Long Cold Winter

Sally Ferrars laughed, sympathetically.

‘Poor Autumn,’ she teased. ‘But it’s your own fault for looking so fantastic!’ She eyed Autumn’s tan enviously before glancing at her own slender limbs. ‘I hope we stay here long enough for me to get a bit of colour. Rick has a weekend off coming up soon, and I want to look my best.’

‘Made any plans for the wedding yet?’ Autumn asked her.

She and Sally had known one another for two years. They had met at night school classes where they had both gone to learn German, and when Autumn had mentioned that she was looking for a job and had had previous hotel work, Sally had suggested that she apply for a courier’s job that had fallen vacant.

‘Some time before Christmas,’ she replied in answer to Autumn’s question. ‘But we don’t know when yet. It all depends when the builders finish the house.’ She yawned and sat down. ‘Tell you what, I could get fatally used to this slower pace of life. I’ve only been here three days, and yet already I’m quite accustomed to being waited on hand and foot!’

‘Umm, it does grow on you,’ Autumn admitted.

The hotel had only been open for three months and she had been there from the start. Because of the setback with the hurricane many things were still not properly finished and Alan had relied on her a good deal to liaise between the work force on the island and his London office. In many ways Autumn had been relieved when he announced that he was coming out to see how things were progressing and she had been glad to hand the responsibility of dealing with the contractors back to him. As the island was so small, with no landing strip, everything had to be brought in by boat, and this was an expensive and protracted business.

‘Alan’s gone out to meet our visitor,’ Sally said unnecessarily. ‘I don’t think he expected the negotiations to blow up so suddenly, otherwise he wouldn’t have left London.’

‘Well, I expect the investor would have wanted to see the set-up here anyway.’

‘Umm. I wonder what he’s like?’

‘Not thinking of trading Rick in already, are you?’ Autumn teased.

Sally shook her head reprovingly, eyeing her friend’s slender, tanned body with envy.

‘It’s probably just as well you didn’t go with Alan. Dressed like that you’d have given our visitor a heart-attack! That bikini is practically an incitement to rape!’

Autumn sat up quickly, frowning. ‘It’s nowhere near as brief as some.’

Sally laughed. ‘I know, but it’s what’s inside it that makes the difference,’ she teased. ‘I’m surprised you’ve never tried modelling, with your figure.’

‘I’m not flat-chested enough,’ Autumn replied matter-of-factly, contemplating the softly swelling curves partially concealed by the scarlet cotton. ‘Besides, I’ve heard it’s dull, hard work.’

‘Umm, but think of all those gorgeous, exciting men you’d get to meet!’

‘I am,’ Autumn responded, her voice so bleak that Sally glanced worriedly at her.

‘I thought we’d agreed that it was time to put the past behind you. You’re only twenty-two. You’ve plenty of time to start again.’

Autumn grimaced slightly. ‘A broken marriage isn’t exactly something you can tie up in blue ribbons and push away at the back of a drawer. And it isn’t an experience I want to repeat—ever.’

‘Not even if the right man came along?’ Sally coaxed.

‘There isn’t any “right man”, Autumn said in a very dry voice. ‘Only plenty of wrong ones.’

Although they had been friends for some time and Sally knew about Autumn’s broken marriage, she knew very little about the man to whom Autumn had been married, or the life she had led prior to their meeting, except that it had left Autumn withdrawn and bitter. Autumn had always made it plain that she didn’t want to talk about the past, and Sally had respected her wishes, but now she said softly.

‘My, my, you did get burned, didn’t you? Care to talk about it?’

‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ Autumn told her, with a smile that robbed the words of their brusqueness. ‘I made a mistake…’

‘About marrying him, or loving him?’

Autumn’s smile was bitter. ‘Neither. My mistake was in thinking that he loved me.’ She got up, brushing sand from skin which had the soft, warm bloom of a ripe peach.

‘Do you realise that some folks would give anything for that sunbleached look your hair’s got since you came out here?’ Sally complained, tactfully changing the subject.

‘Yes. Do you realise how much conditioner I need to use? The sun and salt are fatal. Actually I’ve been thinking of having it cut, it’s beginning to become a nuisance.’

The hotel boasted an international class hairdressing salon and she fingered the fluid strands of blonde hair curling on to her shoulders, contemplatively.

