Husband Not Included

‘Oh, yes—absolutely!’ Flora had agreed fervently, her hands shaking slightly as she signed away her life for the next three years.

After all, as she’d consoled herself later, she wasn’t likely to have too many problems with most of the clauses in her new contract. Her only regular escort, John Macdonald was a very wealthy and highly respectable merchant banker. And she could see no reason why either Claudia or the cosmetic company should ever find out that she was—in name only, of course—still a married woman.

However, as she now turned to gaze across the aircraft cabin, to where Claudia was sitting beside her principal assistant, Helen Todd, Flora couldn’t help feeling slightly apprehensive. Helen, who to all intents and purposes appeared to be a clone of Claudia, and dressed in the same bandbox-fresh, high-fashion resort wear as her senior colleague, wasn’t perhaps quite so frightening. But there was no doubt that together they made a formidable team.

Only Georgie Wilson, a general dogsbody and ‘gofer’, who’d been seconded from the cosmetic company to look after Flora, seemed in any way a normal person. It was Georgie, for instance, who’d informed Flora that everyone in the company was terrified of Claudia Davidson.

‘She’s a really scary lady,’ Georgie had confided earlier this morning as they’d checked in their baggage at Heathrow Airport, adding with a nervous giggle, ‘I’m told that a lot of people in the office refer to her behind her back as “Cruella De Vil”!’

‘That sounds a fairly appropriate nickname,’ Flora had agreed with a grin, recalling from her childhood the story of 101 Dalmatians who’d been chased and terrorised by a horrifically frightening woman intent on their slaughter to provide herself with a glamorous fur coat.

However, it was pointless to look for trouble, Flora now told herself firmly. The world of fashion and beauty products contained a considerable number of really awful, highly eccentric and weird people—all given to claiming artistic licence as an excuse for what would normally be thought of as extremely bad behaviour.

So, any model with an ounce of sense normally concentrated on just getting on with the job. And since the company had obtained the services of a world-famous photographer, with whom she’d worked many times in the past, Flora could see no reason why there should be any real problems on this assignment in the Caribbean. Besides, there was definitely no point in crossing any bridges before she came to them. Right?

Busy lecturing herself, Flora found her thoughts sharply interrupted as Georgie gave a loud groan.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, quickly sitting up and regarding the other girl with concern. ‘Are you feeling all right?

‘It’s OK—I’m fine,’ the other girl told her sadly. ‘It’s just that I really hate finishing a good novel.’

‘You are an idiot!’ Flora sighed, brushing a tired hand through her long curly hair. She’d already come to the conclusion that maybe the plump, sandy haired girl wasn’t too bright. But it now looked as if Georgie was definitely a few sandwiches short of a picnic. ‘Why make such a fuss? It’s only a book, for heaven’s sake!’

‘But...but you don’t understand. It really was totally riveting,’ Georgie retorted, ignoring Flora’s protests as she firmly placed the large volume on the model’s lap. ‘There’s no harm in at least having a look at the book. I think you’ll be surprised.’

‘I doubt it!’

‘Well, it’s been on the New York bestseller list for I don’t know how many weeks—so, it’s definitely not rubbish,’ Georgie said firmly as she loosened her seat belt and rose to her feet, before announcing that she was going to stretch her legs.

Still convinced that the book wasn’t at all her sort of thing, Flora glanced idly down at the blurb inside the front cover. As she had suspected, A Time to Live—A Time to Die appeared to be the usual sort of Boys’-Own story concerning espionage and skulduggery in high places.

What sort of guy writes this rubbish...? she asked herself, turning over the book to look at the author’s picture on the back cover. She’d never even heard of Duncan Ross, and—What the hell?

Suddenly feeling as though she’d been hit very hard in the solar plexus, Flora felt her emerald-green eyes widen with shock as she stared down at the photograph of a dark-haired, ruggedly handsome man. What on earth was going on? What was her ex-husband, Ross Whitney, doing with his picture on the back of this book?

How could the publishers have made such a really stupid, stupid error? Goodness knows how or why they’d managed to get hold of the wrong photo—but surely the real author would be highly indignant at having his identity stolen by a completely unknown mining engineer? A man who was, moreover—certainly as far as she knew—busy working for a large, international company in South America.

Completely stunned, and with her mind in a total whirl, Flora desperately tried to pull herself together. Maybe she was wrong? It had, after all, been almost six years since she’d last seen Ross. And it was just a photograph. So, while the author of this book, Duncan Ross, might appear to be the absolute double of her ex-husband, the two men might well turn out to be quite dissimilar in real life. Right?

However, as she stared down at the large black and white photograph, which took up most of the space on the shiny back cover of the book, Flora could feel the tight knot of apprehension deep in the pit of her stomach gradually swelling into a large, heavy lump of total certainty.

It was no good. There was no point in trying to fool herself. Because, however strange and peculiar it might seem—and however hard she might cling to the hope that it was all a terrible mistake—she had no doubt about the identity of the man gazing out at the world with a slightly wry, mocking twist of his lips. She knew that it was a photograph of her ex-husband, Ross Whitney. Why, she could even see the faint scar beneath one dark, sardonically raised eyebrow—the result, as she knew only too well, of an accident on the rugby field soon after their wedding.

Besides, there were just too many coincidences for her to swallow. While two men might bear a very strong resemblance to each other, it was extremely unlikely that they would also have almost the same name.

Suddenly feeling breathless and dizzy, as if the world was spinning twice as fast as usual on its axis, Flora fell back against her seat, gazing blindly up at the roof of the plane as she tried to sort out the chaotic muddle and confusion in her brain.

