Книга - An Unsuitable Wife

An Unsuitable Wife
Lindsay Armstrong


Sidone Was A Novice When It Came To Matters Of The Heart. Perhaps it was inevitable that when she met Mike Brennan she was immediately bowled over by his irresistible charm. Mike soon made it clear though that he wasn't interested in romance, so what made tomboy Sidonie sure she was the one woman for him?Then the time came for Sidonie to leave, but Mike refused to let her go! Did that mean he actually felt something for her? Or was Sidonie always destined to be "an unsuitable wife" for Mike?









An Unsuitable Wife





Lindsay Armstrong











www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE (#u7539062c-3afa-5d55-94d9-69f32ebf1cb8)

CHAPTER TWO (#u4c8ec059-cc30-55b9-b516-5841516b165b)

CHAPTER THREE (#u1481ff9e-7c7a-56a6-94ab-6c376be362f2)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE


SIDONIE HILL was not given to indulging in tears but that was exactly what she felt like doing as she dropped her bag to the ground and sat down wearily on a bench outside an Airlie Beach store.

Among her minor woes was the fact that she was overdressed and perspiring liberally, her major one the fact that she had just been presented with her fare home but had no home to go to, no job and no visible means of support. Not that she was entirely destitute but the disappointment of the whole situation was crushing as well as the fact that she couldn’t afford to stay out of work for too long.

How do I get myself into these situations? she asked herself bitterly, and blinked vigorously. She was not helped in her predicament by the small inner voice that told her she was, always had been and possibly always would be, a rather impractical kind of person, nor had this been helped along by the fact that she’d been born to a brilliant but highly impractical father to whom nothing but nuclear physics had had much importance. To make matters worse, she’d lost her mother at an early age and had been reared in the rarefied atmosphere of university academic life.

And that’s why, she thought gloomily, I’m over-qualified for this teaching job on an outback station—or was it just another way of saying they didn’t like the look and the sound of me? Quite likely, she mused with a grimace, but, be that as it may, my quest for adventure has passed me by; I’ve burnt my boats back in Melbourne—well, to be honest I’d just hate to go back, so what do I do?

She looked around. Airlie Beach in North Queensland was possessed of that blinding kind of sunlight one associated with the tropics and thought longingly of with not the slightest understanding of how powerful and hot it was, she realised. It was also a stepping-off point from the mainland for the Whitsunday Passage and essentially a holiday town where people wore little and seemed to be a very casual, free and easy lot.

Her eyes fell on just such a group, a man and two girls standing on the pavement a few feet away. The man, who, one had to admit, was tall and beautifully proportioned, nevertheless wore ragged shorts, no shirt to obstruct one’s view of his broad shoulders and sleek torso, or shoes, and his hair was longish and he had a red bandanna around it. The two girls had on bikinis beneath see-through shirts, and thongs, and were carrying small colourful holdalls; it appeared as if they were parting company, the girls from the man, because they were saying goodbye with a lot of hilarity and thanking him for a wonderful time. As a final gesture he embraced them in turn then waved them off and turned to go into the store.

It’s no wonder people find the look of me strange, Sidonie reflected; I must stand out like a sore thumb. And she mused along these painful lines for a few minutes then jumped as a voice beside her said, ‘Excuse me.’

It was the shirtless man who had just gone into the store and he was regarding her quizzically from a pair of very blue eyes set in a tanned, rather hawk-like face beneath his longish brown hair.

‘Are you talking to me?’ Sidonie enquired haughtily before she could stop herself.

‘Sure am! I believe you’re looking for a job?’

‘I—well, yes, but what’s it to you?’ Sidonie gazed up at him with more than a little affront expressed in her grey eyes.

He laughed at her and his teeth were quite white and dazzling, she noted at the same time as she bristled further and stood up—causing her interrogator to frame his lips to a soundless whistle. ‘Well, strike me pink,’ he drawled.

‘And what does that mean?’ Sidonie asked through her teeth although she had to tilt her chin up because he was nearly a head taller, probably at least six feet to her five feet four, she guessed.

‘I don’t know,’ he said pensively, those blue eyes roaming up and down her slender figure, so stiflingly dressed in a wilting heavy white cotton shirt with a tight-buttoned neckline and long sleeves, a hound’s-tooth check skirt, stockings and flat black shoes. Then his eyes came back to her face, registered the total lack of make-up and he murmured, ‘Just that you look hot and bothered, I guess; you have to have the palest skin in the place—which could be a problem but not insurmountable—and I don’t think I’ve seen such lovely fair hair for a while...’ He paused and grimaced. ‘I haven’t seen such a prim bun for years either so I think it was the combination of one uptight, out-of-place lady that caused me to express some amazement.’

Sidonie’s very pale skin burned in a comprehensive blush and, because she was inclined to be hot-headed as well as impractical, she said tartly, ‘If you think the impressions of a person such as yourself, whom one could be forgiven for confusing with a tramp—’ she allowed her gaze to roam up and down him as he had done to her ‘—mean anything to me at all, you’re much mistaken.’

‘Wow!’ he said softly. ‘A very uptight lady. Is it because you’re out of work?’ he queried kindly.

Sidonie put her hands on her hips. ‘How do you know I’m out of work anyway?’

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘You were telling Mrs Watson in the store.’

‘Oh.’ It was true. She’d noticed a bulletin board in the store upon which were tacked a variety of notices such as items for sale as well as two positions vacant ones, one for a cook in a motel, one for an experienced Bobcat operator. Since she was quite sure she’d be a disaster as a cook and the wrong sex for a Bobcat operator, she’d enquired of the lady behind the counter if she knew of any other jobs available and had received the lowering information that the recession was biting so deeply that the usual flow of casual jobs such as barmaids, house maids, et cetera had quite dried up. ‘Well,’ she said loftily, his summing-up of her still rankling deeply, ‘I have to say the mind boggles at the thought of what kind of job you might be about to offer me but I suppose I could hear you out.’

He grinned and appeared to be not one whit perturbed. ‘I’m looking for crew.’

‘Crew?’ She frowned.

‘For a boat,’ he said patiently. ‘A fifty-two-foot yacht I’m—breaking in for a friend. It’s rather a handful on its own, you see, and my last crew have just left.’

‘Those girls?’

‘Uh-huh. Do you know anything about boats and sailing?’

‘As a matter of fact I do,’ she said slowly, then blinked confusedly and wondered if she’d gone mad. ‘However, if you imagine I would even consider crewing for a strange man... I could end up heaven knows what!’ she said hotly.

‘Raped, murdered and your body dumped in the briny?’ he said softly. ‘I should tell you your kind of superior, possibly neurotic girl doesn’t appeal to me in the slightest. You’d be quite safe but its entirely up to you.’ He smiled at her, a singularly charming smile that reduced that hawk-like impression surprisingly, and added wryly, ‘I don’t know why but my good deeds have a habit of falling flat—had you noticed that about good deeds?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Sidonie said stiffly.

‘Well, when I saw you sitting there with tears on your lashes—’

‘I wasn’t,’ she whispered, going bright red again.

‘Yes, you were. And when I found out why you were trying not to cry, I was prompted to be—philanthropic, I suppose, despite the fact that you couldn’t be less my type if you tried. Oh, well,’ he shrugged, ‘if you change your mind, if you do have any sailing experience, Mrs Watson has all the details. But I am sailing at the crack of dawn tomorrow on the high tide. Goodbye—I hope your fortunes improve,’ he said gravely, and strolled away.