‘If I were a rival, I’d be dragging you to that salon myself,’ Sally assured her with a grin. ‘But as I’ve already hooked my man, let me give you a piece of sisterly advice—leave your hair as it is. It suits you—and it’s sexy.’

Autumn pulled a face, her eyes clouding faintly. Sally had meant the word as a compliment, but that wasn’t how she saw it. To be called ‘sexy’ was like someone touching an exposed nerve and implied that she was deliberately seeking to attract the attention of the opposite sex. Nothing could be farther from the truth. She had already endured enough of the humiliation that followed sexual bondage to last her a lifetime. The lessons she had learned during her brief marriage would last a lifetime. They ought to do, she reflected bitterly, they had been taught by an expert, but at the time she had been too naïve to know that; just as she had been too naïve to see so many things that had only become obvious with maturity. No man was ever going to be allowed to have any sort of hold over her again, and to that end she had ruthlessly suppressed the deeply passionate side of her nature which had so betrayed her in the past.

‘Frigid’, one of her dates had called her in baffled _ frustration, but she had merely shrugged aside the word. Men used it as an insult and a weapon; a key to unlock a closed door, but it wouldn’t work with her.

Over her shoulder Sally was watching the beach.

‘Alan’s back!’ she said excitedly. ‘I wish the launch was a little bit closer, I’m dying to see what the big fish looks like.’

Autumn shrugged. ‘Fifty, paunchy, balding, and probably still thinking he’s God’s gift to women.’

‘That’s a bit harsh,’ Sally complained. ‘By the way, I’ve got strict orders to stick to Alan like glue at dinner. He wants you to be free to devote all your attention to charming our visitor.’

‘And I’ve told him I won’t be used,’ Autumn said crisply.

‘Yes, I know. Look, it shouldn’t be so bad. I’ve persuaded him that it would look a bit obvious if the three of you dined alone, so it’s his bungalow for a general discussion and drinks, followed by dinner for the four of us at the Five Fathoms restaurant. That’s what I came to tell you really. We won’t be eating until about eight, and Alan wants you over at his bungalow for half six, so that you can help him put our friend fully in the picture.’

Recognising her friend’s tactful hand in the rearrangement of the evening, Autumn smiled faintly. She hadn’t been looking forward to an evening being very obviously dangled in front of Alan’s visitor, like a piece of tempting bait. Fond though she was of Alan, and much as she was aware of how much she owed him, her own self-respect was something she meant to retain no matter what the cost.

‘I’ll see you later,’ Sally announced, getting to her feet. ‘Alan wants me to type up some figures for him and take them over to the bungalow.’ She frowned anxiously. ‘I do hope everything goes okay. It would be criminal if he lost St John’s now, after all he’s done. Every cent he owns is tied up in it.’

‘I’ll do what I can,’ Autumn told her. ‘But I object to being used as a lure.’

‘Yes, I know, but you know Alan—tact isn’t his strong suit. I don’t think he ever intended you to come on strong with the heavy seduction scene. A light flirtation was probably all he had in mind.’

‘Have you any idea who this man is?’ Autumn asked her.

Sally shook her head.

‘Not a clue. Alan’s been awfully cagey—something about everything having to be kept strictly secret until he comes to a decision. You know how cloak-and-dagger these financial deals can be. I’m sure financiers must all be closet secret agents at heart!’

The bar was starting to fill up with guests wanting to enjoy the view and relax over a pre-dinner drink, and several of them paused to speak to Autumn.

On her way back to her bungalow she paused to glance at the notice board, pleased to see that the boat trip round the island, which was a fortnightly excursion, was well subscribed to.

In her bungalow she glanced at her watch. Half past five. She had an hour to get ready. Deciding against anything too formal, she opened her wardrobe and withdrew a silk two-piece, in deep cyclamen pink, leaving it on the bed while she stepped under the shower.

The cool sting of the water was instantly reviving and she enjoyed the therapeutic effect of the water against her skin. Towelling herself dry, she caught a glimpse of her body in the full-length mirror and frowned, turning away. There had been a time, shortly after her marriage broke up, when she found herself hating the sight of her own flesh, almost to the point where she wanted to inflict pain upon it for its betrayal, but this mood had passed and with it the desire to dress in drab, dull clothes that concealed her figure.