Images Of Love. Anne Mather

glad I’ve met you like this,’ she said, after a moment. ‘I—I wanted to apologise. About yesterday. I—I didn’t mean what I said to sound the way it did.’

      ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Robert swam to the side, and draped his arms over the rim. ‘Now, do you mind? I’m getting cold.’

      ‘Oh! Oh, of course.’

      Tobie scrambled to her feet then, retrieving the robe and bringing it back to the shallow steps she could now see below the level of the water.

      ‘Let me help you,’ she said unthinkingly, and saw the darkening anger in his eyes.

      ‘I can manage,’ he insisted, dragging the robe out of her hands and tossing it down on to the side of the pool. ‘Go away, Tobie. Let me do this my way. I don’t need your assistance.’

      She sighed, still lingering. ‘I’m not squeamish, you know,’ she ventured. ‘I’d like to help you. Where’s your chair? Let me get it for you.’ She looked round, her brow furrowing. ‘Where is it?’

      ‘Go away, Tobie!’ There was real anger in his voice now, and she looked down at him frustratedly.

      ‘Why won’t you let me help you? Why won’t you tell me where your chair is? How did you get here?’

      With a groan of exasperation he rested his forehead on the rim of the pool, and then said in a muffled tone: ‘I walked here. On sticks. Didn’t Mark tell you about those? I’m sure he must have done. Mark’s very meticulous about my condition.’

      Tobie remembered now. ‘He—he did say something,’ she admitted in a low voice. ‘I—er—I’ll go and take a shower. I’ll see you later—’

      ‘No, wait!’ Now it was Robert who detained her, hauling himself up on to the side of the pool and sitting there as she had done, with his feet in the water. She was surprised to see that in spite of his debility, his body and legs were deeply tanned, and she guessed that he spent long hours in the sun. His only attire was the sawn-off denim shorts he had worn to swim in, their frayed edges drawing her attention to the muscled strength of his thighs.

      ‘Look,’ he said quietly, ‘I’d rather you didn’t tell Mark you’d found me here.’ He hunched his shoulders, exposing the white bones under the skin of his back. There was not an ounce of spare flesh on him, and she wondered, with a ridiculous sense of responsibility, whether he was eating enough. ‘He doesn’t—that is, I’d rather he didn’t know about this until I’m more—proficient. Do you know what I’m saying?’

      ‘I think so.’ Tobie nodded. ‘You mean that Mark doesn’t know you use the pool.’

      ‘Something like that,’ Robert agreed, resting his chin on his chest. ‘Do you mind?’

      Tobie shook her head. ‘Of course not. If you’d rather I didn’t.’

      ‘I would,’ he affirmed, looking quizzically up at her again. ‘Don’t look so worried. I’m not planning to drown myself.’

      ‘I—I never thought you were,’ she stammered, aware that his words had reminded her disturbingly of his father’s abrupt demise, and he grinned suddenly.

      ‘Okay. It’s our secret, hmm?’ He glanced behind him, reaching for the bathrobe. ‘And now…’

      ‘You want me to go?’

      His eyes narrowed, dropping down over the swell of her breasts to the band of bare midriff displayed between the hem of her bra and the belt of her pants. Then, abruptly, they returned to her face again, and she was left in little doubt that he considered the remark provocative.

      ‘Yes, I want you to go,’ he said, with an edge to his voice, and she turned to make good her escape.

      But she had forgotten the pool behind her, and instead of encountering the firm surface of the tiles, she found herself treading air. Her gulp of surprise was quickly stifled by the salt water, and she sank chokingly beneath the surface as the weight of her pants dragged her down.

      Panic flared, and she was clawing for the air again when firm hands gripped her, assisting her progress, taking her up to safety and supporting her as she choked the stinging water from her lungs. It was Robert who held her, of course, and her skin tingled where it touched his, his arm around her waist, holding her back against him.

      ‘Are you all right?’ he demanded huskily, as she panted for breath, and she nodded helplessly, too distrait to sustain her indignation against him.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. She always seemed to be saying that to him. ‘That was a stupid thing to do.’

      ‘I don’t suppose you did it on purpose, did you?’ he taunted her a little mockingly, as he kicked out strongly for the side, and she was too weak to make any protest.

      He pushed her up on to the side when they got there, and then dragged himself out beside her, taking gulping draughts of breath into his own lungs. It was only then she realised what a strain it must have been for him, and she put out her hand to thank him, her fingers touching the smooth skin of his shoulder.

      ‘You must think I’m an awful nuisance,’ she murmured, and he turned his head to look at her, his eyes cool and dispassionate.

      ‘I think you should go and take off those wet pants,’ he declared flatly, and she withdrew her fingers as if he had burned them.

      ‘I—I—yes, of course,’ she stammered, getting to her feet, and this time she didn’t make any mistake in her choice of direction.