Unknown

DESTINY PARADISE

Margaret Mayo

How had Lorna managed to fall
in
love with the man who had just jilted her sister? She should hate him!

Only one thing was quite certain — she could hope to find no more happiness with Ashley Ward than had her sister.

“WOULD you mind turning that contraption down?”

Lorna glanced up, mildly curious as to whom the aggressive tones were being addressed. Piercing blue eyes met her own; dark glasses tilted towards wiry brown hair which stuck up at a rakish angle as though the owner had run his fingers despairingly through it.

“
I
said
, would you mind turning it down?”

Clearly he was speaking to her, although Lorna could not think why her transistor should cause annoyance. She had adjusted the volume so that the music was audible without being unbearably loud. Though judging by the way the man in the next chair was glaring at her, even this was too much for him. She raised her delicately arched brows and said coolly: “If I lower it much more I might as well turn it off.”

“That’s right.” His voice was hard, not unlike the steely eyes. “Then perhaps I can concentrate.”

Lorna noticed for the first time the sheaf of papers in his hand, the open briefcase at his side, wondering why anyone should choose to study what looked like the lines from a play on the open deck of a liner. Perhaps if he had approached her differently she might have agreed, but as it was his attitude angered her. “I’m sorry,” she returned politely, “but I’m enjoying this music. I can’t recall any rules about not playing transistors. Why not go to your cabin? You won’t be disturbed there.”

“I happen to prefer fresh air,” he snapped. “And I was getting on fine until you chose to sit next to me with that—that noise box.”

“That
noise box
happens to be playing my favourite piece of music,” retorted Lorna angrily, hearing the sounds of Handel’s
Water Music
, “and I’d like to listen to it
—if
you don’t mind.” She knew she was being childish, but his manner irritated her.

His wide lips compressed into a thin tight , line at Lorna’s words. With a sigh he slid his sunglasses back into position and lowered his head over the papers.

What an unreasonable man, thought Lorna angrily. What an unfair request! Pop music might have disturbed him, yes—but surely not this. It was soothing and surely would help him study? Anyway, if he chose to work in public he must expect to be disturbed. Why should other people have to suffer because of him?

A few minutes earlier she had contemplated going for a swim, but now some perverse streak made her remain on her canvas chair. She would not like to give her neighbour the satisfaction of thinking he had driven her away.

Lorna closed her eyes and relaxed; the sun’s warmth made her feel deliciously idle. For a whole week she had done nothing but enjoy the leisurely life on board the
Oceana.
She had swum a little, played deck quoits and tennis, danced in the evenings or strolled on deck enjoying the silvery splendour of the starlit night. She was glad she had decided not to fly even though Margo was disappointed that she would not be there earlier to help prepare for the wedding. There would still be plenty of time, and meanwhile Lorna was having the holiday of a lifetime. That was until this superior man had decided to spoil her pleasure.

She could not recall having seen him on board before, but with over seven hundred passengers she supposed it hardly likely. Slowly Lorna turned her head, regarding him curiously through lowered lids. Although she judged him to be in his early thirties, there were streaks of grey in his rich brown hair which curled crisply into the nape of his neck. His square, firm jawline was clean-shaven, his thick brows drawn together in concentration.

Suddenly he turned. “Is there something wrong?”

Lorna flushed. She had thought herself to be unobserved. “Did I bother you again? I’m sorry. I was curious as to the sort of person who wants to work on a day like this.” She waved her hand loosely in the direction of the brilliant sun and cloudless blue sky.

He raised one eyebrow until it almost disappeared into his hair. “Then I hope you’re satisfied and that you’ll allow me to continue—undisturbed.” Again he turned to his papers and Lorna picked up a magazine from her lap. But her mind refused to concentrate and glancing at her watch a few minutes later she noticed that it was almost time to prepare for lunch.

Already one or two passengers were gathering together their possessions and making their way downwards. Lunch was served in two sittings, and judging by the way the man at her side was deeply engrossed in his reading he must eat at the second one, decided Lorna, or else he hadn’t realised the time.

She rose, picked up her portable, then turned back quickly as she felt the strap of her bag catch on to something. Too late she saw that it had hooked itself round the fastener of the dark stranger’s briefcase. It fell to its” side, the contents scattering across the deck. Horrified, and afraid to look into his face, Lorna murmured an apology, dropping to her knees to gather up the papers. Unfortunately a light breeze chose that moment to playfully toss the thin sheets into the air.

“Now look what you’ve done!” he thundered, his face frighteningly cross. “If any of these pages are lost you’d better look out.”

“I said I’m sorry,” called Lorna, dashing across the deck to rescue one of the pages before it blew overboard. “It was an accident.”

“Accidents don’t happen,” he retorted. “Ninety-nine per cent can be avoided. It’s sheer carelessness or lack of thought that cause them. Why didn’t you look what you were doing?”

“I didn’t realise,” panted Lorna. “But never mind, I’ve got them all now. If you like I’ll take them to my cabin and put them in order.” She could see that it was in fact a script. He was most likely an actor, she concluded, learning lines for his next performance.

“There’s no need for that,” he grated. “Now they’re all together I don’t want to risk losing them again.”

“I’ll be most careful,” insisted Lorna.

“I’ve no doubt you will, but thank you, no. You’ve done enough damage for one day.”

Before she could speak again he snapped his case shut and marched stiffly away. He was taller than she had imagined; well over six foot, broad-shouldered with slim waist and hips. He had the confident bearing of a man who has made his mark in life, and Lorna wondered who he was. Then she shrugged. It didn’t really matter. She didn’t like the man anyway. His attitude was far too superior for her liking. And he hadn’t bothered to hide the fact that he thought very little of her.

