Edge of Paradise (11 page)

This was obviously for Catherine's benefit, as Deirdre needed no persuasion.

As Catherine hesitated, Deirdre giggled impishly. ‘The boys promised to take me for a run in her.'

‘Don't you fancy that?' Piers turned to Catherine and asked.

She did. It appealed to her immensely. A trip out to sea sounded like heaven. She couldn't think of anything she'd like better. It would be cooler away from the land and the prospect of feeling the clean sea air blowing on her face was an irresistible temptation. The launch was new and of the luxury class. The fact that the boys' employer had entrusted them with it surely had to be a recommendation of their characters. Their boss had to think they possessed a high sense of responsibility.

But still something held her back; some tiny
nucleus
of doubt made her hesitate. Something niggled, a scruple yet to be overcome.

It was ironic that Deirdre should find it and say with taunting accuracy, ‘Afraid that gorgeous hulk of man you work for might object? I know he wasn't very taken with the idea of your chumming up with me. That stood out a mile. I wouldn't be at all surprised if he hasn't banned you from seeing me. That's it, isn't it?' she squealed in triumph when Catherine wasn't quick-witted enough to deal with the look of dismay that came to her face at Deirdre's spot-on assessment of the situation.

‘He said nothing of the sort,' Catherine declared with bravado, but because it didn't come easy to her it was a weak lie and merely served to widen Deirdre's grin.

‘I don't believe you,' the blond girl challenged.

‘Even if he did sort of hint at something of the sort,' Catherine admitted unhappily, ‘you don't think I'd allow him to dictate what I do or who I see in my free time, do you?'

‘I won't know that,' Deirdre said slyly, ‘until I see whether you get on the boat or not.'

It didn't help to notice that Jock and Piers were watching with amused speculation. Feeling outmaneuvered, not to mention annoyed with herself for aiding and abetting Deirdre and the boys by talking herself into
trouble,
Catherine knew she couldn't show herself to be spineless by walking away. With her chin held high, in direct contrast to the sinking sensation that she felt inside, she gave her hand to Jock and allowed him to assist her onto the boat.

Taking her place beside Deirdre, Catherine shrugged her shoulders in a gesture expressive of, ‘I'm here now, so I'll make the best of it.'

Piers took the controls, opening up the throttle as they cleared the jetty with a roar of sound that attracted attention from the shore. Catherine wondered if one of the lifted heads belonged to Joseph and if he would let it slip to Paul that he'd seen her going out to sea in a launch with a blond girl, whom Paul would immediately identify as Deirdre, and two men. Too late to bother about that now, she decided philosophically. In any case, the exhilaration of riding the waves, feeling the wind whipping her hair into a streaming pennant, was so wonderful that it overrode her stirrings of unease.

Deirdre left her seat to stand by Piers and was immediately invited within the circle of his arms to take the wheel, which she did with alacrity. Catherine was duly asked if she would like a turn, but she declined, saying she was happy where she was—savoring the beauty all around her, watching the swirling folds of blue, aquamarine, green and crystal water frilling in their wake. Or looking to where the brilliant
blue
ocean burst into waves of white spume upon the glistening white beach of yet another islet or cay floating like a mirage in a shimmering heat haze.

Catherine was staring enthralled at just such a spectacle of delight, a crescent-shaped island with swaying mop-head palm trees and bleached white sand, when Piers pointed to it, announcing, ‘That's it. Won't be long now.'

What did he mean? It was obvious that he was turning in to land.

‘That isn't New Providence,' Catherine protested.

‘Who said it was?' Piers replied. ‘It's Coral Cay.'

‘So why are we stopping here?'

This time Deirdre answered, leaving Catherine in little doubt that she'd been in the know from the beginning. ‘Their boss has a house here. Isn't that the most fantastic thing? Imagine anyone being well oiled enough to own a retreat like this!'

Catherine refrained from commenting on that. She was too busy wishing she'd asked more questions at the onset. ‘Who is their boss?'

‘Gus Strindberg, the film producer,' Deirdre said with awe in her voice. ‘Don't be a wet blanket, Catherine. Don't spoil it for me.'

