Dark Venturer

DARK VENTURER Mary Wibberley

"Goodbye, Mia," Cory said. He left without looking back. Mia willed herself not to cry. After trying to escape for so long, now she was free. And, suddenly, she was not sure what she really wanted. She had tried to put Cory out of her mind, to convince herself she didn't love him--but it was all in vain. The ache was there, and it would not go away.

CHAPTER ONE MIA stood very still on the rock. She closed her eyes, counted to ten, then opened them again. The man was still there, sprawled on the beach with the water lapping at his bare feet, lying on his back with one arm over his face as if to shield it from the sun. Then he moved slightly, and Mia was running towards him, down over the rocks, fleet of foot because she came this way every day and was used to them. She sped along the golden dusty sands to where he lay, and knelt beside him as the man opened his eyes. 'Are you hurt?' she said. For a moment she was surveyed in silence. Then the 'man smiled, very faintly, and she saw the humour glinting in his eyes, and he tried to sit up, and answered: 'I'm not sure. I feel as if I've got a lump on my head the size of an egg. Have I?' Mia looked, frowned, shook her head. 'I can't see anything. Just stay still. I'll go and get- -' 'No!' She found her arm gripped in a hold of surprising strength. 'Don't—don't get anybody—yet.' 'But you're hurt -' 'I'll be fine in a second. Can you help me up?' 'Yes, of course.' He was heavy, but she was as strong as any youth, and when she had assisted him to his feet he swayed slightly, then grinned down at her. 'See? I'm okay now.' Then he put his hand to his forehead and winced. 'Ouch!'

'Look, let me go and -' 'No. Please—no. I just need a little time, that's all.' And as if to settle the matter, he put his arm round her shoulders. 'Can I just find some shade to sit down for a moment?' 'This way.' She felt like a nurse supporting a patient. Although he leant on her, it wasn't too heavily, but she couldn't have broken free even had she wanted to— which surprisingly enough, she didn't. She sensed an ally, and already an idea was forming in her mind, intangible as yet, but there, a small germ of an idea that spelt out the word, escape. Progress was slow. She didn't know if he had been injured. Where had he come from? That was the one question above all that she had to ask, but not yet. When they reached the cabin, then would be the time. It wasn't far away, just inside the dense thicket of trees, and she said, as they approached it: 'There's a little house here. No one comes, but there's a bed where you can lie down, and there may be some food. Are you hungry?' 'No, thirsty. Is there any water there?' 'I don't know.' She pointed ahead. They were out of the sun now, in the green shadows of the tall trees, and it was cooler. She felt him shiver, and wondered if he had a fever. How far must he have swum ? They were in the middle of nowhere, a small island in the Caribbean, and she hadn't seen any boats that morning. But perhaps he had lain on the beach all night 'Is this the place?' his deep voice interrupted her speculation. 'Yes.' She pushed open the door and they went in. 'Sit down on the bed, I'll see what there is for you.' She went into the small kitchen

and began to open cupboards. Beside the tinned foods were two bottles of mineral water. Opening one, she took a beaker from the cupboard and carried them in. 'Here you are. Best I can do.' 'Thanks.' He drank thirstily, and Mia watched him. His faded blue shorts and shirt had dried on him, and looked the worse for wear. That was all he wore. No socks, shoes, jacket, nothing. And the shirt had lost all its buttons, and was short-sleeved, and he was a veritable giant of a man, dark, muscular and hairy. Looking at him, Mia thought: he could swim a hundred miles and he wouldn't notice. Her heart lifted slightly—because if anyone could get her off the island, he could. 'Where have you come from?' she asked, when his thirst was assuaged. He looked up at her, his eyes a dusty blue in his tanned, smiling face. 'I don't know,' he answered. He put down the beaker on the floor and ran his fingers through short black hair. 'I don't remember.' 'Oh.' Mia sat down beside him on the bed. Whatever answer she had expected, it hadn't been this. Just for a moment, when he had not wanted her to go for help, she had thought - 'I thought you might be an escapee—a fugitive from justice or something,' she admitted at last, expecting him to smile. He looked like a man who smiled a lot. But this time he didn't. He looked at her instead. He had, she decided, in one quick summing up, a nice face, the sort of face you could trust. There were laughter lines round his eyes, and he had a wide mouth built for laughter, and good teeth—and a very strong chin and a good straight nose, and it was all in keeping, because although he looked as though he laughed a lot, he also looked extremely tough. 'I have the feeling of escaping from something—or someone,' he said

slowly. 'And that's why I didn't want you to fetch anyone else.' Then he paused. 'But you needn't worry, you're quite safe with me.' And then he grinned. 'I mean, I may be a bank robber, or a smuggler—but I'm one hundred per cent certain I'd never hurt a woman.' Mia sighed. 'I know,' she said. The grin broadened into a smile. 'How do you know?' She shrugged. 'You've got the sort of face I trust.' He looked away for a moment, as if he might be listening, then turned back to her. 'Thank you,' he said. 'May I ask your name?' 'It's Mia—Mia Smith. You're American, aren't you?' 'Yes—I think I must be. And my name's Cory.' He said it with some surprise, as if he had just remembered. 'At least, I think so. It will do for now anyway.' 'Cory.' She repeated it. 'Had I better look at your head now?' 'If you like.' She stood up, and he leaned his head forward. He sat very still, as if she were a doctor examining him, and she ran her fingers very gently all over his scalp and then said: 'It seems fine to me. Does it still hurt?' 'Not now.' He grinned at her. 'You've cured me— nurse.' Mia sat down, again. 'What are we going to do?' she said. 'Does anyone come to this cabin?' he asked. Mia shook her head. 'Not at this time of year. It's quiet at the moment. I live at the hotel here—it's run by my—:—' she hesitated, 'my step-parents.'

'Step -parents?' his eyebrows lifted fractionally. 'Both of them?' 'Yes.' She half turned away. In a quiet voice he said: 'It's all right. If you don't want me to ask questions, I won't.' She looked at him then, eyes bright with defiance and unshed tears. 'I hate it here,' she said. 'When I saw you I saw a chance of escape. There!' She took a deep shuddering breath. 'I've said it.' She waited for she knew not what. She heard his indrawn breath. 'Oh, Mia,' he said gently, 'I'm sorry. But are you sure? I mean, everyone has times when they're fed up and want to get away -' 'And does it last for ever with other people? Does it?' Her green eyes sparkled. 'Is that how it is?' 'Yes, that's how it is.' She sat very still, and then she felt a large strong hand on hers and she looked up. Cory squeezed her hand gently. 'I'll help you,' he said. 'Of course I'll help you. And I'm not going to pry, or anything. But I'll get you away from here, and that's a promise.' Mia wondered if she had ever felt so happy in her life as she did at that moment. It was as if the cares of a million days had rolled off her shoulders. She turned to him her eyes warm with hope. 'Oh, thank you,' she said. 'Thank you. When can we go? How -' she faltered. 'Whoa, hold on a second!' His eyes crinkled with laughter. 'Let's not rush it. Firstly, we must find a boat. Secondly we must get some

food, and thirdly, you must get away from your folks without giving them any cause for suspicion. So it calls for a bit of planning. And the first bit of planning is this—how soon are you expected back at the hotel?' 'Oh!' she jumped to her feet. 'They'll be up soon -' she looked at her watch. It was nearly seven o'clock. 'Precisely. Now you scoot off back and act normal. Then as soon as you get a chance, come back here, okay? How soon is that likely to be?' 'Er—not before eleven.' 'Right, off you go. I'll keep out of sight here. Okay?' Mia sped away, fleet of foot and light of heart, and was able to make her way into the kitchen to prepare the guests' breakfasts without being observed by anyone.

'Oh, for God's sake, Mia, you're so stupid!' the shrill voice of her stepmother roused Mia from her daydream of escape and she looked around from the sinkful of soapy crockery to see the other woman brandishing a plate. 'This is cracked, you little fool. Can't you be more careful? It would have to be Major Saunders' wife -' 'I'm sorry, Gina,' said Mia, because she wasn't going to argue about anything now. Not now. 'But you'd set the plates out -' 'You could have checked them. I have enough to do, don't I?' Her face was pinched with temper. 'Anyway, I've soothed the old bag now. Just be more careful in future!' She banged the plate down on the kitchen table and stalked out. Mia pulled a face at her receding back.

It was just gone ten, and the washing up was nearly finished. With any luck she'd be able to slip out to the cabin. She had gathered up some food, put it in a plastic bag and hidden it. All she had to do was pick her moment and run down to where Cory waited. He was bound to be hungry by now. 'Nearly finished, sister mine?' the voice she detested came softly from behind her, and Mia resisted the impulse to grab the dishcloth and swipe his face with it and turned round to see Lucas, Gina's son, standing near her. 'I'm not your sister,' she answered shortly. Lucas raised one eyebrow mockingly. A stocky youth, with his mother's mousy hair and fair skin, he surveyed Mia with insolent eyes—but kept a few feet away. 'All right, stepsister,' he corrected. 'Is that better?' Mia looked him up and down. Then she smiled slowly. She was almost as strong as he, and they both knew it. And although she loathed him as much as the others, he didn't frighten her, for she was capable of looking after herself where he was concerned, and once, when he had tried to kiss her, had sent him staggering against a wall with a bloody nose. Since then he had been more wary of her—but he had an edge of spite to his character, and had never forgiven Mia for that incident. She smiled now. 'Keep your distance, stepbrother,' she said. 'You wouldn't like your mummy to see you crying, would you?' Her eyes sparkled, and she smoothed her deep auburn hair away from her cheeks, and faced him, arms akimbo. 'One of these days,' he said with relish, 'one of these days -' 'Yes?' It was Mia's turn for raised eyebrows. 'What will you do?'

He smiled mockingly. 'You'll find out.' 'Oh, pooh!' she turned away before her little smile gave away any secrets. He didn't know about Cory. Cory, who wouldn't be frightened of him—or of anybody else, from the look of him. 'I've got work to do. Why don't you go and charm the guests, like you always do? Does Mrs Saunders want her fresh pineapple juice? Run along and give it her, then.' Suddenly Lucas gripped her arm and swung her round. Mia winced and struck out at him. 'Take your hands off me before I kick you,' she said. 'You won't be saying that soon,' he answered, and the skin around his mouth was white with temper. 'Just you wait!' There was venom in his voice, and he released her and went out. Mia stood gazing after him, and suddenly, for the first time since meeting him, she was frightened of him. She rubbed her arm where he had held her. She was surprised to find that she was trembling. What had he said? 'Just you wait!' It was as if he knew something that she didn't. White-faced, uncaring, she ran out of the kitchen, grabbed the bag of food, and sped out along the gardens to the shelter of the deep trees.

The cabin was empty. She looked around her, sick dismay making her wonder if it had all been a dream. Nothing remained to say anyone had been there. The bottle and beaker had gone, the coverlet on the bed was smooth. Mia went and sat down on suddenly weak legs. She hadn't dreamt it, she hadn't. She closed her eyes. After what had just happened with Lucas- -

'Hey! What's up?' The deep voice came from the doorway and she looked up, relief flooding her. Without thinking about it, Mia ran across to him and flung her arms round him. 'Oh, Cory!' she gasped. 'You're here! I thought—I thought after what had happened—oh!' 'Hey now, hold on!' He was smiling, and for a moment, just a few brief seconds, he held her before gently releasing her and standing back. 'Start at the beginning. After what had happened?' She told him about Lucas, and how she had rushed out of the hotel to find the cabin empty, and he stopped her by putting a finger on her lips. 'I was just scouting round,' he said, 'getting the lie of the land, that's all. And now I'm back. I didn't expect you yet anyway for another half hour—and who's this monster called Lucas? Is he really your stepbrother?' She sighed. It was time she told him. First, though, the food. 'Here's some chicken and ham and stuff,' she said. 'I knew you'd be starving. Eat it while I tell you.' She sat down happily on the bed and Cory, after a brief, rather puzzling glance at her, sat down too. 'My mother and father—my real ones, I mean—got divorced nine years ago when I was ten, and I went to live with my mother, and then she got married to Ryan Smith and they bought this hotel where we are now.' She swallowed. 'Then Mummy died six years ago— and my stepfather married again, a woman called Gina Love, and she has this son Lucas—imagine the name, Lucas Love—he's horrible—and so's she, and they're all hateful, even my stepfather Ryan, even though he wasn't quite so awful before, she—Gina, that is—has changed him—and they just keep me here working all the time and I want to get away but I've never been able to—and now you're here -'

'Just stop a moment,' he said gently. 'Take a breath. What about your father? Your real father, I mean?' Mia felt her face tighten. 'I can't—I can't talk about him,' she said. 'Please don't ask.' There was a brief silence. 'Why not?' he said eventually, very casually. 'Because he was cruel to Mummy, that's why. When she married Ryan, he adopted me legally, and I took his name.' 'But what was your surname before?' Mia looked at him. She felt as if there was something here she didn't quite understand. There was such a casual look about him, and yet—and yet not casual. She couldn't put her finger on it. 'I told you, I don't want to talk about it,' she said stiffly. Cory shrugged. 'Okay, honey.' He had been eating the chicken. 'This food is good. Who does the cooking around here?' 'Guess!' 'You?' A dimple creased his cheek as he looked at her. 'What a girl!' 'It's not from choice, I assure you.' She looked into his eyes. 'It just— just makes things easier for me if I do as I'm t-told,' her voice faltered. 'Poor little kid,' he said softly. 'Poor Cinderella,' but there was no mockery in his tone, merely that something she didn't quite understand. And that was the second time. It was strange. She liked him instinctively —yet she felt slightly uneasy. She stood up and moved away from him, then turned to face him.

'Have you remembered who you are yet?' she asked. He looked up from the piece of ham on the bone he was clearly enjoying, in a most leisurely manner. 'Nope. But I will. Are you worried?' 'Not if you're not. Only what if someone comes asking about you? I mean, if you are—if you have -' she stopped. 'If I've escaped, you mean? Who'd look here, on this place? It's miles away from civilization.' 'Yes, I know. So how did you get here?' 'I must have swum, mustn't I?' His tone was light, as if it was a problem that didn't directly concern him. Mia had a sensation of helplessness. Everything had happened so suddenly, and now for the first time, she was beginning to think about it all. And the thoughts were sobering. She -was desperate to get away—anywhere—and had been for a while—and this Sir Galahad had stepped out of the sea as if in answer to her prayers— but she knew nothing, absolutely nothing about him except that he was American, big, tough, good-humoured—and apparently named Cory. And she had virtually flung herself upon him and begged him to take her away—and he had agreed, just as if it were something he did every day. She put her hand to her forehead. 'Hey, don't look so worried.' He patted the bed beside him. 'Come and sit down.' Mia shook her head. 'No.'

He must be a mind-reader, she thought a moment later, for he stood up, put the bag of food carefully down on the bed, and walked over to her. He was so much taller than her, a head and shoulders taller, and he put his hands on her arms very gently, and they were the sort of hands that had the strength to break somebody in two if he chose—and he said: 'I know. You're wondering what on earth you're thinking of to be trusting a stranger like me. Right?' She ran her tongue over her dry lips. 'Yes.' It came out in a whisper. 'And I don't know how to reassure you, do I? Except to say that I give you my word you're perfectly safe with me. You're only a kid. How old are you? Eighteen —nineteen?' 'Nineteen.' She looked up into his eyes, and they softened, the laughter lines crinkling at the corners of them, and they were as gentle as him—there was no hardness or slyness there—and the deep dimple in his cheek showed as he smiled down at her. 'Nineteen. What it is to be that age! Well, Mia Smith, aged nineteen, I'm going to get you safely away from here, and soon. Now, have you anything to pack?' 'Clothes, you mean?' She was bewildered at the sudden shift of subject. He laughed. 'What else?' 'B-but—how soon can we be away? I mean—how?' He tapped her chin. 'Leave all that to me. All the guests here have boats, don't they?' 'Most of them. Some are dropped off by boat from Hamilton's Reef, about fifty miles away -' she stopped, as she remembered. 'You—you couldn't have swum from there, could you?'

He shrugged. 'Hamilton's Reef? Mmm, no, it doesn't ring a bell. That's another island, is it?' 'Yes.' 'And it's fifty miles in what direction?' 'Due west.' She paused. 'Are you going to steal a boat?' 'Perhaps.' 'When?' 'Tonight. And I prefer the word "borrow"—that's if we have to. What time do the guests go to bed?' 'Some not until midnight or after. There's dancing on the terrace most nights. I have to serve drinks and things -' 'You mean you work from early morning until then?' He gave a low whistle. 'And what about your stepparents, and this creep Lucas?' 'They don't get up as early as me,' she said dryly. 'But I usually get a nap in the afternoons—if I'm lucky.' 'Your luck is about to change,' he said softly. And that was the third time—for there was that quality in his voice that left her feeling puzzled again. 'Yes.' She tried to move away, and instantly he took his hands from her arms. 'I'd better go back before they miss me.' 'Pack some clothes in a bundle and bring them down here when you can. And by then I'll have a plan worked out. Off you go, Mia.' As she reached the door and was about to go out, he added: 'And thanks for the food.'

Without answering she ran out and away to the hotel.

Darkness came swiftly in the Caribbean and as Mia stood at her bedroom window after dinner that night a thin sickle moon hung low in the black velvet sky, and all was still. Music came faintly from the terrace. She thought in sudden wonder: this is my last night here; and the heady sense of newly found freedom was mixed with faint apprehension. She was about to commit herself to a course of action that was so new it was almost frightening. She looked at her bed. Her small bundle of clothes was hidden underneath—in case anyone came in, although that was unlikely. They were all busy entertaining the guests, and if she didn't hurry to Cory, she would soon be missed. She looked at her watch. It was nearly nine-thirty— time to take her clothes to the cabin and see what was planned. She opened her door and listened. The music was louder now, but no one was about. Kneeling, she lifted her clothes out, went to the door and slipped swiftly along the corridor to the balcony. It was an easy climb down the hanging creepers. She had done it many a time, and a few moments later she was running quickly across the dark gardens, away from the lights, the noise—and the people. The cabin was in darkness, and for a moment she hesitated outside the door. What if it was empty? If he had vanished? She remembered her previous shock when she thought Cory had been a figment of her imagination—and then, taking a deep breath, she touched the door handle and slowly, very slowly, pushed the door open and went in. The room was empty. She stood very still. 'Cory?' she whispered. 'Cory?' And the door to the kitchen opened and the dark shadow of a man stood there.

'It's all right.' Swiftly he came over to her, and touched her arm. 'I wasn't sure if it was you.' 'We mustn't switch any lights on,' she said urgently, dropping her bundle of clothes on a chair. 'I know. I didn't even try to find them. I've been waiting. Are you ready to leave yet?' Her heart leapt. 'No. I must serve drinks first—at least for a while. If we go now they'll come looking. Have you—have you found a boat?' In the darkness she saw the faint blur of his grin. 'Just wait and see. I'm ready when you are.' 'But how -' 'Shh!' He put a finger on her lips. 'Don't ask any questions. Just leave it all to me. Okay, if you have to go back, go—then sneak away as soon as you can. I'll he waiting -' Then he stopped. Mia felt the pressure of his hand on her arm, his faint whisper: 'Someone's outside. Quickly—in the kitchen!' She felt her scalp prickle, and the next moment he had practically lifted her across the room and into the kitchen. He stood closely beside her and she wondered if he could hear her heart beating, so loud and fast was it. She clutched him in her fear. 'Who can -' 'Ssh!' His voice came in her ear, and there was a warning pressure on her shoulders as he put his arm round her and, held her. 'Wait. Still.' The outer door of the cabin was pushed open. It creaked slightly and all the horror stories she had ever read came back to haunt her as she stood there, certain that if he were not holding her, she would fall. 'Mia, I know you're here —' It was Lucas. 'Come on out!'

She felt a gentle push, heard the merest breath of sound in her ear. 'Go. Talk to him.' There was no choice. If Lucas saw Cory that would be that. All her plans for escape would be ruined within seconds. She stepped out into the living room of the cabin, and with a confidence born of sheer desperation said: 'What do you want? You frightened me!' Lucas clicked on the light, and she blinked. 'I frightened you I' he said mockingly. 'That's good! What the hell are you doing sneaking off here at night, for heaven's sake?' 'I often do,' she lied desperately. 'Just for a bit of peace. It's all right, I'm coming back now with you. I know I've got work to do.' Her confidence was returning with every moment that passed. There was absolutely no sound from the kitchen at all. Lucas looked round the room, his bright pale eyes missing nothing. Then he looked at Mia, and a smile broadened his face. 'Oh, I don't know,' he said. 'They won't miss us for a while. And now we're here -' and he moved slowly, warily towards her. Mia felt sick. 'Don't come any nearer,' she said, her hands going up into fists, 'or I'll hit you.' His face immediately assumed an expression of hurt innocence. 'I only want to talk,' he said. 'And it's about time we had one. I've a lot of things to tell you—and ask you.' 'I don't want to talk to you,' she said. 'I don't like you.' 'Don't you?' his lip curled. 'I might be the best friend you've got.'

'Then heaven help me!' she retorted. It was going to be all right. He suspected nothing. And she wasn't frightened of him. As long as Cory didn't move, and the sooner she got Lucas away from here Then it happened. She had forgotten her bundle of clothes on the chair by the door. But Lucas saw it and turned, and puzzled, said: 'What's this?' Instantly she was beside him. 'Leave it. It's nothing,' she said. 'Then I can look, can't I?' and he bent to pick it up. Mia lashed out with her fist, and it must have been what he was waiting for, because the next moment he had grabbed her and swung her round into his arms. 'Got you!' he panted. 'Now, you little wildcat, get free if you can!' his eyes glittered. Mia kicked his shin as hard as she could, and Lucas yelped. 'You little bitch!' he gasped, and his eyes had a dangerous glitter. 'You've asked for it now,' and he pushed her on the bed and fell across her. And then, with a swiftness that took Mia by surprise, Cory was in the room and lifted him bodily off her and flung him—literally—across the room to crash against the outer wall. 'Oh no!' her anguished plea went unheard as she jumped to her feet and watched Cory heave the dazed Lucas to his feet. 'Stand up, you little jerk,' he said, 'so I can hit you properly.' Lucas gave a strangled gurgle, his eyes wide in sheer shock and disbelief, and Mia caught Cory's arm, because it seemed as if he were about to deliver a blow that could have sent Lucas crashing through the window. Cory turned round, still holding Lucas's shirt front with

a, large right hand, and looked at Mia, and then down at the left hand she was hanging on to grimly. 'Don't tell me you don't want me to hit him?' he said disbelievingly. 'Oh,' she moaned. 'Don't you see? You've ruined everything!' Cory shook his head, spared Lucas a brief venomous glance, then looked at Mia again, the trace of an incredulous grin on his face. 'You'd have let him rape you?' 'Don't be silly!' she snapped, temper worn to shreds. 'I'd have sorted him out in no time. You should have stayed where you were!' 'I don't believe it!' he shook his head. 'Just tell me I've strayed into a comic movie, and I'll believe that!' He looked at Lucas. 'You. On the bed—and sit there and don't move, or I'll knock you out so fast you won't even know you've been hit.' Lucas obeyed. He didn't really have much choice, for the look in Cory's eyes said he wasn't joking. Then Cory looked at Mia. 'Right,' he said. 'This means a slight speeding up of plans, that's all. Do you honestly think I'd have stayed in there while he attacked you?' 'I can look after myself,' she said miserably. 'I have done until now. But don't you see—he knows now. What can we do?' Cory looked thoughtfully at the now sullen-faced Lucas who was clearly bursting to say something. 'How long is this island?' he asked. Mia, feeling distinctly confused, said: 'About ten miles. Why?' 'That's okay, then. We'll get moving now.' 'But what -'

'Ssh!' Cory's eyes glinted. 'Leave it to me—-I already told you. Get your clothes. Are they all you have?' he looked at the pathetic bundle, wrapped in a pillowcase. 'Yes.' 'Okay, carry them. I'll look after the little ray of sunshine here.' He jerked his head at Lucas. 'On your feet, sonny.' 'I don't know what's going on,' Lucas snarled. 'But you won't get away with it. My mother will have the police here in no time -' Cory was listening with apparently polite attention, until he began to laugh, stopping Lucas in mid- sentence. 'Hey, you know something?' he said, when he could talk. 'You scare me! Now—move.' Lucas got to his feet. His eyes swung wildly, first from Cory to Mia, and then back again. 'You're taking her away!' he said. 'She's going with you, isn't she?' 'Right in one, kid. And if you think you're going to stop us, you're wasting your time. Mia is over eighteen. If she chooses to leave this place of her own free will, there's nothing you, or anyone, can do about it -' 'You're mad! And she's not nineteen, she's only seventeen—don't believe anything she's told you, she's not right in the head -' Cory raised his fist. It was enough. Lucas fell silent. Then Cory smiled, very slowly, but with such menace that the other man went slightly pale. 'One more word out of you,' Cory said, 'just one, and you won't wake up for a week. Do you get the message?' Lucas turned to Mia, seemed about to say something, obviously thought better of it, and lapsed into a smouldering, resentful silence.

They made their way out of the cabin, and Mia, the last out, switched off the light. If anyone saw it... 'This way.' Cory touched her arm. 'But -' she was puzzled. He was pointing to further into the trees. 'No buts. just trust me. Okay?' 'Okay.' The little procession wended its way into the darkness, Lucas first, followed by Cory who rested an apparently innocent hand on his neck—but he had said, just as they left the cabin, that if Lucas tried to run he would apply a certain pressure that might or might not kill him—'you can never tell,' he had added cheerfully. Mia was last. And now no one spoke. Until, after about half an hour's Walking, they reached a point at the other side of the island where there was a beautiful hidden bay. And there, gleaming faintly in the moonlight, was a white cabin cruiser, bobbing in the water just yards from a natural rock jetty. 'Get on board, Mia,' said Cory. They waded into the water and Mia swung nimbly up the rope ladder on to the deck and waited. She saw something happen, but couldn't be sure what it was in the darkness. It was as if Cory touched Lucas and suddenly he slumped. Cory slung him over his shoulders and began to climb the ladder. He dumped the other man on deck like a sack of potatoes and said: 'Which is the furthest point of the island from the hotel?' Then she knew what he intended. 'Is he—all right?' she asked, looking doubtfully down at the inert heap on deck. Lucas had really asked for everything that had happened to him—yet in a way she felt almost sorry for him.

'He will be when he wakes up. Then he'll have a nice long walk to clear his head. I couldn't chance him trying anything when I got him on board. So I applied a little pressure in a certain place --' 'But you said it could kill him?' 'Did you believe that too? I almost kidded myself.' The cheerful grin was there again. In a way it was the last straw, for Mia. She had just been through a traumatic hour or so, had had several frights—a nearfight —and was feeling almost light-headed with the experience, and all this man did was treat it as a big joke. She snapped at him: 'Is that all you can do—grin all over your silly face? Do you enjoy going round beating people up? Do you?' She faced him, her body quivering with pent up shock and tiredness, her eyes glinting with tears, and she just wanted to have a good cry, something she had not done for ages, and if he dared to laugh at her ... But he didn't. The smile disappeared. He stood looking down at her, then sighed. 'Okay, honey, I think you need a rest. After you've directed me to that part of the island we said, then you can have one.' He turned away, jumped up two steps and went to the controls. Mia followed more slowly, regretting her outburst, sobered by his reaction, and stood beside him at the wheel as he began to fiddle with the controls. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'Don't apologise. You'll excuse me if I don't smile any more at you— just there, on deck, I had a feeling you were going to take a swipe at me.' 'I was,' she admitted. 'It was just—reaction, I suppose.'

'I know.' The engine roared into life and he shouted above the noise: 'Which way?' 'That way.' She pointed. Fifteen minutes later he carried the still groggy and protesting Lucas over the side, waded through several feet of water, and stood him on the rocky shore. Some quiet words were exchanged, Cory waded back, swung up the ladder and said: 'We're away.' Mia looked back. Lucas was sitting on the beach with his head in his hands. He didn't appear to be in any hurry to go anywhere. Then the shadows swallowed him up as the boat took off outwards to sea, and the island grew smaller and smaller. She turned away from it, and looked ahead at the man at the controls. She was completely in his hands. He stood there, not looking at her, concentrating on his task, big, confident, and a virtual stranger. Suddenly she was frightened of what she was doing. She was going into the unknown.