Even if it was true, even if she had to accept the fact, however weird it might be, that the writer Duncan Ross and her ex-husband Ross Whitney were one and the same person—she could still hardly believe it! Goodness knows, they’d only been married for a very short time. But she had absolutely no recollection of Ross being in any way interested in writing novels. Surely... Well, surely she ought to have seen some sign of the fact that he was interested in becoming an author?

She was deeply immersed in trying to solve the conundrum, and her distraught thoughts were interrupted as Georgie returned to her seat.

‘Hah! I just knew you’d be interested in that book,’ Georgie said triumphantly, placing some Duty Free perfume in the overhead locker before lowering her ample curves into the seat beside Flora.

‘Well...er...’

‘Doesn’t he look fantastic? Really drop-dead sexy—if you know what I mean!’ Georgie grinned. ‘I bet he has girls buzzing around him like bees round a honey-pot.’

Flora, her mind still trying to grapple with the extraordinary fact that her ex-husband appeared to have somehow turned himself into a best-selling author, could only stare blankly at the other girl.

‘Well, you might not think he’s up to much—but as far as I’m concerned he’s definitely a bit of all right!’ Georgie leaned over to take the book from Flora’s lap and gaze down at the photograph of the ruggedly handsome man. ‘I just can’t wait to meet him!’

‘Meet him...?’ Flora echoed in bewilderment.

So, OK—her brains might be a little scrambled, and she was possibly still reeling from shock, trying to come to terms with the sudden bombshell about her ex-husband’s new profession, but even so, Flora knew that the chances of Georgie bumping into a best-selling author—whoever he might be—were just about zero.

‘I don’t want to dash your hopes,’ she told the plump girl, ‘but I really don’t think there’s any likelihood of you meeting the author of this book. Certainly not in the near future.’

‘Of course I’m going to meet him! After all, he owns Buccaneer Island, doesn’t he? Besides,’ Georgie added, as if explaining matters to a rather dim child, ‘I overheard Claudia saying that Duncan Ross was definitely going to be on the island, just to make sure that everything ran smoothly. Which is one of the reasons why I’ve been reading his new book.’

Flora stared at the other girl in shocked silence for some moments. Completely stunned and almost unable to comprehend the appalling, horrific information that in only a few hours’ time she was likely to meet again the man she hadn’t seen for so many years, it was some moments before she was able to pull herself together.

‘Are you seriously telling me that...?’

‘Oh, come on!’ Georgie grinned. ‘Surely you knew that Duncan Ross was the owner of Buccaneer Island?’

Flora shook her dazed head. ‘No...no, I had no idea. I mean...I don’t understand any of this,’ she muttered, feeling as though she’d been suddenly dumped in a foreign country, completely unable either to understand or speak the language.

‘I wasn’t involved in any of the plans for this trip,’ Flora continued, brushing a trembling hand through her long, curly hair. ‘I mean...no one’s even told me the reason why we’re using Buccaneer Island. Surely... Well, surely there must be lots of other places in the Caribbean which are just as suitable for shooting a promotional film. Why didn’t they choose Barbados—or Antigua, for heaven’s sake?’

‘Hey—calm down!’ Georgie frowned at the almost hysterical note in the other girl’s voice. ‘I didn’t make the arrangements. All I know is that Duncan Ross, who owns the island, seems to have some connection with Mr Schwartz, the American marketing director of ACE. And in any case,’ she added with a shrug, ‘since most countries in the Caribbean have a strict law about their beaches always being open to members of the public, maybe it’s a good idea not to have too many people cluttering up the scene? Especially if you’re likely to be prancing half-naked over the sand.’

‘I never prance—and certainly not half-naked!’ Flora snapped, before quickly realising that it was totally unfair to take her shock and frustration out on Georgie. ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered, with a brief, apologetic smile. ‘It looks as though I must have got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning.’

‘That’s OK—forget it.’ Georgie gave her a friendly grin, clearly used to dealing with the more temperamental, prima donna type of model. ‘I’m really looking forward to the next few days. I haven’t been to the Caribbean before, and I can’t wait...’

Leaning back, allowing her mind to drift as the other girl continued to expand on the delights awaiting them all on Buccaneer Island, it was some moments before Flora suddenly realised that her troubles were now multiplying with the speed of light.

Oh, Lord—she’d forgotten all about her contract!

Claudia Davidson had been brutally frank about the cosmetic company’s basic rules: not only was Flora required to be pure in thought and deed—but they were also insisting on her being single! And yet within a few hours it was almost certain that she would be meeting the man who she regarded as her ex-husband...but to whom she was—alas!—still married.

Feeling totally sick to the pit of her stomach, she could see no way of avoiding the swift, ruthless and hideously embarrassing termination of her contract. And that wasn’t all. Not by a long chalk! She could virtually guarantee the fact that Claudia would go completely ballistic on discovering the truth about Flora’s marital status. And ACE weren’t exactly going to be whistling for joy either.

Shivering with fright, and trying to control her trembling limbs, Flora realised that she was now in deep, deep trouble. She had no doubt that the company would be in a strong position if they decided to take her to court in order to recover the costs involved in setting up this trip to the Caribbean. Because even if she hadn’t told an outright lie she’d still put her signature to a contract containing a clause which she had known to be false.

How could she have been such a fool? There was no way she would ever be able to repay the company’s expenses. In fact, if she’d been worried about her financial position before being offered this job it was a mere bagatelle when compared to the total bankruptcy which she was likely to face in the future.

Seething with frustration and anger, both at the malign fate which was about to engulf her and the incredibly foolish, outright stupidity of not having divorced Ross years ago, Flora struggled to contain her mounting hysteria, quite certain that her head was going to explode with pent-up rage and fury. But, as she continued to fulminate and rail against her own folly, she realised that there was absolutely nothing she could do to prevent the inevitable, total disaster which lay ahead.