The Latin Affair Page 6

  ‘There’s no need. It’s bright enough to see.’

  ‘Don’t be prickly. I’d prefer to walk you home.’

  Nicky shrugged. But she could not resist another sideways look at those powerful hands. She found he was gripping the wheel as if it were a life belt. It astonished her.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she said involuntarily.

  She saw his throat move as he swallowed. She wished, passionately, that she could see his eyes. But it was dark. Anyway, the mirrored lenses stayed firmly in place.

  ‘I’m fine. Come on. Let’s get you home.’

  He got the torch—a square box of a thing that lit up the beach like the car’s headlights. He also pulled on some deck shoes. Nicky, who knew that sea urchins could lurk in the powdery sand, approved this forethought. It showed that his air of competence was not all window-dressing.

  He hefted her grocery sack onto one hip and hooked the light onto his belt. Then he motioned her to lead the way.

  She could feel his eyes on her as she plodded through the sand. She slipped several times. He never put out a hand to help her, though once she thought he was on the point of it and curbed his instinct

  So she was not wrong, Nicky thought wretchedly. He was not touching her quite deliberately. What a nuisance he must think her. What a clumsy, useless nuisance. The back of her neck felt hot with embarrassment.

  At last she stopped.

  ‘Here.’

  He came close beside her and turned, raking the sea with the flashlight. The beam caught the lines of the Pompilia. Steve drew in a breath as if the sight surprised him.

  ‘So there really is a boat,’ he said, confirming it.

  ‘Of course.’ Nicky was bewildered. ‘What did you think?’

  The glasses turned towards her briefly. ‘Frankly, I thought you were probably sleeping rough. On the beach.’

  Nicky gasped. ‘But that’s against the law.’

  ‘So?’

  She rounded on him. ‘What do you think I am?’ she cried hotly.

  There was an odd silence. She could hear the blood pounding in her ears. But the sounds of the night, the sea and the busy cicadas, were suddenly muted. Nicky thought suddenly, I wish I hadn’t said that.

  Then Steve said, very evenly, ‘You wouldn’t want to know.’

  Nicky froze. She wanted to move way, pelt for the water and swim out to the Pompilia and never see him again. She wanted not to move a muscle until he touched her. Her mouth parted. The moment stretched out for ever. She wanted him to take her in his arms…

  Shocked, she thought, Have I gone crazy?

  The picture in her mind was so vivid—and so utterly beyond her experience—that she flinched away from it, physically. Steve felt the movement and put out a hand to save her at last. But it was too late. He was closer than she realised and she stumbled against him.

  He gave a grunt of shock and dropped the groceries. Worse, the flashlight shot off his belt. It landed squashily in the sand and the light went out.

  The stars were suddenly a lot closer. He was breathing hard as if she had really hurt him.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Nicky cried, horrified.

  ‘It’s all right’. It sounded as if he was saying it between his teeth. He must be furious with her.

  ‘I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘It’s all right.’

  She dropped to her knees, reaching for the groceries, the flashlight, apologising feverishly. Only then she scraped her hand along the leaf of a hidden clump of sea clover and recoiled, with a sharp exclamation.

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘What is it?’ he said in quick concern.

  He took a hasty step forward and stumbled over her foot. It brought him down on one knee. Which meant they were both kneeling in the sand. Very close and both of them off balance.

  He put out a hand to steady himself. It brushed her bare flesh where she had knotted the shirt at her waist above her shorts. Steve went very still.

  Slowly Nicky turned her head. His body was so close that she had to blink in order not to sway against him. The sense of his body’s heat and strength overwhelmed her. She could see the dark shape of his head; his shoulders against the sky; hear his breathing. Hear when, just for an electric moment, it stopped.

  She leaned forward and kissed him quickly, clumsily.

  He started breathing again, dragging the air from the very bottom of his lungs in harsh gasps.

  ‘Don’t—’ It sounded strangled.

  But Nicky was beyond thought, shaking with need. This was new. It was dangerous. She knew it but she did not care. She just wanted Steve to take charge again and lead her into the new place that she dimly realised she had been making towards since she’d first seen him this evening.