CHAPTER TWO MIA awoke at the gentle touch of her arm and sat up, looking around her. She was on a bunk in the cabin, and unbelievably, had slept. Cory was standing there with a beaker in his hand. 'Here,' he said. 'Hot cocoa. It will do you good. Drink up.' Mia took it from him. Her head ached, but she no longer felt tired. 'How long have I slept?' she said. 'About three hours. We're nearly at Hamilton's Reef. I'll moor the boat in a quiet spot for the night and in the morning -' he paused, 'then we'll decide what to do.' But there were questions clamouring in Mia's brain, questions that demanded answers. 'The boat,' she said. 'Where did it come from? I've not seen this before. You didn't "borrow" it from one of the guests -' He shook his head gently. 'Drink up first,' he said. 'Then we'll talk.' He sat down on the bunk opposite and picked up his own beaker from the table between them. Mia sipped. It was hot and sweet, just what she needed. 'And how did you know where Hamilton's Reef was ?v she said. In answer he raised his beaker. 'Drink first, questions after.' So she drank it all down and put the beaker on the table. The soft light in the cabin cast many shadows, and made his face seem darker, less gentle— not as he had been during the day, but different. Quite different. The apprehension came back as she looked at him, and caught her breath. His eyes were darker too;

they were a dusty blue, but now they looked almost black, and he was just watching her, as if he could read her thoughts—almost as if he knew. 'What is it?' he asked. 'Tell me.' But she couldn't. How could you say: 'I'm frightened of you—I don't know you at all'? She shook her head. 'Nothing,' she said. 'I think there is. Are you scared?' 'No!' Never admit to fear. She knew that of old. Green eyes met shadowy blue ,eyes, and a grin touched his mouth. 'Yes, you are—but I've told you, there's no need. I wouldn't harm you under any circumstances.' 'Then will you answer my questions?' 'Yes.' 'Where did you get the boat from?' 'I came in it.' 'What!' Of all the answers she might have expected, that had not been one. 'What do you mean?' Cory traced a pattern in a drop of spilled cocoa on the table. He appeared to be concentrating wholly on that. 'I'm afraid I'm guilty of a slight deception on you.' Mia went cold. She felt an icy trickle run down her spine, almost as if someone were dripping cold water down it. She couldn't even speak, only look at him. 'I've not lost my memory,' he went on, 'and I do know my name. It's Cory Galen, I'm thirty-two, American, and I come originally from

Kansas. And this boat was hired, through me, by my employer. Do you want to know his name?' How could she have ever thought of him as someone in need of help? There was nothing helpless about this man sitting opposite her, casually tracing a pattern on a table, nothing helpless at all. The day's sequence of events unfolded with speed before her, and she saw all the clues she had missed then, and they seemed to stand out now with startling clarity. His disappearance when he thought she wouldn't be back so soon. He must have been to his boat, for food —for although he had eaten hers, it had been in a leisurely manner, not at all as if he were ravenous— as he should have been. There had been no bump on his head, but he had acted as though he had one. The way he had called her 'poor Cinderella' as if he knew something she didn't—and the way he had told her that her luck was about to change—the way he had asked her surname—things that had been slightly puzzling at the time, but not in any way she could define. And now, suddenly, she thought she knew. 'Your—your arrival on the beach, where I found you,' she said slowly. 'It wasn't an accident at all, was it? You planned it.' He nodded. 'Yes. It was the only way.' 'The only way to what?' 'To be able to get to know you without anyone else being present.' He had stopped tracing. He was facing her across the table now, just looking at her. and she didn't understand his expression at all. 'I knew you went there every morning.' 'Why? Why?' she whispered. 'Who are you?' 'I've told you -'

'No, I don't mean that. I mean -' she lifted her fingers to her mouth. 'I feel sick.' 'You don't.' He reached over and covered her other hand with his own. 'You feel tired and frightened, that's all. And you're going to go to sleep again, and you've nothing to be frightened of—and in the morning you'll feel fine.' 'Tell me—tell me his name,' she said, because now she thought she knew. 'My employer? It's your grandfather, Henry K. Grey ling -' 'I knew.' His hand was still resting on hers. She suddenly wanted to hurt him. She pushed it away, stood up, reached over the table and began hitting him as hard as she could. He leaned sideways to evade the blows, slid along the bunk and grabbed her as she tried to follow him. He didn't even hold her as firmly as Lucas had. He merely caught her wrists with his hands and said: 'Don't hit me.' Mia pushed with all her force and he went crashing back on to the bunk, taking her with him. Then she wasn't on top any more, she was sitting firmly wedged by his knees as he held her in a good grip. He sounded breathless, until she realised he was trying not to laugh, which only incensed her all the more, so that she struggled violently but quite ineffectually to move. 'I hate you!' she shouted. 'I'd rather be back there —with them—than with you.' 'No, you don't, and no, you wouldn't. Calm down! No wonder Lucas kept his distance! My God, you're like a little eel! Stop wriggling.' 'No, I won't!' She leaned forward and sank her teeth into his hand, hearing his bellow of pain with some satisfaction. For a second he loosed his grip, and it was enough. She was at the cabin door in a

flash, wrenching it open; running up the steps, to the side, ready to dive over into the sea—when he caught her, held her, and pulled her away. 'Holy mackerel! Do you want to commit suicide? Do you know what a shark looks like?' 'They don't attack you unless you annoy them,' she gasped. 'And they're preferable to you—and him!' 'Let's discuss it in the cabin, shall we? Do you walk or do I carry you?' 'I'm not discussing anything with you—ever. And take your hands of! me!' 'Like hell I will. I don't trust you an inch.' She couldn't even hook her leg round his to throw him, because he was balanced, legs apart, his hands firmly grasping her near the elbows, his face only inches away, eyes gleaming darkly, angrily at her. And it was then that the fear returned. What chance did she stand against him? She'd seen what he did to Lucas, quite effortlessly. And now he was angry—for which she could hardly blame him, after her violent attack. But worse, her head was beginning to feel muzzy. She relaxed, and instantly Cory did the same. 'That's better,' he said. 'Come on back to the cabin.' He led her along, into the cabin, locked the door on the inside and put the key in his pocket. 'Sit down,' he said. 'No!' 'Sit down, Mia.'

She sat down. He opened a cupboard, took out a first-aid tin, opened that, and began to smear ointment from a tube on to his hand. He looked at her as he did it. 'So now I know how you feel about your grandfather,' he said. 'But you obviously don't know him. He's an old man, Mia -' 'I don't need you to tell me anything about him, thank you,' she snapped, wondering why the lights in the cabin kept going blurred. 'He's a monster, a rich old tyrant who gets all his own way—what are you, anyway? One of his hired hands?' It was an effort to speak, and tears smeared her cheeks, but she wouldn't wipe them away. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction. 'No. My father is a friend of his—and was of your father too.' 'Was?' For a moment she was stilled. 'Is my father dead?' 'Yes. He died two years ago. Your grandfather was trying to trace you long before that, though, ever since the divorce when your mother vanished with you -' 'What do you know about it?' she blazed. 'What do you mean "vanished"?' 'I know all about it, your grandfather told me -' 'Don't call him my grandfather! I don't want to -' 'All right, I'll call him H.G. Does that suit you better? Are you going to listen to me, or interrupt all the time? Because if you are I'll shut up.' Mia fell silent. She was feeling quite extraordinarily tired for some reason, and it worried her. Cory sat opposite her, and said gently: 'That's better. Now why don't you get a good night's sleep and we'll talk properly in the morning?'

'There's nothing to say.' She stifled a yawn. 'If you think I'm going to go with you to meet him—that man—you're mistaken. You've had a wasted journey, and all that pretence about losing your memory and being a fugitive from justice has all been for nothing, because I won't -' she stopped, because she had forgotten what she was going to say. She knew she had a lot to think about, but just for the moment she couldn't even remember what it was. 'Listen, Mia honey, I put a mild sedative in your drink—nothing harmful, but you need the rest. You'll lie down now, and I'll sleep on deck, and in the morning you'll feel fine.' He stood up. 'Okay?' 'No! You shouldn't have -' 'If you want anything, just shout. Lie down and I'll cover you with a blanket.' It seemed easier to obey than anything else. And his voice was quite soothing. Mia, with a little sigh, put her head down on the pillow and closed her eyes. She felt the warmth of a blanket, heard the light go off, and the door open. 'Goodnight,' Cory said, as he went out and closed the door. She opened her eyes. The lock clicked, and then all was silent, save for the gentle slap of water on the boat. A few moments later the engines throbbed into life, but she was already on the verge of sleep, and the sound came only distantly.

She woke while it was still dark, and lay for a moment wondering where she was. Then as memory returned, she sat up, swung her feet to the floor and stood up. Everything was still and silent as she crept to the porthole and looked out. She could see trees and rocks, but that was all. The rest was shadowy and grey. She had no idea of the time, or even where they were, although she assumed it would be Hamilton's Reef. The door of the cabin was still locked when she

tried it very stealthily, and her mouth tightened in anger. She had trusted him because he had a nice face. She had seen a chance of escape. Escape! What a hollow sound that word had to it now! He was working for the man who had so disapproved of his son's marriage to Mia's mother that he had disinherited him; a monster of a man who was worth a fortune—and had everyone jumping to his bidding. Mia had heard enough about Henry K. Greyling to hate the very name. The only thing he hadn't reckoned with was that Mia's mother, having come herself from wealth, should have had enough for both to live on—until things went wrong, and they had separated, and finally divorced. And now there was no one. Her mother was dead, her father too— although she could feel nothing about that; no emotion, no sorrow, for he had brought her mother nothing but unhappiness—Mia sat down on the bunk again, and tears welled up in her eyes. Yesterday, at this time, she had been living at the hotel, hating it, wanting to get away, but not knowing where —and then, out of the blue, had come the chance of escape—and it had turned out to be worse than what she already had. But at least I'm away from there, she thought. It's what I wanted. I'm safely off the island, and Cory can't make me go with him. Her, heart lifted. Of course! She could stay here on Hamilton's Reef—she caught her breath. There were hotels here, and shops, and cruise liners stopped with tourists, who came ashore and bought souvenirs and hand-made blankets and ornaments—she could get a job, make enough money to get away. At least she was safe, and independent— or would be, just as soon as she had some money. She sighed. Money—everything came back to that. She had none. Not even one penny. All she possessed in the world could be tied up in a small bundle and pushed in a pillowcase. Just a few clothes, that was all. She pulled out a clean pair of shorts and pants, a skimpy tee-shirt, and went into the tiny bathroom to wash and change. The first

glimmerings of an idea were forming in the back of her mind, and she needed time to think about it before Cory woke up.

She was ready. She had found a comb in the bathroom and combed her auburn hair until it gleamed silkily, and she had showered and dressed and was sitting at the table reading a book on marine life when the cabin door clicked open and Cory came in—very quietly as if he expected to find her asleep. Mia looked up at him. 'Good morning,' she said in a neutral, not unfriendly but not-toofriendly-either voice. It was no good rousing his suspicions before she'd even got herself organised. 'Good morning, Mia,' he smiled at her. 'You slept well?' 'Yes, thanks. I'm hungry.' He looked at her steadily for a moment, as if pondering something, then nodded. 'Fine. So am I. Ham and eggs do you?' 'Yes. I've washed the clothes I was wearing yesterday. Can I drape them over the rail?' 'Feel free. Er—before you do, I must warn you, we're moored a way from shore and there are some hellish rocks hereabouts.' 'Oh, you mean in case I decide to dive overboard?' 'Something like that.' She wondered how she could ever have been so foolish as to think he had a nice open face. His eyes were really quite cool and hard— or was it a touch of wariness making them appear so? 'But you'd come after me if I did, wouldn't you?'

'Yes.' She shrugged, 'Then there'd be no point. I'm sure you can swim faster than I can.' She picked up her clothes from the table and went out of the cabin. Still, it was very tempting even so. She spread the garments out to dry over the rails and looked towards the shore. This was the deserted side of the island, and nothing moved. But several miles away was all the bustle and activity of a busy tourist trap—and lots of people. All she needed was patience, and she had waited long enough to know she could wait a little longer. Mia turned away and went down again into the cabin. The smell of coffee mingling with the scent of grilling ham was almost unbearably mouthwatering. Cory was very busy sorting out cutlery and plates, and Mia sat down at the table. She would not offer to help. To do so would be suspicious, after her behaviour the previous night. Instead she picked up the book again and began to read. 'It's interesting, is it?' She looked up. 'Yes, I never got much time to read at the hotel. I was too busy.' Her voice was cool. 'That's all right, then. I don't mind waiting on you.' There might or might not have been the faintest touch of sarcasm in his voice, but before she could think of an answer he'd vanished into the galley again and she looked down at the book. I must be calm, she told herself, not seeing the print. I must not lose my temper with him again. Because if I'm going to get the better of him I'll need all my wits about me. Cory began to whistle softly as he worked, and Mia looked up, watching his' broad back as he busied himself at the stove. He still wore tattered shorts, and his legs were very long and muscular. He had changed his shirt—:for an even more disreputable, faded grey one with short sleeves. He could easily have killed Lucas, she

thought, watching him. And he was working for H.G.—it was more impersonal, and therefore, easier to think of Henry Greyling that way. If anyone had asked me, she thought, what could be worse than life with that lot in the hotel, I would have answered 'nothing'— because I couldn't imagine anything worse. Now I can. And what kind of man does that make Cory? Cory, who actually likes him? Or appears to— and here Mia felt herself go cold. Money could make a lot of people do a lot of things, and for H.G., the rule was simple: Money buys everything—and everyone. She felt her face tighten in contempt, and at that second Cory looked round at her, and saw the expression she could not hide. 'Let it out, honey—say it,' he urged, walking over to her. 'What's troubling you now?' She shook her head wordlessly. For a moment their eyes met in a silent clash, and then he gave a crooked smile. 'I upset you last night, didn't I?' he said, 'telling you like that. I didn't intend to, not then, but if it's any consolation to you, I couldn't go on deceiving you. I meet a lot of people in my travels, and it's easy to deal with most, but I never met anyone like you before.' 'And what does that mean?' 'Relax. I mean, I never met anyone with such trust and honesty before. Therefore,' he shrugged, 'I had to tell you the truth, that's all.' 'And am I supposed to thank you?' 'Nope, I'm just telling you the simple truth.' 'And that will be a change for you, won't it?' She couldn't help it. All her good intentions of keeping quite calm were rapidly disappearing. He was so assured, so unshakeable somehow.

'I think we'd better eat,' he said. 'You'll feel better after getting some food down you.' He turned away as if to return to the galley. Mia slammed her book down and went after him. 'No, I won't,' she retorted. 'I won't feel better at all. In fact I'm not hungry.' She stood glaring up at him in the doorway to the tiny galley. And Cory stood there, just looking down at her with something in his eyes that disturbed her. Was it pity? Mia needed no pity; not from him. 'Yes, you are,' he contradicted quietly. 'Go back and sit down at the table. The breakfast is ready.' And he reached his hand out and gently touched her arm. 'Go on. I'll bring it in.' 'I'm not a child,' she said breathlessly, not knowing how to express the depth of her feelings. 'Don't treat me like one!' 'Then don't act like one.' His tone was as always, calm, pleasant. The only time she had heard anger had been with Lucas, and that had been quite frightening. 'I suppose you think you're right all the time,' she said. 'I'll bet you feel quite pleased with yourself, don't you?' 'You mean at managing to get you here?' he seemed slightly puzzled. 'Yes.' 'Not particularly. Why should I? I'm doing it to help someone—to help you both. You said you were desperate to escape. Were you lying, or something?' 'You know I wasn't, but I—I -' she stopped. She was near to tears. She felt so helpless, so unable to put into words all she needed to say—to let him see. 'I don't need your kind of help," she finished, in a burst. 'Nor his—that man's—H.G.' A solitary tear escaped and

trickled down her cheek to her chin. She put up a finger and wiped it away. 'Don't cry,' he said gently. 'You have no need to. Do you want a hanky?' 'No!' she stamped her foot. 'You don't understand!' 'I'm trying to, believe me, but you're making it difficult. All right, I know that all that has happened has been a big shock to you—I can appreciate that. But why don't you just relax and take it easy now? You're away from your step-parents and that juvenile monster Lucas, and you're safe with me, and soon you'll be going to the States to meet your—H.G. -' 'No, I won't. I won't!' She shook her head wildly, and her hair tumbled about her cheeks. 'You have no choice.' She looked up again at him, her eyes wide. So that was what he thought. The calm, almost arrogant assumption: you have no choice. Somehow it crystallised all her fears, all her thoughts, into one brief statement. She wondered if you could suddenly hate someone you had- thought you liked. She stood up straight and tall. She could not be aware that at that moment there was an almost regal dignity to her stance; the hardships of her life, the sheer unhappiness, had given her a kind of strength. Cory watched her, as if he saw it all, as if he knew her feelings, and there was about him an air of waiting, as if he also knew what she might say. 'You don't know me,' she said, 'and I don't know you—nor do I want to. You are a stranger who came into my life yesterday, and saved me, as I thought—but don't tell me that I have no choice.' Her eyes flashed fire. Cory half turned away, as if he might ignore her

words, and Mia caught his arm, and held it. 'Are you listening?' she asked. 'Do you hear what I said?' He didn't attempt to free his arm. He merely reached behind him and switched off the cooker. 'Yes, I hear you,' he answered. 'And in a minute the ham would have been done to a frazzle -' 'Damn the breakfast!' she retorted, and pulled at his arm. He looked down at it, half amused it seemed, then at her. 'You'll hurt me in a minute,' he said. 'Not as much as I'd like to!' Her temper had risen swiftly. 'What have I done?' 'More than enough. All right, we'll have breakfast, and then you can take me to the other side of this island, and you can leave me there. Do you understand that, Mr Cory Galen?' 'Perfectly. And what will you do then?' 'I'll manage.' 'With what? How much money have you?' 'Enough,' she retorted. 'Really?' he lifted one eyebrow fractionally. 'I hadn't noticed.' He began to smile. Mia drew in. her breath. 'Have you been through my clothes?' 'Yes.' 'How dare you!'

'I'm sorry. I needed to check.' 'To check what? That I couldn't escape? I hope you're satisfied. Well, I don't need money—I can get a job on Hamilton's Reef at an hotel, or a tourist shop. I'll make enough money to get away -' 'Away to where?' 'To England, if I have to. Not to America. I have relatives in London -' 'Is that so? Then why didn't you write and tell them where you were?' 'That's none of your business,' she snapped. 'I think it is,' he said gently. 'I'll bet you don't even know where they are. So how can they help you?' 'I'll find them. I'll find them. I know I will -' 'Mia,' he put his hands on her arms, 'look at me. Don't fight me. Do you honestly think I'm going to let you go, after coming all this way for you? And do you honestly think you can outwit me?' She didn't struggle against him. She allowed him to hold her, and she looked at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. 'Oh, Mia,' he said softly. 'Mia, what shall I do with you?' 'Let me go free. Tell him you couldn't find me -' 'I radioed last night that I had. And in any case I can't tell lies -' 'Only to me,' she said softly, bitterly. 'They weren't exactly lies—do you think I enjoyed it?'

'Yes. I think you were patting yourself on the back at your cleverness.' She ran her tongue over her dry lips. 'No, I was pleased I'd got you away without any unpleasantness, that's all.' 'Unpleasantness? And what do you call that fight with Lucas? A little chat?' 'Him?' he shrugged. 'That was nothing. He needed teaching a lesson. He's just a bully.' 'I know he is. But don't you realise that you are too, in a different way?' Cory took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. 'Wow!' he said. His eyes were gleaming—and his mouth trembled as if he were trying to suppress laughter. 'My God! You have a quick answer to everything, don't you? And I called you Cinderella!' He began to laugh. 'Don't be flippant,' Mia snapped. 'And don't change the subject!' She jerked herself free of him. 'You can drop me off on the other side of the island and I'll thank you and say goodbye. Then you can radio H.G. and tell him I've no desire to meet him -' 'Oh, sure I can.' 'Are you frightened of him?' she taunted. 'Me? Honey, I'm not scared of anybody.' 'Then you won't mind telling him, will you?' she said, silky smooth, and she smiled at him very nicely, tears forgotten.

He didn't answer. He looked down at her, and his eyes-had gone dark and thoughtful. Then he spoke. 'You know, you're a chip off the old block -' 'I'm not! Don't say that! I'm not like him!' she blazed. 'Oh yes, you are.' He shook his head. 'You're exactly -' She swung her fist at him, and if it had connected he would have had a badly bruised jaw, to say the least—but it didn't, because he moved his head too swiftly to one side, and then caught and held her. 'Temper!' he mocked. 'Girls don't fight like -' 'I do!' she stamped on his bare foot and arched her body to make him release her. The next second she was twisted swiftly round and clamped in a vice-like grip with her back to him, and she couldn't move. 'Now,' he whispered softly in her ear, 'get out of that, little one.' 'Let me go, you beast!' 'When you behave like a girl I will.' 'Behave? I'll show you how I behave. I'll -' She struggled, and wriggled, and tried to free herself, but with as much result as if she were a small child. She was strong, but he was far stronger. Exhausted, panting, her hair dishevelled, she went limp after a few moments. 'That's better. Now go and sit down while I dish up the food.' And he gave her a gentle push on to the bunk. She glared up at him as he put the plate in front of her. 'I'm not going to eat it,' she said.

'Suit yourself. I am.' He sat down and began to eat. Mia's stomach ached with emptiness. Her body craved food, but she fought the impulse to pick up knife and fork and tuck in. The coffee proved too much for her. When he pushed a beakerful towards her she picked it up. He looked at her full plate. 'No?' he questioned. 'No.' 'Okay. Mustn't waste it.' And he took it from in front of her, picked up his fork, and began to eat it. It was too much for Mia. Picking up her beaker, she went out of the cabin and up on deck. Standing at the rail she looked over towards the island, now partially hidden in a heat mist. So near and yet so far. There lay freedom from everything she had known for the past few years. And to what end? It was true, she had no idea where her English relatives lived, if indeed she still had any. She had no passport, no money, nothing except her own wits and a capacity for hard work. Might it not be easier just to give in and go to America with Cory? There she would have security, comfort—and a grandfather. And at that thought her mouth tightened as the memory of something her mother had once told her came back to her. 'Henry Greyling is a tyrant of the worst kind,' she had said. 'He has to possess everything—and everyone. And when someone gets in his way he's as ruthless as any Mafia boss at getting rid of them—I know. When I met your father I was working for the old man—and as soon as he knew his son was interested in me I was fired within the hour and told I'd never get another job for anybody in the States. And he meant it. What he didn't know was that that was just the push his son Robert needed to strike free, to be independent. I sometimes think he only married me out of defiance for his father, Mia.' Then her mother had added wistfully, 'And because he knew I had money

of my own. I went to the States to see life, to be independent myself, not because I needed a job.' Mia's eyes filled with tears as the conversation came back to her. That was the kind of man he was, this man who had sent Cory several thousand miles to take her back. She had seen photographs of him, but that was all. The photographs showed an iron-jawed, crewcut, grey-haired man with hard mouth and eyes. He owned a chain of stores across America, a mailorder business that ran into millions, and several newspapers. He had everything that money could buy— except a granddaughter. That's me, she thought, watching the mist fade away into rainbow threads before vanishing. And he's been searching for me for a while, has he? And I wonder how he found me? Then she heard Cory's footsteps on the deck behind her, and she turned. 'How did you know where I was living?' she said. 'By chance. One of his managers came here for a holiday a few months ago. Name of Farrand, I think. He'd seen the photos of you as a child—the only ones H.G. possesses, and he knew of the private detectives searching for you, and he told H.G. when he got back, and described you. He's been promoted to director of one of the larger stores now, in New York,' he added drily. 'Oh yes, he would have been.' Farrand, Farrand. Mia 'closed her eyes. There had been someone of that name, an insignificant man who had stared at her a lot, and tried to talk—very casually—whenever he could, but Gina had usually put a stop to that. She didn't like Mia mixing with the guests. So he was responsible, was he? Well, she thought, I suppose I've got something to thank him for. 'Have you finished eating?' she asked, in tones that implied she considered him a pig.

'Uh-uh, it was lovely.' Cory patted his flat stomach. Mia looked away. 'Then what do we do now?' 'A good question, Mia. What do you want to do?' She gave him a level glance as she swung round. 'You already know.' 'Ah, apart from waving you goodbye, I mean. There's food to be bought—not that you're eating any, of course, but I need to. You're not on a hunger strike, are you, by any chance?' If only he knew! She was already feeling faint with the heat, and lack of food. 'No,' she answered. 'I just didn't want any—not after your vile behaviour.' 'Vile? You're kidding! Was I supposed to stand there while you swung punches? Come off it, honey.' 'And stop calling me honey!' she retorted. 'All right—Mia. Then as well as food, I thought you could buy some clothes. There are some nice stores on the island -' 'Don't try and bribe me,' she said, but with slightly less conviction. Clothes! She looked down at the skimpy shorts and tee-shirt she wore, and gave a little sigh. 'You could do with some yourself from the looks of you.' 'Sure I could. We'll shop together. How's that grab you? Unisex clothing.' 'What does that mean?'

'You don't know? Boy, have you been away from civilization ... It means, hon—Mia, that all over the world it's hard to tell the boys from the girls because everyone wears the same kind of gear.' He paused, then added: 'I shouldn't worry. I can't imagine anyone mistaking you for a boy.' And he grinned. She stared hard at him, looked him slowly up and down and said: 'I shouldn't imagine anyone thinking you were a girl either. Not with those legs.' And she turned away again. Cory began to laugh, quietly at first, then richly and deeply. When he could speak, he said: 'You know something? You're funny.' 'Am I? You're not.' Her quick mind was working. It would do no harm to have something decent to put on. Nor would it hurt to see the island—because if she said much more he might well decide to leave her on the boat while he went alone. See the island and plan her escape. She turned back to him. Don't overdo it now, she told herself before speaking. 'I may buy something to wear. You'll have to pay for it, of course.' 'Of course!' It was his turn to move away, to go to the controls, a few steps away, and slightly above. 'Civilization, here we come.' With a roar, the engines throbbed into life, and Mia watched the beach recede as he turned out to sea, preparatory to skirting the island. She thought: and if he knew what was really in my mind, he wouldn't be quite so light hearted. She watched him moving at the controls. He was whistling again; some tuneless air she didn't recognise. She wondered if he would still be whistling when she had left him.

CHAPTER THREE THE smooth pavements were hard and baking hot to her bare feet, and everywhere there were crowds of people; tall, short, thin, fat, men, women, white and brown. Tourists and natives intermingled in a wash of colour that left Mia breathless. She had never seen so many human beings in her life—not all at once. For a moment her resolve wavered. How could she stay here—alone? She looked behind them to the dozens of boats moored in the bay, bobbing gently, dazzling in the sun which also glinted on the water, throwing up shafts of quivering light to haze the eyes and make you blink. She turned again to follow Cory. It was as though they were in a miniature city; shops, hotels, boarding houses, restaurants—somewhere not far away, an open-air food market which was jammed solid with a slowly moving mass of humanity. A cruise liner was in for the day. They had passed it on their way in to moor. It was anchored a half mile or so out from shore, a giant vessel, aloof and dignified as it waited for the passengers to return. She could slip on board with them if she had clothes. They would be ferried on board by several boats, the last of which was only just returning to the vessel now, as if it had disgorged its final load for the day and was going back to the mother ship to wait. She glanced hastily, back to see it purposefully heading across the sparkling water. So simple really. 'Hey, mind where you're going, honey!' For a second she thought it must be Cory speaking, the next moment a middle-aged American tourist in a brightly flowered orange shirt and blue Bermuda shorts was steadying her as she would have cannoned into him. 'Sorry!' She felt confused, almost light-headed. The American grinned. 'No harm done—I just didn't want you to go flying.'

'I was looking at the liner.' Mia smiled at him, sensing an ally. 'Concordia? A fine little lady, yes, sir—you're here for the day too?' She shook her head. 'No. You're a passenger on it, are you?' 'I am. Do you live here?' Any second, Cory could look round. He was apparently studying a shop window with intent—but Mia felt as if you could never tell with him. Quickly she answered: 'No, I'm a visitor like yourself. What time do you go back on board?''Well -' it was a long drawling sound, 'just before sundown, I reckon.' Sundown. Plenty of time. 'Thanks.' She made as if to walk on, but he caught her arm. 'Are you okay, honey?' Cory was moving away, turning as if to look for her. She experienced a feeling of panic. 'Yes, I'm fine, thanks. I must -' 'Mia?' The American turned at Cory's voice, which came from just over his shoulder. 'Yes, I'm just coming, Cory. Goodbye.' ' 'Bye.' She was aware that the American had remained where he was, standing staring after her as Cory took her arm and walked her away. 'And what, may I ask, were you doing?' he inquired quite gently. 'Nothing. Just talking,' she replied.

'So I see. You mustn't go speaking to strange men, you know,' he said, but laughter lurked in his eyes. 'I should have thought of that when I saw you on the beach, shouldn't I?' she retorted. He didn't reply, merely guided her to the window at which he had been looking. 'Right. Want to go in?' She stared at the colourful profusion of dresses and blouses, shorts and shirts and jeans spread before her. It was a veritable feast for the eyes. She gave a little sigh. 'You do. Come on.' She would have enjoyed the next hour if he hadn't been with her—although, on reflection afterwards, she found she had enjoyed it anyway. For trying on the sort of garments she had only seen on the women visitors to the hotel was fun. Mia preened herself in front of a mirror dressed in a white embroidered blouse with tiny sleeves, and a pair of trim, tight, hip-hugging white shorts that made her legs look incredibly long and brown, and turned to Cory. 'I like these,' she said. He nodded to the proprietor of the store, a plump Portuguese woman of uncertain age. The pile of garments on the counter grew steadily. Mia felt reckless, almost dizzy. She knew she should have twinges of guilt, but she didn't. When at last a blue bikini had been added, she said: 'Aren't you getting anything for yourself?' 'Later,' he said, and producing a bundle of notes from his shorts, began to count out into a waiting brown hand. Outside he stood for a moment looking round as if pondering. Mia looked at the clumsy parcel he carried, and the twinge of guilt came—belatedly. 'Are you paying for these yourself,' she questioned, 'or—him?' She couldn't even say 'H.G.'

