One Night Of Love

Dyan reported to Russ first, telling him where she could be found in case of emergency, noting that the three crewmen who had come aboard that day were standing watch.

They took a cab to a nightclub that served some of the best West Indian food in the Caribbean. It was an unusual place, with a straw roof and rows of tables in tiers above a dance-floor that looked too big for the room. A steel band played while the customers ate; music to dance to between courses. They had a couple of pi?a coladas served in tall glasses with fruit falling out the sides while Dyan described the dishes on the menu for Oliver. He made several witty, outrageous, comments about the dishes which made her laugh, and she suddenly felt intensely happy.

Oliver, too, seemed much more relaxed, and he deliberately set out to amuse and entertain her. She had thought him good company before, but here he seemed to come into his own, to be the kind of companion a girl dreamed about. And it became clear why when he leaned across the table after they’d given their order, and took her hand in his as he said, ‘This is the first time I’ve ever really been alone with you. There are always so many other people around on board the ship.’

‘Yes, I suppose there are,’ Dyan agreed lightly, trying to decide whether or not to take her hand away.

‘Mostly because you seem to invite people to join us,’ Oliver said, watching her.

She didn’t try to deny it, but said, ‘Do you mind?’

‘Yes. They cramp my style.’

Her eyes came up to meet his at that. ‘Oh! Really?’ she said in surprise, not quite knowing how to take it.

His mouth curved in amusement. It was a very sexy mouth, now she came to think about it. ‘Really,’ he assured her gravely.

She took her hand away. ‘I suppose you’ve had plenty of practice, back in London,’ she said on an offhand note.

‘Ah.’ Oliver leant back in his chair. ‘I think we’ve reached the moment when you’re supposed to say, “But I know nothing about you”.’ He imitated a girlish voice, overdoing it, making her give a gurgle of laughter.

‘Am I? I didn’t realise we’d reached that moment.’ The laughter was still in her eyes but there was a question in her voice.

‘Oh, yes, I think so.’ He gave her one of his laconic smiles. ‘Now, where shall I begin? I’m thirty-two. Educated and civilised at a public school, knocked into shape and a career at university—Cambridge in my case. The only son of terribly respectable parents…’ His voice was flippant, but now his eyes settled on her face. ‘And I’m what you might call experienced, but definitely heart-free.’