  He knows it too, she thought, listening to his harsh breathing. He knew it before I did.

  She wound her arms round his neck and pressed trembling lips to the base of his throat. He felt like rock.

  ‘I tried.’ It sounded as if it was torn out of him.

  Then, as if he could not help himself, he slammed an arm round her and hauled her against him. Their bodies fused along their whole length. Suddenly Nicky knew, beyond question, exactly how aroused he was. Her indrawn breath was half shock, half wonder.

  Steve’s palm was warm at the naked skin of her waist. He tipped her gently down on to the sand. She went, with a sigh of deliverance. It all felt inevitable, somehow.

  After that, it happened in slow motion, Nicky thought afterwards. He seemed bent on learning her body, touch by exquisite touch. She felt her clothes pushed aside; the roughness of his unshaven cheek against her tender breast, his breath on her skin. This was utterly new to her. But she felt no fear. Only a deep, wondering delight. Shyly she ran her hand down his beautiful naked spine.

  And then his touch was no longer a slow revelation but urgent, urgent…

  As she remembered, Nicky’s nails dug into her palms. This was the point when she used to exclaim aloud, jump up, walk away, do anything to block out what happened next. But these days she knew better. Maturity came from taking responsibility for your mistakes. And accepting the consequences.

  And she had been responsible. There was no doubt about that. Carried away on a tide of feeling, she had twined round him like a vine. Met his every demand eagerly. Made demands of her own that, inexperienced as she was, she had never dreamed of before.

  Until, twisting to get rid of their last scraps of clothing, Steve had given a yelp of pain.

  ‘What?’ Nicky was dazed. ‘What did I do?’

  ‘Nothing.‘ He pulled away from her, nursing his foot as he rocked with pain. ‘I stubbed my toe.’

  She gave a soft laugh, nuzzling his shoulder. ‘Shall I kiss it better?’

  ‘No.’

  He stopped rocking. Nicky said his name voicelessly, her lips moving against the warm skin of his shoulder. But he did not take her in his arms again. Instead he drew back so sharply that she fell forward and had to put out hands into the powdery sand to save herself. He looked down at her crouching form. Against the starry sky, she saw him shake his head slowly.

  ‘What am I doing?’ It was a ragged whisper. He was not talking to her.

  Nicky sat up and pushed the flying hair off her face. ‘We,’ she whispered. She reached up to him. ‘We are doing.’

  He caught her wrists, pushing her away so hard that she fell back, flat in the sand. He bent over her, holding her arms captive behind her head.

  ‘All right, I admit it. You’re dynamite. But I—will—not’ He sounded as if he was in pain.

  Nicky did not understand. She wrapped a leg round him, murmuring. She felt him shudder deeply.

  He drew a long breath. ‘I can control this. I can control this.’

  And even then she did not understand.

  ‘Steve,’ she whispered longingly. It was the first time she had dared to use his name.

  And the last. He flung himself away from her as if she had spat poison.r />
  ‘I must be out of my mind. ’

  Nicky did not move. Although he had released her hands she just lay as he had left her, staring. She felt as if she had been turned to stone. Her voice would not work.

  ‘This is as far as I go.’ His voice was ragged.

  Even in the darkness, she could see that Steve’s chest was rising and falling as if he had run a hard race. He leaped to his feet. Nicky had no doubt at all that he meant every word. Bewildered, she sat up.

  He took three rapid steps away and stumbled over one of Ruth’s foil-wrapped packets of food. He picked it up, astonished, turning it over in his hands as if he thought it was a bomb.

  Nicky said in self-defence—as if it mattered, now—‘Ruth said I could take home what was left after the party.’ She sounded defensive, even sullen. And—to her fury—young.

  Steve looked at the packet again. He slapped it down on to the sand beside her. There was distaste in every line of him.

  ‘There. Take your pickings and—’

  Another thought occurred to him. He paused.

  Then he said in tones of despair, ‘Were you paid this evening?’

  Nicky had forgotten about payment. Now, constrained and wretched, she shook her head.