'Does it matter?' he answered. 'It does to me.' 'Then it's my treat. Don't worry, they weren't expensive.' 'I don't believe you.' 'That they weren't expensive, or that I'm paying?' 'Both,' she answered. 'He's employing you, isn't he?' 'Yes—in a way.' She looked at him as they stood there in a small oasis of stillness, surrounded by milling crowds. 'What do you mean—in a way?' 'Let's go and get something to eat before we get trampled underfoot.' 'No. I want you to answer.' The sun was making her dizzy—or it might have been hunger, she wasn't sure, but she only stopped herself from swaying by a tremendous effort of will. 'I'm repaying a favour, that's all.' He took her arm. 'Come on, you look white -' 'A favour? What sort of favour?' 'A debt of honour if you like. Your g—H.G.—helped my father out once at a time he needed it. Simple as that. I don't forget things like that—ever.' It was a statement of fact, quietly spoken, and with a dignity about it that made Mia suddenly realise something. There was far more to this man's character than appeared on the surface. It was as if, just for a second, she caught a glimpse of a complex, deep, personality. He laughed easily, he was apparently very eventempered and cool in any situation. He was exceptionally strong—

and yet gentle. And he never forgot a debt. Mia looked around her at the busy street. Nobody was interested in the couple outside the clothes shop, except in a cursory way. So who did she run to if she wanted to get away from him? She closed her eyes, dazzled by the sun's rays, and felt him catch her arm. 'Steady!' When she opened them, everything spun round in a whirl of colour, and she gasped. 'Food,' he said. 'And fast. You know you were stupid not to have breakfast.' He steered her across the road, one hand on her arm, skilfully evading bicycles, the odd ramshackle vehicle, and the occasional straying goat, and led her into the cool shelter of an hotel. It was small, but it looked reasonably clean, and a huge ceiling fan whirred with a breathless hum in the centre of the ceiling as she stood on warm tiles and waited to see what he was going to do. A few minutes later they were seated at a table overlooking the street they had just left, only it was much quieter from here, and strangely peaceful. Cory grinned across the table at Mia. 'We'll eat, and then we'll talk,' he said. 'Okay?' Mia nodded. She knew she would be able to think more clearly with food inside her. 'Yes,' she answered.

It would be sensible to eat as much as possible now, and then it wouldn't matter if she didn't have another meal for a while. Mia was quite calm. She had already had melon, and some small white fish that had tasted unutterably delicious, and the blunt edge of her hunger was appeased so that she was able to think clearly as they waited for the next course to arrive, and Cory smoked a thin cheroot and sipped his white wine quite as though he was used to going to restaurants and hotels looking like a disreputable beachcomber. Mia had refused wine. She wanted no muzzy head. She swallowed the last of her Coke, and he raised an amused eyebrow.

'Like another?' 'No, thanks.' She even managed to smile at him. Somehow she had to get that parcel of clothes from him as well ... The opportunity would come. She had an inner confidence about it. And when she had evaded him—then she would think about the next move. One step at a time was a wise maxim. The chicken arrived, steaming succulently, nestling in a bed of rice and pineapple pieces, and she had to stop herself from falling on it and devouring each morsel. Mia had a healthy appetite, and more than that, she felt as if she needed to stoke up in preparation for what was to come. And what would that be? She had no idea, but there was a challenge in the very thought. She had for so long dreamed of leaving her step-parents that the new-found idea of freedom was heady and exciting—and yet it had not happened as she had imagined it might. Instead of having to beg some hotel guest to take her—a well-nigh impossible prospect, for Gina watched her closely at all times, and Mia had never been sure of whom she could trust— she had been virtually plucked out of their reach by a mysterious stranger who had appeared as if in answer to her prayers. She looked across the table at him, pausing in her eating only briefly to watch him as he ate. Sunlight-slanted across his shoulders and the back of his head, highlighting his dark hair with traces of gold, making him look almost—Mia caught her breath—almost medieval, as if he had stepped out of the pages of a history book that showed pictures of knights. He looked- up at that moment, straight at her, as if sensing her regard, and smiled slowly. The dusty blue eyes shadowed, yet she knew their expression, knew the laughter lines that even now, were beginning to show. 'Can't get enough of me?' he said casually. 'Don't fight it, honey—all the girls swoon over me -'

'You're conceited,' she retorted, but she couldn't help herself, a smile broke through at his sheer impudence. 'And I thought I told you not to -' 'Call you honey—yes, I just remembered. Do forgive me if it slips out occasionally, it's purely unintentional.' But it won't be for much longer, she thought soberly. And then what would he do? Go back to H.G. and confess failure? That's not my problem, she told herself, but she looked down at her food, and suddenly she was no longer hungry. 'Mia? You all right?' 'Yes. I never eat a lot,' she lied, and pushed her plate slightly away. 'Then leave it. Why don't you go and freshen up?' 'Yes, that's a good idea.' She looked at the parcel on a spare chair by the table. 'Could I—change into something?' 'Sure. Why not?' he grinned. 'I'll wait here.' After that it was all too easy. Because she picked up the clothes, walked away from him out of the dining room, found the door to the ladies, went in—and saw another door leading out from it. Without pause she went to it and opened it. A minute later she was outside the hotel, in a short alleyway leading to the street. She stood for a moment to get her breath, because it had all happened too suddenly for her to actually believe it. She was free—really free. Without a backward glance, she walked away quickly. The best place to hide for a while was the market, and it would give her time to think, to plan her next move.

The sun had passed its peak, but it was still very hot, and although Mia was used to it, she was feeling tired, longing to sit down somewhere with a cool drink ... , Stop it! she told herself firmly, and looked away from a stall that was selling various concoctions ranging from luscious ice-cream to vile-coloured fizzy drinks. Even a glass of that violent pink lemonade would be ... No! Mia turned away determinedly, shifted the parcel to her other arm and began to wonder exactly what she was going to do. Constantly pushed and jostled, she was feeling faintly irritable. The sense of heady freedom rapidly vanishing in the face of one overwhelming fact: she had no money. Then, in the distance, she caught a glimpse of the harbour, and her heart leapt. He wouldn't look for her there—or if he had, he would have left the harbour by now. If she could just sneak aboard and have a drink—the thought being translated into the deed, Mia began to fight her way through the milling tourists, all the time watching, keeping her eyes open for a fall dark man who would stand out in any crowd, and therefore be easy to avoid. She would watch the boat first for as long as she dared, from a safe vantage point, to see if there was any movement aboard—and then it would be easy. Cory would in all probability be combing shops and hotels for her because she had made it clear that she intended getting a job. Let him! she thoughts There's nothing he can do to make me leave if I don't want to—and she told herself this with a conviction she did not really feel, for somehow Cory Galen looked the kind of man who always got what he wanted. It was easy, dodging along behind the busy part of the street, keeping out of sight behind the shops and stores, and it was quieter, and more shaded, for the tall palms provided a shelter that was most welcome, and Mia began to feel more optimistic. She waited, hidden among

them, and watched the boats on the water. There it was, Cory's boat, the name emblazoned on the side in golden letters: Dark Venturer— and that was highly appropriate. All was still on board, no signs of life. Yet still she waited, suppressing her thirst, prepared to stay where she was until she was certain it was safe to move. Tourists and natives wandered along the beach; no one would take any notice of her, she knew. She might have time to change on board, after she had drunk her fill. It was time to move. Clearly there was no one aboard Dark Venturer. Mia walked out from the shade of the trees, and calmly, confidently went along the jetty towards it. The next minute she was safely in the cabin, and all was silent and still. She put the clothes on the bunk and went into the galley. She was finishing her second glass of water when the boat rocked with movement— and she heard voices. Men's voices. She froze, slammed the glass down on the sink, and looked round desperately for a way of escape. There was none, only a porthole she couldn't hope to wriggle through, slim though she was. Darting into the cabin, she dived towards the door, to lock it, to give her a moment's respite— and as she reached it, even as she tried to push it to, a man's hand reached round it, and she looked up to see, not Cory, not a policeman, but Lucas—and with him, her stepfather Ryan Smith, two grim-faced men who came into the cabin and slammed the door behind them and stood watching her. It was Ryan who spoke first. 'Well, here you are at last,' he said. 'And a merry dance you've led us. Where is he?' 'I'm not coming back with you,' Mia said desperately. 'You are. Where's the man you were with?' She stared at them both without answering. Lucas stood there, arms akimbo, looking in a dangerous temper—and Ryan, quieter than his

stepson, but even less attractive, his dark face white with anger, the sunglasses he wore giving him a faintly sinister air. 'Aren't you going to answer?' demanded Ryan. 'Do you think we've chased over here for fun?' They couldn't take her from the boat by force—or could they? If they had gone to all the trouble of following her—which meant leaving Gina in charge of the hotel, an unheard-of event—they must want her badly. But why? 'No,' she answered, 'I don't imagine you'd do anything for fun.' She had to keep calm. The longer she could keep them talking, the more time she had to think. .'But why have you come all this way? You don't really want me at the hotel—only as an extra help. You've made that quite clear, all of you—and you could surely find someone else to work there -' 'It's you we want,' interrupted Lucas, his eyes pale with anger. 'You little idiot, you've got to be there when -' 'All right, Lucas, that's enough,' snapped Ryan, effectively silencing the younger man. 'Explanations can come later.' There was something there, something hidden, and Lucas had so nearly given it away. Mia sensed it as strongly as if it were written oh his face, and began to feel as if she were becoming part of a nightmare. First Cory, with his air of mystery—and now these two. It was too much. She sat down abruptly, knowing that for a minute or two at least she was safe—if she kept cool. 'Explanations?' she repeated, as. if she genuinely cared. 'What explanations?'

Ryan smiled. And that, in a way, was more scary than his previous anger. 'Nothing much. Just a little matter of business that happens— just happens, to concern you.' It could wait. She didn't want him losing his temper. 'But how did you know I was on the boat?' she asked —a reasonable enough question. 'We were watching,' answered Lucas. 'I'd noted the name last night when your boy-friend -' he nearly spat the two words out, 'came for you.' He looked at Ryan. 'He might be back soon. He's a nasty piece of work -' 'Yes, you told me.' Ryan spared him a glance from those hidden eyes, then turned to Mia. 'He's right. Let's go.' 'I've got to wash -' she began, knowing now the desperation that came with the realisation that the only man who could possibly deal with these two was doubtless vainly searching for her across the island. 'And I've got to eat something, I'm starving -' 'Later. Not now.' There was the faintest of creaks from outside, and it could have been the water smacking the side of the boat, but her heart bumped. Then nothing. No sound, no movement. Her only chance now lay in causing as big a scene as possible when they left the boat. But would anyone take any notice? The tourists might even consider it part of the island's entertainment, a trio of boat-dwellers having an argument—and they might simply not wish to get involved. Mia had had enough let-downs in her young life not to expect too much. But she could run, and she could swim. Somehow she determined, as she moved slowly, she would get away from them. Slowly, still playing for time, still thinking and planning furiously, she stood up and picked up her bundle of clothes.

Lucas opened the door, and Ryan said: 'You first, then, Mia, then me.' But the doorway, most strangely, was darkened, blocked by the figure of a man. A huge powerful figure of a man who waited on the steps from the deck, standing there quite calm—and smiling. Actually smiling. 'Well now,' Cory said softly. 'This is a nice surprise. Visitors aboard my boat.' 'Cory!' Mia exclaimed. She had hoped never to see him again. He looked over Lucas's head at her. 'Have they hurt you?' he asked: 'No. But they've come for me -' 'Have they now?' He moved forward, and Lucas, having no choice in the matter at all, stepped back into the cabin, nearly cannoning into Ryan, who now clearly decided to take charge of matters. 'Yes, we have, Mr Whatever-your-name-is, and—' 'It's Galen. Cory Galen. My friends call me Cory. You can call me Mr Galen. And you, I take it, are Mia's stepfather?' Cory looked Ryan up and down, quite slowly, with eyes that had gone, Mia noticed, rather harder than she had seen them before. 'And I'd like to remind you that you're trespassing on my boat, and you don't tell me what to do.' 'The sooner, we get off it the better,' answered Ryan, 'so why don't you just step aside and let us pass?' 'A pleasure.' Cory did so, and swept out his arm in a generous gesture. 'Off you go.' 'With Mia,' said Ryan.

'Without Mia,' corrected Cory. He had kept his voice low. You'd have thought they were discussing the weather, thought Mia wildly, feeling more than ever as if she would wake up from some awful dream at any moment. But it wasn't a dream, it was real, and Cory had dealt effectively with Lucas—but he hadn't met Ryan before— and he was vastly different. He was strong, and tough, and afraid of no one, and he wasn't about to be ordered off the boat so easily. 'I'd like to remind you that she is my stepdaughter,' replied Ryan, in what was for him, a quiet voice. Perhaps the weighing up hadn't been all one sided, thought Mia, with some amusement, considering the living nightmare in which she found herself. There was no doubt about Cory. If he had to be summed up in one word, it would be, formidable. And Ryan, for all his own strength, was no fool. 'And moreover I'm concerned about her welfare,' Ryan continued. 'In a pig's eye,' replied Cory succinctly. 'I'll bet you're as worried about her welfare as I am about yours—and that's nil, brother.' The American accent had never been so pronounced. She saw Ryan redden beneath his tan. If Cory's intention was to enrage him, he was doing so effectively, she thought. And she had had just about enough of all of them—even Lucas, who was oddly silent, for him. 'I'm here,' she said. 'Or are you so busy talking you'd forgotten?' She glared at them all in turn, feeling the warmth in her cheeks. 'I'm me— Mia, and I'm old enough to decide for myself what I'm doing. I'm not going back to the hotel with you two—and I'm not going off with Cory. I'm staying here on Hamilton's Reef. So now you know.' There was a moment's silence. Then Cory spoke. 'You heard, gentlemen,' he said. 'So you might as well go peacefully before I throw you off. Okay?' Ryan moved towards him. 'Get Mia, Lucas,' he said, 'I've had enough of this farce -and then he hit Cory—hard, on his jaw. It was all so

sudden and unexpected—at least to Mia, who had the irrational urge to warn Cory, to cry out, to stop him being hurt— and then she knew she needn't have worried. The blow rocked Cory slightly—and then it was all over. Ryan was trying to pick himself from the cabin floor. She hadn't even seen Cory hit him. His sunglasses had fallen off, and as he groped for them Lucas launched himself at Cory. Cory's hand came out and chopped him above the shoulder, and that was two down. Cory grinned tightly at Mia. 'Care for a go?' he asked. Quite illogically, she was furious with him for hitting them—even though he had not been the aggressor, merely defending himself. She glared at him. 'I'll bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?' she demanded. 'Then you could hit me as well -' 'No, I wouldn't. I already ,told you that. You're quite safe, but you look like a little cat spitting fire and fury—it might relieve some of your tension—' 'I'm fed up with all of you!' she stormed, watching in awful fascination as Ryan staggered to his feet and collapsed on to the bunk. 'You're talking about me as if I'm a piece of furniture. How do you think I feel?' She clenched her fists angrily. 'Relieved at not going back with them, I hope,' he said, and yanked Ryan to his feet. 'Now, scoot,' he said in peremptory fashion. 'Both of you, before I throw you overboard,' and he pushed him up the steps in front of him, and on to the deck. The boat heaved, then steadied, and he came down and did the same to Lucas, whose face had gone white. Mia followed them up on deck, to see Cory hefting her stepbrother over the side on to the jetty. Then he jumped over the rail. He stood facing the two men, his hands loosely by his side, and he began talking quietly to them. Mia moved closer, because she couldn't hear what he was saying, and he half turned, as if aware of her nearness, and jerked his head. 'Get down below,' he ordered. 'This doesn't concern you.'

'Yes, it does,' she answered, and started to climb over the rail. 'You needn't think I'm staying there so that you can start the motors -' He reached out and hauled her completely over, and on the jetty, then he held her hand, not tightly, but firmly enough so that she knew she wouldn't be able to pull free. 'All right. Stay here—with me,' he said, and turned away again. 'Next time I see you I won't be so soft,' he went on, clearly continuing what he had been saying. 'I'll break you into small pieces and feed you to the sharks. I hope you get the message?' he added politely. Ryan moved imperceptibly away, but Mia noticed. He was frightened, but still full of bluster. 'Things will be different, Mia, I promise you. Just come home and we'll forget all about this -' 'Different?' Mia didn't know whether to laugh or cry. 'In what way? You mean you'll treat me like a human being for a change?' 'I know Gina can be a bit awkward at times, but the work's hard -' 'I know. I do most of it,' Mia retorted drily. 'Well, we'll all do more, then everything will be easier for you.' It was like hearing a stranger speaking. Mia looked from him to the sullen, smouldering Lucas, and something he had said only recently came back to her. 'Just you wait,' he had said, as if he knew something she didn't, and she hadn't had time to puzzle it over, because she had been in a hurry to get off to Cory in his shelter, but there had been something in his manner then ... 'You seem remarkably eager to have Mia back with you,' Cory cut in. 'There wouldn't be a good reason for this sudden heartwarming—not to say touching—display of affection, would there? A reason like— money, for example?'

The silence was electric. Mia, her eyes wide, looked at Lucas. Cory had just said something that, to her, didn't make any sense at all, and yet now, seeing Lucas's eyes, her stepfather's gesture as he put his hand to his face and took the sunglasses off, she knew that his words hadn't been outrageous at all. 'It's so stupid,' said Ryan, as if suddenly weary. 'Can't we talk things over in a civilized way? We're both men of the world:—' the cliché tripped easily from his lips, and Mia thought: I'm seeing a different side of this man, and it was one she liked even less than before. 'What's to talk about?' said Cory. 'Mia's made her decision -' 'But she doesn't want to go with you, either,' cut in Lucas with venom. Cory gave him a withering glance. 'Shut up, junior, until you're spoken to.' 'I'm not going to -' Lucas began, and Ryan stopped him with a simple gesture of the hand. 'Quiet, Lucas.' 'I won't damn well be quiet! Why don't you tell her and have done with it?' 'Tell me what?' demanded Mia. Her quick temper was rising. They were all talking about her, all three of them, as though she was a child, someone of no account, and even now, as she spoke, they looked at her as if debating whether she should actually be answered. 'I said—tell me what?' she said, and snatched her hand free from Cory's grip. 'And I'm perfectly capable of standing here without you holding me up,' she went on as she glared at him. Then she turned on Lucas. He was the weak link in the chain. She could deal with him.

'Go on,' she told him. 'Don't take any notice of them. What am I supposed to know?' 'Nothing,' muttered Lucas. That did it. Mia stepped forward and tugged his shirt front. 'I said tell me!' she shouted. Lucas raised his hand as if to strike her, and Cory stepped forward warningly. 'Don't touch her,' he grated. Mia pushed hard, and Lucas, who had been standing near the edge of the jetty, fell with a huge splash and a cry into the water. In the immediate confusion that followed, she saw her chance. In an instant she was speeding along the jetty to the beach, fleet of foot, completely uncaring of anything or anybody; she had quite simply had all she could take. She had reached the beach before Cory grabbed hold of her and stopped her. 'Don't you ever learn?' he panted as he twisted her round to face him. 'Let me go! I shall scream if you don't.' Slowly he released her, keeping a restraining grip- on her wrist even so. 'You need a good spanking,' he told her. 'Why didn't you leave everything to me?' 'Such as what?' she retorted, eyes flashing fire. 'Organising my life for me? I've had enough of it. Go and attend to those two before they wreck your precious boat.' He half turned as if to look, and she bent his fingers back in a swift effort to free herself. In vain, of course. He turned quickly back to her and his eyes gleamed darkly. 'God, you're a little fighter, aren't you? I'll bet I could have picked you out in a line up any time as being H. G.'s grand -'

'Don't say that!' she stormed. 'I've told you before, I don't 'Then it's time you stopped denying it, and grew up.' His face had gone quite serious. In the distance behind him, Mia could see the dripping Lucas being helped from the water, but it was all part of what was happening; not startling or at all out of the usual. She wondered if anything would surprise her ever again. 'And why did you run out on me at lunch? That was a sneaky thing to do,' he continued. 'I warned you I wouldn't stay,' she answered. 'Do you think I was simple enough to fall for it?' He laughed, showing even white teeth. 'I followed you. I watched you fighting your way through the crowds in the market place—I saw you looking longingly at those drinks on the stall. I saw your every move. Did you think you'd get away from me so easily?' 'I never saw you.' Her voice wavered slightly. She felt incredibly weary. 'I made damned sure you didn't, honey. I spent two years in Vietnam—I learned how to keep out of sight there.' 'Then—you knew I'd gone to the boat as well?' The heat haze was making the island quiver in a kind of mist. Mia wanted desperately to sit down, to be able to stop running for a while. She ran her tongue over her dry lips, and her voice shook. 'You knew they'd— they'd followed me as well?' 'I did. You were safe from them, but you didn't know it. Were you scared?' 'What do you think?' she retorted, some of the fire back in her voice, a trace of scorn. 'I'd have coped.'

'Oh, sure you would. With two of them? You're a plucky kid, but there's a limit to what you can do -' his voice had been fading and she looked sharply at him to see if he was speaking more quietly and his face wavered, and then seemed to be moving swiftly away. She heard as if from a distance, his voice: 'Mia? What is it -?' And then the world vanished in a whirl of stars and rushing water as Mia fainted, for the first time in her life.

CHAPTER FOUR IT was so gentle and peaceful just to be lying there; not to have to fight any longer, because everything was going to be all right. Her mother had just told her so, smoothing Mia's hair from her forehead, bathing her face in cool water, and saying: 'Don't worry, love -' and then she opened her eyes, still caught in a roseate glow, and the image blurred and faded, and she saw Cory leaning over her, a towel in one hand, a damp flannel in the other. For a split second she stared at him blankly, as if he were a stranger, the torn remnants of the dream still too powerful for her to recognise him fully. Then she did. 'No,' she said. 'Oh no.' She turned head away from him, and tears ran down her still damp face. 'You're safe,' he said. 'They've gone—or rather, we've left them.' Mia struggled to sit up. She was on the bunk in the cabin, and the boat was rocking gently. She looked out of the porthole, and then at the other side. There was nothing to be seen except the sea on all sides. Sea and sky—no land at all. 'Where are we?' she said dully. 'A few miles out from Hamilton's Reef. I couldn't cope with three of you—not all at once. So I took off.' 'And where are they?' 'Fighting it out last time I saw them. Who cares?' She didn't answer. She swung her feet down, and sat looking at him. 'I fainted,' she said, in some astonishment.

'I know. I had to carry you back here and then get rid of those two. At least it kept you quiet for a few minutes.' 'I'm not staying here with you. You'd better turn back now.' Cory grinned. 'You're kidding! No, you're not. You mean it, don't you?' He shook his head. 'And have all that battle again? Not on your life, honey.' 'And where are you taking me now?' 'We're making our way to the Bahamas, stage by stage, and from there we'll fly to, the States.' 'Don't you have any conscience at all?' she demanded. 'Conscience? You asked me to get you off that goddamned island, remember.' 'That was before I knew who you were—and who'd sent you.' Cory sat down beside her. 'Listen, honey,' he said slowly. 'All I want you to do is meet your—I mean H.G., that's all. Meet him. If you don't want to stay then, he won't force you.' 'Don't be ridiculous!' she snapped. 'And you pretend to know him. Is he the sort of man to let anyone get away from him—especially after spending money to find me? Don't make me laugh!' Cory's face became serious. 'You don't imagine I'm just going to dump you with him and leave you, do you? Do you really imagine that?' 'What else am I supposed to believe?'

'I went into this a lot before I decided to get you. Sure I want to help him, and sure, I knew you weren't happy living with your stepparents. Farrand—the guest who noticed you in the first place—made that clear. But I wanted to see for myself -' 'Which is why you put on the elaborate act for my benefit, pretending you'd lost your memory,' she cut in bitterly. 'I'm not proud of myself, if that's what you're trying to say,' he continued. 'I told you, I didn't like having to deceive anyone so patently honest as you.' 'I don't believe you.' She closed her eyes, and moved slightly away from him, loathing him, hating his very nearness, knowing, with a sense of utter helplessness, that she could do nothing about it. The memory of the dream came back to her vividly. Her mother had spoken to her, had comforted her, told her it would be all right—and then she had opened her eyes to see him. Helplessly, silently, she began to cry, choking back the tears, putting her hand to her mouth in a vain effort to control herself. She heard him groan, felt the slight movement, and the next moment his arm was round her shoulders. 'Don't cry, please don't,' he said quietly. 'You don't know what it does to me.' 'I d-don't care,' she said, voice muffled. His hand was warm on her bare arm, and it was strong and gentle at the same time, and his fingers gently stroked her by the shoulder, and Mia was suddenly not wanting to struggle or fight him. Even though she hated him. She turned her tear-streaked face towards him and looked up into the blue eyes that had lost their hardness. Her lips trembled. She saw his mouth, a broad generous mouth that she had seen equally hard, had seen laughing, and grinning—and she wondered what it would be like to be kissed. Only Lucas had ever

tried, and suffered a bloody nose for his attempt. Imperceptibly, hardly aware of what she was doing, she lifted her face towards his, and the next moment she knew the cool sweetness of a man's lips on hers. She was lost as his arms went around her and he held her, and he kissed her in a way she had never imagined. With a warmth and gentleness that filled her body with fire —until Cory pulled himself away. His eyes had darkened, and his face was shadowed and soft as he gazed at her. Then, abruptly, he stood up and moved away. His voice was husky. 'I'm sorry, Mia. I shouldn't have done that,' he said. 'Yes, you should,' she followed him across the cabin and faced him. A sensation she didn't understand filled her very being. She sensed her own power, and the knowledge was heady. Just for, a moment, then, she could have had anything she wanted. She could have her freedom. She put her hand up to stroke his cheek, and she laughed. 'Kiss me again,' she said recklessly. He stared down at her, then, with an abrupt movement, he pulled her hand away from his face. His eyes had changed, gone hard and cold, and it frightened her. 'No,' he said, and his voice had changed too. It was harsher. 'You don't know what you're doing.' She felt as though he had struck her. For a moment they faced each other silently in the gently rocking boat, and she saw that her opportunity—whatever it had been—was gone. The man she disliked was back again. Her chance had gone. 'I hate you,' she said, and ran up the steps on to the deck, to the side, and dived into the warm green water. She had no clear idea of what she was doing, only that she wanted to escape from him—and from her humiliation.

'Mia!' she heard his voice, and struck out away from the side with long strokes, the sea water filling her hair, and her eyes, blinding her but washing away the tears and the taste of his kiss. She didn't care if she drowned. Nothing mattered any more. She was a powerful swimmer, and fearless, and she turned back to see if he was watching her from deck, but he had vanished. Then she saw his head a distance away, saw his arms as he cut through the water in a swift crawl that brought him nearer every second, and she was frightened at her own recklessness. Turning away, she began swimming again, but knew it was pointless. Cory reached her a few minutes later, and grabbed her arm and held her. 'You little fool,' he said. 'Don't you know there are sharks in this water? Come back now to the boat with me.' 'I don't care,' she gasped, pushing at his chest, struggling to free herself. 'Let me go!' 'Like hell I will!' 'I'm not coming back.' 'I'm not fooling, Mia. If you don't stop fighting, I'll knock you out. There isn't time for games here, I saw a shark just before we stopped.' That sobered her slightly, and she trod water and looked around. Nothing moved on the surface, no triangular deadly fin scything towards them. 'You're lying again,' she said, 'and I don't care,' and she hit out at him with all her strength and pushed herself away. She saw his hand coming up, but that was all there was time to see before the world went black.