Back in her cabin, feeling refreshed after a cool shower, Lorna slipped into a white silk dress, fastening a thin gold chain round her waist. With her golden hair piled high she looked like a Greek goddess, slender and proud. Her limpid blue eyes were framed by dark sweeping lashes. She had acquired a honey-gold tan in the week they had been travelling and it was difficult to believe that when she left England autumn was well on its way and there had been a decided nip in the air.

A few lines from Margo’s last letter came back to her. “Come as soon as you can. You’ll love it here. The sun shines all the time—yet it’s not too warm to be uncomfortable. I’ve developed a lovely tan and I feel better than I’ve done for ages.”

Lorna laughed. How her sister had altered! At one time she wouldn’t go out in the sun for fear of spoiling her delicate porcelain complexion. And now she had a tan 1 Margo had asked her to fly out, but much as Lorna wanted to be with her sister, she felt in need of a holiday after the worrying few months she had just spent, and decided to go by sea.

It had been a shock when Margo suddenly announced that she was giving up her career because of Pieter van Heerden, a wealthy shipping tycoon she had met who owned an island in the Seychelles.

“I’m taking a holiday,” she had said. “Pieter’s invited me back to Verva. I’ve no idea how long I’ll be away. There’s nothing left for me here anyway.”

“But, Margo,” Lorna had protested, “you haven’t known him long. Are you sure it’s wise?” She was afraid her sister had been caught on the rebound after being jilted by Ashley Ward, who had directed many of the television plays in which Margo had appeared. Her sister had fallen very heavily for Ashley despite Lorna’s warnings that he was a reputed Casanova.

“I know Pieter well enough,” argued Margo. “He’s sincere, and that’s more than I can say for Ashley. I couldn’t see it at the time—I was so infatuated. I thought he loved me. Still, I’ve learned my lesson.”

“I hope you’re right. It’s a long way if anything goes wrong.”

Margo was two years older, but Lorna had somehow felt responsible for her ever since their parents died. At the time Margo had been at drama school and Lorna’s money had had to keep them both. And then when her sister had jumped to stardom practically overnight, the running of the household had fallen entirely on to Lorna. Margo was always out at some function or other with a happy disregard for her responsibilities. “I’m a star,” she said, as though this answered everything.

And Ashley Ward coming into her life had made things worse. She would listen to nothing against him until. . . Lorna’s blood boiled every time she thought about him. It had been despicable of Ashley to encourage Margo and then suddenly drop her in favour of Avril Vickers. Although Margo had said very little Lorna knew she had been heartbroken. It had come as something of a relief when she met Pieter, but as for going with him to his island home Lorna was not so sure. However, there had been nothing she could do about it. Margo’s weekly letters assured her that she was having a wonderful time, but even so the letter containing the news that she was getting married came as a bombshell. Margo wanted Lorna to help with the arrangements. Apparently she had made many friends in the islands and had planned the wedding on a grand scale. She had been disappointed when Lorna refused to fly out, but Lorna herself had been adamant. The sleepless nights she had spent on her sister’s behalf had begun to take their toll and it was not until the ship slipped gently away from Southampton Water that Lorna began to relax. The sirens had seemed to boom out a farewell to her troubles and she felt as free as the seagulls wheeling overhead.

Until Margo had mentioned the Seychelles Lorna had only been vaguely aware of their existence. She had since found out that they were in the Indian Ocean and that the main island, Mahe, lay roughly five thousand miles from London. A long way to go for a wedding, she had concluded; not that she would have missed the occasion. She was the only family Margo had and she couldn’t fail her on this, the biggest day of her life.

In fact she was really looking forward to spending a few weeks in these peaceful islands, away from the rat race of modem society. Margo had written glowing accounts of the unspoilt beauty of Verva and although Lorna was a little surprised that this sort of life should appeal to her fun-loving sister, she herself felt quite excited. She had always preferred her own company to that of Margo’s arty friends and was now full of eager anticipation.

Pieter had paid all her expenses for the journey and although she had bought lots of new clothes she still had sufficient money for her needs. On top of that her employer had agreed to keep her job open until she got back. Life couldn’t have been better and for a whole blissful week she had basked in glorious sunshine, revelling in this unexpected holiday, and unaware that her euphoria was soon to be disturbed.

She now made her way down to the dining room on “D” Deck, looking forward to telling Fay about her unfortunate encounter that morning. Fay Grindley was also travelling alone, to join her husband in Cape Town, and as she shared Lorna’s table the two girls had become firm friends. Lorna knew she would enjoy hearing about the arrogant stranger and smiled to herself as she crossed the red carpet; her smile faded as she saw not Fay sitting at her table but the man who had occupied her thoughts.

“What on earth are you doing here?” she demanded. “Where’s Fay?”

He looked up, startled by this attack, his face changing to abrupt horror as he saw Lorna. “Not you !” he exclaimed. “What have I let myself in for?” Aware of the curious looks of the other diners, Lorna slid on to her chair declaring
sotto voce
, “You haven’t answered my question. What’s happened to my friend?”

“I’ve no idea,” he said blandly. “I asked if I could change sittings and this is where I’ve been put. A pity it’s happened like this, but there’s not much we can do about it at the moment. Everyone else seems to be seated.”

This was true, and Lorna looked round in vain for Fay, wondering why she had changed her seat. It was funny she hadn’t said anything.

She began her iced melon, uncomfortably aware of the close scrutiny of the man seated opposite. It seemed an age before he finally devoted his attention to his own food, and even then she felt his eyes on her once or twice and wished he would speak. The silence and his obvious interest made Lorna feel distinctly uneasy. At last she could bear it no longer and putting down her spoon looked directly at him. “Would you mind not staring?” she said icily. “If there’s something wrong I’d rather you told me.”