An Imported Wife

‘Yes, I think I’m getting the picture! So what did your pirate ancestors do for accommodation while they were holed up here?’

‘For a long time there’s been a little campement here…’

‘What’s that?’

‘A traditional Mauritian holiday cottage,’ he grinned. ‘A stone-built, thatch-roofed dwelling. That’s what I’m planning on having extended and enlarged to make a full-sized house.’

‘I’m surprised you’d want to build a house here and associate yourself with such a lawless history,’ she said coolly, ‘and as for the snakes…

He stopped in mid-stride, facing her in the shadow of the filaos. Some of the teasing had darkened to exasperation as he caught hold of her shoulders.

‘Just a minute,’ he said softly, searching her face beneath the brim of her white cotton hat with grim displeasure. ‘An hour ago you were practically begging me, come cyclone or hurricane, to bring you out here, Gabriella. The least you can do is spare me your shrewish comments! It is impossible to believe you’re only twenty-one, when you insist on behaving like a maiden aunt of sixty!’

‘I do not…!’ In the recess of her mind, she had the sinking feeling that he was right, and that made her feel even angrier. ‘I’m entitled to express an opinion, without being manhandled by you!’

He smiled thinly, sliding his hands down her arms and then releasing her abruptly.

‘You certainly are,’ he agreed evenly, his eyes glittering with mockery. ‘But if you want my cooperation on this precious fashion shoot of yours, mademoiselle, I strongly recommend you curb that sharp tongue and follow a diplomatic course from now on…’

The wind had risen to a low, eerie moan, and the susurration in the trees had subtly increased to a wilder swishing sound. She was opening her mouth to retort when a sudden roar of wind came rushing across the beach, whirling up a miniature sand-storm like an invisible express train.