She could feel the sun drying her skin as she lay on the deck, and she opened her eyes and looked round, squinting away from the direct glare. There was no sign of Cory, and for one dreadful moment she wondered if he was still in the water. But how had she got on deck if so? She groaned and closed her eyes. Her chin ached and she put up an experimental hand and touched it gently with her fingers. Then she remembered. He hadn't been joking. He had knocked her out. 'It was only a tap. You'll live. Can you stand up?' His voice came from somewhere. 'No. Go away.' She didn't even bother to open her eyes. 'You hit me.' 'You gave me no choice. If you don't believe me about sharks, take a look over the side. There's an ugly brute circling the boat. How interested do you think he'd have been with us struggling in the water? They can feel the vibrations from a mile away.' Mia sat up, then stood, and went to the rail. The sea was still and calm—and then, suddenly, it wasn't. Coming at a leisurely pace from the stern of the boat was a familiar shape, a huge white shark, gliding smoothly under the surface—silent and deadly. She looked at it in fascination. There was absolutely nothing to be said. Then she turned away and went down into the cabin. She bolted the door and ripped open the parcel of clothes. She had been excited when she had tried them on. Now, looking at them, she felt nothing at all. They were clothes, that was all. Something dry to put on after her dip in the sea—although her own would dry on her if she left them, so hot was it. She chose a pair of red shorts and bright blue vest-like tee-shirt, stripped her own garments off and put the new ones on. Then she unbolted the door, went up on deck and draped her wet clothes over

the rail. Cory was sitting on deck- examining a fishing rod with apparent concentration. 'Going to catch the shark?' Mia enquired. Never, never again, would she let him get too near her. The sense of humiliation burned deep— because she knew she had behaved stupidly and foolishly. She had actually asked him to kiss her. It didn't bear thinking about. He looked up, narrowing his eyes. 'Nope,' he answered, ignoring the sarcasm. 'But I'm going to try and get me a fish for supper. Sharks don't only hang around people—they go where there are schools of fish. There'll be some hereabouts.' He had taken off his shirt and hung it over the rail, and all that he wore were his shorts. A silver medallion hung on a chain round his neck. He was very brown and muscular, his chest broad and deep, shoulders and arms powerpacked. And he fiddled casually with the fishing rod as if nothing else was important. Mia hated his very air of complete assurance, his invincibility. It was as if he didn't give a damn for the whole world:— and certainly not for her. And she had thought him a helpless stranger—was it only yesterday? Had given him food and shelter, and seen in him a way of escape. She looked around at the vast expanse of sea surrounding them, with only an island making a distant smudge on the horizon, and she thought: There's just the two of us, alone, together in this vast wilderness—and nothing I can do about it. What had he said? They were making their way to the Bahamas, stage by stage—that meant stops at other islands for food and fuel. Her spirits rose slightly. There was still a chance. But not without money. Just enough to feed her until she got work, that was all. He would be carrying dollars, the international currency. He'd had some in his shorts pocket, when he'd bought the clothes. She drew in her breath, remembering, and blurted out:

'Your money. When you dived in after me—did you have it in your pocket still?' Again the idle, narrowed glance against the sun. 'Nope. I flung my wallet on deck.' He patted his backside. 'It's safe again.' She turned away and walked to the stern and looked over. There was no sign of the shark. It wouldn't do to rouse his suspicions now. Yet would he ever believe she was reconciled to her plight? Wouldn't he always be watching her, from now on? 'I can't see the shark,' she said. 'Hadn't you better hurry before the fish go?' He rose to his feet in a graceful, easy movement. 'I reckon so,' he said. 'Want to watch?' 'I don't have much choice, do I?' And then, as he. stood beside her, it began—an indefinable current of tension, flowing between them. It was new and strange to Mia, but she felt a warmth inside her, an awareness of his nearness, causing her heart to beat faster. And when he moved slightly away, she knew it was not her imagination—he was as aware as she. Mia took a deep breath. Something had altered between them in the last hour, and would never be the same again. She knew it as surely as she knew her own name. Exactly what it was, she didn't know—but it was there. She wanted to move away, but could not. Instead she watched him cast the rod overboard, and every movement of his seemed concentrated and deliberate as if he too trod carefully. Mia wanted to speak, to say anything—but she didn't trust her voice. She gripped the teak rail, tightly until her knuckles showed white under her tan. Then he spoke. His voice was the same as usual—or was it? Was there something there, as if he too found it hard to speak normally? 'Will you hold the rod a moment while I get a couple of stools?' he said.

'Yes.' She reached out to take it from him, and just for a split second, their fingers brushed against each other. The shock was almost overwhelming in its intensity, a sharp tingle that ran up her arm. She flinched, but he had already turned away, and she stood there very still, holding the fishing rod as if her life depended on it. She was frightened because she didn't understand what was happening. 'There you go,' the casual, deep voice came from behind her, and she saw him push two canvas folding stools on the deck by her knees. As he took the rod back she was well aware that he took care not to touch her again. She sat down, and so did Cory. 'We'll get a bite in a few minutes,' he said. 'Yes,' Mia answered. She saw him glance at her, felt his gaze briefly on her and wanted to tell him to stop looking at her, but she was silent. Perhaps I'm going mad, she thought. After all that's happened in the last day—and then she remembered. 'Why—why did they want me back?' she asked. 'And why did you mention money?' 'Can't you guess?' 'No. That's why I'm asking.' 'Tell me something, Mia. Have either of your stepparents ever asked you to sign anything?' She was so puzzled by his question that she actually forgot her uneasiness at his nearness. She was even able to look at him. 'Sign? Sign what?' He shrugged broad shoulders. 'Anything. Papers, forms—a letter, perhaps.'

'No, of course not—but—wait,' a vague memory was returning, so vague and unimportant that it scarcely seemed worth mentioning. 'There was something, ages and ages ago—but it was only a paper we all had to sign, for insurance on the hotel or something.' 'Mmm, I see.' 'I don't.' 'Well, I think that they've been using your name, perhaps even forging your signature to get money from somewhere. Tell me, how is mail delivered on your island?' 'A boat once a week from Hamilton's Reef.' 'And did you ever see the mail when it arrived? You know—sort through it for the guests, and to answer applications for bookings— anything like that?' 'No. Gina always insisted that was her job. I was never even allowed to open the mail sack -' Mia faltered, remembering one angry scene when she had begun to open the bag one week and Gina had come into the room. Her rage had been out of all proportion to the act. Mia had merely been trying to help. She recounted the incident to Cory, and he listened intently. 'Now can you guess?' he asked softly. 'You mean there could have been letters arriving for me from somewhere?' she said, her voice hesitant. 'It's possible—in fact, after what you've just told me, it's highly likely.' 'And money could be involved. Money for me?'

'Yes.' 'But from where?' 'Your English relatives? Who knows?' He shrugged carelessly, as if the matter was quite unimportant, and Mia turned on him. 'But that's criminal!' 'From what I've seen of your relatives so far, nothing would surprise me. I didn't meet your stepmother, thank God, but I'm willing to bet she's no better than those two creeps I left quarrelling on the jetty.' 'What did you say to them?' 'I told them I was wise to their little game—and that they'd not heard the last of me. And they haven't.' 'Oh.' She sat there very still, feeling incredibly miserable. Was the whole world against her? Could she do nothing? 'Mia? Is that all you've got to say—"oh"?' 'Leave me alone!' She jumped to her feet, knocking over the stool so that it skidded away, stood looking, glaring down at him as he sat there. 'Just leave me alone —-I hate them, and I hate you! Do you hear me?' And she turned and ran to the cabin and slammed the door behind her. She flung herself on to the warm bunk, face down, and lay there too angry and confused even to cry. Her whole body ached with tension, and tiredness and that indefinable new awareness of something she thought she would never understand. Closing her eyes, she tried deliberately to relax, and eventually succeeded, and drifted into a light sleep. *

The smell of food awoke her and she turned over and sat up to hear noise from the galley. Cory came in carrying two plates, saw her and said: 'I caught two. Are you hungry?' 'Yes.' She swung her feet to the floor. 'Can I help you?' She regretted her outburst, but from his manner it was as though it had never happened. 'Nope. Just you sit yourself down and wait. Okay?' He grinned at her briefly before vanishing again. Mia went into the tiny washroom and rinsed her face and hands. She looked at herself in the mirror, wondering if all that had happened to her in the last day would show in her face. Wide-eyed, she stared— and all was the same. Perhaps her tan was a shade deeper, but that was all. She touched her mouth, her soft warm mouth, and thought: he kissed me—then she remembered what had happened immediately afterwards, and took her fingers away as though they were burning. She would never forgive him for the humiliation he had caused her. Then, with a kind of warm glow, she thought about them standing at the rail, and she turned away from the mirror, her heartbeats unaccountably quickened at the remembrance of the sudden, inexplicable awareness. Tangible, in waves, like an electric current— more so at the accidental touch of hands that had, very carefully, not been repeated. Why, she wondered, should he be aware of it? She touched her chin gently as she left the washroom, and winced. There would be a bruise tomorrow—and he must have seen. Even though he was dishing out the fish, he saw. He missed nothing. 'I'll give you something to put on that after we've eaten, if you remind me,' he said.

'I'll be all right. It was my own fault, after all,' she answered, as she sat down. 'Yes,' he agreed. 'But no one's asking you to suffer nobly.' She looked at him quickly, seeking sarcasm, but his face was bland and she looked away again. 'Eat up,' he went on. 'It's good and hot. And there's some fruit afterwards.' 'She felt a prickle of resentment at his tone, but she was too tired to fight any more. She began to eat, and so, after a moment, did he. They ate in silence. Mia was tired, Cory seemed preoccupied, and once she glanced at him to see a hard yet distant look in his eyes. She pushed her empty plate to the end of the table, eased herself along the bunk, picked up the plate and said: 'I'll make coffee.' 'Fine.' He nodded, as if he were not really listening. She wondered what he was thinking about. As she pumped up water and filled the kettle Mia saw in her mind his face's image. Who was he, this man who had come several thousand miles to pluck her away from the only life she had ever known ? All she knew was his name, Cory Galen, and that his father was a friend of Henry Greyling. Those were the facts. Some more she had seen for herself. He was tough, but slow to anger. Strong—and yet gentle. And he could be humorous. He could also be hard. Twice she had tried to escape him; once on land, once at sea, and twice he had found her, the second time possibly saving her life. She sighed as she waited for the kettle to boil. That had been a stupid, senseless gesture on her part—and yet the sheer humiliation had driven her to do it. What had possessed her? She did not know. But she did know one thing; it would never happen again.

She made the coffee, stirred in the powdered milk, and took the beakers in. 'Thanks.' He had lit a cheroot, and the smoke drifted ceilingwards. 'No fruit?' 'No, thank you.' She didn't want to sit down again. She wanted to get away from him, but there was nowhere to go, no way of escape. It was as if he knew. He looked at the watch on his wrist. 'We'll be setting off soon,' he said. 'I want to make land before it's too dark.' 'What land?' 'An island not too far away from here. I've got it all planned.' He tapped a folded chart on the bunk beside him. 'And we'll moor there for the night, will we?' 'Yes.' 'And then what?' 'I already told you—easy stages to the States.' His tone was mild, as if deliberately trying to calm the brittleness in the air. 'And that's it, is it?' It was no use. Even if she tried Mia couldn't help herself. She had the urge to resist him all the time. 'You have it all planned?' her voice had risen. 'As though I'm a load of cargo?' 'All right, calm down. I'm tired—I've had a busy day if you care to think about it.' 'I don't care what sort of day you've had, to be quite candid,' she retorted. 'You can't blame me for the job you undertook.'

'But you don't have to make it as difficult for me,' he pointed out in reasonable tones. 'And why not? I didn't know who you were when I saw you lying on the beach giving your Oscar-winning performance or I'd have left you there!' His eyes narrowed. Then he nodded slowly. 'You know something? I believe you would at that.' 'You're darn right I would!' she mimicked an American accent with some skill—and Cory began to laugh. She hadn't expected that. Incensed, she picked up the nearest thing to hand—a book—and threw it at him. 'Don't you dare laugh at me!' she stormed. He ducked the book, putting up his arm in an instinctive gesture that knocked it sideways to skid along the cabin and land askew by the door. Then he stood up. Facing her he was formidable—too big to fight. She turned away, and he caught her arm. 'Go and pick that book up,' he said. 'Go to hell!' 'I'm not kidding, Mia. Pick it up, or I'll make you.' She tried to wrench her arm free, but his grip tightened, and it wasn't painful, but it would be if she moved again. She glared helplessly at him. 'Then make me,' she said defiantly. She heard him let his breath out in a long deep sigh. The atmosphere was so explosive it seemed as if a spark would set it off. Their bodies were almost touching in the confined space of the cabin, and she could feel the warmth of his, smell the clean saltiness of his skin, see

the coldness of his eyes, his dusty blue eyes that had changed, and become as hard as steel.. 'I mean it,' he said softly—but there was an iron self- control there, and she sensed the leashed strength within him, and knew that if he chose he could do anything he wished. He was all powerful, all male, and the thin thread of his mood was stretched as tautly as a bow string. 'Let me free,' she said quietly. 'I'll pick it up.' He let her go, and Mia crossed the space intervening, picked up the book, and put it on the table. 'Satisfied?' she said, near to tears, but controlling it with all her inner strength. She was shaking, and she tried to hide it as she leaned on the table. 'When you behave in a civilised manner—yes, I am,' he replied. 'But you find it difficult -' 'I don't need a lecture from you, thank you.' 'And you're not going to get one. Just remember that there are certain rules of conduct which will help us get on a lot better. And throwing things doesn't solve anything.' 'Why don't you start the motors?' she said. 'It will be dark soon. Don't let me hold you up.' 'I won't. I'm just going.' He finished his coffee in one swallow, gave her a brief enigmatic look, and left the cabin. Mia, suddenly weary, sat down. She put the back of her hand to her mouth and pressed hard.

A sudden roar filled the cabin, and the throbbing of the motors, then the movement as they took off. She looked out of the porthole to see the horizon, and but for the continual hum of the engine, they might not have been moving at all. It was so calm outside—so different from within. Mia stood up, carrying the beakers out to the galley and put them in the sink. She began to wash up. When everything was dried and neatly secured in cupboards, she went and wiped the table top. And now what? she thought. What do I do next? With anyone else it would have been a pleasure to go and stand at the controls, perhaps have a go at steering—she would have enjoyed that—but not with him. She saw him again as he had been after she had thrown the book. What chance did she stand of getting away from him? It might, she thought tiredly, be better to just go with Cory to America and meet the man she refused to think of as her grandfather. Unless—unless a miracle happened.

CHAPTER FIVE 'WAKE up, Mia!' She opened her eyes to see Cory standing in the cabin. He looked clean and freshly shaved, and wore a faded blue shirt and jeans, and he was holding a mug of coffee. 'It's morning.' She stared at him blankly for a moment as memories rushed back. Memories of men's voices talking quietly, of the boat being still, rocked only gently by lapping waves, memories of being too tired to keep her eyes open any longer, and of waking during the night to see the other bunk empty and unused, and of wondering if he had gone away and left her alone—and of not caring if he had… 'I heard voices last night,' she said. 'Where are we?' 'Parked somewhere,' he answered flippantly. 'Yes—but where?' she insisted. She sat up and brushed her hair from her face, and he put the coffee on the table and began to walk away from her. 'And where did you sleep?' 'You ask too many questions,' he said. 'I slept on deck.' 'Oh.' She wasn't sure if she knew why, but a vague memory of tension touched her briefly, and her heart skipped a beat. To cover up sudden confusion she added: 'Who was it I heard you talking to?' He shrugged. 'I don't know. I just bought fuel from him—I didn't ask his name.' So the island was inhabited—and they were moored just off it! She picked up the beaker of coffee so that he wouldn't see any excitement on her face. 'Thanks,' she said. 'Shall I get breakfast ready?'

'If you like. When you're ready. There's no hurry— none at all.' And with that he went quietly out of the cabin, closing the door behind him, leaving her privacy. No hurry, he had said. Mia drank her coffee, and frowned. What was it that was different about him this morning? There was something, but she had no idea what. A certain air—a look about him—but it was as elusive as a half-remembered dream, and a second later was gone. She yawned, stretched, stood up, finished her coffee, and went to wash herself in the tiny bathroom.

She was going to keep quite cool, show no eagerness to see the island, give the impression that she was well adjusted to the situation and no longer had thoughts of escape—and she didn't imagine it would fool Cory for a moment, but it was all good practice. It had been fun to make breakfast, to actually find out how tempting she could make eggs and ham and pineapple taste when she set her mind to it. She had to call him when it was ready, and he came down and looked appreciatively at the fluffy ham omelette on his plate with crisp chunks of fresh pineapple at the side. 'Mmm,' he said, and took a deep breath. 'You sure can cook.' 'You haven't tasted it yet,' she said, fighting the temptation to enjoy a glow of pleasure at his words. 'I don't need to. I know.' Cory sat down and picked up his fork. 'I'll get your coffee.' She left him to it. She had eaten her own first, and then made his omelette separately, and she wasn't sure of her

reasons, except that it would mean him being alone in the cabin while she went up on deck to look around in peace. She put his coffee down. 'Anything else?' He shook his head, mouth too full to speak. 'I'm going up on deck for a breath of fresh air,' she said. 'Okay?' He swallowed. 'Beautiful. Sure. Feel free.' 'That would be rather difficult,' she answered sweetly, and didn't wait to see if her answer caused any reaction. She closed the door behind her and went slowly up the steps on to the deck. The island stretched before her, cool and inviting in the early morning sun. It was large and tree-covered—and there were no signs of life, but she remembered Cory had moored on the deserted side of Hamilton's Reef, and smiled to herself. She could walk. She glanced up at the bridge and, curious, went up to look at the controls. There, lying in full view, was his wallet. Her heart leapt. He had changed his clothes, probably up there, and forgotten to replace it. Her fingers itched, but her natural honesty fought the desire to even touch another's property. After a brief inner battle she knew she really had no choice—not if she wanted to get away. And she would repay it. She would find some way, even if it meant sending the money to her grandfather. She opened the wallet. It was bursting with dollars, credit cards, and travellers' cheques. Mia had never seen so much money in her life. She took a deep breath, removed a ten-dollar bill, and replaced, the wallet, feeling incredibly guilty and ashamed. Something fell out as she put it back. It fluttered to the deck, a square of white pasteboard, and she bent to pick it up and put it back in, and saw that it was a snap of a girl's head and shoulders. A perfectly beautiful girl, in her

twenties, with black hair and laughing eyes, looking straight at Mia as if she knew. She stuffed the photograph in the wallet, put the note in her shorts pocket, and turned away quickly before she had time to change her mind. They were moored in clear water just a few dozen yards from the sandy beach that stretched away on either side. Now. She could do it now, if she really wanted to. All she had to do was jump over the side, wade ashore, and run. Mia hesitated. The choice was there, freedom was just a few feet away—and Cory had said, 'feel free', but he hadn't meant quite that. And if she succeeded this time, he would have to go back to H.G. and confess failure. Her hands tightened on the rails—and his voice came from behind her, bland and innocent: 'It sure is a lovely place, isn't it? And so quiet.' The chance had gone—for now, anyway. She turned. 'Yes. The water looks very cool and inviting too. I was just toying with the idea of a swim.' 'Go ahead. It's too shallow here for sharks. Want to change into something else?' She looked down and hesitated. The ten-dollar bill seemed like a burning brand against her hips. 'No, I don't think so. These will dry quickly.' She hesitated. 'Are you having a swim?' Surely he wasn't going to actually trust her on her own? 'Um, later maybe. I've just got to work out some charts and enter the log—then I will, if I feel like it. I. already had a swim this morning.' And he gave her a boyish, disarming grin. 'Besides, I only just finished that superb omelette.'

She was thankful she had only had a small one. 'I ate very little,' she confessed. 'I wasn't hungry.' She put her leg over the rail. 'See you soon.' 'Yep. Mind how you go.' It seemed as if he might be about to help her over, and then changed his mind, and Mia realised that he had carefully avoided touching her since the incident the previous day. Except when she had thrown the book—and the charged anger had dissipated any other emotion. 'I will. And I'll stay near the boat,' she agreed. It was all too easy. He wasn't even going to stand on deck and watch her. Her last glimpse of him, as she jumped into the water, was of him turning away from her, walking towards the cabin. She should have realised then, but she didn't. She didn't realise until hours after, when it was too late.

She had swum for a while, in case he had been watching, but she caught not a single glimpse of him at all. She looked at the beach, and it was the easiest thing in the world to wade ashore—very casually, as if she needed a respite for swimming—and then walk slowly along the sands as if looking for shells. Further and further away, and further still, until the boat was a white blur in the distance—and still no movement aboard, no cries of alarm—no Cory waving his arms. With a little sigh of satisfaction, Mia turned towards the trees, and began to run. She ran and ran, and had to stop, because of the stitch in her side, so then she walked for a while, barefoot, watching out all the time for insects or snakes or spiders—although none bothered her; generally all wild life was as keen' to be left alone as humans were. It was dark and cool in the palms. The huge leaves blotted out the sun in fascinating patterns and shapes, and it couldn't be far now to the village, could it? On and on Mia went, stopping occasionally to

listen for any sounds that would tell of a village, but there was nothing save the birds calling from the tree- tops warning each other of the stranger who walked beneath them. She was getting tired now. How much further was it? She must reach somewhere soon. She couldn't just go on and on for ever ... Then she saw the beach, the sand, the water, and she ran out of the trees because she knew she must have walked in a circle and arrived back at the boat. Only there was no boat visible, and she was on another part of the island because here were rocks, and a line of drying seaweed, and there hadn't been before. There was only one thing to do—set off walking along the beach until she reached the village where he had bought fuel the previous night. It was hotter now because the sun had risen, and the perspiration rolled down her back and arms and she went into the water and began walking along in a few inches of foaming surf which was cooling to the feet at least. It must be soon. But it wasn't. There was nothing. She Was hot and tired, and hours had passed, and all she had to show for her effort at escape was a bruised toe where she had stubbed it on a hidden pebble in the water. She went into the shade and sat down. Now she knew why Cory hadn't been bothered about going swimming with her. And she knew also the meaning of the change in him that morning—he had been waiting for her to try something; waiting for her, quite simply, to make a fool of herself. 'I hope you're satisfied,' she said out loud. 'Oh, how I hate you!' And she got to her feet, and began walking along the beach knowing that sooner or later she must reach the boat, and with each step her temper built up from that first amorphous feeling of frustration, to a white heat of sheer anger.

He wasn't waiting for her on the boat. He was sitting on the beach, shaded by palms, gouging out the tasty white centre of a coconut with a knife as if nothing mattered, and he had all the time in the world. And he looked up as Mia stalked towards him, driven with the energy her anger gave her, and he grinned lazily as he looked at her and said: 'Hi! You enjoy your walk?' 'You despicable beast!' She launched herself at him, ready to pummel away her pent-up frustration, and found herself flat on her back as he held her tightly. 'Hey, hold it, little wildcat! What's with you now?' But he knew all right. The grin barely held together as she struggled and fought to free herself. 'Let me go!' she stormed. 'I hate you! You did it on purpose -' 'Did what?' He stood, pulling her to her feet at the same time, all with an easy strength she should have known she couldn't fight. 'Don't you ever learn? Stop trying to punch me.' She stopped. She had, no strength left now anyway, and he released her. 'You knew there was no one on this island, didn't you?' she accused. 'Sure I did. And if you'd asked me, I'd have told you. I didn't say I'd stopped here for fuel. I can't help what goes on in your funny little mind.' Mia was beaten—as always. She turned away and walked to the boat, waded in the water, and clambered over the side. She was thirsty, and she had seen some cans of beer, practically filling the tiny refrigerator, and she was going to have one. And he could get his own lunch.

She sat in the cabin and lifted the glass to her lips. Ah, but it was cool, and so very good. She even felt slightly better. Then the boat rocked, and she heard his footsteps, and he came in and stood there watching her. 'I think I'll have me one of those,' he remarked. 'Is it good and cold?' She closed her eyes and looked away. 'Suit yourself,' he said cheerfully. 'The moustache suits you anyway—makes you look more virile somehow,' and he laughed, and left her as he went whistling into the galley. Mia wiped the foam from her upper lip. One more word, just one, from him, and she'd -what would she do? She looked down, and there was a line of sand on her arm where she had tumbled on the sand when she had tried to hit him. What would I do? she thought. There was nothing, except perhaps to steal the boat itself and roar away into the blue. A little sigh escaped her. She hadn't the faintest idea how to even start the motor. 'Hungry?' Cory was standing leaning in the doorway watching her. 'I'll get my own,' she said stiff-lipped. 'Fine. You do that,' he agreed. 'I'll leave you to it. This will do me,' and he produced a leg of chicken and began biting it. Mia finished her beer and went out of the cabin. She looked towards the shore again. She had only skirted the island before, and on her way across there had been a hill, and the sound of running water, and the foot of a stream trickling away into a pool, a cool freshwater pool, and she thought how nice it would be to rinse the clinging saltiness and sand from her hair before it became dull. And at least it would be something to do—away from him.

She climbed the rail and waded ashore, and walked into the trees without a backward glance.

After she had thoroughly rinsed her hair in the sparkling water of the spring, she looked around her. She was completely alone, and the stillness, and silence had a quality to it that was almost exciting. Cory would not follow her, for he knew she had no way of escape. Perhaps he was taking a siesta in the cabin, or on deck, after his lunch of chicken. She didn't care. Here, she was safe, away from Gina, and Ryan, and Lucas—and him. Just for a while anyway. She could imagine what she wished; that this was her island, her home, and that she lived here alone with just the birds for company. It was peaceful just to think about it. Mia looked up to the gentle slope at her right, and thought she would climb the hill, and see what she could see, and play her little game of make-believe, and for an hour or two, in a way, she would be free. She began to scramble upwards, following the course of the stream, watching as it tumbled down over rocks and hummocks of grass, and she put all thoughts out of her mind except the determination to reach the top. It was higher than she had imagined it would be, and she was out of breath before she reached the flat ground at the top, and there she sat down and looked about her. The trees surrounded her, and in the distance was the sea, and then the sky. And there was nothing on the horizon save the faint smudge of an island-far away. She looked towards it. Was it Hamilton's Reef—or somewhere else, perhaps their destination? It didn't seem to matter. Here, nothing was of importance. Only the fact that she was there, sitting beside rocks as old as time from which tumbled fresh cool water which had been for ever, and would be for ever, dredged from the depths of the world, from the centre of the earth, and what did anything matter, besides

that? Mia lay back and closed her eyes, and the sound of the water was with her, soothing her, relaxing her, sending her off to sleep so that she heard faintly, her mother's voice again, telling her that everything would be all right... She awoke with a start, feeling the hot sun on her face again at the last vestiges of shade tailed away. How long had she slept? There was no way of knowing. But she was hungry. Very hungry. She felt light-headed, a combination of sun, and beer, and hunger. She didn't intend to starve, so she might as well go back down and see if, maybe, there was another portion of chicken waiting. That was her last coherent thought—almost. As she turned to set off down again, her foot caught in a tussock of coarse grass, wet with spray, and she fell, tumbling, turning, rolling and twisting—and screaming as she went down, down, down, with ever-increasing speed. Hurtling towards the bottom of the hill. And then— sweet dark oblivion. Her last thought was that he would never know where she was. It was dark when she opened her eyes—only not dark, because a torch beam was upon her, and as it touched her face she groaned and turned her head feebly away. 'Mia -' it sounded as if he were breathless, as if he had been running. That much registered with her. She hurt all over. 'Oh, Mia, don't try to move. God, don't tell me you fell all the way down?' He knelt beside her, and the torch wavered and then steadied as he balanced it se that it shone on her body. 'I—slipped,' she managed. 'On—on some grass -' her voice tailed away.

'Okay. Don't try to talk yet. Look, honey, I've got to get you to the boat, and I'm going to have to carry you. But I'll be just as gentle as I can—and if anything hurts when I touch you—yell out.' 'Mmm.' It was all she could manage. She knew he could be gentle, but she hadn't imagined just how gentle and careful he could be when he really tried. He carried her delicately as though she were as brittle as spun glass, and he walked so slowly and steadily that she felt no fear. Then, when they reached the beach, he stopped. 'I've got to get you aboard, honey,' he said softly, 'and it could be tricky, but I'll be as careful as I can.' 'I know,' she whispered. Cory waded into the water, reached the boat, and said: 'Can you move your arms?' She wasn't sure. 'I'll try.' It was an effort, but she managed to move both, slowly, one at a time. 'Then can you put them round my neck and clasp your hands together?' 'Like this?' She managed it. 'Fine. You're doing just fine. That gives me one hand free to clamber aboard. Off we go. Hold on, honey.' He must have had muscles of steel. Using only his right hand, and his legs, he lifted her aboard, and on to the deck. The next minute she was in the cabin lying on the bunk. 'I'm cold,' she whispered. 'Very cold.'

'I know. I'll cover you in a minute, but first I want to see if any bones are broken. Bear with me—I'll be as careful as I can.' He was too. Mia was aware of his hands gently probing, but there was no pain, only the solid ache that was all over her. She winced once, as he touched her shoulder. 'I'm sorry. I don't think anything's broken, but I'm getting you to a doctor as soon as possible.' He brought a blanket and laid it over her. 'That better? Want another?' 'No. I'm thirsty.' 'Just a drop of water, okay? Until I get advice.' He fetched some in a glass and propped her head up while she sipped. 'Now, I'll only be gone a few minutes, then I'll be back to look after you. Okay?' 'Yes.' She closed her eyes when he had gone, because the light hurt them, and she wondered if she was going to die, and at that moment she didn't much care. She tried to count the seconds until Cory returned, but the numbers kept getting jumbled, and after a while she gave up. Then suddenly he was beside her again; so quietly had he come back that she hadn't heard a sound. 'The light hurts my eyes,' she said. 'I know. I'll shade it.' He stood, picked up a piece of cloth and wrapped it round the shade so that all that filtered- through was dim yellow. 'Thanks.' 'A doctor's coming out here for us.'

