that he had a finger in a lot of pies. He'd shown her his two tourist boats that made sightseeing trips round the island, and fishing trips to Ball's Pyramid. He also owned a shop, a restaurant and a guesthouse. She glanced sideways at him involuntarily and found herself wondering why he'd never married. Because, if you were anyone else but her, you would have to admit he had an awful lot going for him. There was so much inherent ease and lightly held authority in his dealings with all the people they'd met, you could be forgiven for imagining him being-well, anything, she mused. There had been, only yesterday, evidence of how dangerous it was to cross him. There was the cultured way he spoke and his lovely house. And there was that unmistakable assurance of a man who was exciting to women…

'You were thinking, Mrs Hastings?'

Davina twitched her gaze away and felt her nerves prickle once more. You couldn't call the confines of the Land Rover cramped but it was impossible not to be aware of things like his hands on the wheel, the width of his shoulders, the length and strength of his legs, not to mention a rather powerful intelligence from which it was a little difficult to hide… She decided not even to try. 'I was wondering why you'd never married, Mr Warwick,' she murmured. He lifted a wry eyebrow. 'What brought that on?'

Davina waved a hand. 'You seem to have a small empire here; you seem,' she paused, then went on deliberately, 'to have a lot of things going for you.'

'Are you saying that from the conviction that I should at least share it with a woman?'

'No. I don't hold those kind of convictions,' she replied calmly. 'But it is the accepted convention, if you like, for very normal reasons, and more so here than otherwise, I would imagine-keep the island in the family kind of thing.'

He grimaced, but said, 'Well, the answer is quite simple. I've never met a woman I-couldn't live without.'

'Dear me.' Davina had to smile. 'Are your standards impossibly high?' He shot her a narrow, glinting little look. 'Perhaps.' 'Or are there times when you're just so-abrasive that no woman has been able to put up with you?' 'That could be true, too,' he agreed blandly. 'Well, you have got a problem, Mr Warwick.' 'Davina,' he said gently, 'don't concern yourself with it. I realise most women's minds tend to run along that track, they simply can't help themselves it seems, but the more obvious they are, the less-interested I tend to get.'

Davina kept a hold on her temper and replied smoothly. 'I do apologise-I was talking generally but you obviously mistook it for a personal interest in the matter. Perhaps I didn't make myself very clear.'

'Perhaps not,' he drawled.

'Oh, for heaven's sake!' Her temper eluded her. 'Do you seriously imagine I'm now making plans to- somehow inveigle a wedding-ring out of you?'

'You did bring the subject up,' he pointed out. 'And your generalities did have a personal touch, despite your denial. You mentioned my abrasiveness and impossibly high standards-'

'And I should never have opened my mouth,' she said bitterly. 'There are some men who just can't help taking anything one says in a personal context. You're obviously a prime example.'

'And you, Mrs Hastings,' he said softly, 'are obviously somewhat intrigued.'

'Oh, no, I'm not,' she countered. 'The very last thing I intend to do with my life, Mr Warwick, is to allow some man to have any say in it-so put that in your pipe and smoke it,' she added, and leant against the door frame with a hand to her brow and a weary look of defiance in her eyes.

Steve Warwick drove in silence for about five minutes. Then he said, 'So, he was a right bastard?'

Davina looked out of her window.

'How did he get you in in the first place?'

'How do they all-?' She stopped and clenched her teeth. 'Please, don't say any more.'

'OK.' He shrugged good-humouredly. 'There's one thing we haven't discussed-your time off.'

'I don't need any set time off.'

'What about your photography?'

'What I usually do on these jobs is just take the time when it comes, if it comes.'

'I see.'

'You don't approve?'

'I'd be a fool not to approve,' he replied drily, and turned the Land Rover off the road and across the cattle-grid.

'Thank you very much for the tour,' Davina said stiffly. 'Would you care to let me know your plans for the rest of the day? Will you be home for lunch et cetera, in other words?'