Deirdre had a dreamy look in her eyes, that caused Catherine some dismay. Did she hope to be spotted? Deirdre had seen too many
movies.
Didn't she know that stardom didn't come that easily? Things like that just didn't happen in real life.

‘Deirdre, I don't know for sure what's going on in that head of yours, but—'

‘Don't start preaching, for goodness' sake,' Deirdre cut in petulantly.

‘I won't, if that's how you feel. But I do think you could have told me where we were going. I thought you were only going for a drink. You sprang the boat trip on me, and now this.'

‘It was put to me in much the same way. Piers and Jock asked me if I'd like to go for a drink. I said where. They said first we'd go for a spin out to sea if I fancied it, and on the way back call in at their boss's for a drink. All perfectly square and above board. Nothing at all underhanded, if that's what you're suggesting. You're too suspicious, Catherine,' she chided. ‘You want to watch that. It's not a very nice character trait, and it's not fair what you are trying to do. You seem determined to spoil my day. Ordinary people don't get chances like this every day of the week and you should think yourself lucky you're included, instead of dropping insinuations all over the place and looking horribly wronged.'

‘I'm sorry,' Catherine said in contrition. Feeling that up to a point Deirdre's criticism of her was just, she tried to inject a bantering note into her voice. ‘I see that it's my own fault
I'm
here. When you invited me to come for a drink with you I should have done what you did—asked where.'

It worked. The atmosphere lightened miraculously and Catherine didn't even seem to be carping as she asked, ‘What time will we get back to New Providence?'

‘Are you in any particular hurry?' Piers questioned casually, sending her a smile of Latin charm.

‘I'd appreciate it if you'd get me back to my hotel in time for dinner.' That way she wouldn't be missed. She wasn't exactly afraid of what Paul would do if he found out, it was just that it would be less unpleasant if he didn't.

Catherine told herself that Piers didn't answer because he needed every scrap of concentration to dock the boat. He even sent Deirdre away. ‘Be a good girl and go sit down. I mustn't have any distractions now,
chérie
.'

Even Catherine's inexperienced eye saw that there was no natural harbor and that entry to the island, which at first glance seemed to be totally inaccessible by boat, surrounded as it was by the razor-sharp coral of the encircling reef, was negotiated through a narrow channel, a task which took up every last particle of Piers' expertise.

The maneuver was completed and they were safely inside; then Piers spat out something in French that sounded suspiciously
like
a swear word. Following the direction of his gaze, Catherine realized that it was the helicopter parked by the side of the house that was responsible for his agitation.

Jock's mouth gaped in dismay. ‘What's the chopper doing here?'

‘Obviously there's been a change of plan,' Piers replied tersely.

Deirdre's head jerked back and she inquired urgently, ‘What are you getting into a stew about?'

‘Nothing—nothing we can't handle,' Piers said, his smile back in place. ‘With a bit of cooperation from you.'

‘Cooperation? Doing what?' Deirdre asked, a puzzled frown coming to her face.

‘Doing nothing. Keep quiet and do nothing, and perhaps you won't be seen.'

‘What do you mean by that? Seen by whom?'

‘The boss. Gus Strindberg, of course.'

‘But you said you'd introduce me to him,' Deirdre spluttered. ‘You
promised.
'

Piers shrugged his shoulders. ‘Shame on me. A little white lie,
chérie.
What you call bait to get you to come.'

Catherine thought that it was about time she added a word. ‘Would you mind explaining what's going on?' she demanded coolly.

‘I should have thought that was obvious,' Piers replied insolently, without apology. ‘Little Miss Star-Struck here thought she was
going
to meet the famous movie producer who would take one look at her magnificent body and wave a big fat contract under her pert little nose.'

‘Only he wasn't supposed to be here,' Catherine supplied flatly.

‘Correct. We took him to New Providence this morning. That's what we were doing there. He had a meeting with the man who's directing his next picture and the two leads, and he was staying overnight. Our instructions were to pick him up in the morning. As we understood it he was bringing the director and his current girl friend and the two stars back with him.'