Mia couldn't take it in. She just stared at him un- comprehendingly. He smiled. 'It's okay. Don't worry your head about it. Everything's taken care of.' 'Yes.' She closed her eyes again. 'I'm going to take the pillow away from you. Do you feel sick at all?' 'No.' He eased the pillow away and threw it on the other bunk. 'But I'm hungry.' 'Are you? You can have some soup. That do you? Nothing solid.' 'Soup will be fine.' 'I'll get it now.' He vanished, and she heard the sounds faintly from the galley, then the aroma of something warming on the stove. Her stomach protested, and she thought: I can't be going to die because I feel so hungry—and the thought was almost funny. It was when the soup had been all drunk, and she was feeling a little better, that the storm began. There was a loud crack as the heavens opened and lightning struck somewhere on the island, followed almost immediately by the roll and rumble of thunder. Mia jumped, and cried out, and immediately Cory was beside her, from the galley. 'Stay—stay with me,' she whispered. 'I will. Do storms scare you?' 'No, not usually—but n-now -' she began to cry softly. 'Okay, honey. Don't worry, I'm here.' He eased himself on to the middle of the bunk, careful not to touch her, and took her hand gently. And there he stayed, soothing her as the thunder and lightning

raged all about them. And all fear left Mia, so that eventually she slept.

There were voices again. Was she always to be awakened by voices in the middle of the night? Mia lay and listened, and wondered where Cory was. He had been holding her hand, talking quietly, and she must have fallen asleep. Surprising really, because she ached so much all over that she had imagined she would never fall asleep again, and yet she had. And where was he, and who was speaking? There was a woman's voice as well, only she couldn't recognise what they were saying because they were talking in a foreign language. Mia gave up. All she could do was wait now. As long as Cory hadn't gone ... 'Mia? The doctor's here. And a nurse.' She opened her eyes again and looked up. Cory was there, and a tall man, nearly as tall as Cory, but very dark and Spanish-looking—Spanish, that was it! She recognised what she had been hearing now. The girl in white stepped forward and took Mia's hand. 'Hello',' she said. 'I am Juanita. You will permit Doctor Robles to examine you?' and she smiled, showing white teeth in a dark face. She too had a Spanish accent. 'Yes.' Cory said: 'I'll leave you to it. I'll go and show Miguel the maps. Shout me if you need me.' Doctor Robles put his bag down on the table, smiled at Mia, and said something to Juanita in Spanish.

'The doctor regrets he has not much English, but asks me to tell you that he will be as gentle as possible,' the nurse said to Mia. 'Yes, I understand.' For the next few minutes the doctor's expert fingers examined every inch of Mia. She had no fear now. The translations continued. Mia was to say exactly where she ached, and if anything the doctor did hurt her, she was to say at once. When the examination was complete, the doctor said something to Juanita, who then smiled reassuringly at Mia. 'Doctor Robles says he thinks you have not broken any bones. You have many bruises and cuts, but we will attend, to those in a minute—and you also have slight concussion, which may give you bad headaches for a day or two. You understand what I am saying?' 'Yes,' said Mia. 'Please thank him—and you too.' 'Bueno! And then we will be flying to somewhere for X-rays, just to make sure, and then we will go to the rancho.' Before Mia could ask what she meant, there was a rap on the cabin door and Cory called: 'May I come in?' 'Si.' The doctor nodded to Juanita. He came in, and there followed a brief conversation in Spanish between him and the doctor. Then Cory looked at Mia. 'You'll be fine in a few days,' he told her. 'Yes, I know. But where are we going? Juanita said something about a rancho.' She looked from Cory to the nurse, confused. 'Don't worry about a thing. It's a place I know of. We're flying there as soon as all your cuts and bruises are attended to. The doctor's

going to give you an injection that will sedate you and ease the pain.' He then said something rapidly in Spanish to Juanita, and the girl nodded. 'Yes, I understand, senor.' Cory left the cabin and as the nurse applied sweet- smelling balm to her bruises, while the doctor prepared an injection, Mia wondered suddenly, why Cory had spoken to the nurse in Spanish, when she spoke excellent English. Unless it had been something he didn't want Mia to hear. As the needle went in her arm, she said to the nurse: 'What did Cory say to you in Spanish just then?' Juanita smiled reassuringly. 'He was only telling me that you were not to worry about anything, and that I was to stay close by you all the time on our journey.' But there was something in her eyes that Mia didn't understand—except that instinct told, her the girl wasn't telling the truth. But it was becoming an effort to think straight now. The cabin was going faintly blurred, and she felt so very comfortable, and all the pain was easing away with the sweet-smelling ointment that was being carefully and gently applied, and Mia decided that there was really nothing at all to worry about. Everything was dissolving into a warm rosy glow, and everything was going to be perfectly all right...

But it was all so confusing when she eventually opened her eyes. She was strapped down on a stretcher, and it Has being carried by Cory and another man—not the doctor—and it was on a Sandy beach, and beside them n-as a seaplane, and they were going towards another, parked on a runway. Mia must have shouted, because the next

moment Juanita was beside her, walking alongside the stretcher, reaching out her hand to hold Mia's. 'What's happening?' Mia whispered. 'Ssh. It is all right, we are just changing planes.' 'But I can't move—why -?' 'That was to prevent you falling. You are quite safe —really.' The sun was beating down on them. So it was morning. But what day was it? Mia had no idea. She felt very thirsty, and told Juanita, and Cory, without turning his head from his place at the front of the stretcher, said: 'We'll be on board in a minute. Then Juanita will give you something.' Mia closed her eyes. She was still terribly tired. She wondered where the doctor was—she wondered where they all were. But what if she asked, and no one would tell her? Was this America? Would he be waiting— H.G.? Her heart started to beat faster, and she clutched at Juanita's hand. 'Don't go away.' 'No, I won't go away. Please do not worry.' 'I can't help it. Where are we?' There, she had asked it. It was Cory who answered. 'We are in Mexico, Mia.'

CHAPTER SIX MEXICO! And that must have been where the doctor and Juanita came from—and it was all too much to take in for Mia. Why Mexico? She felt the reassuring pressure from Juanita's hand, as if she understood the confusion. But she said nothing. Up the steps of the waiting plane, and inside it was all luxury, with a space cleared for the stretcher—as if everything had been arranged in advance. Cory bent over Mia and began unfastening the straps that had held her securely down. 'Sorry about that,' he said. 'But the first part of the journey was by seaplane, and it wasn't as smooth as it might have been. This is different. We won't even know we're moving.' 'Why Mexico?' whispered Mia. 'Why here?' 'A friend of mine has a ranch not far away. We're taking you there to rest for a few days.' 'But I don't want -' she began. The last strap was freed, and she could move more freely now, and Juanita came to bend over her with a glass of sparkling water. 'Drink that now,' said Cory. 'We'll talk later.' 'Why are you treating me like a child?' 'Because you've had a nasty accident, and you're in no position to start worrying your head. Just relax.' Mia took the proffered glass, and saw Doctor Robles climb aboard. The other man must have been the pilot, for he had vanished into the cockpit.

A few minutes later the plane began to taxi along the runway, and then there was that heart-stopping moment as they lifted off, then the plane steadied, and Mia knew what Cory meant. It was as if they were scarcely moving, so smooth was it. There was the distant whine of the jets, and there was soft music in the cabin, and Juanita to attend to her every need while the men talked quietly in Spanish at the rear of the plane, and Mia dozed off after a while to the strains of Jim Reeves assuring her that: 'You're the only good thing that's happened to me -' and she remembered afterwards vaguely wondering at the time what a Mexican plane was doing with American Country and Western music —but it was all too much effort to think about it really —and when she awoke again, they had arrived at their destination.

She was lying in an enormous bed, and the room looked fuzzy round the edges until Mia blinked a few times and it cleared. She was alone, but the door was open, and distantly she could hear voices, and the clatter of crockery, and a man singing. The room was furnished simply but very beautifully with a chest of drawers and dressing table in pinewood. On the whitewashed walls were several pictures, a mountain scene in moonlight that was restful to look at, a seascape, and a painting of a young girl. Mia called out: 'Juanita? Cory?' and there was a movement outside, and a man walked in softly. He was elderly, white- haired and bearded, with rosy cheeks and blue eyes, and he smiled at her. He wore a white jacket and trousers, and his feet were sandalled. Did they have butlers on Mexican ranches? thought Mia, still confused—she seemed to remember the doctor giving her another injection on the plane—and she smiled back at him. 'I'm sorry to trouble you,' she said, 'but I wanted the nurse. Do you work here—do you speak English?' That was added as an afterthought.

He nodded, 'Yes, I will go and get her. She is eating, I think.' 'Oh—please, don't disturb her. I can wait.' He seemed to be thinking about something. Then, hesitantly, he said: 'May I get you anything?' Perhaps he had been waiting outside for her to wake. Probably Cory had asked him to listen nearby while he and the others had a meal. Mia had no idea what time it was—but she knew she was hungry. 'I'd like a pillow, but I don't think I'm allowed one, am I?' she asked. The man shook his head gently. 'I think not. Have you a headache still?' So they had told him all about her. 'Not much,' she answered. 'But I'm starving—I do know that.' 'Ah yes, you will be. I'll go and -' 'No, wait. Please.' Mia held out her hand. 'I don't know your name.' There was a moment's pause, then: 'My name is— Carlos.' 'Carlos,' she repeated it quietly. 'You speak excellent English.' He nodded. 'Thank you—senorita.' She felt, for some absurd reason, as if she had made a faux pas. As if perhaps she had sounded patronising. She felt her face go warm. 'Please call me Mia,' she said quickly. 'That's my name.' 'Mia? Thank you. Now, I will go and see what I can find for you to eat.' He padded silently out and closed the door, and she was left to her thoughts. What an unusual man. Even in those few brief minutes while he had been in the room, she had sensed the personality

emerging. He had seemed calm, strong—extremely courteous—and possessing some other quality that Mia couldn't put her finger on. Then she knew. It was dignity. He moved and spoke with a certain dignity that she found interesting. He had quite possibly been waiting outside for a while, until she awoke, yet there had been no impatience in his manner, merely concern. She lay back and looked at the ceiling, and thought about that. Perhaps all Mexicans were the same. Both Juanita and the doctor had a warmth, a caring, about them. And Cory had sent for them, had caused her to be flown here. Then she wondered: would he have done so had she not had her accident? Or would they have gone straight to America—and H.G.? She felt her mouth tighten, and she clutched the white coverlet on the bed. The accident could be a blessing in disguise. A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, and Juanita came in, followed by Cory. 'You are hungry?' her brown eyes sparkled. 'Then we have food for you.' She came over to the bed and took Mia's pulse. 'Later today we will take X-rays, is that not so, Senor Galen?' 'Yes,' he nodded. 'When you've rested.' 'Here? X rays here?' said Mia. 'A machine is being brought from a nearby hospital —a portable one.' Mia digested that bit of information in silence. She looked at Cory. 'Two planes to fly us here,' she said slowly, 'and now a portable Xray machine. Tell me, who is paying for all this to happen?' 'Please, senorita, calm yourself, your pulse is fast -' 'I don't care, Juanita. Answer me, Cory.' 'You heard Juanita, you must keep calm -' 'I want to know. Is it him? Is it that man you call my grandfa——'

And at that precise moment the door opened, and Carlos came in carrying a tray, and Mia faltered. His step was firm and assured as he walked across to the bed and looked at Mia. Then he smiled, slowly, sadly. 'I am sorry,' he said. 'Have I come in at the wrong moment? I will go and wait outside.' 'No,' said Mia. 'It was nothing. Thank you, Carlos. Juanita, may I be propped up a little—just while I eat?' 'Of course.' Mia saw her exchange a glance with Cory —as if asking him something. She saw Cory's imperceptible nod—and then the moment had passed, and might never have been. A few minutes later she was tucking into a delicious mixture of beef and vegetables, assisted by Juanita. The two men had left the room. 'After this is finished,' Juanita told her, 'we will wash and change you, and you will feel much better.' 'Yes,' agreed Mia. 'Juanita—the servant, Carlos, who brought me my lunch—does he live here?' Juanita appeared to be giving the matter some thought. 'Why do you ask?' she said eventually. Mia shrugged. 'I don't know. He seems very—dignified somehow.' 'Yes, he does. Have you had enough to eat, Mia?' 'Yes, thanks.' 'Good. Now, you have your own bathroom, see -'

Juanita pointed to a door beside the wardrobe. 'And the doctor says that if you feel strong enough, I am to help you there and we will give you a wash. If you don't feel able to, then I will wash you here.' 'Oh no, please. I'd like to try,' said Mia. She completely forgot her very slight puzzlement at Juanita's obvious reluctance to talk about Carlos in the sheer excitement of being allowed to move. The next clash with Cory was later that day. Mia had had her X-rays, and the doctor had departed with Juanita to the hospital to return the portable machine and await the development of the pictures, and Mia lay on her back in the huge bed, wondering if bruises showed up on X-ray plates, because if they did they'd have some very interesting pictures—when there was a tap at the door and after a moment's pause, Cory's voice: 'May I come in?' 'Yes.' She had been wanting to see him alone for a while, but there had been no opportunity. And several things were boiling up in Mia that were going to have to be said before she burst. 'I want to talk to you,' she began straight away. He raised one amused eyebrow and stood beside the bed looking down at her. 'Do you now?' he answered. 'And there's a certain glint in your eyes—so before you speak to me, let me just ask you what I've come for, and that is—is there anything you want to eat or drink?' 'No, thanks. Will you please sit down? It makes my eyes ache staring up at you like that.' 'Yes, ma'am;» retorted Cory smartly, and pulled up a chair. 'Okay, fire away.'

'First. How was everything so magically arranged for us to come here after my accident? And who does this ranch belong to? And who hired the doctor and Juanita? And -' 'Now hold it just a moment,' he held up a large hand. 'One question at a time! How do you expect me to remember everything?' His eyes were upon her, and in them was amusement—and something more, a glint of that knowledge which she didn't possess, and that was annoying to Mia, because she felt utterly helpless. And he could tell her what lies he chose—she had no way to make him speak the truth. Only her instinct to rely on. 'First, let's get one thing quite clear. I didn't arrange your accident. You did that all by yourself -' 'I didn't ask for a lecture,' she began hotly, and he cut her off. 'You're not getting one, but just listen to me for once. You're supposed to be resting, not arguing, and if you start, I shall just walk out and leave you on your own -' 'You beast!' He grinned. 'Still full of fight, aren't you, honey -' 'Don't call me honey -' 'Wow! Okay—Mia. Is that better? First, you were hurt. That was an emergency. I had planned something, you want to know what? I had planned to stay by that island for a couple of days, to enable us to talk without you trying to run away all the time, so that I could make you see reason -' 'Don't be ridiculous!' she said. 'You honestly thought that by staying somewhere remote I'd start to listen to you -'

He stood up and began to move his chair away from the bed, and Mia added hastily: 'All right, I won't interrupt again. Don't go.' He hesitated. She looked at him, seeing the size of him, that face she now knew by heart, knowing by his expression that he fully intended leaving her, and tears filled her eyes, making him go all blurred. She blinked hard, heard the chair move again, and saw him sit downHe went on as if there had been no interruption at all. 'I hoped to make you realise that what I was doing wasn't only one step away from kidnapping. I had it all arranged—and then you vanished and just didn't return. I began to look for you, to search the entire island—but it was quite a size, and I had to go back to the boat for a flashlight when it got dark. When I found you I thought for a moment that you were dead.' . He paused. When he spoke his voice was quiet. 'I never want to go through anything like that again as long as I live.' He looked at Mia. 'Then you moved. I had no idea how badly you were hurt—but I had to get you to the boat. You couldn't be left there. I knew a storm was coming up. So -' he shrugged, 'I got you on board, and then radioed my contacts in Mexico. They arranged the rest.' He looked at her. 'Any questions? One at a time now.' 'Who owns this place?' There was a momentary pause, a wry grin. 'I thought that would be the first question somehow. It's—Carlos.' Mia's eyes widened. 'Carlos? Oh! I thought -' she swallowed hard. 'I thought he was a butler or something. And Juanita said -' she frowned, trying to remember exactly what Juanita had said, but couldn't. 'Oh, dear, I'd better apologise -' 'I wouldn't if I were you,' Cory smiled gently. 'He'd be embarrassed. His only desire is to help, believe me, and while we're here, the place is at our disposal, he's told me.'

'Oh,' Mia took that piece of information in slowly. 'He's very kind.' 'I've known him for years. He's exactly that.' He grinned. 'Next question.' 'Can I have a mirror, please?' She surprised herself by that. But there wasn't even one in the bathroom, and she wanted to see if her face was as bad as it felt. 'No.' He shook his head. 'Not just yet anyway -' 'Why?' 'Because you'd only, worry your pretty head about -' 'Don't patronise me!' He lifted an eyebrow. 'There you go again! Listen, hon -Mia, you've got a few glorious bruises, and a black eye, and you'd only -' 'I know. Don't you think I know that? I just want to see. I promise you I won't have hysterics or anything.' He regarded her thoughtfully. 'Okay, As long as you remember—and the doctor has assured me of this—that in a week or so your face will be back to normal—as good as new.' He stood up, went into the bathroom, and Mia heard a cupboard opening, then closing. 'There you go. Take a deep breath before you look.' He handed her a small mirror. Mia obeyed, then looked, then groaned. 'Oh. Oh!' She closed her eyes and handed the mirror blindly, back to him. 'It could have been worse. You fell right down a hill, remember? Your teeth are okay, the bruises will go, the cuts will heal -'

'I know, I know—I wish I hadn't asked you. I look terrible!' she moaned. 'What do you want me to say? That you don't? I'd be a liar if I did— poor Mia.' He sat down again beside her bed. 'I'm sorry, that's all I can say.' She lay back and closed her eyes. 'Please go away. I want to be alone.' The tears welled up in her eyes, and trickled across her cheeks to soak the sheets on which she lay. She ached all over, her head throbbed, and she was tired. Tired of everything. She had never felt so lost and alone in all her life before. She was in a strange country, among strangers, and no one who really cared. It was all a job to them, because somewhere at the end of the line was a man who was rich, and all- powerful, who always got what he wanted—and he, presumably, was paying them well of their services. 'I can't leave you like this,' Cory said, 'not like this.' 'It doesn't matter. Her voice was the merest whisper. 'Don't you see—it doesn't really matter.' 'I thought you were a fighter,' Cory said, surprising her by his tone. 'I didn't think I'd ever see you feeling sorry for yourself.' The cool hardness of his voice did the trick. Mia opened her eyes, blinking furiously to clear them. 'I'm not sorry for myself,' she said. 'H-how dare you say that!' 'You could have fooled me. Go ahead—wallow in self-pity, if that's -' 'Wallow? Hah! I wouldn't be in this mess if it wasn't for you!' she said, completely shaken out of her mood. 'No. You'd be slaving away for those vultures at that hotel of theirs -'

'And I'm not sure if it wouldn't be preferable,' she retorted. 'You've got to be kidding! With that creep Lucas about? You'll be telling me next he wasn't really bad after all, as stepbrothers go -' 'I managed.' 'Oh, sure you- did. Like when he caught you in the cabin? If I hadn't been there -' 'I'd have got rid of him somehow. The trouble with you is you think you're so much cleverer than everybody else -' 'I'm sure as hell brighter than him.' 'And conceited too.' He laughed. 'If you like. You're supposed to be resting, not arguing with me.' Mia's eyes glinted. 'You're so easy to argue with,' she answered. 'I bet you go through life just having one fight after another.' 'Only with you,' was the surprising answer. 'No one else. I get on fine with everybody.' 'Except me? I don't believe you.' 'Suit yourself.' He shrugged. 'And seeing that we always do end up scrapping—I'll go away and leave you alone, as you asked. So is there anything you need before I go?' And he stood up. 'No.' Mia turned her head away. Her heart was beating faster with the exertion of the verbal battle. All other thoughts had vanished out of her mind, and she felt almost strong—almost well. She had an idea in her head. When he left her, she was going to try and get out of bed by

herself, and walk to the window, just to look outside. But if she told him, he would forbid it. She smiled a little secret smile of anticipation to herself. It was something to look forward to. 'No, I want nothing,' she said. 'So please go away now. I shall rest.' She sensed his eyes upon her, but she kept her head resolutely turned away, lest he should guess anything. A certain intangible tension vibrated in the air around them, and she had to force herself to breathe slowly and deeply, because he was too clever by far ... 'Okay,' he said. 'Shout if you need me.' 'I will.' She heard his footsteps padding softly on the tiled floor, then a faint creak as he pulled the door to behind him. But he didn't close it. Mia counted to twenty very slowly, and then, with a most delicious sense of anticipation, pushed the sheet and blanket away from her—and very slowly, very carefully, sat up in bed. The room spun around for a few moments, then steadied. She swung her feet over the side and felt them touch the floor. It was cool and hard underfoot, and the tiles were a bright shiny red, and she slid her feet about for a few seconds, getting the feel of it all. Oh, for a walking stick! But she could hardly ask Cory for one. That would be the end of her little adventure before it began. Using the small bedside table as a support, she stood up, and was rather surprised to find that her legs felt like jelly. The window now looked incredibly distant, but that Was even more of a challenge. The chair that Cory had vacated was another support, and she held the back of it tightly for a moment or two to steady herself before starting the long walk. A quick calculation—ten steps, that was all. How ridiculous to think it was miles! In a wobbly fashion, she began to walk across the floor, one, two, three, very slowly, left foot, right foot, nearly there—perspiration had broken out on her forehead, and

her legs weighed something quite incredible—then, very suddenly, very quietly, a pair of arms clamped on hers, and Cory's voice whispered in her ear: 'You little fool!' 'Oh!' she went limp, but how good it was to be held so firmly. 'Please—I just wanted to go to the window -' He swept her up into his arms, and the next moment she was there, looking out. Cory was angry. His eyes blazed down into hers. 'Go on, look out,' he said grittily, 'and then you're getting back into bed, and staying there.' She had-wanted this, so she might as well make the most of it for a few brief moments. She looked out. It was almost a shock to see the flat desert stretching away into infinity. Miles and miles of sand. That was all. 'Satisfied?' he said. • 'Yes. Don't be angry.' 'Angry? I'm blazing. Jeez! You're the most obstinate, awkward little -' 'Please don't,' she said weakly, 'I can't take much more.' And she gave a little sob, only partly feigned. Her short walk had taken all the strength from her. He swung her round, put her on the bed, and stood glaring down at her. 'You can't be damn well trusted, can you?' he said. 'I'm going to have a rest—like hell you were!' 'I told you—I wanted to see -' 'And now you have. Okay? Don't you know you're ill? What's the next big idea? A walk out in the desert?'

Mia turned her head away from him, pulled the sheets up, and shut her mouth firmly. 'Lost your tongue?' he mocked. The brittle anger was still there. She didn't answer. She couldn't fight him when she was well. There was no point in even attempting anything the way she felt at that moment. She heard his footsteps going away, and down a passage, then silence. She lay listening for his return, waiting for further anger, but there was nothing. Just an empty silence. Then, after a few minutes during which it seemed as if she was entirely alone, a tap came at the door, and a voice: 'May I come in?' 'Carlos?' Could it be him? 'Yes,' she answered, and turned her head to see the old man enter bearing a jug and glass. He came over to the bed and gave her a sweet smile. 'I thought you might be thirsty,' he said. 'I have brought you some cool fresh orange juice.' 'You're very kind.' She tried to sit up, and Carlos put the jug and glass down and took her hand to help her. 'May I sit down?' he asked. 'Please—of course.' She smiled at him. 'I'm very sorry, Carlos—Cory told me this is your ranch, and I didn't realise.' He shrugged, and shook his head. 'While you are here, it is yours as well,' he said very simply. He poured out some juice and handed her the glass. 'Drink that. You will feel better.' 'Did Cory tell you—what happened?' Carlos smiled. 'Yes.'

'He was furious with me. But I only wanted to look out for a minute.' 'Of course. But you are not strong enough. I think he was more afraid that you would fall than angry with you.' Mia pulled a little face. 'He fooled me, then! He was 'blazing.' Suddenly she caught the old man's eye, a spark of empathy flashed, and the next moment both were laughing, Here was somebody who actually understood. It was almost as if he were on her side. Mia began to feel better, sipped at the frosty fresh orange juice, and gave an appreciative sigh. 'Mmm, delicious. Thank you, Carlos.' 'You're welcome.' She looked at him. She sensed that she could trust this man. 'Do you know what Cory's plans are?' 'Yes, I do.' He looked back at her. 'His intention is to take you to the States when you are better.' 'To meet a man I hate.' 'Your grandfather? Why do you hate him, Mia?' 'Because he's a hard, cruel man. Carlos, do you know him?' 'I—do know him, yes, but perhaps not as well as I thought.' He was perfectly serious now, and spoke as if considering every word. 'Tell me what he's like—I can never get anything out of Cory except how wonderful he is.' She couldn't conceal the bitterness in her voice. 'I think he is a lonely old man -' 'Lonely? With all his millions?'

Carlos smiled wryly. 'I don't think money always brings happiness, do you, Mia?' 'I'm sure it doesn't. But he might not think like that. He might think he can buy my affection. He'll find out he's wrong.' 'Would you not like to live in luxury? Cory has told me of your life at the hotel.' 'Has he?' She shouldn't really be surprised at anything any more. Of course Cory would have spoken of her unhappiness with her stepparents. 'All I want from life is -' she stopped. What did she want? She frowned, and Carlos said gently: 'Yes, Mia. What do you want?' She shook her head. 'I don't know. Just to be happy, I suppose. To feel as if I belong somewhere -' 'Ah yes—to belong. You are so young, Mia, and life hasn't been much fun for you up until now. But it could change. Would you not give it a chance?' 'I don't seem to have much choice with Cory,' she said dryly. 'He's very determined to get his own way. He came along like a human— bulldozer—and before I knew it, I was here.' Carlos was listening intently, nodding, and his eyes twinkled at her description of Cory. 'Yes, I think I know what you mean. But he is not a hard man, I would have thought. Not a bully.' Mia thought about that for a moment. 'No,' she had to admit at last. 'Not in the normal way -' she paused. It seemed the right moment for confessions, although for the life of her she couldn't have explained why she felt she could talk so freely to this man: He was, after all, a complete stranger. She had only just met him—and yet there was an

instant rapport between them. 'But I've given him a hard time.' She looked at Carlos to see what reaction her words would cause. She saw puzzled interest in his eyes—and mixed with it, a kind of gentle amusement. 'Tell me about it,' he suggested. So she told him, and in the telling of the story, right from the beginning, on the beach, she relived it all—and could even begin to see the funny side. And when she got to the point at which she had dived overboard from the boat—carefully leaving out the reason why—and had had Cory diving in after her to the rescue, she saw his hand go to his face. 'Oh no—oh no, my dear Mia,' he said. 'And there were sharks?' 'There was one, anyway,' she; said. 'But I suppose one is enough.' She paused. 'And then he knocked me out.' 'He did what?' 'Oh, it's all right,' she hastened to explain, not sure why she should feel the need to defend Cory. 'I asked for it—it was the only way he could get me back on board. I was so determined to just swim away -' she stopped, suddenly weary. It was as if Carlos sensed this. 'Drink a little more, then rest. I have made you talk too much. You must forgive an old man, Mia.' 'Oh no, I've enjoyed it! You've made me forget how sorry I was for myself!' she protested, anxious lest he misunderstand. 'But I am tired, and my head hurts -' 'Yes, yes, I know. Soon Juanita and the doctor will return and give you something. You will rest now?'

'Yes. Thank you for the drink, it was lovely. Before you go—I feel as if I mustn't call you Carlos. It seems —impertinent somehow.' He stood up and watched her as she lay back, making herself as comfortable as possible. 'But I prefer it. Truly. I am very happy for you to call me that. Now sleep, little one. I shall not be far away.' He went out and pulled the door to, leaving it not quite shut. Mia watched him go. How kind he was, and how understanding. Somehow, with him, she felt at home. He could be an ally—perhaps even, in a way, a friend. It was a reassuring thought to have, and she closed her eyes, more content in her mind than she had been for quite a while. He was on her side, she knew that instinctively. Perhaps— perhaps—but she would think about plans later, when she wasn't so tired. A word drifted into her mind, as she fell asleep, and coloured her dreams: escape. Escape from Cory and H.G.

CHAPTER SEVEN THE next day Mia was feeling much better. The X- rays had shown that she had broken no bones; she had had a pain-free night of deep sleep, with the help of a sleeping draught, and she had just had a shower, assisted by Juanita. She sat up in bed and looked round the sunny room, and patted her one pillow with a sense of satisfaction. After Doctor Robles—via Juanita—had duly scolded her for getting out of bed on her own, he had said that she was clearly so much stronger, that one pillow would be quite in order, and one had duly been supplied. And now she awaited her breakfast. She was surprised when it was brought in, not by Juanita, but by a plump middle-aged Mexican woman dressed in black, who greeted her in broken English with: 'Good morning, senorita. I am Lucia.' 'Good morning, Lucia.' Carlos' wife? Somehow Mia doubted it. Lucia was undoubtedly the housekeeper, and yet she had made one big mistake; Mia had no intention of making another. 'That looks delicious.' She regarded the beautifully laid out tray with pleasure. Whoever does the food in this place, she thought, knows their job. 'Thank you. The food—you like it, huh?' 'Oh yes. Everything is delicious.' 'Bueno! Anything you want special—you ask Lucia. I do for you.' 'You cook the food?' 'Si, senorita. It is I.' The woman beamed with pride, her dark brown eyes sparkling. 'And tonight for dinner, I plan the chile con came—is

very hot!' she puffed out her plump cheeks, making Mia smile. 'You like?' 'I've never tried it,' confessed Mia. 'But I'm sure I will.' Lucia put the tray down on the table and adjusted Mia's pillow, her motherly body nearly squashing her as she leaned over. 'Now, you eat well, or as we say in Mexico -' she pronounced the 'x' of Mexico like an 'h' so that the word came out as 'Mehico'—'Buen' appetito!' 'Gracias.' Mia smiled her thanks. At least she knew one Spanish word, and probably a few more before she left. 'I will return for the tray later. But you ring this if you want me.' Lucia picked up a tiny bell and rang it. 'Okay?' 'Okay.' That seemed to be one word that was international anyway. Lucia padded out and Mia looked at her tray. There was a glass of fruit juice, a large cup of steaming hot coffee, crispy rolls, a fluffy mixture of scrambled egg, and a small pot of honey. Mia gave a little sigh of pleasure and began to eat. And afterwards came the surprise.