* * *

Sidonie had lunch in a café in a curiously abstracted state, even for her. And at one point she thought, I can’t believe I’m even thinking this! But the fact was, she couldn’t seem to help it and the bevy of tanned, happy, skimpily clad people about her were, in a curious way, urging her on.

And when she’d spun out her lunch as long as she could, she found herself turning in the direction of Mrs Watson’s general store...

‘Mike Brennan, you mean?’ Mrs Watson said and sighed with pleasure. ‘Oh, he’s a lovely man!’

‘Well, I didn’t quite mean in that respect—is he reliable, respectable—that kind of thing?’

‘So far as I know.’ Mrs Watson opened her eyes wide. ‘He’s been coming up here for a few years now and I don’t know of any complaints. The opposite if anything; everyone seems to like him. And he’s a really good customer and he often brings me back some fish. Oh, no, he’s nice all right!’

‘Where does he come from?’

‘Somewhere down south,’ Mrs Watson said vaguely.

‘Well...’ Sidonie hesitated ‘...what does he do?’

‘Something to do with boats, I believe—oh, Jim—’ she looked past Sidonie to the policeman who had just come in ‘—this young lady is making enquiries about Mike Brennan, how respectable he is and so on.’

‘Mike Brennan?’ Jim said with a lift of his eyebrow. ‘One of the best if you ask me. Why?’

‘I think he’s asked her to crew on his boat,’ Mrs Watson murmured.

If she’d said Mike Brennan had asked a baby elephant to crew on his boat, Jim the policeman could not have expressed more surprise in a mostly silent way. His wide-eyed gaze roamed up and down Sidonie, his mouth opened to make some startled exclamation but he shut it sharply then coughed.

Sidonie closed her own eyes and counted to ten beneath her breath. Then she said tautly, ‘I should have thought it was only prudent to make some enquiries before one sailed off with a man one had never met before, however—’

‘Oh, it is,’ Jim said hastily. ‘Very wise indeed. So what can I tell you? Mike is an expert sailor and I’ve never had one word of complaint from anyone who’s crewed for him over the years, nor from anyone he deals with here, chandlers et cetera. Uh—naturally—’ He paused and looked at her probingly.

‘You can’t absolutely guarantee he won’t be tempted to take advantage of me?’ Sidonie queried with asperity.

‘Well, no,’ Jim said seriously. ‘But I have my doubts it would be a problem. I mean to say...’ he paused again ‘...he—’

‘I know what you’re trying to say,’ Sidonie interrupted. ‘He himself told me I couldn’t be less his type if I tried.’

‘I was actually going to say I don’t think he’s the kind of bloke who presses his attentions where they’re not wanted. There are also plenty of girls who— uh—’ Jim grimaced and Mrs Watson tried to look serious but failed.

‘Who would queue up for his attentions?’ Sidonie supplied sardonically. ‘I can’t imagine why he doesn’t get one of them, then, or two or three.’

‘He could be wanting a break from that kind of thing, love,’ Mrs Watson said brightly.

Sidonie regarded them both somewhat balefully and then did the silliest thing. ‘All right. I can’t think what else to do at the moment but if any harm comes to me be it on your heads!’ And she carted herself and her bag, which was beginning to feel as heavy as lead, out of the store with this parting shot.

She stopped on her way down to the marina at another general store, a very general store, where she made several purchases. A shady white linen hat, a powerful sunscreen and a couple of colourful T-shirts. She paused at a rack of bikinis but reminded herself she did have a swimsuit in her bag, a rather aged, very plain navy blue garment, and told herself it would have to do. But, out on the pavement again, she suddenly changed her mind and went back in and bought not one but two bikinis, a bright red one and a hyacinth-blue one with white flowers on it. She then took herself to the park bordering the beach and sat down on a bench because her heart was beating uncomfortably and she was very much afraid she’d been extremely rash.

As she pondered this, she made the startling discovery that she’d been goaded into splurging her slender resources on bikinis of all things out of sheer pique. As a shot in the eye for all those who had made her feel entirely unattractive, and there’d been three of them, she mused ruefully, in the space of one day. But of course the larger issue, she reminded herself, was, was she going to go through with this?

She stared unseeingly at the vista before her then her eyes focused on the boats anchored off the shore; she drank in the wonderful view of the waters of the Whitsunday Passage—and before she could take issue with herself further she jumped up and began the half-hour hike to the Abel Point Marina.

* * *

‘Mike Brennan? Yes, that’s his boat, Morning Mist, over there. He—uh—expecting you?’

Sidonie looked sternly at the marina manager. ‘I’m crewing for him,’ she said equally sternly and was moved to add, ‘Now I’m sure that might cause you some mirth but I’m in fact very good at it. Would you be so good as to as to stop staring at me with your mouth open and let me on to his jetty?’

Morning Mist was a sleek, beautiful ketch painted the palest grey with navy trim and her skipper was lounging in the cockpit drinking beer from a bottle.

‘Good lord,’ he said as she dumped her bag on the jetty, ‘so it is true!’

‘What is true?’ Sidonie queried stiffly.

‘That you’re going to do it.’ Mike Brennan put his bottle down and studied her quizzically. He had donned a faded blue T-shirt but otherwise looked exactly the same.

‘I don’t know what you mean—how did you know anyway?’ She stared at him nonplussed.

‘I received a visit from the local constabulary a short while ago,’ he said gravely. ‘Who informed me that I’d better take the greatest care of you or else!’

Sidonie blinked. ‘Jim?’

‘Jim,’ he agreed with some irony.

She tried to shrug offhandedly. ‘It’s only what a sensible person would do, I should imagine.’

‘Oh, of course.’

‘Have I offended you, Mr Brennan?’ Sidonie then said tartly.

‘Not in the slightest, Miss—er—’

‘Hill. It’s Sidonie Hill—’

‘Ah, I might have known.’

‘What?’

‘That you would be called Sidonie or Prudence or Camilla, although I would have bet on Prudence.’

‘I have offended you,’ Sidonie said flatly.

‘Why should I be offended? As a matter of fact Jim often stops by for beer.’

‘Then why are you going out of your way to insult me?’

‘I don’t think,’ he said musingly, ‘it’s an insult to be called prudent by name or nature.’

‘It most certainly is,’ she replied vigorously, ‘the way you do it! Look,’ she added, ‘I’m very hot, I’m tired, I’ve been carting my bag around for hours and it wouldn’t be far from the truth to say that I’m nearly at the end of my tether one way or another, so do you want me to crew on your wretched boat or do you not?’

He regarded her entirely enigmatically for a long moment—her heated face, the damp curly wisps of hair coming adrift from her bun, the quite inappropriate clothes she was wearing. Then he surprised the life out of her by saying, ‘It would be an honour to have you crew on my boat, Sidonie Hill.’ And he vaulted over the handrail lightly and landed beside her on the jetty. ‘Welcome aboard. I’ll bring your bag up.’

* * *

‘Well?’

