Husband Not Included

Some hours later, as the small private plane which had been hired to transport them from Antigua slowly circled over the landing site on Buccaneer Island, Flora still hadn’t been able to find a solution to her problem. Certain that she’d never felt quite so frightened in all her life, she was in such a state of mental exhaustion that she couldn’t think of anything except the truly horrendous fate which awaited her just as soon as they landed.

It was almost as if she’d suddenly developed St Vitus’s Dance, she thought, miserably aware that her knees were knocking together like castanets. But, as the plane descended rapidly towards the green, grassy strip which lay alongside a wide sandy beach, she made a supreme effort to try and pull herself together.

Carefully descending the steps of the aircraft on legs which felt as though they were made of jelly, Flora found herself trailing behind Claudia Davidson and her entourage, who were walking briskly towards a small group of people clearly awaiting their arrival. Through the haze of shimmering heat, her eyes were slowly and forcibly drawn towards a man standing slightly apart from the others, leaning nonchalantly against a rather battered-looking old Land Rover.

Feeling suddenly faint, she was almost physically aware of the blood draining from her face at the sight of the tall, broad-shouldered figure and tanned, arrogant features of the person she hadn’t seen for so long. Drawing on her positively last reserves of courage, she took a deep, shuddering breath.

Here goes nothing! Flora told herself defiantly, putting on the performance of a lifetime as she walked slowly and steadily, with her head held high, towards her ex-husband, Ross Whitney. The man who, within the next few minutes, was almost certainly going to blow her world sky-high.

CHAPTER TWO

DELIBERATELY forcing herself to appear outwardly calm and collected, Flora knew her mind was in a complete turmoil as she walked slowly towards the husband she hadn’t seen for so many years.

Amongst all her other overwhelming problems, she now realised that she’d completely forgotten to put on her dark glasses. Not only would they have offered protection from the harsh rays of the sun, but—ridiculous as it might seem—she’d have felt a whole lot safer with her eyes well hidden behind the black shades. Unfortunately there was no way she could now begin fumbling through her large handbag. Not when she was striving with all her might to appear so cool and laid-back.

Despite knowing that total disaster lay only a few moments away, she couldn’t seem to stop her brain from frantically buzzing with completely hopeless, totally impractical plans of escape. But even as she desperately thought of trying to reach Ross before the others—and somehow managing to persuade him to keep quiet about their marriage—she knew that it was now far, far too late for any hope of rescue.

‘Ah, Mr Ross...!’ Claudia called out imperiously, ignoring the small group of people standing by an open truck as she strode purposefully towards the tall figure leaning nonchalantly against his vehicle.

‘We’re so grateful to you for allowing us to use this lovely island of yours,’ she told him with a beaming smile as she introduced herself and her faithful shadow, Helen Todd. ‘I understand that you’re a friend of that clever young businessman, Mr Schwartz?’

‘Well, no—not exactly,’ the tall man drawled. ‘Although I know his brother-in-law very well, I haven’t yet had the pleasure of meeting Bernie. However, I understand he is due to join us later on today,’ he added, before explaining that he only used the pseudonym ‘Duncan Ross’ for his books. ‘So, please call me Ross—and I hope you enjoy your stay on Buccaneer Island.’

‘I’m quite sure we will!’ Claudia trilled, smiling coyly up at the handsome man, a faint flush on her cheekbones as she nervously patted her hair.

Slowly coming to a halt beside them, Flora had been momentarily distracted from her own fear and trepidation by the amazing sight of that normally hard, tough and ruthless woman Claudia Davidson now simpering like a bashful schoolgirl. But she found herself being suddenly jerked back to harsh, cruel reality as Ross turned slowly to face her.

‘Oh yes...’ Claudia waved a limp, heavily ringed hand in Flora’s direction. ‘This is Miss Flora Johnson. She’s going to be the model for our Angel Girl campaign.’

‘An “angel girl”...? Well, well!’ Ross drawled, his vivid blue eyes beneath their heavy lids glinting with sardonic amusement as he gazed down at Flora. And then, with what she could only think of as bare-faced insolence, he proceeded to conduct an analytical appraisal of her, beginning at the top of her curly head and travelling slowly down over her slim figure before coming to a halt at the pink toenails of her feet in their light sandals.