She had. eaten; she had rested; she was bored. Then after a tap at the door, Carlos entered, came over to the bed, and said: 'Good morning, Mia. Do you feel strong and fit?' Mia had to smile, because there was a touch of mystery in his tone. 'Yes,' she answered promptly, and waited. 'Good. Then would you like to see around my rancho?'

Her eyes widened. 'Oh yes I But how? Cory won't let me -' He raised a hand. 'Ah, but wait. We have a wheelchair. And if I push you—and the doctor has agreed —that will be all right. Now, Juanita will come in to help you with a gown, then I will return.' And he went out smiling. Juanita came in carrying a long blue cotton robe, and Mia put it on over her pyjamas and sat on the edge of the bed while Juanita brushed her hair until it shone. 'There.' Juanita stood back. 'That is tidy now. You are ready?' 'Yes, thank you.' Mia hesitated. 'Where's Cory?' She had the awful feeling that he might burst in at any moment and forbid her to go anywhere. Juanita shrugged. 'Oh, he went out early horse- riding—there are many beautiful horses here—and now I think perhaps he is swimming in the pool.' 'A pool? Here?' Mia's eyes widened. 'Yes.' Juanita found her question funny. 'You will see it. Come in,' this at the knock on the door. Carlos pushed in a very new-looking wheelchair and Juanita helped- Mia to sit in it, and put a brightly coloured thin sheet across her knees. And then they were off. It was like being released from prison. Mia felt a heady sense of freedom as the door opened, and she went along the cool tiled corridor. She looked around her at the many doors on either side, and Carlos said softly: 'I will show you the rooms afterwards. I thought it would be nice for you to see outside first.' 'Oh yes. You're very kind, Carlos. I'm looking forward to this.'

'It is my pleasure.' They had reached the end of the passage, and turned left. And there ahead of them, was a sliding door of glass, set in a glass wall, and leading out on to a brightly sunlit patio of coloured stone —and beyond it a large swimming pool. A diving board was at one end, and Cory was about to dive. Carlos waited before opening the sliding door. Cory took a graceful downward swoop, entering the green water with the minimum splash, and they saw his dark head moving underwater, at speed. Carlos touched a button, and the door slid open. The heat hit Mia with the force of a blast from an oven and she instantly realised something she should have known before. The entire interior of the ranch was air- conditioned. They were in a courtyard, surrounded on all four sides by the low green-roofed ranch-house, and the centre was the swimming pool. At the other side were lounging chairs, all brightly coloured—reds— greens —yellows—dazzling in the sunlight which also danced off the water. A door was set in a far wall and Carlos pushed Mia's wheelchair slowly around the perimeter of the pool, and Cory's head appeared suddenly at the side nearest to them. 'Hi!' he called. 'Fancy a dip?' Mia turned her head to Carlos. 'Can you imagine what he'd do if I said yes?' she asked him. Then to Cory, 'Later, perhaps.' His hair was black and dripping, and he looked more tanned than ever. He stood there comfortably in the water, elbows on the edge, grinning up at them both. 'Okay. Want any help?' he asked Carlos. 'No, I can manage, thank you, Cory. I am taking Mia to see the horses—and then round the ranch.'

'Fine. I'll see you.' He turned and vanished, swimming strongly underwater, as sleek and fast as a seal. Carlos chuckled. 'A human bulldozer,' he said. 'Ah yes, that is Cory.' Mia didn't answer. She was watching the dark figure under the water. He moved with grace, for all his size. He looked at home in the water. And I thought I could escape him, she thought wryly. What a hope! Carlos paused by the nearest lounger. A huge umbrella shaded it partially. 'Later perhaps you will sit out here. You would like that?' 'I'd love it,' Mia admitted. 'You're very kind, Carlos. I don't know how to thank you.' 'Then I suggest you don't try. It is reward enough to see you happy,' he answered promptly. Happy? she thought. How can I be happy, with what I know lies ahead of me in America? Yet in an odd way, just then, she felt a kind of warm contentment. Carlos was the perfect host, and would be in any circumstances, she thought. He and Cory must be good friends for him to allow Cory to bring her, a perfect stranger, to stay at his home. Suddenly she wanted to know more about the man who had erupted so abruptly into her life and changed it completely. As they moved along beside the pool, nearing the doorway, she said quietly: 'Have you known Cory long, Carlos?' She wondered if perhaps he hadn't heard her question, for a brief silence followed, and then he said: 'I have known him for many years. He is almost like a son to me.' His voice was warm with affection, and Mia bit her lip. What had she said about Cory to him? To cover her confusion she said quickly—too quickly perhaps:

'I didn't even know where he was taking me after the accident. But I'm very glad he brought me here, and not to—to -' she faltered. 'To the United States? No, I see. He was very concerned. That would have been too far. As it is, it was not too long a flight, was it, Mia?' 'I don't even remember the first stage of the journey,' she admitted. 'The doctor had given me an injection that knocked me out.' Then she remembered something. 'The boat! Did he just leave it by the island?' Carlos laughed. 'No. A man went with the pilot and they left him there to return it to where it was hired in the Bahamas.' She remembered very vaguely something about the name Miguel. 'Yes, of course, I heard Cory say he would show Miguel the maps -' she stopped. 'Was it you that Cory radioed from the boat?' They were at the door now, only it wasn't a door, it was a gate set in an outer wall of the quadrangle, and Carlos went to open it before answering her. 'He did radio to me, yes,' he said slowly. 'Indirectly, that is. I had the message from him via telephone --' He smiled at Mia. 'See, here is the outside world at last. Now we will see the stables, and meet some of my staff.' Mia forgot all the questions she had been going to ask in the sheer pleasure of what she saw next. They were in a garden, a rich lush garden of trees and shrubs and lawns, and nearby a white-painted stable building, beyond it a paddock where several horses grazed. She looked round at Carlos in wonder. 'I never imagined anything like this! From my bedroom window I could see just desert stretching away -''

He laughed. 'Ah yes. That is the quietest room in the ranch—that is why we put you there. It was essential that you were not disturbed. But as you can see, it is not all sand here.' 'This is beautiful!' she said. 'Just beautiful.' She reached out to touch a flower on a bush they were passing, and Carlo halted and said: 'That is bougainvillea. I shall see that you have some in your room.' 'Thank you.' She looked about her, saw the lawn sprinklers busily at work spraying everything in a rainbow shimmer. 'But—water! Isn't it scarce here?' 'We have several underground springs and wells. That is why I built the ranch here. I love my plants and flowers, Mia. Do you like them?' 'I do. Oh, if only I could walk! It's so frustrating just sitting here, feeling helpless. I'd love to run over that grass—and dive into the swimming pool -' She gave a little sigh. 'You will. Patience, child. Remember the old saying: Festina lente.' Mia knew that one. She had studied a Latin grammar at the hotel as a child. 'Make haste slowly,' she said. 'Of course, you're right, Carlos.' She turned to smile at him. 'It's just that—as soon as I'm better, Cory will mike me go -' 'Not if I speak to him!' Wide-eyed, she regarded the old man. 'What do you mean?' 'Your grandfather—H.G., as you call him—has waited long enough. He can wait a little longer. If I tell Cory that you must stay here until you are fit enough to decide for yourself what you want to do—he will listen to me.'

The words were so casually said that it took a few moments for their full import to sink in. And then she realised the significance of what he had said. 'You mean -' she paused, fearful lest she had misheard. Could he really mean what she thought? 'You mean—you'll persuade Cory to let me stay here and—and choose for myself what I want to do?' 'Is that not what you want?' he asked gently. 'Yes, of course—but my g—H.G. has employed him to get me, and take me back to the U.S.A. with him. And H.G. isn't a man who ever lets anyone else make his decisions for him. He must know I'm here -' she stopped, because it was all too much. 'Then I will have to use all my charm when I talk to him, won't I?' Carlos chuckled. 'To Cory—or H.G.?' asked Mia, because he hadn't made it very clear. 'Both—if you wish.' 'But you've been so kind to me, truly kind, Carlos. But I can't be the cause of trouble between you and H.G.—or Cory for that matter—I'd hate to think I could ruin an old friendship.' 'But you hate H.G.—' he seemed not only curious, but slightly sad. 'Why would you care about that?' 'I care about a lot of things. It's difficult for me to explain -' They had stopped in the shade of some large old trees near the stables, and there was a bench, and Carlos sat upon it, so that he and Mia were on a level, facing one another, and now, instinctively, she reached out and clasped the old man's hands. 'Because my life hasn't been all roses up to now it doesn't mean I want anyone else to be unhappy -'

she bit her lower lip. 'I'm sorry, Carlos, I'm not making myself very clear, am I?' 'I think you are doing very well. For one so young you have that rare quality—compassion. We do not usually acquire that until we are much, much older. And often, by then, it is too late.' His face was quite serious, almost sad, and he looked down at Mia's hands over his, and then smiled. 'It is a joy to talk to you, do you know that?' 'Thank you. But I enjoy talking to you. I feel as if I've know you for ages and ages -' She stopped, blinking back tears. Carlos looked up, saw them, and shook his head. 'No tears, Mia! This is to be a happy day for you, remember? Now, we have talked long enough. I don't want to tire you—or I shall have Cory scolding me and forbidding me to see you!' But his eyes twinkled, and softened his words. She caught her breath, blinked hard, and echoed the smile. 'Of course,' she agreed. 'That would never do! Tell me, Carlos, is he always bossy?' 'Bossy?' he threw back his head and laughed. 'Is that how he is with you—yes, I suppose it is. Ah, Cory. And if you but knew him as well as I do. He is a very brave man, Mia, and strong and tough—but I have never known him do an unkind act, or a mean one. He once risked his life in Vietnam to save a mother and child -' he paused, as if thinking, shaking his head gently. 'Don't stop there,' Mia begged. ''No, no, I was just trying to remember the details. It was not from him that anyone heard it, of course, he dismissed the episode as nothing. It was the other men in his platoon who reported the incident and it caught the imagination of the Americans and he became a

hero—and didn't even know it because of course they never saw the papers there -' 'But what happened? Please tell me.' Her heart was beating faster and a strange feeling filled her. 'Well, he and his men were under fire in an abandoned village— under mortar attack from the Viet-cong, you understand, and something had gone wrong down the line somewhere, and the support they needed hadn't arrived, so at that time it was decided to make a tactical withdrawal—until reinforcements arrived. Then, in that few seconds' silence that sometimes happens in even the most fierce battles, they heard a child's cry. The sound came from the ruins of a house—the entire village had been strafed by rocket fire -' he paused and rubbed his chin with his hand, and Mia waited, wondering if she could bear the tension. 'And without hesitation—so it was reported afterwards—Cory ordered his men back, and told them he was going to see what he could find. The house was a distance away, and shells were exploding all around, and he ran zig-zag down the street, so'—he indicated with his hand with a fluid weaving motion—'and vanished into the house.' He stopped again. Mia couldn't wait this time. 'Yes?' she urged, breathless. 'He had to dig with his bare hands—and he found the young woman and her baby lying injured in the rubble. He brought them both out, the woman over his shoulders fireman fashion, the child under one arm, his gun in the other hand. He saved their lives, Mia.' 'Oh.' It was all she could say. She closed her eyes, seeing the scene so vividly depicted by Carlos^ 'What happened next?'

He shrugged. 'He took them to a field hospital for treatment—and then went back to fighting. So, you see, he is a brave man, and he too had compassion. The way things were at that time—and several men had already been lost in the battle that day—no one would have blamed him had he ordered complete withdrawal —for who could tell what they might find? The house could have been booby-trapped; anything. But when I asked him a long time after, he just shook his head and said that anyone would have done the same, in the circumstances—but that is not so. A lot of innocent people suffer in war, particularly children. For that child, that day, because someone cared, two lives were saved.' Mia saw the picture of Cory in her mind, saw him as he had faced Lucas and Ryan. Different circumstances, of course, but then she had seen something of what Carlos was saying. She had seen the strength of the man as he had faced the other two, and the calmness and sureness with which he had treated them. Hard, implacable, at times almost amused, as if it were a game. And this was the man that Carlos was going to try and deflect off his intended course. She looked at the old man sitting there, sunk in thought. 'He won't change his mind,' she said. 'Surely you can see that? After all you've told me—he always does what he sets out to do, doesn't he?' Carlos gave her a long calm glance. 'That is true,' he agreed mildly. 'So we will see, won't we, Mia?' and he smiled his gentle smile, and Mia caught her breath. Here was another man who was in a way like Cory himself. She had seen his dignity and assurance in that first meeting at the ranch. Would Cory have met his match? She might soon know. 'Come.' Carlos stood up. 'We will see the horses now, and then, a cool drink for you on the hacienda, and remember—we only live one

day at a time.' And with those rather cryptic words echoing in her ears, he began to push the wheelchair towards the stables.

'So,' said Cory, 'you like the ranch, do you, Mia?' He stood beside her in her chair at the pool side and looked down at her. 'Better than lying helpless in bed.' 'Yes.' She looked up at him and sipped her drink. 'Why don't you sit down?' 'Thanks, I will.' He eased his long frame on to the yellow lounger beside hers, and picked up his drink. He hadn't bothered to dry himself after swimming, and the water dripped from him, and he stretched indolently out and grinned at Mia. 'This is the life, huh?' he said. 'Yes.' Carlos wouldn't have had time to speak to him yet, and she wondered how he would approach the subject. Cory appeared completely relaxed now. How different he would be later. She smiled a little smile to herself. 'At least you seem a little happier than when you came,' Cory commented, because he never missed anything, and she ought to remember that. The smile vanished. She would have to be more careful. 'I was just thinking that the lazy life seems to suit you,' she fibbed quickly. 'Oh, sure it does! Who'd want to work when they could live here?' he answered, and the teasing note in his voice irritated her for some reason she couldn't explain. It made her reply more sharply than she. intended. 'Then why don't you? Carlos likes you -' she managed to say that in faintly surprised

tones. 'I'm sure he'd let you ride his horses for a little gentle exercise -' 'Careful! We're not starting another fight, are we?' he gave a long mock-sigh. 'Dear, dear, and I thought you were softening up. Seems I was mistaken -' 'How can I, with you?' she retorted. 'You're so damned sure of yourself -' 'You asked me to sit down, remember?' he said gently. 'If I'd known you were going to insult me I'd have thought twice about it -' 'I can't imagine anyone managing to insult you,' she breathed, 'and you don't have to stay. I'm quite capable of sitting here alone without falling in the water or anything -' 'Oh, I don't know,' he cut in, 'you seem to have a remarkable talent for getting yourself into trouble when you're on your own—' 'Only because I was trying to get away from you!' she retorted. 'And here you're not? Well, well, seems like I brought you to the right place. At least here I can relax and not have to watch you every minute—not that you're strong enough to escape yet anyway. Even you must know when you've had enough -' Mia smiled what she hoped was a mysterious smile and turned her head slightly away as if weary of listening. For a few seconds there was a pregnant silence, then Cory said: 'What's with the Mona Lisa look?' She stared at him calmly. Did he actually sound faintly puzzled? Good. 'I don't know what you mean,' she answered loftily. 'Just because I smile -'

'Like the cat that found the cream, yes. Okay, honey, have your little secret joke if it pleases you— 'I told you not to call me honey!' 'Yeah, I heard you. Honey—honey—honey—see? I don't always do what I'm told, any more than you do. So what are you going to do about it—honey?' And he laughed. Mia lay back and closed her eyes. 'Go away,' she said. 'Sure. I'll go and swim me a couple more lengths. See you.' She heard the splash and opened her eyes as the spray covered her, and saw him speeding away down the pool. She brushed the droplets from her robe and watched him. So much for her little attempt at puzzling him! He was the most infuriating man. She pulled a face at the silent shape in the water—but she still watched him. She would have liked to be completely indifferent to him, to have had a book or magazine to read—but he was not a man to whom you could be indifferent. He commanded attention. She found herself recalling Carlos' words a short time previously; how they had caught her imagination. Cory was no ordinary man. She had sensed this the first time they had spoken on the beach and seen in him a way of escape. And now perhaps, in a strange way he had not intended, it was about to come true. And it all depended on Carlos. She wondered when they would talk about the situation, and what would be said—and how Cory would react. She closed her eyes and lay back in the chair because Cory was about to dive into the water from the far end, and she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was watching him, admiring his effortless entry into the pool—he was so conceited. Then she corrected herself. No, he wasn't. That was something he wasn't. She had accused him of it, but it had been said in annoyance. He wasn't

conceited or arrogant, he was humorous and gentle—here Mia caught her breath, remembering his arms around her, his mouth on hers, and the humiliation that had followed, the change in him, the feeling that everything had altered. And she knew now, belatedly, why. They had been alone, completely alone, just the two of them. Here, there were people—and Cory was different. He had been frightened he would want to make love to me, she thought, and warmth filled her, a warmth that owed nothing to the sun. And she opened her eyes to see him standing at the other side of the pool talking to Lucia the plump housekeeper, and he was listening intently, head slightly bent as she told him something. Both were laughing, and Mia felt her breath catch in her throat at the sight of him so tall and magnificently built, and she went dizzy for a moment at the thought of what might have happened on board the boat. He turned as if aware of her regard, said something to Lucia, then took the older woman's arm, and together they skirted the pool and came towards Mia, who waited, watching them—watching him. There was a pain in her heart, an ache she didn't understand, only that she had never had it before and it was both sweet and painful at the same moment, and she wondered what it was. 'Lucia is asking me if you would like your lunch out here,' called Cory as he came nearer, and he bent and said something rapidly in Spanish that made her ^chuckle warmly. 'Yes, please.' Mia fought for calm. Don't let him see anything. He was too clever. But what was the matter with her? Lucia nodded at Mia. 'Bueno. You will sit in the shade and eat a delicious salad I am preparing, yes?' She looked up at Cory. 'And you also, senor?' 'If Mia allows me to,' he said gravely.

Mia felt herself go pink. 'Of course,' she said faintly. She was still not sure what was the matter with her. 'Then that will be fine, Lucia,' said Cory. 'Lunch for two out here. Gracias.' 'Okay!' Lucia nodded brightly at them both and walked back to the house, leaving Cory and Mia alone. Silence stretched, and became almost unbearable—for Mia anyway. Cory seemed lost in contemplation of a bee that seemed undecided whether to fly away or fall into the pool. It hovered uncertainly at the edge, landed clumsily near his foot and buzzed angrily. He scooped it up in his hands and carried it over to a large shrub set in a stone urn, behind the lounging chairs by the wall. ' 'Aren't you frightened of being stung?' she asked, because at least it was something to say, to break the silence that had seemed as if it might go on for ever. 'Mmm, but a little danger adds spice to life, doesn't it?' he retorted flippantly. She suddenly felt irritated with the bee, the sun, the fact that she was virtually helpless, sitting in her chair; but most of all, she felt irritated with him. 'Oh, you're so clever,' she snapped back. 'It must be nice to be perfect.' 'Now you're being childish,' and he lifted an amused eyebrow. 'Tell me, have you always been so aggressive towards men?' 'Oh!' she glared at him in helpless frustration. 'You're rude!' 'Not half as rude as you, honey.' He sat down in the chair beside hers. 'Now I'm making allowances for the after-effects of your accident, and the fact that it's left you pretty helpless—but heavens to Betsy'—

and here he had lapsed into a Southern drawl that was highly exaggerated—'there are times when I could put you over my knee and spank you!' 'You wouldn't dare try it,' she gasped. 'Wouldn't I? You'll soon find out if you push your luck much further -' 'Huh!' she managed to inject a scornful note in her voice, eyes sparkling with anger, cheeks pink under her tan. 'You don't scare me.' He began to laugh. 'I'm quite sure I don't. Does anything?' 'No. Now go away.' 'I will when I'm ready. And I'm not ready yet. Besides, we're eating lunch together out here—or had you forgotten already?' He shook his head gently. 'Perhaps the sun is confusing you.' 'I'm used to the sun, thank you,' she replied. 'Probably more than you. It doesn't confuse me. You do.' 'I knew it would be my fault, one way or another.' Then, in the same casual tone, he added: 'And what were you and Carlos chatting about this morning?' Mia's eyes widened. What did he mean? Had he guessed anything? 'It's none—of your business,' she tried to say firmly, but her voice faltered slightly. 'Why do you ask?' A pulse beat furiously in her throat, and she hoped that he couldn't see it. He shrugged. 'So okay, it's none of my business— let's forget it.' He looked away out over the pool, shading his eyes as if searching for something.

'No. What m-made you ask?' she repeated. He turned to look at her, the smoky blue eyes narrowed and very direct. 'Because I had a few words with him while you dozed out here—' he paused, and Mia found she was holding her breath, 'and he said he'd like a talk with me after lunch. That's all.' He stood up, turned away, and dived into the water. She let out her breath in a long sigh. Carlos wasted no time. And what would happen? She couldn't imagine—but suddenly she was no longer hungry.

CHAPTER EIGHT SATURDAY afternoon, she thought. At least I think it's Saturday. Mia frowned slightly, concentrating on the effort of deciding precisely what day it was, instead of thinking about the other things that would overwhelm her if she wasn't careful. She was in her room again, after a lunch eaten by the pool, a lunch that was undoubtedly delicious, and over which Lucia had laboured carefully, but which had tasted like cardboard in her mouth because of the thoughts churning in her mind. And it had been as if Cory knew. He had been virtually silent, eating, not talking, serious, not his usual self. But then Mia wasn't even sure what his real self was. The brittle atmosphere, jagged as lightning, sharp- edged as broken glass, had been almost overwhelming, and half way through the chicken salad Mia had pushed her plate away. 'I can't eat any more,' she told him. 'I don't feel very well.' If he felt any sympathy, he managed to hide it. 'Then I'll take you to your room,' he said, putting his fork down and standing. 'Eat first -' she began. 'I'll finish it when I return,' he answered. He was thinking about something—the talk with Carlos?—and his manner was completely preoccupied—almost as if he would prefer her not to be there. 'Come on, do you get in your chair or shall I carry you?' 'I'll go in the wheelchair.' Carry her? She didn't want that. So now here she was, and despite the air- conditioning, the perspiration ran from her, and she lay on top of her bed waiting for something to happen. But she didn't even know what it was. A vague feeling of dread filled her and she turned her head restlessly to one side and stared wide-eyed at the window. The sky was a bright blue, almost

hurtful to the eyes. Where were they, Cory and Carlos? In his study? After the tour of the outside, and before settling her in a chair at the poolside, Carlos had taken Mia all over the ranch- house, which was a beautiful building full of rich antique furniture and bright Mexican rugs—and he had shown her the room where even now he might be sitting with Cory—a cool white study with a huge carved mahogany desk, antique bookshelves, book- crammed, comfortable easy chairs, and an incredibly ornate and ancient telephone on a table by the window, which overlooked the gardens. His study was only two doors away along the corridor. Which was why, he had explained to Mia, he had heard her when she called out. He had been sitting there with the door open, reading—and waiting for her to wake in case she needed anyone. And if he had heard her from his study—would she be able to hear them from her bedroom? Mia sat up in bed, heart fast pounding at the thought. Eavesdropping, yes—and a despicable thing —but she had to know. And she wouldn't exactly eavesdrop. She would just walk slowly and carefully to her door, and see if she could hear voices, see if they were actually talking. That was all. Really. The exercise would be good—thus she reasoned, until it seemed to her that the' only reason she was actually getting out of bed at all was for some mild walking. Carefully now, stand up gently, get your balance, one step, now another until you reach the door, and then And then what? She stood by the door, and all she felt was a slight breathlessness at the exertion, then she opened it very slowly and quietly, then stood there, waiting. Waiting. Her ears became attuned to the gentle silence of the house, and then came the low murmur of voices. Men's voices—from the study. Mia breathed as steadily as she was able, deliberately calming herself. Now was the choice. One step forward and it would no longer be a little exercise in walking, it would be the intention to overhear. One

step backward towards her bed, and that would be that. She would then lie and wait for whoever came in first—Juanita or Lucia, or Cory or Carlos. There was a curved round-backed chair a few steps along the. corridor and she could walk towards that and then return, couldn't she? Of course. Mia walked towards it, and then, because the effort had tired her, she sat down on it—but very quietly. And the voices were louder—and clearer. Clear enough to realise that the two men were speaking in English, not Spanish—and that they were arguing. It wasn't a shouting argument. Neither man was raising his voice—it wasn't that, it was the force, the vehemence with which the words were said, the quick interchange of words. Carlos— arguing? Cory, yes, she could picture that quite easily, but not gentle Carlos. Suddenly Mia was frightened. She should have stayed in her room and had patience. But it was too late. Her mouth was dry, and she could distinguish odd words —words that didn't make sense, not helped by the fact that she couldn't follow precisely who was speaking because the voices were pitched too low. '—I think it is wiser -' 'Wiser for whom?' Was that Cory? She couldn't be sure, and frowned. The reply was unintelligible, as if one of them had moved away from the door, and then the voice—Cory's?—came again. 'That's fine—when you're not dealing with human beings'— interrupted by the further voice, a low murmur, and then—'I've done some things in my time, but I've never had a job like this before—' So it was Cory', and he sounded angry. Angry with Carlos. Mia wanted to go in and stop him, but she couldn't move. All she could do was sit there, wishing she were anywhere but there, wishing she hadn't walked that far -Because it looked as if Cory wasn't going to be talked into agreeing with anything Carlos suggested, because it

seemed as if, even here, H.G.'s power was paramount. Her mouth tightened helplessly, and she clasped her hands together. How she hated him! Cory had said he wasn't frightened of H.G.—but, he must be, or he wouldn't be resisting Carlos—of whom he was very fond— with such vehemence. 'Mia!' She jerked her head round guiltily and saw Juanita, eyes wide with astonishment, rushing towards her, and as if it were all happening in a bad dream to someone else, she noticed the abrupt silence from the study—and heard the door open. 'You should not be here!' Juanita bent over her chair, and felt Mia's forehead. 'You are supposed to be in bed!' Then she turned, and saw Cory, standing in the study doorway behind them. 'I was just telling Mia -' she began, but he wasn't listening. He stood there, and he knew—he knew. The realisation that she had been caught flooded Mia's brain. He knew. Then he spoke. 'It's all right, Juanita,' he said. 'I'll see to Mia. Will you go and ask Lucia for two coffees, please?' Nothing in his voice, nothing at all. But Mia sensed the hidden, vibrant anger, the leashed control—and she began to tremble. He turned, said something quietly to Carlos, and came out, shutting the door behind him. Juanita, with a nodded, 'Si, Senor Galen,' had gone. Cory walked over to Mia, and for a second, just for a brief everlasting moment, she thought he was going to strike her. She flinched, her eyes as wide and fearful as a rabbit caught in a trap. 'No,' he said softly, 'I'm not going to touch you— except to carry you back to your bed.' He reached down, picked her up, and strode towards her room. He didn't fling her down, he put her on the bed carefully, stood back and looked at her.

'What did you hear?' he asked. His voice was harsh and deep. 'Nothing. I'd only just -' 'I said—what did you overhear?' The voice was a whiplash, taut and angry. She had never seen him like that before. And where was Carlos? 'Only blurred voices—you arguing with Carlos. I— it's the truth -' He looked at her again, seemed about to say something, then turned on his heel and went out. For a moment she had the horrible feeling that she would never see him again. But she did—later that same evening, and in a way that was even worse.