Sidonie looked around again. The interior of Morning Mist was deeply comfortable and wood-panelled with a jade-green carpet and padded velour seats in a matching jade with a tiny black dot. One such seat curved around a dining table and opposite was another, sofa-length and strategically placed for viewing television. The galley was probably a cook’s dream with a long island bench separating it from the main living area. There were two sleeping cabins, one fore, one aft, and they both had showers and toilets. But, apart from all the dark-panelled and jade splendour, it looked lived-in. There were polished brass lamps and full bookshelves, there was a bowl of fruit on the island bench, a compact disc player beside the television, and several maps and familiar instruments strewn over the chart table.

Her eyes came back to rest on Mike Brennan’s face. ‘It’s very nice,’ she said briskly. ‘What instruments do you carry, Mr Brennan?’

He lifted an eyebrow. ‘I think you’d better call me Mike—uh—radar, GPS, auto-pilot; twenty-seven meg, VHF as well as Single Side Band for radios, Auto-Seaphone and the motor is a Gardiner.’

Sidonie’s grey eyes suddenly shone with enthusiasm. ‘Lovely,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I had something to do with a very old Gardiner once but it was a gem. GPS? Do you know I’ve always been fascinated by satellite navigation—I know the old salts think they’re expensive toys but I think it’s thrilling!’

He said nothing for a moment but there was no disguising the surprise in his eyes. ‘So you do know something about it?’

‘Quite a bit,’ she confided. ‘My boyfriend and I used to do a lot of sailing on Port Phillip Bay—that’s off Melbourne—’

‘I have had some experience of Port Phillip Bay,’ he murmured.

‘Then you’ll know it’s no kindergarten!’

‘Definitely not,’ he agreed and narrowed his eyes. ‘What does your boyfriend have to say about you doing this?’

Sidonie sobered. ‘He’s no longer my—that.’

‘Why?’

Sidonie stared at him haughtily. He shrugged and a wry smile twisted his lips. ‘You might as well tell me. What possible harm could it do?’

She frowned then said reluctantly, ‘I suppose you’re right—although I don’t think crewing means I should have to bare my heart to you or that kind of thing. I—’

‘By no means. OK, it’s up to you.’

Sidonie thought for a bit then she said matter-of-factly, ‘He fell in love with someone else, someone who was all the things I’m not, I guess, although she’s hopeless on boats, but then again...I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.’ She shrugged ruefully. ‘It must be to do with having had an extremely trying day!’

Mike Brennan tried not to smile. ‘Do you drink?’ he queried.

‘Very rarely—what’s that got to do with it?’

‘Sometimes it helps. Why don’t you also take the weight off your feet?’ He pointed to a bar stool and went behind the island bench.

Which was how, several minutes later, Sidonie came to have in her hand a glass full of a lovely chilled white wine and before her on the bench a bowl of walnuts and olives.

Mike Brennan waited until she’d sipped some wine before he said, ‘How come it’s been such an unusually trying day?’

Sidonie put her glass down regretfully. ‘Well, I applied for a job up here—not precisely here but at a small outback school on a large cattle property. They seemed very impressed with my credentials and they paid for me to fly up for an interview so I—’ she paused and grimaced ‘—I rather assumed the job was in the bag so to speak.’

‘It wasn’t?’

She sighed. ‘They took one look at me and...came to the conclusion I wouldn’t suit although what they told me was I was over-qualified for it.’

‘Over-qualified to be a teacher?’

‘Yes. Well, I must admit I haven’t had a lot of experience at it,’ she said ruefully. ‘The one job I did have in that line—er—wasn’t entirely successful but I’m quite convinced the school was more to blame than I was.’

Several expressions chased through Mike Brennan’s blue eyes but he said soberly enough, ‘What did you do?’

‘I—’ Sidonie glanced at him cautiously ‘—I taught them to play poker. At the same time I was teaching them English,’ she hastened to add.

‘How old were they?’ he said in the same sober way.

‘Seven and eight.’

He burst out laughing.

‘It’s not really funny,’ Sidonie remarked reproachfully. ‘Their English improved dramatically as it happened.’

‘I don’t quite see the connection,’ he said, still grinning.

‘It’s simple.’ She looked surprised. ‘We would only have a game if everyone had done their homework and concentrated properly in the lesson.’

‘Quite simple,’ he marvelled. ‘But the school didn’t approve?’

Sidonie sighed again. ‘They said I could be turning them into compulsive gamblers.’

‘What a prospect—you might have been better with Snap and Happy Families.’

Sidonie shrugged. That’s another of my contentions that they didn’t agree with—I think children are often a lot brighter than they’re given credit for.’

‘Well, I agree with you there, but you didn’t actually use money—or did you?’

‘Oh, no, we used broad beans.’

He grinned and offered her an olive.

‘Thanks.’ She bit into it reflectively. ‘So.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘So? Your teaching experience sounds not only limited but disastrous yet you were quite sure you would get this job—forgive me but that sounds a bit rash.’

‘It was,’ Sidonie agreed gloomily. ‘But I really wanted to get out of Melbourne and...’ She trailed off and sipped some more wine.

‘What are these over-qualifications you have?’

She brightened. ‘A BA—I actually majored in English Literature—and a Bachelor of Science.’

‘I’m impressed,’ Mike Brennan murmured. ‘But it seems a rather unusual combination.’

‘Unfortunately—’ Sidonie looked wry ‘—I’m rather unusual. If you must know I quite often feel a bit of a freak and never more so than today,’ she added with a grimace. ‘But I can assure you it’s possible to be interested in science and arts.’

‘I do apologise, I didn’t mean to sound patronising,’ he said gravely. ‘Perhaps you should pursue the scientific side—career-wise, that is—rather than the educational side.’

‘I was,’ she said briefly.

‘So?’

‘I was bored to tears,’ she said solemnly.

‘That doesn’t—does that make sense in light of what you’ve just told me?’ he queried wryly.

‘Probably not.’ She drained her glass. ‘It all rather goes back to my father, who died fairly recently. He was a nuclear physicist, you see, and he could never understand why mechanics was my forte. And when I wanted to get out of the laboratory and actually work among motorbikes and so on—they really fascinate me mechanically—he got very upset. He said it was no job for a girl, which was really strange because he’d always treated me as a son until then.’ She blinked away a tear. ‘So I stayed on, well, with just that one stint teaching—he didn’t mind that—until he died. I do beg your pardon.’ She drew a hanky from her pocket and blew her nose. ‘I’m normally not in the least emotional.’

Mike Brennan said thoughtfully, ‘Losing your father and your boyfriend can be emotional experiences, I should imagine. But what’s stopping you working with motorbikes now?’

Sidonie twisted her hanky. ‘Everyone I approached laughed at me.’

Mike Brennan laughed himself. ‘I wonder why?’ he murmured and poured her another glass of wine.

Sidonie looked down at herself. ‘I know why,’ she said with gentle melancholy and reflected that if one glass of wine made her feel this sorry for herself she ought not to have any more, but it was oddly comforting to be able to be so honest. ‘There just doesn’t seem to be a role in life for me.’

‘At—twenty or so...’ he hazarded, ‘I wouldn’t regard it as a blight on your life yet.’

‘Twenty-three,’ Sidonie said drily, ‘and that’s the kind of facile thing people say but I do assure you it’s no help at all.’

He looked at her thoughtfully, not in least perturbed by her intended slight, apparently, then he said idly, ‘Could I make a less facile suggestion? Don’t wear your hair like that, throw away those clothes—and life might just surprise you, Sidonie Hill.’