Damned cheek! Flora gritted her teeth, fuming with resentment and anger. Despite feeling quite faint and sick with dread of the forthcoming explosion, which she knew could be only seconds away, she was sorely tempted to give his face a good, hard slap. How dared the foul man treat her as if she were standing there stark naked?

‘However, you won’t be seeing very much of her,’ Claudia continued in a dismissive tone of voice. ‘When she isn’t in front of the camera, Miss Johnson will have to stay indoors during the heat of the day, to make sure that she doesn’t get too suntanned.’

‘Really...?’ Ross murmured, lifting a dark, sardonic eyebrow as he blandly regarded the flushed cheeks and angry glint in the large green eyes of the girl standing beside him. ‘That doesn’t sound much fun.’

‘Miss Johnson is not here to have “fun”,’ the older woman corrected him sharply, clearly annoyed that he was paying attention to anyone other than herself. ‘This is strictly a working assignment as far as she is concerned. Isn’t that right, dear?’ she added, turning her hard, beady eyes in Flora’s direction.

Numb with fear of the storm about to break over her head any moment—and quailing beneath the grim note of warning in Claudia’s voice—Flora could only give a weak nod of agreement.

‘Never mind, Miss...er...Johnson,’ Ross drawled coolly. ‘I’ll certainly do my best to make sure that your “working assignment” proves to be a pleasant and... er...an interesting one.’

The other two women might have missed it, but Flora had no difficulty in hearing the low, ironic note of grim amusement which lay beneath Ross’s bland words. He’s playing with me, she thought, staring down at the ground for a moment before slowly raising her head to find herself being regarded by blank blue eyes and a cool smile which held no hint of recognition.

Totally confused, for a few brief seconds she almost managed to convince herself that Ross really didn’t know who she was. But then, as he gave her a swift, piercing glance before turning back to the two older women, she realised that she’d been momentarily living in a fool’s paradise. Whatever game he might be playing, it certainly wasn’t good news for her—not if that harsh gleam in his eyes and the cruel, mocking curve of his lips was anything to go by.

Unfortunately, she was given no time in which to mull over the question of exactly why Ross appeared to be pretending not to know her. Almost before she knew what was happening, she was being swept up in the general melee as they were joined by Georgie, and the small group of people who’d come to meet the plane.

With her mind in a complete daze, Flora barely noticed the luggage being loaded onto a truck which soon vanished into the distance. Nor was she given any time to acknowledge the loud, cheerful greetings from some of her old acquaintances. In what seemed the twinkling of an eye, she found herself seated beside Georgie in the back of Ross’s large open Land Rover, with Helen and various pieces of hand luggage occupying the bench seat in front of them, and being driven along a grass track edging a wide, sandy beach.

Luckily there was no need for her to say or do anything, since Claudia, seated in the front passenger seat next to Ross, was clearly intent on claiming his full attention.

Finally managing to find and put on her dark glasses, Flora knew that if she hadn’t been feeling so sick with nerves she’d have been able to appreciate the amusing, grim irony of being grateful to the awful woman. Thanks to Claudia’s determination to monopolise Ross’s attention she was being given a short break in which to try and get her act together. But, gazing blindly out of the vehicle, she was unable to savour the entrancing view of pale white sand and sparkling blue sea. Not when her whole attention was now focused on the one, overriding problem: how to prevent her ex-husband from spilling the beans?

She had no idea why Ross was pretending not to know her. He appeared to have transformed himself into a very successful author and had clearly made a new life for himself here, in the Caribbean. So, maybe he regretted their brief marriage as much as she did? However, as long as he didn’t open his mouth and ‘tell all’ before she had a chance to get him on his own and swear him to secrecy about their brief marriage, it was just possible that she might be able to prevent her career from going down the tubes.

Preoccupied with her overwhelming problems, it was some time before Flora noticed that they had left the coastline of the small island behind them and were now speeding inland along a grass track bordered on each side by shady groves of palm trees. On reaching a clearing, she saw that they faced a large plantation house whose green lawns were surrounded by brightly coloured trees and shrubs. But, instead of driving up to the house, their vehicle veered off to the side, winding its way through yet more palms and banana trees heavy with fruit before coming to a halt outside a small wooden building.