It seemed as if everyone was avoiding her. She knew it wasn't really so, but to her fevered imagination, after all the upsets of the day, the inner turmoil, she felt terribly lost and alone. Even Juanita's reassuring presence, her gentle caring, seemed to count for nothing. Where was Carlos? And where was Cory? Was she never going to find out anything? She ate some of the chile con came that Lucia brought for her in the early evening, then she sat up on her bed and thought about things. There was silence everywhere. Juanita had brought her a small portable radio and after listening to it for a while, Mia had switched it off, and the silence had rushed back to fill the corners of the room. It was going dusk, and in a few minutes it would be dark, and all Mia had to do was touch a switch by her bed to fill the room with light. But she didn't want that. Her mood was one which needed soft shadows and darkness. She had heard voices, and somewhere a car starting up, but that had been nearly half an hour previously, and she

now began to wonder, quite seriously, if everyone had gone out somewhere and left her alone. She shivered. It had gone cooler, but that wasn't the reason. The silence was becoming unbearable, but she didn't want the radio on. She was not frightened of the loneliness. That was something she had learned to accept in her young life; in fact she preferred her own company to that of her step-parents and Lucas. But here it was different. Surely Carlos wouldn't desert her— or Juanita? Of Cory she could believe anything —now, since that little scene of blazing intensity and anger. She sighed. She regretted her impulsive action, had done even -at the time, but Cory would never believe that. Mia stood up and walked slowly to the window. With each hour that passed, she gained more strength, and now deliberately exercised. No one had told her she shouldn't, and that was enough. She hated feeling helpless and dependent on others; the sooner she was fit the better—in more ways than one. If Carlos was unable to help—if— then she would have to find her own way of helping herself. It was a determination that filled her very being—the knowledge that she could never, never go to America and stay with the man she hated, H.G. She stood, hands resting on the blue-tiled window ledge, and breathed deeply and slowly. I am getting stronger all the time, she told herself. And soon I will be able to take care of myself. She had no headache any more, and the bruises and cuts only hurt if she thought about them—so she had stopped thinking about them. Then she saw a movement in the top corner of the room, near the ceiling, and blinked, because it was that strange half light before nightfall, and the creature on the wall—whatever it was—was a grey-black shadowy blur. Mia fetched a chair and stood on it, the better to see. A large, beautiful butterfly rested there unmoving. She was glad she hadn't switched the light on. She hated to see moths and other winged

creatures battering themselves senseless against lamps—although no one else at the hotel ever seemed to notice, or care. Mia did. Very carefully, so as not to disturb it, she -reached up, to cup it in her hands and 'What the hell are you up to now?' The voice startled her, and she half turned, and felt the chair rock—and the next moment Cory had caught her before she could fall. It was like slow motion. The sensation of falling, falling, the arms reaching out, the slow tumble into them, the contact of their bodies as she fell against him and slid down until her feet touched the floor, the impressions that registered in one instant of time. The tang of spicy aftershave, the muscular chest, hard body, her own warmth, her hair tumbling about her face, his breath against her forehead, warm and sweet—all captured for ever from that one brief moment. The room swam round, and she could scarcely see him, only as a blurred dark, powerful shape, and she realised, and struggled free, fighting instinctively because of who he was, and because of his anger, and because his nearness frightened her in a way she didn't understand, only that she knew she had been hurt enough. 'Let me go!' 'All right, wildcat, don't struggle so. You nearly had a nasty fall there -' 'I wouldn't have fallen if you hadn't scared me -' 'I asked what you were doing,' he demanded—and he was breathing quickly, as if he had been running, or as if he had found her heavy, which was ridiculous because he had carried her several times without even noticing it.

Mia looked up at him. The distance between them was minimal, and it crackled with tension, and she wanted to move away, and at the same time, she didn't. 'It doesn't matter,' she said. 'Nothing.' 'Don't be ridiculous. You don't climb chairs for fun. And why isn't the light on?' He moved slightly as if to switch it on, and Mia caught his arm. 'No, don't,' she said. 'If you do it will get hurt. There's a butterfly—or a big moth, I'm not sure which, up there on the wall, and I was going to put it outside.' Cory looked in the direction of her pointing hand. 'I see.' But he didn't move to do anything about it. He stood there, and he looked down at her, and now a tension of a different kind filled the room. Her hand was still on his arm, and because the touch was suddenly unbearable, she lifted it slowly away. Then, all the light was gone, and they were in darkness. There was something that she had to know—and know now. 'Why is the house so quiet?' she asked. 'Where is everyone?' 'They've all gone out to the village a few miles away,' he answered steadily. 'To the fiesta.' 'All? You mean -' she stopped. 'Yes, everyone. I've stayed to look after you. I would have come in before, but I had a shower and changed after dinner -' 'Why did you stay? Why not Juanita, or Lucia?' 'Because this was a big treat for them, and Carlos took them all—all the other staff, that is—and because I don't care one way or another. You've seen one fiesta, you've seen 'em all,' he shrugged.

'I don't want you looking after me,' she said. 'I don't like you -' 'Because I was angry this afternoon?' 'Because of everything. Go away and leave me alone!' she breathed. 'You shouldn't try and eavesdrop -' 'I don't need lectures on behaviour from you. Not you,' she retorted swiftly. 'And I wanted to know something.' 'Did you find out what you wanted to know?' he asked, voice soft. 'I've already told you that,' she answered. 'I didn't hear anything. Only that you were arguing with Carlos.' 'We weren't shouting.' 'You didn't need to. I could tell from the tone.' 'But not the words.' 'No. And why are you so concerned about what I heard? It was about me, wasn't it? You were arguing about me. I have a right to know what went on.' Her voice had risen, and she felt breathless. 'Cool down,' he said, which only irritated her the more. 'No, I won't. Go away! Leave my room. I'll look after myself.' Now she couldn't bear not knowing any longer. She caught his arm again. 'Tell me first. Did —did Carlos ask you anything?' 'I'm not standing here in the dark talking to someone I can't even see,' he answered. 'Let me get that moth out -'

'No. Tell me first. Tell me now.' She gripped his arm tightly, felt the leashed strength, the hardness of it. He didn't attempt to escape the grip. It was easier in the dark. She couldn't have explained why, but she could ask all the questions now, in that quietness, even though the atmosphere was electric, and once light flooded the room something—perhaps her courage—would go with the darkness. And she had to know now. There was something else disturbing. Ever sensitive to atmosphere, she knew that Cory was uneasy. Why should that be? If he moved away, if she let him touch the switch, the spell would be broken, any slight advantage she possessed—and it was, in a way, an advantage, would be gone. 'You'd better sit down on your bed -' 'No! I'm not moving from here until you've told me,' she answered. 'Don't be stupid! You're not strong -' 'I'm strong enough to stand here.' 'Then take your nails out of my arm.' Mia took her hand away as if it stung, and waited for his answer. Cory walked away from her towards the door. For a moment she was too astonished to move, then she walked after him. 'How dare you do that!' She stood in front of him, barring his way. 'How dare you!' 'I'm going to get us both a drink. Listen, Mia, you don't tell me what to-do—no one does that -' 'Except H.G.,' she snapped. 'Why don't you leave him out of it?' 'How can I?' she blazed. Her temper had risen hotly. 'It's his fault—'

'Okay, that does it.' His voice was equally stormy. 'Now you'll listen to me for a moment. You just go and sit on your bed, and stay there, and I'll come back and shift that moth—and then I'll switch the damned light on—and we'll talk.' 'We'll talk now. What are you frightened of? The dark?' she mocked him, too angry to care any more. 'If I was I wouldn't be standing here with a quick-tempered kid like you trying to boss me about -' She slapped him across his face as hard as she could. She heard his sharply indrawn breath, and the next second she was lifted by the waist and deposited on the bed, and this black shape was standing in front of her, arms akimbo—she could just see that, and his voice was rock-hard. 'One more move from you, and -' She stood up and aimed a flying punch at his chin, and the next second was spun round and. was being held tightly against his chest, and she was completely and utterly helpless. His arms were like bands of iron, and one thing was certain—no amount of kicking and struggling would free her until he chose to let her go. 'You've been asking for a goddamned spanking and now you're going to get one,' he grated. 'No!' She jerked her head back instinctively and heard it connect with his chin, followed immediately by a smothered oath. The next moment she was across his knee. Arms and legs vainly threshing, she wriggled and struggled, and then -

'Ouch! Oh! Ow!' Three times his arm rose and fell, and each time she cried out—then he pushed her away and stood up, pulling her to her feet. 'You beast!' Tears of rage and humiliation filled her eyes—but she didn't attempt to strike him again. 'You ever hit me again, and that's what you'll get— a good paddling. And I can't say it hurt me more than it hurt you, because it didn't. I hope you'll think of me when you try to sit down. Now I'm going for a drink for us—don't try and stop me—and then I'm coming back and we'll talk.' He went to the door, and out. Mia sat on the bed. That's it, she thought. I've done it again. Every time, every time ... And the awful thing is—I don't know why. She smarted—mentally and physically, but her temper had subsided. In a way, she felt almost light-headed. Silence. Then footsteps. Cory came in, crossed to the window, put down two glasses on the tiles, reached up, stretched, cupped the moth-like creature in his hands and put it out of the window. Then he closed the window, walked to Mia, switched on the light and stood looking down at her. 'Still full of fight?' he asked. She didn't answer. He went back, picked up the two glasses, and handed one to Mia. 'Drink,' he said. She gazed for a moment at the golden liquid in the glass, then lifted it to her mouth and swallowed it all. Dimly, as she began to gasp for breath, she seemed to hear his voice from a great distance saying: 'Not all at once!' But of course it was too late. The room danced, her eyes swam, and someone was letting off rockets in her head.

'It—it—what -is—it?' she croaked, when at last it seemed as if she might live. 'It's a Mexican liqueur, Kahlua, and it's supposed to be sipped— slowly.' 'Thanks—thanks for telling me.' She looked up. The room was filled with golden light, and Cory shimmered in a sort of haze that wasn't really unpleasant. 'Whee -!' she said. 'Can I have another?' 'No.' The answer was unequivocal. 'You may not.' He paused. 'Have you ever had alcohol before?' 'No.' 'Holy smoke! Why didn't you tell me?' 'You didn't ask.' It seemed a very witty answer, and Mia began to giggle. You didn't ask—what a clever thing to say! 'I'd better go get you a coffee—hot and sweet and black.' 'Don't bother -' she began, but he'd gone. He had put his glass down on her table. She looked at it for a moment, thought about it, and came to a profound decision. She'd try that—and sip it, as Cory had instructed, and see how good it was. So she picked it up, sniffed the glass. Mmm, not bad, not bad at all. She began to sip it slowly. Three minutes later, when he returned, she was almost asleep.

When she awoke in the morning, Mia had a headache. It was different from the concussion one; this was a glorious, anvilhammering, drum-beating, orchestrated headache, and she knew

straight away what it was, for she had taken enough tomato juice with Worcester sauce cocktails to fragile guests to recognise a hangover when she saw—or rather felt—one, and she sat up in bed, put her head in her hands, and groaned. Juanita must have been hovering outside, or on her way in, for she came in quickly, brown eyes dancing, and looked at Mia. 'Oh dear,' she said. 'You have the headache?' 'Yes.' Mia whispered the word. It caused her less pain that way. 'Senor Cory told me. I am sorry. I was out at the fiesta with Senor— with Carlos. Poor Mia! I shall bring you something for it. Please lie down and close your eyes. I will draw the blinds for you?' 'Please, Juanita.' Mia lay back and closed her eyes, and everything whizzed round, so she opened them again. If this was what happened after drinking, why did people enjoy it? She would never understand that, she felt sure. She began to remember the incidents of the previous evening. Cory had been about to tell her something, and it was all about a moth or a butterfly. She frowned, and the memories began to slip into focus like binoculars adjusted—then she remembered. He had come in as she had been about to rescue a butterfly—and she had nearly fallen, and then—she caught her breath. Then they had had another fight. And then she had swallowed a glass of something that had sent rockets flying, and then— something about black coffee. And everything was blank, except that she had a very vague remembrance of an exasperated voice saying: 'Oh, God, not that glass as well!' Then a cool sheet going over her and the same voice—obviously Cory's—saying: 'Sleep well.' And then silence. She lay and waited for Juanita to return. The room was cool and grey with the blinds pulled down, and her headache was settling into a

steady dull throb that wasn't too bad—unless she moved suddenly, which she had no intention of doing. 'Here you are. Drink this.' Juanita's cool hand on her forehead, the smiling face looking down at her. 'You will soon feel better. You would like some breakfast?' 'No, thanks.' Mia sat up—slowly, and sipped the fizzy white drink handed to her. 'When you have drunk that, we shall give you a shower—and today, I think you will get dressed. You would like that?' It was almost enough to instantly cure the headache. 'Dressed?' Mia echoed. 'Can I?' 'Yes. The doctor will come and see you later. But I have told him you are much better—apart from your poorly head, which is nothing to do with your accident,' and Juanita stifled a laugh, her eyes dancing with sympathy. Mia thought about that. 'The doctor will come later,' Juanita had just said. From where? Wasn't he staying at the ranch? 'But where is Doctor Robles?' she said. 'I thought he was staying here?' 'No.' Juanita seemed puzzled. 'He is too busy at the hospital. He stayed only long enough to make sure you would be all right here. Then he flew to Mexico City -' 'Flew? How?' 'By helicopter. Senor—Carlos has one of his own -' and she stopped, and Mia realised something that had only vaguely registered before. Twice now Juanita had hesitated over Carlos's name, as if about to say something else. Her eyes met the young nurse's.

'You call him Senor Carlos. What is his surname?' 'Surname? I do not understand.' 'You know—his other name. His second name.' 'Oh.' Juanita deftly removed Mia's glass and smoothed her pillows. 'I do not know. I know him only as Carlos. Dr Robles is a very good friend of his, and he brought me with him from Mexico City'— she too said Mexico as Lucia had—'and I have leave from the hospital for as long as you need me here,' and she gave Mia a warm reassuring smile, which, oddly, didn't reassure Mia one little bit. Because there was something not quite right here. Before Mia could say anything else, Juanita added: 'See, I will go and fetch some clean towels, then I will help you wash. I shall not be a moment.' She went out, a silent white figure, leaving Mia alone with her imagination. What was it? Why should I have this feeling? thought Mia, and decided to put it down to the hangover. It was the simplest thing to do. Even though too many puzzling things had been happening since that fateful morning—how many days ago? Three—four— five? She couldn't for the life of her remember precisely when it was that Cory had come into her life, and turned it completely awry. There was no going back ever. She shuddered at the very thought. She could picture Gina's face. Ryan and Lucas would be suffering—and having to work for once in their lives. That fact alone almost made everything else worth it. And who would be doing the cooking? Not Gina. She could make a mess of a boiled egg without even trying. It would probably be Ryan. Just for a moment Mia felt almost sorry for him. In spite of his rough manner, he was probably the least unpleasant of the three. But they had all been equally guilty of one thing—they had all been involved in something that concerned money —and Mia herself. Cory had said he intended to find out, but had he meant it, or had - to me, you will feel better after a nice cool shower.' Juanita returned, breaking Mia's train of thought. The next

half hour was busily occupied, and eventually Mia emerged from the bathroom dressed in blue shorts and yellow tee-shirt. Juanita had brought a comfortable pair of rope-soled sandals—espadrilles, she had called them, and they fitted Mia perfectly.. She felt incredibly better, and all the bruises on her arms and legs were fading nicely into her tan. 'Can I go and sit out?' she asked the nurse. 'Si. Senor Cory is coming soon with the chair. We have nice magazines for you to look at also. You can sit in the shade and read.' 'And swim? Can I go for a swim?' Juanita grinned. 'Why not? Perhaps just for a short while. You would like?' 'I would like,' Mia agreed solemnly. 'You know,' said Juanita thoughtfully, as she combed Mia's hair, 'soon I will have to go back to Mexico City to my work. You will not need me for much longer I think.' 'You've been very kind, Juanita. You are a good nurse.' 'Gracias! I enjoy it. I shall be sorry to leave. It is so lovely here. Do you not agree?' 'It's a beautiful ranch all right.' Mia hesitated for a moment. It was now or never. 'Juanita, do you know why I'm here? Has anyone told you?' There was a brief pregnant silence. Juanita seemed to be having difficulty with a tangle—or was she thinking? Then hesitantly, she said: 'You are going to live in the United States, no?' 'I don't know. I didn't mean that exactly. I meant— has anyone told you who I am, and why J was with Cory—Senor Galen?' And as she

said it, she looked up straight into Juanita's eyes, so that there was no avoidance of her glance. Juanita gave a deep sigh. 'Yes,' she said. 'You lived on an island, at an hotel—and Senor Galen was sent by— by—someone to find you -' 'By someone, yes,' Mia interrupted. 'Do you know who that someone is?' 'A relative, yes? A grandfather -' 'Okay, Juanita, is Mia ready?' And Cory walked in —not with the chair, just by himself. Had he been listening? Did he, thought Mia, not want me to talk too much to Juanita? 'Oh yes, senor, she is ready.' Juanita had turned, but not before Mia had seen the expression of relief in her eyes. 'Fine. I'll look after her now. I think Lucia is making coffee for you in the kitchen. 'Gracias.' She smiled at Mia and went out. Mia stared stonily at Cory. 'You've taken over, have you?' she asked. 'Yep.' 'Where's the wheelchair?' He lifted an eyebrow at her tone. 'I'm sure you're well enough to walk, aren't you? Let's see anyway.' 'Tell me, was that bought or hired just for my use?' she asked.

He shrugged. 'What does it matter?' 'I'm just trying to find things out—only everyone seems to be trying to make it difficult for me,' she snapped. 'Like now. Do you always sneak along corridors listening to people's conversations?' 'I was coming to get you,' he responded mildly. 'Dear, dear, that Kahlua doesn't seem to have improved your temper. I must remember not to give you any more.' Where's Carlos?' 'He had to go away early this morning on business. He sends his apologies, and says you must feel at home -' There was a strong sense of shock and disappointment that surprised Mia at his words. She felt as if her only ally had gone. 'When—when will he be back?' she said more quietly. 'In a day or so. It's difficult to say. Why?' 'I like him.' 'And you don't like me?' Instead of answering, she closed her eyes as if in exasperation. 'Silly question. Of course you don't.' He walked over to the bed, and looked down at her. He was dressed in brief denim shorts and a short-sleeved white shirt that emphasised his tan. He was barefoot, which would explain why they hadn't heard him walking along the corridor. He looked tough, he looked—unbeatable —so what was the use of trying to fight a man like that? None—except that Mia didn't give in so easily. She stared directly at him.

'Did he ask you about me yesterday?' she said. It was out. And if he hadn't brought that liqueur in, with its built-in kick, she would have asked him the previous night. 'Yes.' She caught her breath. 'And—and what did you say?' Cory's blue eyes held an unfathomable expression. 'You are staying here for a while,' he said, spacing each word out as if reluctant to part with them. She realised something. 'Carlos—he's gone away. Has he gone to see my grandfather?' 'You've asked enough questions for one day.' 'No, I haven't. I haven't even begun.' She stood up to face him. 'He has, hasn't he? Tell me!' A spark of excitement lit her eyes. She looked up at him, her lips parted, eyes wide, hair tumbling about her face— and she saw his eyes darken, saw something change in his face, heard his indrawn breath. 'I don't know,' he said, his voice deep. 'Why don't we go outside?' 'Are you frightened of me?' Recklessness filled her, engendered by the reaction to his admission. They had been arguing about her. But who had won? 'Oh, sure I am!' His eyes had narrowed slightly. 'You terrify me!' and he laughed. Then he reached out and held her by the arms. The touch was electric, but if he was aware of it he gave no indication. 'B—but you don't like me asking q—questions -' Heavens, why was she stammering?

'Nope.' 'Wouldn't you, if you were me?' That was better. She was fighting for calm, and succeeding. He appeared to be thinking about that. His hands were warm on her arms. 'No,' he said at last. 'You liar!' She jerked herself away from him. I can't see you putting up with anything -' 'You're being well looked after, you've gotten away from a life you hate—why don't you accept things as they are?' 'Because there's too much damned mystery for my liking!' she flashed, 'and you know it, though you won't admit it.' 'Mystery? In what way?' 'You know darned well. What is it? What is it? Tell me,' she demanded. 'Tell me now, Cory.' 'I can't. It's as simple as that. I'm sorry, Mia, but I -' 'I hate you!' She flung herself away from him, and on to the bed. 'Go away—leave me alone.' She put her face in her hands and began to cry. 'Oh, Mia, don't do that, honey.' She felt his weight beside her on the bed, then his arms went around her, and with a sense of weakness she could no longer fight, she turned towards him and let him shelter her in his arms. The sensation was unutterably comforting. She forgot all her previous resolve, her determination never to let him too near again. All she knew was the warmth of his body beside hers, the slow heartbeat against her breast, the gentleness of his arms as he held her. She raised a tear-streaked face, and what happened next was as

inevitable as the night following the day. Cory kissed her. Not once, but more, each one satisfying and utterly beautiful. It was as if they were one. Timeless, the embrace filled her entire being, and Mia knew what she should have known before, that she loved him. She loved this dark, mysterious, exciting man with a love she had never known before. 'Oh, Cory,' she whispered, and he held her more tightly. She thought she might die of happiness.

CHAPTER NINE THEN, as suddenly as the time before, on the boat, it was over. Cory pulled himself away and lifted Mia to her feet. The abruptness of it startled her and she opened dazed eyes. 'Dear God,' he whispered. 'I'm sorry -' 'Don't say that.' Like a child seeking comfort she sought to hold him, but he was already free of the spell. His face was shadowed, and his eyes had changed, become frighteningly dark. 'We must go. Don't you know -' 'Know—what?' 'What you're doing?' The hard-faced stranger was there again. He turned away from her and went to the window, throwing up the blinds. And Mia stood and watched him, trembling. This time was different from the time before in only one respect. Otherwise it was the same shock of humiliation. This time she knew she loved him— and so it hurt all the more. Hurt —oh, how it hurt! Like a physical pain. And no cure. Helplessly she stood there, and it was as if all her life flashed before her in swift sequence—as if, encapsulated in a few moments of time, was everything that had ever happened to her. And nothing had been worse than this. She turned and walked towards the door, because all she could think of was getting away. Away from him. She didn't need him—she didn't need anybody. Left down the corridor, and his footsteps coming up behind her, and she went on walking as if he were not there. Cory touched her arm. 'Wait -'

That did it. That was the flashpoint. Mia whirled round on him. 'Keep away from me. Don't touch me.' Her eyes blazed hurt and fury. 'I mean it. I can walk alone. I don't want your help I' She jerked her arm free and turned away again, more quickly now, tiring, but so filled with determination to get outside that nothing else mattered. She didn't look back. She didn't care. She touched the button on the wall, the doors opened silently, and Mia stepped out into the blazing sunshine. Magazines and books, and a jug and glasses were set upon the table beside her lounging chair at the edge of the pool. The sun dazzled off the water, making the air sparkle and shimmer, and she went and sat down and lay back in the chair, utterly exhausted. Closing her eyes, everything was orange, and she lay there not wanting to open them again, not wanting to think—not daring to. Instead she listened, trying to identify the sounds that filled the air. Bird song, humming of bees, the distant whinney of a horse in the paddock. Somewhere a man's voice raised in song. Mia had heard that before, when she had first come round— just before she had met Carlos for the first time. It seemed a sad plaintive song, too distant to hear any words, but tuneful. Someone at least could sing. Mia didn't feel like singing. She felt like weeping—but she wasn't going to. She opened her eyes and stared at the blue umbrella that shaded her face from the hot sun. Then she let out her breath in a long deep sigh. 'You are staying here for a while,' Cory's words came back to her as she lay there perfectly still. A while? How long was a while? A week? Two weeks -? he had told her nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nobody ever did. She gripped the arm of the lounger tightly. And where was Carlos? If only she wasn't so helpless! She wasn't even sure who she was any more. It was as if she were a puppet, being manipulated by various people at different times, with no will of her own. Looked after, cared for materially, but not expected to think— or mind. But I do mind, she thought. I'm me. And there's only me can

help myself. Cory—he's—he's—and here her mind went blank, as the image of him came to her. Hard, ruthless; all that Carlos had told her about him, and she had believed —it must be another Cory he had been talking about. This one was a monster disguised as a human being. An unfeeling beast who could switch from apparent sincerity to a blank hardness within seconds. She shook her head from side to side helplessly, reliving the agony of that second rejection 'Mia, you are going to swim?' Juanita's gentle voice brought her back to the present, and she looked sideways to see the nurse standing there smiling. 'I have a costume for you.' She was holding a skimpy white bikini. 'You can change in the room behind you.' 'Thank you.' Mia sat up. 'The doctor will soon be here. He has phoned to say he was setting out from the hospital, as soon as he had finished his rounds. I think he will be here in about half an hour. That will give you time for a dip before lunch.' 'Are you coming in as well?' Juanita laughed. 'If you like. That would be nice. But I do not swim very well.' 'Then I can teach you,' Mia answered. Anything to get away from her thoughts. 'I'll go and change.' 'And I will go and fetch another suit for myself. There are plenty here.' There would be, thought Mia as she went into the cool shadowed changing room. There was plenty of everything at the ranch. Plenty of everything that money could buy.

She stripped and slipped into the bikini. It fitted perfectly. She had never worn one before and stood looking at herself in the mirror for a few moments in surprise. Her bruises were nearly invisible, and the glorious black eye was a mere memory. She brushed her hair away from her face and regarded her image solemnly. Slim, long-legged, brown as a berry, she thought in wonder: I look good! It was a thought without conceit, for Mia was not vain. She turned sideways to see her profile, and that was all right as well. Just for a moment, it revived her badly sagging self-confidence. Just for a brief moment, but it was something. She went out, dived into the water and surfaced half way down, shaking the water from her hair. Ah, but that felt better! Juanita waved as she came out from the main house. 'I will be with you in a moment,' she called. 'Fine.' Mia lay back and floated. This was her element. She loved the water, and swam like a fish. Gently, lazily, wriggling he toes to propel her backwards, eyes closed, she waited for Juanita. A splash, droplets showered over her, and she trod water as she saw the nurse swimming towards her. 'Oh dear,' exclaimed Juanita, 'I swim very badly.' 'No, you don't,' Mia said. 'Come on, I'll show you how to do a crawl. That will speed you up a bit. Let's go to the end, then we can kick off from the side. See -' and she went off like a streak, leaving the laughing Juanita to follow. And for the next half hour, Cory, and all her other problems were forgotten— almost.

Mia stood at the side of the pool, waiting for Juanita to come out. Then something made her glance towards the inner door to the ranch

house, and she saw the dark shadow of a man's outline—and as she watched, he moved away. Cory. She knew it was him. How long had he been there, just standing, and looking at her? She looked quickly away, determinedly down the pool where Juanita was laboriously practising her crawl for the last length. Let him look if he wants, she thought. I don't care. But all the same, a prickle touched her neck and shoulders, and she shivered slightly in the warm scented air. Silently watching her, and there was nothing she could do about it— nothing. Or was there? Doctor Robles would be here soon. If she asked him—through Juanita—if she told him of her despair, would he let her go back to Mexico City with him? She could get a job at the hospital—her hopes rose slightly, and she watched Juanita climb out of the water. Quickly now, before the doctor came, talk to Juanita, but carefully. Mia walked towards the young nurse. 'We'd better get changed,' she said. It might be easier in the changing room, just the two girls together, and Juanita was a friend, she sensed that already. She was pleasant and warm—and she had concern. Would Mia be able to make her understand? There was only one way to find out. As they towelled themselves down, and after Mia had assured her that she swam very well indeed, she said: 'Juanita, I need your help.' Juanita's eyes widened. 'Yes?' A little shrug. 'Tell me—why?' 'I don't want to stay here, but I have no money, and nowhere to go.' Mia said the words simply, because there was no other way to express what she felt—and saw Juanita's face soften into concern. 'Oh.' The nurse looked at her. 'Oh, Mia, how can I help you?' "By asking Dr Robles if he'll take me back to Mexico City with him -'

The girl's gasp sent a shock of dismay through her. 'But he would refuse, I know. He and Sen—Carlos are old friends -' 'But I'm only here by accident!' Mia burst out. 'I shouldn't be here at all. It's Cory—Senor Galen, who arranged for us to come here -' 'I know—but -' Juanita's face was anguished. 'Oh! It is so difficult for me.' She, looked as it she was about to cry, and Mia put out her hand and touched the other girl's arm. 'What is it?' she said. 'Tell me. There's some secret that everyone is trying to hide from me—something awful -' 'No.' Juanita shook her head. 'Believe me, it is not. But—I have been sworn to secrecy -' 'I can't bear it,' gasped Mia. 'I feel as if I'm going mad!' She reached for her shorts and put them on, then the tee-shirt. She rubbed her hair, because she couldn't just stand there. A pressure was building up inside her that was almost frightening. 'Where's Cory? I'm going to see him. I can't --' 'Wait.' Juanita moved towards the door, and then turned to face Mia. 'Before you do, I will tell you one thing—the only thing I can think of that might help —although I do not know --' she hesitated. 'Go on. What is it?' Mia urged. 'A few kilometres past the village where we went to the fiesta last night, there is a place where there are nuns. A—what you call it—a monastery?' 'A nunnery?' Mia suggested.

'Si! That is it. It is a children's home, an orphanage, yes? There you would find shelter—but I should not have told you—it is only because you are so upset -' She bit her lip, clearly wondering if she had done the wrong thing. 'Thank you, Juanita,' Mia said. 'You're very kind. And don't worry, I won't mention that to Cory.' But I'll find out where it is by hook or by crook, she added mentally. Somehow, I'll find it, because it is one chance—one slender chance—of escape. 'The doctor will be here soon, won't he?' she went on. 'I'll see Cory afterwards.' And she smiled at the anxious girl. When they emerged into the blazing sunlight, all was normal. Even if Cory was watching, she thought, he won't know, he won't guess. She smiled a little to herself. In a way, she felt much better.