‘Ah,’ Sidonie responded. ‘No, it wouldn’t. It’s still the same me, you see. Just as you would probably be highly uncomfortable in anything other than shorts and a T-shirt, and with a decent haircut, I wouldn’t be any less me. And if you were implying that men might be tempted to take more of an interest in me were I to do those things you suggested—two points.’ She gestured and reached for her glass. ‘Life might certainly surprise me but would it actually improve? I wonder—’

He broke in with a half-smile, ‘Why shouldn’t it? Or do you have something against men finding you attractive?’

‘Not the right man, no.’ It was her turn to look faintly quizzical. ‘They don’t seem to be too thick on the ground, however. But you know, it’s not so much men—or the lack of them—that bothers me. It’s—this lack of purpose, not being able to find the right job, the right niche. That’s what really bothers me.’

‘On the other hand, is that not why you left Melbourne? Because of your failed—relationship?’

Sidonie frowned. ‘Well, obviously it was one reason. It’s not very pleasant to be thrown over for another woman; I can’t deny that it made a bit of a dent in my self-esteem but I’ve got the feeling it might not have worked anyway.’

‘And why is that?’ Mike Brennan queried with a straight face.

Sidonie chewed her lip. ‘I know it sounds odd and what I really mean is this, I think...’ She paused. ‘We were good friends and perhaps we confused that with being in love. It was certainly all very nice and comfortable but when he fell in love with this other girl it sort of dawned on me that there’d been no real passion in our relationship. No heart-stirring stuff, no feeling breathlessly happy and not wanting to be away from each other for a moment. Which is how he felt about her,’ she said ruefully. ‘And of course I was then led to wonder whether I was capable of inducing that kind of thing in a man. It’s not always a help to be interested in the kind of things I am, from a man’s point of view, I’m beginning to perceive. I think, speaking very generally, of course, men still prefer women to be very feminine.’

‘And you don’t think you are?’ Mike Brennan said in a totally deadpan way.

‘Not outwardly,’ Sidonie replied, her brow furrowed as she concentrated. ‘Take my choice in clothes for one thing—I’m really happiest in a pair of overalls so I never bother much about them and when I do I never get it right. I have a lot of trouble with my hair, I—’ But she hesitated and stopped, thinking that her other major shortcoming might be better kept a secret until there was no turning back. So she said instead, ‘Do you know what I mean at all?’ and winced when she thought she saw a glint of compassion in his eyes and said hastily, ‘It doesn’t really matter. As I said earlier, it’s not my main cause of concern.’

He looked at her thoughtfully for a long moment. ‘As a matter of fact I agree with you,’ he said finally. ‘To the extent that the outward manifestations of one’s femininity, or masculinity for that matter, may not always be a true guide.’

‘Oh, I’m so relieved to hear you say so!’ Sidonie smiled at him widely and then was struck by an awful thought which caused her to start to colour and add disjointedly, ‘Not...I mean...not in any personal sense, of course! Just that it reflects that you could be a thinking, fairly intelligent sort of person... Oh, dear,’ she wound down unhappily, ‘perhaps I should say no more.’

‘Perhaps,’ he agreed but with a wicked little glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. ‘But until you make up your mind on my intelligence or otherwise, may I make a practical suggestion this time? Why don’t you unpack, have a shower and change? You don’t need to be careful of water while we’re in the marina; I’ll fill up again before we go—and I’ll start dinner. The sun has slipped past the yard arm, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

* * *

Half an hour later Sidonie emerged from the forward cabin a bit hesitantly. The shower had been wonderful, the cabin, although small, had ample space for her possessions and she’d changed into a pair of white shorts and one of the T-shirts she’d bought. She’d also washed her hair and plaited it. The aromas coming from the galley were delicious, but despite all this she couldn’t help but be struck by the thought that she’d committed herself to sharing a very confined space with a total stranger and she didn’t even know for how long.

So she was quiet as they ate grilled lamb chops, a potato casserole topped with cheese and tomato, and fresh green beans, followed by a fresh fruit salad and cream. She also declined any more wine and was just gearing herself up to ask some pertinent questions when Mike Brennan pushed away his dessert plate and said idly, ‘I’d guess you’d like to know my plans.’

‘Oh. Yes,’ she replied gratefully.

‘Know anything about the Whitsunday area?’

‘No,’ she confessed. ‘Not a lot. I boned up on cattle and cattle stations et cetera—I’m actually a walking mine of information on different breeds...Simmental, Poll Herefords, Charolais as well as artificial insemination and the like, which was a bit of a waste of time as it’s turned out although they say knowledge can never be useless—but I wasn’t expecting to be out on the water.’

‘Well, come and have a look at the map,’ he said, again looking wickedly amused, and a moment later was showing her the main islands in the area. ‘Hayman, Hook, Whitsunday, Haslewood, Hamilton all have protected anchorages, so what I plan is a leisurely cruise around them for a couple of weeks and then I’ll be taking her down to Tin Can Bay, which is to be her home base.’ His finger moved a long way down the map and Sidonie’s eyes widened.

His own eyes narrowed faintly as he watched her and he said after a moment, ‘That will be something for us to make a mutual decision about—whether you come that far or I drop you back here.’

‘I see.’ She thought for a bit and looked around. ‘It looks brand-new, this boat.’

‘It is. There are only about twenty hours on the log, which is why I decided to take on crew. There are inevitably teething problems on new boats and it’s handy to have someone else on board.’

‘I would have thought you needed a man.’

‘As a matter of fact I’ve had some excellent crew, sailing-wise, who were girls, although none with your mechanical experience. And even if they can’t sail it’s a great help to have someone to cook when things are going wrong.’

‘I see,’ Sidonie said again, mentally digesting this and wondering what else those girls had been good at.

‘What you’re wondering now, my friend Sidonie,’ he said with a tinge of irony, ‘doesn’t sit that well with the sentiments you expressed earlier.’

Sidonie raised her expressive grey eyes to his and there was a certain cool hauteur in them. ‘No? Which sentiments were those?’

‘That women can be good at all sorts of things, as you yourself are, and men should be able to accept that and see beyond the frills and furbelows. At least I think that’s what you were trying to say.’

‘Ah,’ she murmured, not lowering her gaze by a fraction, ‘I was. I was not, however, to be seen kissing you in public this morning or, more to the point, being kissed by you after crewing on your boat.’

A look of exasperation tempered by some devilish humour came to his expression. ‘All the same I didn’t sleep with them; they were only on board for the trip down from Townsville where I...where the boat was bought, and because they were sweet, nice kids who’d enjoyed every minute of their adventure, and because I know one of their brothers rather well, I kissed them goodbye. Furthermore, in case you weren’t aware of it, it was not the kind of kissing lovers indulge in; people are very informal in this part of the world and among the boating fraternity, Miss Hill; and if those kind of quite innocent things are going to shock you all the time, we may have to rethink our...association.’

‘It’s up to you,’ Sidonie said levelly. ‘I just like to get things quite clear in my mind,’ she added.