As Ross jumped out, helping Claudia and Helen down from the vehicle before leading them towards the front door, where their suitcases awaited them, Flora studied the tiny cottage. It looked enchanting, with a bright red corrugated metal roof set over white walls, a pale pink front door and window frames, and the whole surrounded by a pretty pink and white wooden veranda. She was just thinking that it must be every little girl’s dream-a large, magnificent dolls’ house of their very own—when Georgie gave her a sharp dig in the ribs.

‘How about this for a taste of luxury! Not bad, huh?’

‘Hmm...?’

‘Come on, Flora! Have you been asleep or what?’ Georgie stared at her in surprise. ‘Didn’t you hear Ross say that we’re all being allocated separate guest cottages?’

‘No, I...”

‘He was telling Claudia that this type of local building is known as a popular house, or “case”,’ Georgie explained quickly as Ross helped the older women with their luggage. ‘Apparently, they were originally designed for families who worked on the old sugar plantations, and are still used throughout the Caribbean. So, Ross decided they’d make perfect guest suites for his visitors and had some prefabricated units shipped over from Antigua,’ she added, peering through the trees towards where other small pastel-coloured buildings were scattered haphazardly amongst the lush vegetation. ‘I can’t wait to see mine.’

However, after Ross had dropped Georgie off at her cottage—which she was apparently sharing with the make-up and hair stylist—the atmosphere within the vehicle became positively glacial. Fully determined to sort matters out as quickly as possible, Flora was thrown completely off-base at being roughly ordered by her ex-husband to sit in the front passenger seat.

‘I don’t mind driving everyone to their cottages. But I’m damned if I’m going to act as a hired chauffeur to some flibbertigibbet model!’ he growled, waiting with barely concealed impatience as she hurriedly changed seats.

‘OK...OK, there’s no need to be so rude,’ she snapped, furious with herself for having so instinctively obeyed his harshly voiced command. ‘I didn’t make the arrangements to stay on this island. So how am I expected to know how you run things? In fact,’ she added grimly, ‘I’d never have come within a mile of the damned place—not if I’d known you’d be here!’

He gave a low bark of sardonic laughter, which only served to inflame her already raw nerves to screaming pitch.

‘Now, now, Miss Johnson,’ he murmured, ‘there’s no need to lose your temper.’

‘Oh, no...?’ she ground out through gritted teeth. ‘Well, that’s all you know! Because it looks as if losing my temper is the very least of my problems. And what’s with this “Miss Johnson” nonsense anyway?’ she added belligerently, turning to scowl at his handsome tanned profile. ‘You know very well who I am.’

‘Of course I know who you are,’ he drawled coolly as he brought the Land Rover to a halt outside a cottage screened from the other small houses by a thick hedge of flowering shrubs. ‘I’ve just been told that you’re Bernie Schwartz’s new Angel Girl. I also have it on good authority—from his own brother-in-law, no less—that Bernie seems to think you’re the best thing since sliced bread. How about that?’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ she exploded as he switched off the ignition. ‘Why on earth are you playing these stupid games?’

“‘Games”, Miss Johnson?’ He raised a dark, satanic eyebrow as he gazed at her with a bland, cool smile on his lips. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh, yes, you damn well do!’ she accused him bleakly, grimly aware of the dark, insidious attraction of the man lounging so casually in his seat beside her. Maybe if she hadn’t been feeling quite so tired and exhausted, she would have been better equipped to ignore the muscular shoulders beneath the thin fabric of his short-sleeved cream shirt, and the long-fingered, strong hands lightly grasping the wheel.

Life was so unfair! Surely, if there was any justice in the world, Ross ought to have gone thoroughly to seed over the past six years? Unfortunately—instead of having become seriously overweight, with a paunch and receding hairline—he was still fit, slim, lithe and as diabolically attractive as ever. Besides which, there ought to be a law against allowing men to wear shorts, she told herself acidly. Because the sight of Ross’s bare, deeply tanned and muscular brown legs almost touching her own was definitely not helping her to concentrate on her problems.

Making a supreme effort to pull herself together, Flora took a deep breath.

‘Leaving aside the other interesting questions, such as how a one-time mining engineer has managed to become a best-selling author,’ she told him scathingly, ‘what I really want to know is why he’s also pretending not to know his wife?’

‘You’re right—that’s definitely an interesting question,’ he drawled mockingly as he got out and came around to her side. ‘Maybe the answer, dear Miss Johnson, is that since my wife was such a spoilt and tiresome woman I’m doing my best to forget that I was ever married...’