  She thought he said, ‘Oh, God.’

  He rummaged in his pocket and brought out a fold of notes. Without counting them, he thrust the wad down at her. Nicky pushed it away.

  He drew in several lungfuls of air. Then, carefully not touching her, he said in a gentler tone, ‘Can you afford to refuse?’

  Nicky put her hands over her face.

  He gave an exasperated sigh and dropped the money on the sand beside her.

  ‘Look, this evening—You shouldn’t—Oh, hell.’

  Nicky struggled to her feet. She bent and picked up the money, stuffing it into the grocery sack along with such packets of food as she could find. In the darkness her hands unexpectedly found a cylindrical object, hard—was it glass? A jar, of some sort? Enlightenment dawned. The coffee? He must have stubbed his toe on the jar of instant coffee Ruth had given her.

  Nicky could not help herself. It was hysteria, of course. She began to laugh. For a terrible moment she thought she would never be able to stop.

  Steve stopped dead. She saw him turn his head. The black shadow watched her, oddly menacing in its gathering stillness.

  Eventually he said, ‘So at least I’ve given you a good laugh.’

  Nicky’s laughter died abruptly as he took three steps forward. Nicky gave ground.

  Under the jewelled sky he looked as tall as a tree. A powerful arm shot out. No dragging her against his aroused body this time. He held her at arm’s length, his teeth a flash of white in a mirthless smile.

  ‘I should have let Piers get on with it, shouldn’t I?’ he flung at her. ‘It was a really successful production: schoolgirl meets dirty dog. I suppose you were both enjoying it. I should never have interfered.’

  Nicky did not understand. She was shaking. ‘N-n-no—’

  ‘That was what you really wanted, wasn’t it? No woman dresses like that unless she intends a man to strip her.’

  He pulled her against him at last. Anger made him clumsy. The kiss was an assault. No semblance of seduction now.

  The urgency was still there but even Nicky, inexperienced and humiliated, could recognise rage. She struggled but he was too strong for her. He held her, devoured her, until her resistance broke and she stood passive in his arms.

  When he let her go she was sobbing inwardly. But some remnant of pride would not let him know.

  She said harshly, ‘If you don’t go now I shall scream.’

  ‘Very dramatic.’ He sounded furious. ‘Who would come?’

  Suddenly her lip was trembling, her voice thick. ‘M-my parents.’

  ‘Your parents?’ He was thunderstruck. ‘You mean—’ His hands on her shoulders gripped like a vice. ‘You really are fifteen after all.’

  ‘S-sixteen the week after next.’

  Through the hands on her shoulders she felt his whole body flinch.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ he said quietly.

  Nicky threw the glass jar at him. She was trembling. It was an anger as great as his own, she assured herself.

  He caught the jar one-handed and put it down in the sand with exaggerated care. It felt like an insult

  ‘Go away,’ she shouted.

  As if on cue a light appeared on the deck of the boat. Then another.

  ‘Looks like your fine protective parents are lining up,’ Steve said cynically. ‘Better late than never, I guess. Tell them they’re lucky it wasn’t too late.’

  He turned on his heel.

  ‘I hate you,’ Nicky shouted after him.

  But he kept on walking.

  When her parents came to get her she was alone on the beach. Leon was inclined to be amused that his cautious daughter had given her parents cause for concern at last. Margaret was not. One look at Nicky’s face in the torchlight and she told Leon to shut up. It was so unusual that he did.

  Nicky let them take her back to the Pompilia as if she were in a dream. But when she went to bed she could not sleep. She curled up in a tight, tight ball, closed her eyes hard and willed herself to forget everything: his savage contempt, that kiss, everything that, heaven help her, she had wanted. It did not work.

  In the morning she was hollow-eyed enough to disturb even her father. Her mother, who by then had found the roll of notes in the grocery sack, was white with concern.

  ‘Oh, Nicky, what have you done?’

  Nicky flinched away and would not tell.

  ‘We must leave this horrible island,’ Margaret told Leon with unheard-of resolution.

  He was so surprised that he did not argue. Only they needed to get supplies, didn’t they? So before they left the island completely he sailed the boat round the coast.