He stared at her then shook his head wryly. ‘I’ve got the feeling whatever I say will be taken down and used in evidence against me but for what it’s worth here goes—I did have a friend, the brother I mentioned a moment ago, lined up for these sea trials but he broke a leg a couple of days ago. That’s how I came to be reduced to seeking strange crew, little to know how strange they were going to be,’ he said with a lethal kind of gentleness. ‘However, I have, over the years of cruising in yachts, used women crew—even strange women crew at times, which I would have thought merely demonstrated that I’m not a male chauvinist. Only to discover—’ his lips twisted ‘—that it has caused you to feel sure it’s a deep, devious ploy to lure them into my bed.’

Sidonie raised an eyebrow. ‘Can you tell me it’s never happened?’

‘Yes, I can,’ he replied equably but with less latent humour. ‘In fact I can go further and say quite catagorically that I have never asked any woman to step on board any boat with an ulterior motive in mind. You’re quite safe, Sidonie, but of course I can only say it; whether you believe me or not is up to you.’

Sidonie pursed her lips then said at length, ‘All right, I’ll accept that with the proviso that you also promise no ulterior motives develop later on—’ He swore beneath his breath, but she continued doggedly, ‘And I refuse to be embarrassed about any of this despite your efforts to make me feel so.’

Mike Brennan stared at her for a full minute, looking every bit as hawkish as he was capable of, but Sidonie’s gaze didn’t falter. Finally a reluctant and dry little smile twisted his lips as he said, ‘Why do I have the impression that if anyone’s biting off more than they can chew it’s me?’

For the first time a spark of humour lit Sidonie’s eyes although she replied gravely, ‘I have no idea.’

‘I wonder.’ He paused, seemed about to say more then changed the subject. ‘I’ll give you a guided tour of the galley, the freezers, fridges, et cetera, and how they operate. I think that might be enough for tonight. Would one day on, one day off suit you?’

‘What—? I don’t—’

‘I mean that we split galley duties between us day by day.’

‘Oh! Uh—yes, that would be fine,’ she said and hoped it didn’t sound as lame to him as it did to her. But he merely gave her a guided tour of all the facilities—the gas stove and conventional oven, the microwave oven, the ice-making machine and so on. There was no doubt that Morning Mist had virtually everything that opened and shut, not that those facilities were generally of much help to Sidonie—But I’ll think about that tomorrow, she told herself as she unsuccessfully tried to stop yawning and battled the onset of extreme weariness.

Eventually he said, ‘Mmm... I think you’d better go to bed, Sidonie, before you fall asleep standing up. And I’ll cook tomorrow—you can get acquainted with the motor and the sails if you like.’

‘Thanks,’ she said really gratefully. ‘I do seem to be very tired although don’t think I tire easily. I’m as strong as a horse normally; it’s just that—’ She stopped and coloured.

‘You’ve had a tough day,’ he supplied with a suppressed smile.

‘Yes... Goodnight,’ she said uncertainly.

He studied her for a moment and she couldn’t read his expression at all. Then he said quietly, ‘Goodnight, Sid. Sleep well; you really don’t have a thing to worry about.’

* * *

Which was how she came to fall asleep with some confusion among her thoughts—such as the rough diamond she’d assumed was Mike Brennan might not be so rough after all, and wondering how old he was and deciding he must be in his middle thirties but being unable to decide why this should concern her at all. Such as wondering how she was going to tell him that in one respect, at least, she was an utter fraud...




CHAPTER TWO


‘HOW’S that?’

‘It’s really excellent. She sails like a dream!’ Sidonie said enthusiastically. ‘Wouldn’t you just love to own a boat like this?’

Mike Brennan shrugged non-committally. They’d cleared the Abel Point Marina and Pioneer Rocks very early and were sailing down the Whitsunday Passage in light conditions, and added to the magic of Morning Mist there was a slight haze in the air so that the passage looked ethereally lovely in the morning light, a serenade of pale blues, sky and water with the islands appearing insubstantial and as if they were floating themselves. Two dolphins had accompanied them for a time, rubbing their backs under the bow of the boat then curving out of the water joyfully.

Sidonie had been aware as they’d hoisted sail and cut the motor that she’d been under Mike Brennan’s hawk-like scrutiny, and aware that she’d passed his unspoken test, which had given her a curiously joyful little lift herself. Not that she’d ever handled a boat this size before, with its impressive spread of sail, but the rudiments were always the same, and she thought her father, who had taught her to sail, would have been proud of her. Then she thought of Peter Matthews, who had also been impressed by her sailing abilities, and the many happy days they’d spent together on Port Phillip Bay, and blinked a couple of times. Why didn’t I realise until it was too late? she asked herself. I mean realise that what we shared wasn’t the stuff dreams are made of? If only I had I could have spared myself the indignity if nothing else of having to be told he’d fallen in love with someone else. Perhaps even spared him the embarrassment of it all...

‘Penny for them?’ the tall man beside her said quietly.

‘Er—’ She jumped and looked at him ruefully. ‘Oh, nothing really.’

‘It’s a shame to be sad on a morning like this.’

‘You’re right, it is. I’ll stop!’

He smiled briefly. ‘Would some breakfast help?’

‘It certainly would.’

‘Well, if you keep her on this course, I’ll do the necessary. Are you a big breakfast eater?’

‘Oh, no. What do you usually have?’

‘Muesli and fruit, toast and coffee.’

‘So do I!’

‘Well, I’m glad we’ve found a couple of things in common,’ he said, but nicely, and disappeared down the ladder.

I think he is nice, Sidonie found herself reflecting as she held Morning Mist on course with her sails nicely filled. She was not to know that while Mike Brennan could undoubtedly be nice he could also get extremely angry in a very cold and cutting manner...

That discovery came to her the next evening after another lovely day’s sailing, when they were anchored in Stonehaven Bay off Hook Island. Not only had they had a great sail but after they’d anchored he’d lowered the dinghy and taken her coral viewing per medium of a coral viewer held into the water over the side of the dinghy, and she’d been amazed and thrilled at the colourful sight. She’d even said it reminded her of buried treasure and he’d raised an eyebrow and agreed that it was a good description.

Unfortunately, after that, she’d been unable to put off the evil moment any longer—her turn to cook dinner. Breakfast had been a breeze, lunch fairly simple—even she couldn’t do much wrong with cold meat and salad—but there was plump fresh chicken reposing in the fridge awaiting her attentions, and she got a sinking feeling every time she thought about it.

Fortunately, or so she thought at the time, one of the other boats anchored in Stonehaven was known to Mike and when he was invited aboard for a drink and asked her if she’d like to go as well she’d declined and said she would rather start dinner, thinking that she’d be much better off without him breathing down her neck.

She wasn’t. Despite a cook book she found—or, as she later heard herself say, actually because of it. She certainly wouldn’t have been as adventurous without it but when there was cauliflower crying out for a white sauce and the instructions for it, a recipe for honeyed carrots... The list went on.

None of this altered the fact that, an hour and a half later when Mike Brennan returned to the boat, she’d got herself into an unbelievable, not to mention dangerous mess and had just managed to tilt the roasting tray, complete with burnt chicken, pumpkin and potatoes, so that all its contents had slid to the galley floor.

The first words he spoke she heard quite clearly although she couldn’t quite see him through the smoky black haze that filled the boat.

He said, ‘My God...!’ Then, ‘Just what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, Sidonie? Trying to burn the boat to the waterline?’

‘No, no!’ She gasped and coughed then yelped as she burnt herself on the roasting tray.

