Pale Orchid. Anne Mather

yacht, the Laura M, was moored at the end of the jetty. Laura had thought he might have changed the yacht—or changed its name—but the 84 foot schooner was exactly as she remembered it, its trim white lines gleaming as it nudged against the boardwalk. A man in white shorts and a knitted cotton shirt was already on board, leaning on the rail, talking to a member of the crew of the adjoining craft. But he quickly straightened when he saw Jason, and Laura’s lips parted as she recognised Alec Cowray, the captain of the Laura M.

      ‘Good morning, Mr Montefiore,’ he greeted Jason politely, lifting his cap and then pushing it back on his bald pate. ‘I didna expect ye to be coming aboard this day.’

      ‘I didn’t know myself, Mr Cowray,’ responded Jason drily, stepping on to the deck. ‘Don’t disturb yourself. I shan’t be staying longer than a few hours. I gather we do have some food on board?’

      ‘No problem,’ averred the stout Scotsman, his expression mirroring his confusion, and then he saw Laura. ‘Christ!’ he exclaimed, forgetting to moderate his language. ‘I don’t believe it!’

      ‘Hello, Mr Cowray. How are you?’ asked Laura awkwardly, following Jason towards the forward hatch. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

      ‘It’s good to see you, too, miss,’ declared Alec Cowray fervently. He looked helplessly towards his employer. ‘Will that be lunch for two, Mr Montefiore?’

      ‘Provisionally,’ replied Jason crisply, giving Laura a thoughtful glance. ‘Don’t go to a lot of trouble, Alec. Miss Huyton may not be staying.’

      Laura pressed her lips together to prevent herself from voicing an indignant comment as she followed Jason down the gleaming stairway. She was more convinced than ever now that he knew exactly why she had come to the islands, and she fed her resentment in an effort to dispel the effect her surroundings were having on her. He had brought her here deliberately, she thought, knowing what association it would have for her. The first time Jason had made love with her had been aboard this yacht, and she averted her eyes determinedly from the panelled doors to his stateroom. She knew the craft so well—she knew there were three suites; an upper and lower saloon; and a well-equipped galley aft. Yet, for all its size, a crew of three could handle it, using the powerful diesel engines when the sails were not in use.

      Jason led the way into the forward saloon, a beautifully furnished living area, with cushioned banquettes, panelled walls, and a soft carpet underfoot. From its windows on three sides, one had an uninterrupted view when the craft was sailing, and Laura remembered moonlit evenings, after she and Jason had dined alone, sitting here and enjoying the starlit beauty of the night …

      ‘Will you have a drink?’

      While she had been absorbing the saloon’s familiarity, Jason had opened up the fitted bar and was presently examining its contents. ‘Gin? Scotch? Vodka? Or would you like me to mix you a Chi-Chi?’ he inquired, mentioning the island cocktail which had once been her favourite.

      ‘Nothing, thank you,’ she responded tautly, seating herself on the low banquette and imprisoning her hands between her knees. ‘I—well, I’d like to get this over with. I believe you know why I’ve come.’

      Jason poured himself a scotch, despite the early hour, and after adding several cubes of ice, looked at her over the rim of the glass. ‘I have a fairly good idea,’ he conceded cynically, swallowing a generous mouthful. ‘I suppose you assume my agreeing to see you gives you the edge. Well—I shouldn’t bank on it, if I were you.’

      Laura felt the colour pour into her cheeks at his scathing words, and it was all she could do to remain sitting. But standing would be equally as perilous, and she didn’t want him to see how nervous she really was.

      ‘I have no—preconceptions,’ she declared now, holding up her head and concentrating on the tasselled cord securing a fall of velvet curtain. The words stuck in her throat, but she had to say them: ‘I’m—grateful—you agreed to see me.’

      Jason lowered his glass. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t?’ he inquired mockingly, and she bent her head to study the tightly clenched bones of her knees.

      ‘I thought it was possible,’ she agreed carefully. ‘As I said before, Logan didn’t seem to think …’

      ‘Phil Logan was only doing his job as he saw it. He knows we split up. I guess he got the wrong idea.’

      Laura quivered, and when she lifted her eyes to his, the resentment she was feeling was mirrored in their depths. ‘You mean—he thought you got tired of me, don’t you?’ she demanded painfully. ‘Did you disabuse him?’

      ‘You’re here, aren’t you?’ remarked Jason flatly. ‘That should mean something, even to Logan.’

      Laura absorbed his words with a troubled frown. ‘You’re—very generous,’ she murmured unwillingly. ‘I—don’t know what to say.’

      ‘I’m sure you’ll think of something,’ retorted Jason tersely, finishing the scotch in his glass. ‘I suggest you tell me what you’ve been doing since you left. I know; but I’d like to hear it in your words, just so we understand one another.’

      Laura caught her breath. ‘What do you mean?’ she exclaimed, shaking her head. ‘You—know—what I’ve been doing?’

      Jason sighed. ‘Must we go into this right now?’

      ‘Yes, I think we must.’

      ‘Okay.’ He set down his glass, and came to stand in front of her. ‘But first, I think I should sample the merchandise, don’t you? I mean, it has been three years, and I may have overestimated your appeal!’ And before she could move or even comprehend his meaning, he had circled her wrist with his fingers and jerked her to her feet.

      The warm strength of his lean fingers on her nape, as he drew her unresistingly towards him, was the last coherent awareness Laura had before his lips descended on hers. Disbelief; resentment; panic; all were briefly subdued by the hard pressure of his mouth, and her shaken disconcertment opened her lips to his tongue.

      His free arm slid around her, drawing her closer into his embrace, and it was the sensuous abrasion of his shirt against her fingers that brought her a returning measure of sanity. But although she fought free of him without too much effort, his shocking behaviour had disturbed her, and she knew he had sensed her involuntary response.

      ‘How—how dare you?’ she got out, when her breathing had steadied, and she saw the wary gleam that entered his eyes at her words.

      ‘How dare I?’ he asked, echoing her question. ‘What did you expect? An apology?’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t feel I have anything to apologise for.’

      Laura blinked. ‘What are you talking about?’

      Jason expelled his breath heavily. ‘Laura, let’s stop playing these games, shall we? You know why you’re here, and I know why you’re here. Okay—maybe I did precipitate matters a little, but you can’t deny you wanted it, just as much as I did.’

      Laura gulped. ‘There’s some mistake …’

      ‘Is there?’

      ‘Yes.’ Her tongue circled her lips with increasing rapidity. ‘I … I don’t know what—kind of an advantage you think Pamela’s situation gives you, but—but so far as I am concerned …’

      ‘Wait a minute!’ Jason’s harsh voice broke into her stammered outburst, and she broke off at once, staring at him with troubled eyes. ‘Run that by me again,’ he said grimly. ‘Who is Pamela?’

      ‘You know who Pamela is,’ she exclaimed. ‘Pamela Huyton. My sister Pamela. Don’t pretend you don’t know about her and Mike!’

      Jason fell back a step, still regarding her with distinct incredulity. ‘Your sister Pamela?’ he repeated blankly. ‘What the hell would I know about your sister, for Christ’s sake? And Mike? Mike