A Masterful Man. Lindsay Armstrong

frowned. ‘Of course, but—’

      ‘I don’t think I’ve seen anything as spectacular and when I’m not moonlighting as a housekeeper I’m a passionate amateur photographer, you see. Mr Warwick,’ she said with sudden decision, ‘to be honest I doubt very much that you and I could work together in any sort of harmony, but I’m afraid I can’t leave Lord Howe as soon as I’d planned—I need to photograph those mountains. So if we could postpone this discussion for a little while and if you could just direct me to a suitable spot before that rainbow fades, I’d be very grateful.’

      * * *

      Mount Gower and Mount Lidgbird, forming the southern end of Lord Howe Island, were not that high as mountains go, but what they lacked in height they made up for in many ways, Davina discovered, as she stood without her shoes on a wet grassy point opposite them. Dark, sheer and austere and rising straight out of the sea, with a threatening sky behind them and a rainbow shimmering across them, they quite took her breath away. White water boiled around their bases and all sorts of sea birds wheeled and called in a late afternoon frenzy about their craggy faces. And all this in the middle of this vast ocean, she thought, hundreds of miles from anywhere—I feel like Captain Cook! That’s the only thing lacking: a tall ship threading its way through the reef...

      And so absorbed was she, as she set up her tripod and started photographing, that it wasn’t until with a sigh she took her last shot that she realised S. Warwick was standing a few paces away watching her thoughtfully.

      ‘Oh. Thank you—the light’s fading now so I won’t take any more. I do appreciate your driving me here; you probably think I’m quite mad!’ She telescoped her tripod and started to pack her camera away. ‘Uh...’ She looked around a bit blankly.

      ‘You were going to say—what now?’ he suggested with a trace of irony.

      ‘Well.’ She grimaced. ‘Yes...’

      ‘How about a drink?’

      ‘Oh, I—’

      ‘Don’t argue, Mrs Hastings,’ he returned. ‘Just do as you’re told. We still have a discussion to conclude—I think it’s the least you owe me.’

      Davina hesitated, but there was little she could do; there was no one about, no buildings that she could see, nothing but wild and wonderful Lord Howe and the South Pacific. So she climbed back into S. Warwick’s unusually well-sprung Land Rover.

      * * *

      They didn’t drive far, towards the base of Mount Lidgbird in fact and they did pass one guest-house before he turned off the narrow road on to a side track and they came to a small compound of houses in a valley.

      ‘Is this it?’ she enquired.

      ‘This is it.’

      ‘It’s very—lonely,’ she commented.

      ‘It would take you about twenty minutes by bike to ride to the community hall, the so-called centre of the island,’ he commented.

      Davina said no more as she alighted and followed him through a stand of tall Norfolk pines towards the main house. And she had to admit that it was a lovely house built entirely of timber with two stories and a steeply pitched roof. She also noted that the front door was unlocked as she followed him through and she gasped with pleasure because, even in the fading daylight, she was presented with another marvellous view through wide glass windows of Mounts Lidgbird and Gower.

      ‘Which is entirely why,’ S. Warwick said, ‘I chose this lonely spot.’ And he waited a few moments before switching on some lights, thereby negating the view.

      ‘I see,’ Davina said a little lamely as she looked around and couldn’t fail to be further impressed. From where they were standing, two steps led down to a large living-area and the wall of windows with their marvellous view, and it was all panelled in a deep, rich wood with shining wooden floors. Grouped at one end were three long, plump sofas around a large glass and forged-iron table. The sofas were covered in a shadowy chintz print in colours of pink and green and the forged iron was tinted an old, soft green that matched. In the other direction was a dining setting, again a glass and forged-iron table surrounded by eight chairs. There were a few occasional tables with lamps, and chairs scattered around, a beautiful Chinese carpet between the two settings and the whole impression was one of space, elegance and comfort.

      She looked up and saw a soaring ceiling with a gallery running round it and guessed the bedrooms, or some of them, led off it, and she was just looking around for a staircase when he said, ‘Sit down, Mrs Hastings. What would you like to drink?’

      Davina hesitated again, which he took note of and said witheringly, ‘I don’t plan to make you drunk for the purposes of seduction in this lonely spot, believe me.’

      She bit her lip and shrugged. ‘All right. I’ll have a brandy and soda, thank you. But—’

      ‘But you don’t entirely trust me yet,’ he filled in for her with a certain malicious humour.

      Davina cast him a speaking look and walked calmly down the two steps towards the sofas. But she did say over her shoulder, ‘No, I don’t. As to whether I could ever like you, I have the gravest possible doubts about that, too, Mr Warwick.’

      ‘Well, I wouldn’t worry too much about it,’ he replied as he opened a tall, beautiful antique oak cabinet and pulled forward two glasses. ‘You wouldn’t be alone and we need see very little of each other.’

      Davina tossed her head and sat down facing the view and presently he handed her a glass and sat down opposite her.

      ‘Cheers,’ he said. ‘Would you care to tell me what you meant about being a photographer when you weren’t moonlighting as a housekeeper?’

      Davina sipped her drink then said wryly, ‘An unfortunate choice of words. What I meant was that photography is...what I would like to be my chosen career, but it’s not a career I make much money from, yet, so from time to time I do the other thing I’m good at which is temporary housekeeping. It’s an ideal combination, actually, and—’ she paused and looked levelly at him ‘—should you still be worried about that term moonlighting, I’ve been thoroughly vetted by the agency—they have very high standards and they’ve checked me out from top to bottom, so you can rest assured I won’t be pinching the silver or anything like that. I also have a degree from a technical college in catering—does that help you, Mr Warwick?’

      He lay back and looked at her meditatively. ‘So, you’ve decided to do the job,’ he said idly, at last.

      Davina shot him a cold little look. ‘No, I haven’t, not yet. I was merely trying to make the point that I’m trustworthy and respectable.’

      ‘It still seems to be an odd combination,’ he mused, unperturbed. ‘It also—’ he looked down at his glass and frowned ‘—indicates a preference for a gypsy sort of lifestyle—how come?’

      ‘Just the way I am, I guess,’ she said blandly.

      He raised an eyebrow. ‘And then there’s the jump from catering college to photography.’

      She said nothing but sipped her drink again.

      ‘And how come,’ he pursued, ‘if you’re so determinedly a “Mrs” you don’t wear a wedding-ring?’

      ‘I thought I told you, that’s my business—’

      ‘Well, not really.’ S. Warwick sat forward. ‘I mean, were you—moonlighting as a married woman, for example, for reasons best known to yourself,’ he said with soft satire and smiled a sort of tigerish little smile, ‘it could be my business too.’

      ‘I fail to see why.’

      ‘I’ll tell you—because if you were misrepresenting yourself in one thing, you could do so in others, despite being vetted from top to bottom.’

      Davina grimaced. ‘I still fail