Steve Warwick pulled the Land Rover up beside the house and turned to her with all the wicked mockery he was capable of glinting in his hazel eyes. 'Do you know how that sounded?' he queried. 'Like a much-maligned wife conducting a domestic dispute with her errant husband-we'll have to watch ourselves, Mrs Hastings. Uh-I'll be home for dinner, so you can have the rest of the day to yourself. Well, you and Maeve, my cleaning lady, that is. Good luck with her.' He leant over to open her door and added, 'Off you go, Davina. I know you'd love to hit me, but if I know Maeve she'll be spying on us from somewhere.'

CHAPTER THREE

'I always say to people that Mr Warwick is a lovely, lovely man. I know! I know he can be a bit hard to handle sometimes, but he's really dependable.'

Davina drew a deep breath and stared a little helplessly at Steve Warwick's cleaning lady, who resembled nothing so much as a talking, walking beach ball, from her round red face to her round, brightly clad figure. 'Well, I wouldn't know yet,' she murmured.

'Take it from me, luv,' Maeve confided. She had not, in fact, stopped talking since they'd met an hour ago. 'Now, is there any china you'd like me to get out and dust off? Mrs Warwick-that's his grandmother-she's got an eye like an eagle. She could see a speck of dust on them rafters.' Maeve looked upwards and pointed. 'So-'

'No, no thank you,' Davina said hastily and looked around a little wildly. 'Uh-oh, yes, I'd like their bathrooms to be polished up if you wouldn't mind, Maeve. Then perhaps you could start the ironing. I've aired some sheets for them on the line, I'd like them to go through the Elna Press.'

'Certainly!' Maeve said with a wide smile. 'I love that machine. Takes an awful lot of the slog out of ironing. See what I mean about him, Davina? Mr Warwick? It'd be a lucky wife who got him; there's not a thing to make housekeeping easier he hasn't thought of!' And with this further paean of praise she rolled upstairs with bucket and mop and an assortment of cleaning agents.

Davina breathed a sigh of relief and made herself a cup of coffee. She also darted a barbed thought at Maeve's Mr Warwick who could have warned her beyond simply wishing her good luck, she felt-added to all the other things she felt about him. But, as the day wore on, she got more used to Maeve's ways and found that as long as she wasn't given anything too delicate to do, she was a tower of strength. She even cleaned and shone the barbecue which had been neglected since its last use with vigour and much good will.

All the same, when she left at three o'clock, the peace and silence was like a blessing. Davina walked around the house and decided it was nearly perfect and also decided that she was hot, it was a beautiful day, and she'd like nothing more than a swim. So she put her togs on beneath short white shorts and a shirt, stowed a beach towel in the carrier of the bike she chose, donned a helmet and set off towards Blinky Beach.

It was sheer magic pedalling through the golden afternoon with green, green grassy fields leading down towards the lagoon on one side and wooded hills rising on the other. She passed a dell of agapanthas and had to stop and simply gaze at their blue and white heads tossing gently in the breeze. She also couldn't help but feel glad that Steve Warwick had chosen the almost deserted southern end of the island for his house because the feeling of space and aloneness didn't disturb her at all now.

Past the airport she discovered a swamp full of bird-life alongside a paddock of contented cows and she made two resolutions: never to leave home without her camera again, and to buy a book so that she'd be able to identify all the birds.

There was the inevitable bike rack at the bottom of the steps that led over the grassy slope to Blinkys, with several bikes in it and she added hers to it with a slight smile. The beach, she discovered, was perfect. A long crescent of fine sand beneath the almost limitless blue sky, bordered at each end by rocky outcrops and with a decent surf rolling in. The few people on it looked tiny and insignificant and she wasted no time.

The water was delicious, cold and bracing at first but, once you were in, marvellously refreshing. She was a good swimmer and enjoyed surfing and she must have spent half an hour playing in and under the waves before she caught a roller back to the beach, and stood up with water cascading off her and wiping it out of her eyes to come face to face with Steve Warwick.