The next few minutes were confused and not helped by the white sauce, which quadrupled its volume into a billowing, bubbly head and cascaded all over the top of the stove, thereby adding another smell of burning of a slightly different but equally unpleasant nature.

It was only after Mike Brennan had managed to reduce the haze by opening every porthole and hatch that he stopped swearing. Then he surveyed her with blazing blue eyes but said in a voice like ice, ‘How did this happen?’

Sidonie wiped her watering eyes and thought briefly. ‘Food and I don’t get along too well. I mean, I enjoy eating it well enough, there are some things I love, but I’m just not very good at...cooking it. Although I followed the instructions to a T, I do assure you!’

‘You thoughtless, stupid, pedantic, tiresome little girl—why didn’t you just tell me you couldn’t cook?’ he ground out through his teeth. ‘Not only could you have burnt the boat but it will take a week to clean up the mess.’

Sidonie thought again although she felt a bit fearful and looked it. ‘I don’t understand why I can’t cook, you see. And I really thought that without you around to give me an inferiority complex, plus the help of this recipe book, I might just get it right this time.’

He said something extremely uncomplimentary towards her thought processes and added that he hoped she was as good at cleaning up messes as she was at creating them, but when she assured him eagerly that she was he glared at her in a way that made her quake inside, and turned away in disgust.

They worked together for over an hour in a cold, absolutely demoralising silence. Then he said curtly, ‘Leave it now, Sidonie. For one thing I’m tired of tripping over you—go and have a shower or something. I’ll make us something to eat.’

She opened her mouth but received such a devastating blue glance that she closed it and turned away defeatedly.

* * *

He’d made them scrambled eggs with smoked salmon, she discovered when she nerved herself to leave her cabin, washed and cleaned up but feeling like an incredible fool.

She also discovered she was still in Coventry as they ate, and for once she could think of not a thing to say or do to ease the situation.

Then he broke the silence to say with considerable irony, ‘Would I be wrong in surmising your ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend possesses some culinary skills?’

Sidonie winced and looked away. Don’t cry, she warned herself. However hurtful, it was still a horrible thing to say.

‘Sidonie?’

‘I don’t really know. Probably,’ she said gruffly and concentrated on the last little bit of smoked salmon.

‘Probably,’ he marvelled. ‘Even if it were a bare modicum it would have to be an improvement on you.’

She didn’t answer but put her knife and fork together and went to get up but flinched as the inside of her forearm came into contact with the edge of the table. She didn’t see him frown and looked up in surprise when he took her wrist and turned her arm to the light, exposing the nasty little burn she’d received from the roasting dish.

Their gazes caught and held and he said in a different voice, ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘About this?’

‘Yes, about this burn,’ he said deliberately, still holding her wrist.

‘I...I don’t really know,’ she murmured. ‘I suppose because I’d created enough havoc without adding to it. But it’s nothing,’ she assured him. ‘I—’

‘Stop right there, Sidonie,’ he warned. ‘I know damn well it must have been hurting like hell and still is, and if there’s one thing I don’t appreciate it’s false bravery—’

‘It’s not false—’

‘It’s not hurting?’ he shot at her.

‘Well...’ she bit her lip ‘...only a little. And if you must know,’ she continued, ‘if you hadn’t made me feel entirely as if I’d crawled out from under a stone, I would have asked you for something to put on it. I don’t believe in false bravery either.’

He moved his fingers on her wrist so that she flinched again, then he raised his eyes heavenwards in total exasperation. ‘Just promise me one thing, Sidonie.’

She looked at him wide-eyed. He surveyed her upturned face and wide eyes for a moment then shook his head and said merely, ‘Don’t talk the hind leg off a donkey until my mood improves.’ And he gave her back her wrist and motioned her to sit down, whereupon he brought out a first-aid kit and dealt with her burn competently and clinically. Then he made them some coffee but declined her offer to do the dishes. ‘Although,’ he said meditatively, ‘I think that will have to be the division of labour from hereon in. I’ll be chief cook and you can be chief bottle washer.’

‘Thank you very much,’ she said with a rush of gratitude. ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am. And tomorrow I’ll clean every crevice so that it will all look like new again. Unless...’ She paused and eyed him warily.

He narrowed his eyes. ‘What?’

‘I just wondered if it would be possible to teach me a bit of cookery, seeing as you seem to be so very good at it.’

He eyed her over the rim of his cup. ‘How come no one else has been able to teach you?’

‘No one’s ever tried. Dad and I always lived on campus, you see. Oh, we had a self-contained flatlet but it was much easier to eat in the canteen.’

Mike Brennan put down his cup and stared into it silently but when she thought he wasn’t going to say anything and had begun to wish she’d never mentioned the subject he looked up at last with something wry and quizzical in his eyes. ‘I suppose one could only try,’ he said gravely. ‘If nothing else it might render you more marriageable.’

The glow that had started to light Sidonie’s face up faltered and he grimaced, stood up and patted her on the head. ‘Don’t look like that, kid. I’m still recovering from the shock of your little débâcle—yes, I’ll teach you how to cook, if it’s possible.’

With that she had to be content, and discovered, curiously, that she was. And even more so when, after he’d dealt with the dishes, he put some music on the CD, a lovely Enya album, and brought out the manual for the instrument known colloquially as a GPS, short for Global Positioning System. In fact it would have been true to say she was entranced as he explained the finer points of satellite navigation and how the instrument locked into several satellites and was thereby able to record the boat’s position so that they could plot it on a chart and know exactly where they were as well as being able to put in a destination point and have it tell them the course to steer to get to it, the range in nautical miles and the time it would take to get there.

And within a very short time she had a complete grasp of the instrument, causing him to say with a lifted eyebrow, ‘You may not be able to cook, friend Sid, but you’ve picked all this up in record time.’

Nothing diminished her glow of pleasure this time and she went to bed not long afterwards in a more contented frame of mind than one would have thought possible considering she’d nearly burnt the boat down. And as she listened to the gentle slap of the bow wave against the hull and snuggled beneath the covers her thoughts once again turned to Mike Brennan, a man she knew so little about yet was coming to like a lot.

It was at this point that it occurred to her again that while he might look like a rough diamond he didn’t sound like one nor behave like one and was even looking less and less like one on closer inspection. In fact, although she wouldn’t call him handsome, she decided, those aquiline features appealed to her, at least his brown hair was shiny and clean, and he did things on the boat with an economy and precision of movement, a fine-tuning of his superb physique, those broad shoulders, lean torso and long legs that was a pleasure to watch and even made her heart beat a little oddly sometimes. Then there was the way he cooked and the things he cooked and the music he liked and the books he read—you could almost be forgiven for thinking he was educated and cultured, she mused. And there was now the conundrum to add to all this that, despite her early doubts and despite incurring his dire wrath, she felt strangely safe with Mike Brennan...

* * *

The weather turned against them over the next few days. It was windy and wet, and they had a few exhilarating sails both clad in yellow rain-jackets, but when the wind rose to above twenty-five knots they sought protection in a secluded anchorage and spent two nights there until the weather eased. They were to turn into two of the happiest days Sidonie had known for a while, for several reasons. For one thing he cut down an ancient set of overalls for her and together they clambered down beneath the floorboards and inspected every part of the boat’s machinery minutely and she was able to exhibit her knowledge of diesel engines and run her hands lovingly over the Gardiner as well as attend to it where required. She was also able to squeeze into impossibly small spaces, spaces he couldn’t get into, and it was she who discovered the bilge pump that was not operating properly and was able to take it apart and fix it.