  When they got to town they found that it was market day. There was a general air of carnival about the quayside. Tourists were moving through the crowd, snapping their fingers to the beat of the bands and laughing. And the first person Nicky saw was Piers.

  He was looking very sorry for himself. Last night’s excesses had clearly taken their toll. Resisting the rhythm, he was walking slowly with the careful air of a man who was not quite sure whether he was going to be sick or not He did not take his eyes off the cobbled road. If Nicky had not stopped dead, so that Margaret bumped into her, Piers would probably not even have noticed her.

  But she did. Margaret, behind Nicky, did not see the look of horror on her face. But Piers did. He flushed; then looked angry.

  He turned and called over his shoulder, ‘Hey, Steve, the blonde totty is back.’

  Nicky could not move.

  ‘Darling, do get a move on. We haven’t got all day’, said Margaret, oblivious.

  Then, strolling among the vendors of red snapper and butter squash and sugar apples, appeared the man of her nightmares. This morning he was wearing crisp khaki shorts and an olive shirt. He still hadn’t taken off those beastly darklensed glasses, Nicky saw, hating them and him.

  He stopped beside Piers; looked across the quay; saw her. Nicky made a strangled sound. Steve went very still.

  The air was full of cheerful talk. There was the inevitable bouncy beat of the local band, playing just ten steps away along the quay. Behind both, the sea slapped steadily against the dock. The traders had taken up places under bright umbrellas, their wares equally fluorescent. It was one great big street party. Nicky was the only person not lazy and happy.

  She thought she would hate carnivals for the rest of her life.

  Steve’s eyes were hidden, of course. But as far as Nicky could see his expression did not change when he saw her. After the briefest pause, he nodded, unsmiling.

  Margaret realised something was wrong. She stopped fussing with her shopping list.

  ‘Darling, do you know those men?’ she asked under her breath.

  Nicky could not speak. Sh
e shook her head, not taking her eyes off Steve’s unresponsive face. He hesitated; then, after a quick look at Margaret, he came over to them.

  ‘Good morning. No ill effects from your late night?’ he asked lightly.

  Nicky stood as still as stone. Margaret’s eyes sharpened suspiciously.

  ‘So it was you my daughter was with last night.’

  Steve said hastily, ‘She was with all of us. We had a party on board. She helped out in the galley.’ He gave her a kind, indifferent smile. ‘Very well. We were grateful.’

  Nicky said nothing. She would remember those blanked eyes for the rest of her life.

  ‘Oh,’ said Margaret, her worry dissipating.

  Nicky had helped out on plenty of boats and never come to harm. And, while Margaret didn’t like the look of the other boy, people who had hangovers could not be expected to be at their best. Steve, whoever he was, was clearly mature and responsible. Too mature and responsible to do to Nicky what she had been more than half afraid of this morning.

  She gave him a wide, relieved smile. ‘I’m glad—’

  Which was the moment at which Piers took a hand.

  ‘Going to come and play again tonight, sweetheart?’

  Steve silenced him with a savage expletive. Piers grinned.

  ‘Hell, don’t be a killjoy. I really dig that trick with the buttons—’ And he flapped his shirt in a pantomime gesture, horribly explicit.

  There was a terrible moment when nobody said anything. It was like waiting for the headland you were standing on to crumble, Nicky thought. Her heart beat with agonising hammer blows. Her eyes turned to Steve, helplessly.

  ‘I said, shut up,’ he flung at Piers furiously.

  It was too late. Nicky did not wait for any more. She knew her mother was staring. She could not bear it. Pushing past them blindly, she took off into the covered market, running as if the whole world were after her.

  She had to go back in the end, of course. Shamefaced, she slipped back on to the boat, half hoping, half fearing that Margaret would demand an explanation. But Margaret had talked to Steve and drawn her own conclusions. Now she was struggling with remorse.

  ‘Darling, I just hadn’t realised how you were growing up. ‘I’m so sorry. I should never have let it come to this. We are going to buy you some new clothes the moment we get to Kingston.’