‘It doesn't have to be Mr. Strindberg who's hired the helicopter,' Jock put in hopefully. ‘Does it?'

‘Cut it out, Jock. Who else would it be?'

‘I don't know. I guess you're right.'

‘You can't win 'em all, Jock. It's just rotten luck that something's happened to bring him back ahead of time.'

‘Rotten luck for you,' Catherine said. ‘I'd say that his unscheduled return could be a fortunate turn of events for us.'

‘Mmm?' Piers smiled contemplatively. Catherine hadn't trusted him from the beginning, but every time she glanced his way in suspicion, he had been adept at covering up. Now that the game was up he had no need to disguise his thoughts. His eyes washed over
her
and his voice was silky and deliberately sensual. ‘A matter of opinion,
ma petite
.'

‘You lousy swine!' Deirdre screamed at him, having only just found her voice again after the shock she had received.

‘What language,
chérie
,' Piers tut-tutted. ‘I'm sorry that I set out to fool you, but I swear you wouldn't have been too disappointed. You would have had a good time, with no lasting harm done. I'm confident that you would have enjoyed it, if it hadn't misfired.'

‘Turn this launch 'round,' Catherine demanded with more authority than she felt. ‘Take us back to New Providence this instant.'

‘Alas, that is not possible,' said Piers. ‘Not until I've found out what is going on. Much as I'd like to help, this is the best position I've ever had. Good food, no shortage of women, an excellent wine cellar, perfect surroundings—all the bounties a man could wish for, in fact. Much as I would like to accommodate you, I cannot jeopardize all this by doing what you ask.'

‘You should have thought of that before you brought us here. Let me tell you—'

‘No—let me tell you. You are going to lie low while we find out what this is all about. If you are good girls and make no trouble for us, we'll come back and take you to New Providence. O.K. ?'

It was far from okay, but she couldn't make Piers take them back straight away, and they
certainly
couldn't swim back. Unsatisfactory as it was, she accepted the deal, bypassing Piers to entreat Jock not to be too long. Jock's vague nod of agreement was hardly confidence-inspiring.

When the two boys had ambled off, Deirdre said sheepishly, ‘You were right to be suspicious. I've been such a fool, thinking I was going to get an introduction to Gus Strindberg and kidding myself that something would come of it. A proper chump I've turned out to be, falling for a set-up like that.'

She looked so helpless and down in the dumps that Catherine hadn't the heart to be cross with her. ‘You're too vulnerable for your own self-preservation. We both are.'

Deirdre nodded in agreement. ‘They never intended to take us back tonight. It really grates on me what I could have got you into. I don't trust Piers now. Will he . . . do you think he will get us back tonight?'

‘My life won't be worth living if he doesn't.'

Deirdre bit heavily on her lip and said in deep repentance, ‘I'll keep my fingers crossed for you. No one's going to think it strange if my bed at the hotel is unoccupied tonight, but I can see your predicament. It won't be so hot for you to have to account to that dishy boss of yours.'

‘You don't know the half of it. Paul has a guest, or guests, coming to dinner. He made a special point of telling me to be there. If I'm
not,
he'll skin me alive.'

Deirdre laughed weakly. ‘Paul—what did you say his other name was?'

‘Hebden.'

‘Hebden . . . Hebden,' she said to herself. ‘Has there been some mention of him in the press fairly recently? The name rings a bell.'

‘Funny you should say that. I haven't seen anything myself, but he mentioned something of the sort, a reference to some unkind gossip which he thinks I've read.'

‘He's not connected with the film industry, is he?'

‘No. He writes detective novels.'

‘It isn't the same guy, then.' In an abrupt change of subject, Deirdre inquired, ‘Are we really going to sit it out here?'

‘What do you have in mind? Storming the house, asking to see Gus Strindberg and demanding to be taken back?'

‘No, I suppose not.' A rueful smile came to Deirdre's lips. ‘Piers doesn't deserve any consideration. It's Jock I'm sorry for. For his sake we've got to give the other smart aleck a chance to redeem himself.'