And although he didn’t say a lot she could see from the wry look he occasionally directed her way that she sometimes amazed him, sometimes amused him.

Then there were the evenings when the wind was howling through the halyards but they were snuggly battened down and he commenced his cooking lessons. They seemed to get into a routine. They showered and changed then she perched on a stool on the other side of the island bench from him and under his direction chopped, peeled and prepared. That was all she did the first night but she listened minutely as he explained what he was doing—pot roasting a piece of blade beef, sealing in the juices by searing it first then laying it on a bed of the vegetables she’d done with a little bit of liquid, seasoning and some red wine and setting it to simmer covered until done.

‘Very healthy and economical,’ he commented, pouring her a glass of wine.

‘Why?’

‘Well, you’re cooking everything in one pot on one burner and none of the goodness of the vegetables is lost because you use the liquid it’s cooking in as a thin gravy.’

‘I would never have thought of that. How do you know so much about it? Are you self-taught?’

‘More or less.’

‘That’s what I thought I could be,’ she said with a grimace. ‘It obviously didn’t work in my case.’

He smiled faintly. ‘Once some of the basics become clear to you, you could surprise yourself.’

But it was the next night that he surprised her. This time they were cooking the sweetlip he’d caught earlier; he’d shown her how to fillet it, how to make a light batter and they were intending to pan fry the fillets in olive oil. The wind had dropped but it was raining heavily, the lamps were on, and for the first time she’d left her hair loose to dry after getting caught in a shower while she’d checked that the anchor was holding; it was simply parted on the side and hanging to her shoulders. It was almost dry as she concentrated carefully on the potatoes she was slicing for chips. And when she looked up once it was to find him staring at her with a faint frown.

Her eyes widened. ‘Something wrong?’

‘No. Why on earth do you always scrape your hair back in a pigtail or a bun?’

She put a hand to her hair self-consciously. Its colour was fine, the palest gold in fact, its texture strong and vibrant, but left to itself the ends curled riotously. ‘Isn’t it a terrible mess?’

‘The kind of mess women pay fortunes to induce in their hair,’ he said ironically.

Sidonie stared at him, her lips parted. ‘Are you sure?’ she said after a moment.

His blue eyes roamed her face and she could see a kind of wry exasperation in them as he said, ‘Don’t you ever look at other women?’

‘Of course. Well, I must, mustn’t I?’

‘Then how come you’ve failed to realise that you have an almost perfectly oval face, beautiful eyes, skin like pale velvet, an amazingly stern little mouth when you want it to be but pink and inviting at other times—and that heavy mass of lovely hair just as it is sets it all off to perfection while the way you had it scraped back didn’t do much for you at all?’

Sidonie’s eyes almost fell out. ‘You’re joking!’

He grimaced. ‘I’m not. It may not be what you see on the pages of Vogue, although if you didn’t bite your nails that could help, but it’s a big improvement on Sidonie Hill as you normally present her to the world.’

‘But...but there’s the rest of me.’

His lips twisted. ‘I can’t see a great deal wrong with the rest of you either,’ he replied prosaically.

‘Well, I’m not terribly well-endowed if you must know.’

‘That could be a matter of opinion,’ he commented. ‘You actually have a rather coltish grace.’

‘I...I don’t know whether I should believe you,’ Sidonie said, her brow furrowed in a mighty frown.

He shrugged and looked amused. ‘Why don’t you test it out, then?’

‘How?’

‘Just leave your hair the way it is, for starters. Try not to be too serious when you’re around boys—it might help to sound a little less learned—I’ve already mentioned your clothes, and if you could relax, who knows?’ He turned away and reached for the oil.

Sidonie stared at his back and was possessed of the strangest impulse, which manifested itself in what she said. ‘At twenty-three aren’t I bit grown-up for boys?’

‘You look about sixteen at the moment,’ he said drily.

She bit her lip. ‘Well...but the problem of being too serious and learned-sounding—might that not appeal to older men?’

He turned back and looked more amused. ‘Once again, who knows?’

‘How old are you, Mike?’ The words were out before she could stop them and once out the implication was deafening and she blushed vividly but being Sidonie immediately attempted some rationalisation. ‘I mean, as an older man yourself, do you find me boring and too learned? I just thought it might give me some sort of guide. However else it may have sounded,’ she said lamely, and not entirely honestly, she realised.

The amusement left his eyes; she saw it go and flinched inwardly. Yet he said normally, even whimsically, ‘Definitely an older man; I’m thirty-six...’ he paused ‘...and too old for you, friend Sid.’ But he held her grey gaze in a level look for a moment before gently prising the knife out of her fingers and briskly slicing the last potato into chips.

She took a breath then said with all the hauteur she could muster, ‘That could be a matter of opinion too—speaking purely academically.’

He was unmoved. ‘So it could. Speaking generally as well, but not in this case.’

She couldn’t help the slightly crestfallen look that came to her eyes but if he noted it he made no comment as he put the chips in the hot oil.

And all she could think of to say was, ‘I see.’ But then she leant her chin on her hands thoughtfully, looking genuinely puzzled, and said, ‘If I were to assure you I had no designs on you at all—which shouldn’t be that hard to believe after the way I carried on a few days ago—could we continue this discussion on an academic level?’

An unwilling smile twisted his lips and he murmured, ‘The mind boggles but I have no doubt you’re going to pursue it to the death so I guess I have little choice. What is it you’d like to know, Miss Hill?’

She tried to marshal her thoughts into order as her father had always trained her to do when confronting a scientific problem and said at last, ‘Well. If as you said I’m not quite the rather ordinary, plain person I took myself for, does it mean you have a preference for tall, statuesque brunettes?’

‘Not necessarily. It merely means, and you should understand this, Sid—’ he glinted a blue glance at her ‘—that there has to be a certain kind of chemistry between a man and a woman that’s a subtle, mysterious thing and is the reason why a man will fall in love with one girl and not ten others who may be equally as beautiful if not more so. And vice versa.’ He laid the fillets of sweetlip carefully into the pan.

Sidonie grimaced. Then she said carefully, ‘Point taken. On the other hand it crossed my mind to wonder if there wasn’t more to it in your case. And by that I mean, on the scale of averages, most men of your age are either married or have been married.’

‘True,’ he conceded, quite unperturbed. ‘But I can assure you that I’m perfectly normal.’

Sidonie’s lips parted and her eyes widened. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean that,’ she said flusteredly. ‘I was thinking more along the lines of some deep unhappiness associated with falling in love that had come your way.’

‘Sidonie...’ he stopped what he was doing to look levelly across at her ‘...that is the kind of daydream impressionable sixteen-year-old girls are notorious for indulging in.’

A wave of colour stained her cheeks as their gazes held and for one horrifying moment she wondered if he was right. Then her natural obstinacy reasserted itself, although obliquely, and she shrugged her slim shoulders gently and said wryly, ‘Oh, well, I’ve told you all about me, I thought you might like to tell me a bit about you, that’s all. But naturally I’ll respect your wish for privacy. Would you like me to do the salad?’

For a moment he returned her innocent gaze then he muttered inaudibly beneath his breath and said, ‘No. Come and watch the fish and observe the temperature I’m cooking the chips at, but promise me one thing—you won’t ever attempt to cook chips on your own. That way you could burn the boat down.’

The fish was delicious but dinner was a slightly strained affair until Sidonie said, ‘I’m sorry, Mike.’

He lifted an eyebrow at her and looked sceptical.

‘No, I am. Could I explain to you what really made me so maddeningly inquisitive?’

He sighed. ‘Do you have to?’

‘I think so. I don’t like to think we’re not friends now so I’ve turned it all over in my mind and decided it’s probably only human nature of the feminine variety to feel a bit piqued when you receive a compliment such as you gave me but nevertheless delivered in such a completely disinterested as well as uninterested way.’

‘I see,’ he said gravely.

‘But my ego has recovered, I—’

‘Do assure me,’ he broke in solemnly but she could see the glint of laughter in his eyes.

‘Yes.’ And she smiled wonderfully at him with both relief and gratitude in her eyes. ‘Can we be friends again?’

‘I don’t see why not.’

They remained friends for about a day and a half but it was a growing cause of concern for Sidonie that, while what she’d told him about feeling piqued was undoubtedly true, what she’d told him about her ego being recovered was not. Added to this she became more and more curious about him and vaguely aware that there was a lot to Mike Brennan that absolutely intrigued her and reinforced her feeling that there might be some mystery about him too. Because, although he was mostly an easy person to live with, there were times when she got the feeling that he withdrew totally. And there were times when she watched him handle the boat or the sails and knew not only that he was a master mariner but kept feeling there had to be more to him... Why? she wondered several times. And answered herself, Well, perhaps it is because he’s such a master mariner yet it’s in a very educated way; he’s so scientific about the weather and navigation and a lot of other things—maybe he was in the navy once? Then one afternoon she saw him watch a plane fly over them towards Hamilton Island, and got the strangest feeling he knew all about it too.

So it was safe to say she became quite puzzled and concerned, and finally in a way that hit her rather like a sledgehammer despite making him even angrier, if anything, than he’d been over her failed dinner.




CHAPTER THREE


IT STARTED out a beautiful day and they had a glorious sail and then about mid-afternoon dropped anchor for the night at Nara Inlet, a long finger of turquoise water surrounded by the steep, tree-clad cliffs of Hook Island and echoing with birdsong.

‘We can do one of two things,’ Mike Brennan said. ‘Go ashore—there’s a good walk and some Aboriginal cave paintings—or we can have a swim.’

Sidonie’s eyes lit up. ‘Why don’t we do both?’

‘You’re very energetic, Sid,’ he said, glinting her a lazy smile.

‘I love exploring.’

‘I might have known. OK, get some exploring gear on. We’ll swim when we get back.’

The walk was wonderful, although steep and rock-strewn. Sidonie wore one of her two pairs of shorts, navy blue, with one of her new T-shirts, bright yellow, and her hair bundled into her floppy white hat. As a precaution, Mike insisted she smother herself with insect repellent although he didn’t bother himself, and after they’d landed he found her a sturdy stick just in case of snakes.

‘I feel like—Dr Livingstone,’ she confided.

‘Then I suppose I’m Mr Stanley.’

She looked him up and down; he had on khaki shorts, old sandshoes, a much washed khaki shirt and his red bandanna. ‘You look much more like the descendant of an Apache chief; however, lead on, Mr Stanley, sir!’

He did, with a lightning grin—and was able to demonstrate quite an amazing knowledge of the local flora; he pointed out to her Hoop pines, Pandanus palms and much more as they climbed steadily. And every now and then as the path strayed towards the edge of the cliff they got a bird’s-eye view of Morning Mist anchored in the waters below.

They had a break at the cave with the Aboriginal paintings and Sidonie was entranced. It was more an overhang of rock than a cave, fenced off and with a boardwalk erected. It was cool and dim beneath the rock and as she stared at each little image scratched into the surface and faintly coloured with pigments made from berries and the earth she got a feeling of timelessness that stayed with her for the rest of the walk.

‘You’re quiet, Sid,’ he said when they stopped in the rocky bed of a dried-up waterfall.

She looked around at the hot, silent bush and said intensely, ‘I’m feeling. And I think it’s an experience I’ll treasure forever.’

He squatted down and rinsed his hands in one of the few pools of water left. ‘Want to share it?’

She sat down on a smooth boulder. ‘This land is so old, isn’t it? That’s what I’m feeling, an ancient, timeless sort of...looking back. This is the kind of place that really steeps you in it—do you feel that?’

He took a moment to reply, then, ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself; yes, I do. It happens to me every time I come here.’

‘I’m so glad,’ she said simply. ‘It makes it even more—significant—oh!’ She jumped as a sulphur-crested cockatoo erupted out of a tree, squawking stridently.

Mike Brennan laughed and held down his hand to her. ‘Noisy devils, aren’t they? I think we’ve come as far as we can go—shall we get back for that swim?’

* * *

Back in her cabin, Sidonie considered two things—the fact that she couldn’t swim properly and the fact that this was the occasion she’d purchased not one but two bikinis for. She’d been turning over in her mind for the last couple of days whether to tell him about her lack of aquatic ability in case the need should ever arise but had balked at the thought of exposing yet another deficiency. She had hoped that the gentle few strokes of dog paddle she was capable of would take care of all such cooling-off occasions as might arise.

It now struck her that it wasn’t that simple off the back of a yacht and this was demonstrated further as the boat rocked and water splashed, indicating that Mike had just dived into the lovely waters of Nara Inlet.

She swallowed then stood up determinedly. She was hot and dusty but faint heart had never won anything and she donned the red bikini, glanced at herself briefly, raised a surprised eyebrow because she didn’t look too bad, and went aloft.

All that was to be seen of Mike was a dark head bobbing in the water some distance away and she thought, Good, I can get this over and done with before he comes back. So she climbed down the metal stern ladder that was riveted to the boat, discovered herself still a foot above the water, hesitated poised with one foot and one hand off the ladder, but the decision was taken literally out of her hands as a powerful dinghy shot past, throwing up a wake that rocked Morning Mist and caused her out of surprise to lose her single hand-hold and topple into the water.

I don’t believe this but I’m drowning, was the next coherent thought that came to her as she entered a green-filtered world, rose to the surface once, choking and coughing, only to sink again with the awful feeling that the water was actually pressing her down and she’d never see the light of day again. But only moments later, although her lungs felt like bursting, a pair of strong arms gathered her up and she and Mike Brennan broke the surface together.

‘You idiot,’ he yelled right into her ear, ‘what the hell are you doing? Trying to drown yourself?’

She coughed and retched. ‘No. But I can’t swim...’ And she slumped against him.

She had vague recollections after that of him slinging her over his shoulder in a fireman’s grip, somehow climbing the ladder with her and depositing her on the deck then bending over her and applying mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

‘I’m fine,’ she said groggily after a few minutes. ‘I don’t think I swallowed any. Thank you very much—’

‘You blasted, bloody little fool,’ he broke in, sitting back on his heels. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t swim?’

‘I can swim a bit—’

‘For that matter, why did you ever come on a trip like this, let alone ever set foot on a yacht, if you can’t swim?’





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