She had been pronounced fit by a smiling Doctor Robles, and had eaten lunch with Juanita by the pool, and soon she was going to tackle Cory. But before she did so, she was going to persuade him to take her out for a ride, and get her bearings, and she was going to bide her time with the questions, because if he suspected anything— she caught her breath at that thought. He mustn't have the least suspicion of what she planned. She was ready for him when he came out of the house. She heard the door click, and she lay back in the chair, keeping her eyes closed, listening for the tell-tale sounds that would betray his presence, knowing she was going to have to put on an act. A pretence that all was forgotten about the morning's incident. For he was clever, and shrewd—but Mia was cleverer, and she was going to be subtle, and not let what had happened, or the painful realisation of her feelings for him betray her. I can do it, she thought, I must do it.

'Hello.' She opened her eyes, shading them with her hand, looking at him standing there beside the chair. 'Did you enjoy your swim this morning?' he asked. 'Yes. And the doctor says I'm fit.' 'I know.' 'So can I go out for a ride somewhere, please? I'd like to see the countryside. I've never been in Mexico before.' He crouched down on his haunches beside the chair. There was a certain wariness to him, a stillness that she recognised. After her outburst, he was treating her with care. His face was in shadow so that she couldn't see his expression, but the tension reached out and coiled itself around her, and she had to fight to keep perfectly calm. The outcome was too important to be spoiled by her own impetuosity. Every move she made counted. If she was to win. And Mia intended to win. 'I don't see why not,' he said slowly, as if he had weighed up her words, dissected them, could find nothing wrong with them, and so could answer. 'But not yet. It's siesta time—which means it's simply too hot to travel. Later, when it's cooler. Say about five.' 'Five.' She thought about that. 'But it goes dark soon after.' 'Yup. But not for an hour or so. There'll be time for a ride. How do you want to go? Car—horse—or in style by coach?' It was becoming easier by the minute. 'By coach?' She smiled in puzzlement. 'You'll see.' He stood up. 'I'll let you have your rest now. Got everything you need?'

'Yes, thanks.' She was keeping calm, but she wasn't going to be too friendly. That would arouse his suspicions quicker than anything. She looked up at him, hating him for making her suffer the pangs of love, wanting to strike out at him, and hurt him as he had hurt her. Instead she managed to conceal it all by sheer will-power and a fierce selfcontrol. I'm learning fast, she thought. I've grown up a lot in the past few days. 'I'll be ready at five.' There was a moment's electric silence as their eyes met and clashed. It was as if he were trying to read her mind. Mia stared blandly back at him, hoping he wouldn't see the pulse that pounded in her throat 'Okay. See you then.' He turned and loped away. Mia let out her breath in a deep sigh. So far so good. She closed her eyes and lay back, breathing deeply and slowly to dispel the last remaining traces of tension. Five o'clock. Three hours to go.

'It's called a surrey,' said Cory. 'You know, like in the song The Surrey with the Fringe on Top.' Mia stared blankly at him, and he shook his head. 'Nope, sorry, I forgot. You won't have seen many films, will you?' 'No.' She looked at the delicate-looking 'coach' he had promised. Two horses were harnessed and waiting patiently, and there was a long front seat covered with dark blue buttoned velvet, and a space in the rear, and a dark cotton canopy overhead—with a fringe. It would effectively keep the sun off them. 'Okay, up you get.' Cory handed her in, and Mia sat down on the extremely comfortable seat and waited, watching him as he walked round the front, pausing to say a word to the horses before jumping lightly up and into his seat. He took the reins.

'Ready?' he asked. 'Yes.' Mia held the armrest and Cory said: 'Gee up,' and they were off. It was a pleasant sensation to be jogging gently along at about six miles an hour, and Mia looked around her as they left the ranchhouse behind. The impression she had received of desert stretching away for ever, when she had first looked out of her bedroom window was now seen to have been not strictly accurate. For in the larger perspective of the outdoors she could see hills and trees and scrubby grassland. There was sand—a lot of it, but the scenery was not so bleak as she had first imagined. There was even a certain austere beauty to it all, and she gazed round appreciatively. They were going along a wide track, not quite a road, but with a reasonably smooth surface, and she looked behind her to see the ranch-house diminishing in size. Even so, it was an enormous sprawling building. The sun waited over the distant mountains like an orange disc in the white sky, and soon, within an hour or so, there would be a brilliantly brief sunset: and then darkness. The air was very still and clear. Barely a breeze disturbed them as they rode along, and the rocks shimmered hazily, and far ahead the road danced and appeared to move, and somewhere high in the sky a dark bird of prey circled and wheeled round lazily. The canopy overhead swayed and creaked with the movement of the vehicle, the harness jingled, and the horses trotted steadily along—and not a word was spoken until Mia said: 'Where are you taking me?' 'A ride. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?'

She bit back a retort. Careful now, easy does it. 'Oh yes, of course, but I wondered if you had any destination in mind.' 'Nope. Have you?' 'I don't know anywhere, do I?' she responded reasonably, and Cory laughed. 'No.' 'But they went to a fiesta in a village last night. Are we going in that direction?' 'Yes.' Her heart lifted at his answer. Beyond the village was the nunnery—only she didn't know that of course. So that if she wanted to go past the village he wouldn't suspect anything at all. The determination to get away from Carlos's ranch was now overwhelming. Even if he had gone to see H.G., and Cory had said he didn't know, but that didn't mean anything, there was no guarantee that it would do any good. Why should it? H.G. was a ruthless man, a millionaire many times over—who always got what he wanted. Carlos was too gentle to succeed. And Cory didn't care. To fall in love with a man like Cory was the biggest mistake any girl could make—a mistake that Mia had already made. She looked ahead of her, willing the village to appear, seeing the mountains in the distance on either side of them from the corner of her eyes, feeling the beauty of the land fill her with a sense almost of contentment. There was no real home for her anywhere, but here, for a while, she might find peace, and the time to think, until she had her life sorted out, and could move on. To where? Mia didn't know, but she remembered Carlos's words -Make haste slowly. There was only one day to live at a time She realised that Cory was speaking, was pointing something out, and realised that she hadn't been noticing anything of their route, and

it filled her with dismay. She looked back, but the track appeared to be straight, vanishing into the distance. It was important to remember the way -'What did you say?' 'I said we're nearly there. You've been lost in a daydream. Did I interrupt anything?' 'Nothing important,' she countered. 'You'll see a typical Mexican village. Very colourful, I promise you.' It was strange, but it was almost as though he was making the effort to be pleasant. At least the hard aggression had gone—for a while— and his voice was calm. Mia looked sideways at him. What made this man tick? She had seen so many contrasting moods in him within the space of a few days. Deep, complex, puzzling—he was all those, and more. He could be gentle, and kind—Mia put that thought out of her mind. That was no way to think. He was the enemy, in more ways than one. Let him stay that way. 'Is it? Don't they just sit around all day wearing huge hats and sleeping?' He laughed. 'Is that how you see the Mexicans? Hmm, you may have a point. It's too hot to do much else—in fact, if anything, I'd say the women work harder than the men -' 'Of course,' she murmured dryly. '—and,' he went on, ignoring her comment, 'there is certainly a touch of the muanas about—you know, never do today what you can put off until tomorrow.' 'In that case, I'd hardly say Carlos was a typical Mexican,' she said, more as a casual, light answer than anything else. And yet—and

yet—she felt the tension, instantly there, indefinable, yet surrounding them. 'He's not,' he said, and his tone had changed. Mia looked at him. The hairs prickled on the back of her neck. She had made a very casual remark—and the effect had been electrifying. 'Then what is he?' she said, with a desperate attempt at lightness. But the moment had passed. She could sense that as he answered her. 'He works very hard,' said Cory. 'And he travels a lot. He doesn't live here all the time, so he's not been infected with the general lassitude.' As an answer it was hardly satisfactory. Mia took a deep breath. 'Then was it just coincidence that he was here when I came?' There was a silence for a few moments as Cory concentrated on the horses, slowing them down imperceptibly, then more, until they were at a standstill. The silence surrounded them. They were the only living creatures in that landscape, and somewhere behind them the moon waited her turn in the sky— and—Mia looked at Cory seeing him very sharply in the clear pure air, sitting there facing her, slightly sideways on his seat, his hand loosely on the reins. She felt frightened. She felt as if something awful was about to happen, that she could do nothing about it, that she had set something in motion that would be difficult to stop. She felt breathless. 'What is it?' she gasped. 'Why have you stopped?' 'You know, don't you?' he said.

'Know what?' She waited, and her heart thudded in her breast, and somewhere in the distance a bird called, and was answered, and she wondered if she was going to faint. 'You know who Carlos really is,' he said, and he spoke slowly, spacing each word out carefully so that it hung in the air like an echo. And so many memories came back to Mia—the half spoken words from Juanita—the hesitations—her first sight of Carlos, calm and dignified as he came into her room at the ranch, and how she had thought he was a manservant 'No, I don't—but I'd like to.' And in her heart, she already knew. 'He isn't called Carlos at all. You thought he was a servant, and you assumed, from the way he was dressed, that he was a Mexican. He's not. He's American, and it's not Carlos—it's Karl—and that's his middle name. He is your grandfather, Mia.'

CHAPTER TEN THE sense of betrayal was so overwhelming that Mia felt ill. She could not speak. She couldn't do anything except sit very still while the world spun around her. Ashen-faced, she waited for the shock to pass, and dimly heard Cory's voice saying: ' 'Drink this. Just a sip.' She shook her head, pushing away the proffered flask. 'No, I don't want anything. Take me to the village.' 'But—' 'Please take me to the village.' She had no clear idea in her mind. Only escape, only the knowledge that in the village she might find someone who would take her to the nunnery. For she wasn't going back to the ranch. They all knew—even Juanita, who had tried so hard to help, while keeping the secret. 'I'm sorry, Mia, but you had to know some time, and I couldn't let you go on any longer -' 'Thank you for telling me.' Her mouth felt stiff and icy, but she forced the words out. 'I can see it all now. How funny you must have thought -' 'We didn't think it funny at all. You made a natural mistake, and H.G. thought it would be the best way -' 'You don't need to explain.' She couldn't look at him. She watched the two horses instead, standing patiently, bridles clinking faintly with their movements. 'I understand. Please take me to the village.' 'I think we'd better go back to the ranch. You can -' She didn't wait for him to finish, she just jumped down to the ground and began to

walk. She heard his movement, and then he was beside her on the track. 'You can't walk it! It's a mile or so away. It's still too hot -' 'Then take me!' She still didn't look at him. She stood there, willing him not to touch her, not to use force, for how could she fight him? She sensed he was looking down at her—sensed also that he would not touch her for fear of the consequences. It was as if he knew the sheer desperation of her mood. 'All right,' he said at last, calmly. 'Get back in. I'll take you.' 'Thank you.' She turned and climbed back in the surrey, and sat waiting, staring straight ahead. 'Gee up!' Cory called, and jerked the reins, and the obedient horses began trotting. The village was reached in silence, and he pulled up by some large trees and tethered the reins on a post, and came round to help Mia down. But she hadn't waited. She looked ahead of her to where, at the end of the street, stood a whitewashed building with a bell tower, and a cross, and she knew that that was what she had been looking for. She began to walk towards it, and Cory caught her arm. 'Wait. Where are you -' she shook her arm free. 'I want to go in the church,' she answered. 'I need somewhere to think. You can do what you like -' The' buildings on either side were small, whitewashed, roughplastered. What was the word—adobe? Men sat in doorways to watch them, idle, sleepy, apparently not interested in these two strangers, and a few children played in the dust by a trickling fountain in the middle of the street, and Mia saw a lizard panting on a wall.

Yet already the light was failing. From one or two of the small windows, yellow light emerged, and she could hear music—a guitar being gently plucked— and all this registered on the edge of her consciousness. Cory caught up with her. Not angry, merely curious. 'Wait,' he said. 'First you need a drink. There's a cantina along the way. Let's go in there and talk -' 'We have nothing to talk about.' She turned to face him, and in the gathering dusk he seemed like a stranger, his face shadowy and dark. 'Do you understand? Nothing. We just said it all.' She felt small and defenceless; yet her inner strength held her from running away from him. Only that, and the knowledge that somehow, all along the line, she had been deceived. How they must all be laughing! Was that too how Ryan and Gina and Lucas had seen her? As someone to be kept in ignorance?' It was all at an end now, all of it. She was finished with them, and with Cory, and H.G.—alias Carlos— the one man she had thought she could trust, only now she knew she couldn't. She turned away from him and began walking again. The church drew nearer and nearer, and then, as if at a hidden signal, the door opened, and light spilled out down the steps and a short way along the dusty path, and it seemed an omen. Walking more quickly, she reached the bottom step and ran up them; and in through the heavy arched doorway. And there a man was waiting. Waiting, it seemed for her. Kindly, fat, elderly with white hair, the priest smiled at her. Mia let out a sigh. 'Father—Padre—do you speak English?' Tensely she waited. A broad smile broke across the tanned face. 'Yes! Come in, my child.' She looked round as he began to close the oak doors. Cory stood a few yards away, just watching.

'Your companion -' the priest gestured. 'Does he wish -?' 'No. Please, may I speak to you alone?' 'Of course. I am here to help. Follow me, please.' He turned away and walked down the aisle. Mia followed, looking round her, seeing the simplicity of the building, plain white walls, wooden pews, and her heart lifted. She was safe now. She knew it.

They sat in a room that was furnished with a desk and two chairs. The priest poured out a glass of what looked like water, and handed it to Mia. 'It is wine,' he said. 'But not strong—you will like it,' and he smiled gently. 'Tell me in what way I can help you.' His English was excellent. In fact, there was more of an American accent than a Spanish, and he sat back in his chair and leaned his head to one side. There was only one way to tell it—from the beginning. So Mia did. When she had finished, he gave a long sigh. 'Ah, my child,' he said, 'I understand how you feel. And you think that if I take you to the orphanage, you will be happy there?' 'I will be safe,' she said simply. 'And I'll be able to think clearly. I can't do that now. Do you understand?' 'Yes. But if I help you, and I will, you must tell these people where you are going, and why. You can't just disappear.' He paused. 'The man outside—the American, Cory—he will still be there. Why don't we bring him in?' 'I don't—want to see him again,' she whispered. 'Ever.' 'You are not frightened of him, are you?'

'Not -' she hesitated. 'Not now.' 'Were you before, then?' 'It wasn't that.' She hesitated, not wanting to give this friendly priest the completely wrong impression of Cory; not wanting to tell him the truth of her feelings either—so she compromised. 'It's—it's just that I never met anyone like him before—he's the sort of man who's very strong, who always gets what he wants -' she stopped. The priest nodded. His eyes were very wise. 'Of course. A typical American?' but it was said with a gentle humour, and he chuckled. 'I will tell him he can come in. You stay there.' He stood up, looked down at Mia, then added, 'My name is Father Shaughnessy. I am half Irish, half American. So you see, my child, I know what I'm talking about—and I'll be able to deal with him.' And he went out. Mia waited, her mouth dry. She had no idea what would happen now. She couldn't sit still any longer, her nerves were raw, her body tense. Rising to her feet, she went slowly to the door, and looked out through a narrow crack along the length of the church —and saw the two men talking in the doorway to the street. The giant Cory towering over the small rotund figure of Father Shaughnessy, both talking. Not arguing—just talking. Then they moved, began to walk towards her, and Mia darted away and sat down again. She tried to breathe slowly, to stop her heart from pounding so crazily, but in vain. She looked up as Cory came in, waiting for the blast of anger to envelop her—but there was none. His eyes were dark as he glanced at her. Dark and, somehow, strange. What was it? 'So you aren't coming back to the ranch?' he said.

'No.' Why wasn't he arguing? She didn't imagine that he would let the fact that he was in a church deter him from battle, but it seemed to be so. 'Sit down, my son,' said Father Shaughnessy. 'No, thanks, Father, I'll stand,' Cory replied. Mia had a feeling of confusion coming over her. She had expected anything but this—this being an apparent calm acceptance of what was happening. He couldn't just give in meekly—could he? 'A glass of wine, Mr Galen?' 'Please.' Cory stood in the corner of the room, behind the desk, and watched Mia as the little priest went to a cupboard for a glass. He was like a stranger. And it was all too easy, much too easy. It made Mia feel afraid. She burst out: 'I thought you'd be angry J' 'Did you?' he took the glass from the priest. 'Thanks. I don't waste my time getting angry over things I can't do anything about. And short of dragging you from here by force, there doesn't seem much I can do. So -' he shrugged, 'I'm not angry. You're going to stay at this orphanage—and then what?' 'I don't know. It will give me time to think.' She felt as though she was on the defensive. As if she needed to explain. But she didn't, did she? 'Perhaps that's the best thing.' He swallowed the wine, and put the glass down on the desk. 'I'll go and persuade Juanita to pack your things. May I have a word with you, Father?'

'Of course. After you.' A word in private, that was what he meant. He went towards the door. As he reached it, he turned. 'Goodbye, Mia,' he said, and went out. She clenched her fists, willing herself not to cry. That was it. Just like that—goodbye, Mia—and walk out. It was what she wanted, wasn't it? So why did she feel so completely devastated? Why the deep ache inside her, and a sense of utter loss? She heard their voices as they faded away, and she remained sitting where she was. She had sought to escape for so long, and she was free. And now, suddenly, she was not sure what she really wanted.

Mia lay on her narrow bed in the small room at the orphanage and looked at the square of moonlight that streamed through the window on to the ceiling. All was quiet, and she was tired, but she couldn't get to sleep. Too many pictures filled her mind, bright colourful images, fragments of incidents that had happened since Cory had walked out of the church—the return of the priest many minutes later, his kindly face, his concern, his taking her in a battered Lincoln sedan to the orphanage several miles outside the village. Her arrival, to be greeted, without any apparent surprise, by two calm-faced nuns and a cluster of barefooted children. A simple meal in an empty dining room, and then being shown to a small room off a dormitory. The nun who had given her her supper had come up with her, and smiled at Mia. 'You have come in answer to our prayers,' she said, in her quiet voice, 'for Sister Francesca was taken ill a day or so ago and will be away for a while. So please make yourself at home —while

you are here with us, everything we have is yours to share. I am Sister Maria.' 'You are Scottish?' asked Mia, bemused. 'Yes. From Glasgow. You will find Sisters from all over the world here.' The nun laughed. She was only young, smooth-faced, blueeyed. 'Don't look so surprised, Mia, that is the way it goes. We are in a way missionaries, if you like to call us that, and here in Mexico there is so much to be done, so much poverty—so many orphans. There will be much work for you while you are here -' 'Good. I like work,' Mia had answered, and impulsively grasped the nun's hands. 'Thank you for taking me in.' Sister Maria had shaken her head gently. 'We would never turn anyone away,' she said simply. 'You are welcome here.' Now, alone, Mia thought it over. She would not be idle, she knew that, and that was good. Perhaps then she wouldn't have so much time to think about Cory— and H.G. Then, exhausted, she fell asleep.

After breakfast the following morning, Mia was taken around the orphanage by Sister Maria, accompanied by several of the very young children. The older ones, the nun explained, were at their lessons, and as a small grubby brown hand was pushed into Mia's, and a pair of solemn brown eyes gazed intently at her, she added: 'That is Roberto. He is three, and has no one in the world.' Then she smiled. 'I think you have found a friend.' Mia looked down at him. Chubby, dressed in white shorts, Roberto gave her a beaming smile and indicated that he would like to be picked up. Mia swung him into her arms and he put his hands round her neck and chuckled.

Sister Maria gave a little sigh. 'Oh dear,' she said. 'You realise what you have done, don't you?' 'What?' asked Mia, amused. 'He'll follow you everywhere now—even when you're working—and you're going to have a job to shake him off.' She sighed again. 'Poor wee bairn!' 'I don't mind,' Mia laughed. She hugged the boy. 'He can help me. Can't you, Roberto?' He was no weight at all, and she carried him round the large open compound, seeing the various low buildings—schoolhouse, chapel, dining-hall, further away, dormitories. Beyond these were carefully tended gardens full of vegetables, and several nuns were bending over weeding, watering, helped by older children, some standing by the well hauling up water, some carrying away the weeds in wheelbarrows. It was a scene of quiet industry, yet the atmosphere all round was that of cheerfulness and co-operation. Mia could feel it, almost a tangible thing. She met several of the nuns, and was no longer surprised at the calmness with which she was greeted. It was almost as if she belonged, as if they had expected her. When she said that she enjoyed cooking—as they walked round the kitchen attached to the dining-hall —Sister Maria laughed and said: 'Of course, we should have known. Sister Francesca's duties were mainly in the feeding of the children. Good, you'll be able to take over her tasks.' She bent to cupboards, and Mia put Roberto down for a minute while she studied the gleaming pots and pans. Already a smell of cooking rose from the pans, and Mia was introduced to Sisters Annette—Frances— Teresa—Anne. She knew

she would never remember them all, but she smiled and said hello, and was greeted with warm welcome. It was like being in the middle of a dream. There was a sense of unreality about her. She was here. She was here. She knew that. But had anyone told her, only a week or so ago, that she would shortly be working in the kitchen of a Mexican orphanage, she would have known they were utterly mad. Mia looked about her. Everything in the kitchen had a well scrubbed, clean air about it. The sun streamed in through the open windows, but the heat was not unbearable. The nuns all wore white habits, utterly simple, floor-length, their hair concealed with white cotton veils. Mia felt almost undressed in her shorts and tee-shirt, but until— unless—her clothes arrived, she had no choice. 'Come,' said Sister Maria. 'We will go and give the older children their orange juice. Then we prepare the dining-hall for lunch. This afternoon there is a service in the church—it is a Saint's day, you see -' her face broke into an impish smile. 'Here in Mexico, you will find it is nearly always a Saint's day.' She glanced at Mia, by whose side stood the ever-present Roberto. 'But you have no need to go to the services here—you are a guest.' 'Who is in charge here?' asked Mia curiously. 'The Mother Superior is away in Mexico City at present, but she will be back shortly. She is very kind— you will like her.' A short, almost mischievous pause, then: 'She comes from Liverpool—in England.' Mia grinned. 'Where else?' A thought struck her. 'Why is she in Mexico City? Or is it private?' 'Raising funds for us. She is very good at that, and there are several businesses there which give us money.' They were walking out into the sunshine again, and children were streaming out of the

classrooms to a long trestle table set out against a wall. Everything was well organised. Four bigger boys darted away to the kitchen to return bearing large enamel jugs and trays of metal beakers—and after that there was no time to talk as they poured orange juice for the thirsty children. Mia made sure that Roberto was among the first to be served. It was a new experience, having someone to look after, someone who looked up at her with trusting brown eyes, and never strayed far from her side, especially when the laughing, chattering children swarmed around. And that was the start of a very busy day, which only quietened down when the younger children—Roberto included—had been safely seen to bed at seven. Mia sat back exhausted in a large airy common room and looked around her at the nuns. Most were quite young; there were a few older women, and they sat and talked quietly among themselves, and the conversation eddied and flowed round her in a companionable way. She had been accepted, but no one questioned her. There was no curiosity on their part, merely friendliness. It was almost as if she had been expected all along. The atmosphere was very soothing, balm to Mia's restless spirit. For the first time in years, there was no one ordering her about, telling her what to do. She had done all her tasks of that day willingly, yet she sensed that if she had just lazed around, no one would have criticised her. Now she was tired. It was the healthy fatigue of work well done, and Sister Maria crossed over to Mia's chair and smiled at her. 'Why don't you have an early night?' she said. 'You've worked hard—and you haven't been well. Don't overtire yourself.' Mia smiled back. 'I think I'd like to,' she agreed. 'If no one minds?' 'No one will mind. We have to go to our prayers soon. Shall I bring you up a drink later?'

'But I don't want to put you to any -' Mia began. 'It is no trouble, I- assure you. You go. I will see you later.' Mia went. When the knock came on her door, she thought it would be Sister Maria and called 'come in'. But it was Juanita who entered. 'Juanita!' Mia jumped up from the bed where she had been sitting reading a Spanish phrase book that one of the nuns had found for her. 'Hello, Mia.' They hugged each other like long-lost friends, then Juanita picked up the suitcase she had left outside the door, and carried it in. 'I have brought your clothes.' 'I'd forgotten -' Mia began, bemused. So much had happened. Juanita smiled. 'I would have come before, but Senor Cory said to wait until this evening.' There was a slight pause, then she added: 'You are happy here?' 'Yes:' Suddenly Mia wanted to hear about Cory. She wanted to know very much, but she didn't know how to ask. 'I'm busy helping with the children, but I enjoy it.' 'Good. May I sit down?' 'Of course.' Mia indicated the chair. 'How did you find my room? Who—who brought you?' 'One of the nuns directed me. And Lucia's husband brought me in the car.' Mia was careful to hide any expression. Of course Cory wouldn't be here, would he? He had said goodbye when he walked out of the

church the previous day, and that was precisely what he had meant. 'Oh, and is he waiting for you?' 'Yes. Outside the gate.' The two girls looked at each other. Then Juanita burst out: 'I'm going to Mexico City tomorrow. My work is finished now you've left. I'm sorry it had to end like this -' 'Please, don't be,' Mia interrupted. 'You've been marvellous. But I couldn't stay—not after I found out she looked at Juanita. 'You knew all along, didn't you? Knew who Carlos was?' 'Si.' Juanita nodded. 'I knew—but I could not tell. Mia, something is worrying me. If—if I had not told you of this place, would you have stayed at the rancho~'' 'No!' Mia answered. 'I'd have run away—anywhere. I couldn't -' 'Thank goodness!' Juanita let out a deep sigh. 'I was so worried. I feared that I had encouraged you -' 'But you musn't think that! Don't you see? I had to escape from there anyway. And here is the best place. Here, I can think.' She paused, then added: 'And be myself—if only for a little while.' The two girls sat facing one another in the room. Outside it was dark, and the oil lamp on Mia's table cast a soft glow around the room. There was no electricity at the orphanage, but they managed very well without. 'Yes, I see,' said Juanita. 'If I give you my address at the hospital, will you write to me sometimes—let me know how you are getting on?' 'Of course, I'd love to. You've been so kind.'

Juanita opened her bag and took out a piece of paper, handing it to Mia. ' I will look around for you in Mexico City, see if there is any way I can help -' she shrugged, 'but do not expect miracles -' then she smiled. 'But I will do my best.' 'Thank you.' There was a small comfortable silence, and then Mia hesitantly said: 'Is Car—my grandfather back yet?' 'No.' A pause, then: 'Only the staff, and Senor Cory, and—me.' But something hung in the air between them. 'What is it?' asked Mia, softly. 'Senor Cory -' she stopped. 'Yes?' Mia waited, breathless. 'He is—different.' 'Different? How?' Juanita shrugged. 'How can I express it? He is very quiet. He does not say much.' 'Oh.' Mia digested that bit of information. Hardly surprising, really. He would, after all, have to face H.G. on his return—H.G. Her grandfather. A man she had thought of as gentle and kind—very difficult to reconcile with the hard-eyed, steely-jawed tycoon of the old photographs. But people didn't change. It had been an act, a clever one, that had successfully fooled Mia. She felt her mouth tighten. 'He's probably worrying about Carlos returning— and having to tell him I've gone. It's no wonder he's quiet -'

'No, I do not think it is that.' Juanita looked down at her hands. 'How can I explain? It is as if something has changed within him -' 'But it's nothing to do with you,' Mia burst out. 'You're going back to the hospital—you mustn't let it worry you.' Juanita looked up. Her brown eyes were sad. 'I like Senor Cory. He is a good man. I like him very much. He is not happy.' Mia didn't want to know. She definitely didn't want to know. She stood up and went to the window and looked out at the distant mountains, starkly outlined against a star-filled sky. An inexpressible feeling of sadness overwhelmed her. 'I don't care,' she said, her back to Juanita. 'It's all his own fault.' She turned round slowly. 'He took the job. Nobody made him. Things don't always work out as people want them to, so it's just too bad for him -' 'Yes, I know.' Juanita stood and came over to the window. 'I know— of course, he is old enough to know what he is doing. I just felt I had to tell you, that was all.' She touched Mia's arm. 'I must go now. Please be happy here—and write to me very soon.' 'I will, I promise,' said Mia. 'We will not say goodbye—adios—but hasta la vista—see you again soon.' Juanita hugged Mia. 'Yes. Hasta la vista.' Then she was gone, melting out of the room like a shadow, and Mia was left to her thoughts. Very confusing thoughts. After a while, she began to unpack her clothes.

For the next couple of days Mia kept herself too busy to think about anything save her immediate tasks. She threw herself into the work with enthusiasm, cooking, helping serve meals, cleaning, mending clothes—and always, inevitably, accompanied by Roberto, of whom she was, to her dismay, finding herself becoming very fond. She spoke to Sister Maria about it one evening when they walked in the gardens, and told her of her concern for the boy. 'You see, I won't be here for ever —and what will happen when I go?' she said worriedly. 'Yet how can I be unkind to him? He's so affectionate.' 'I know.' Sister Maria nodded and looked at Mia with a sad smile. 'What can we do? He loves you.' She shrugged. 'It is one of those things, isn't it? We can only wait and see.' But it was not an answer to satisfy Mia. How could it? If she had money, there would be no problem. She would adopt him. And at that realisation she stopped in her tracks, and Sister Maria said: 'What is it, Mia?' But Mia didn't want to talk about it. 'Nothing,' she answered. Later that night, in her room, she went to the window and looked out at the clear dark sky. She had not lit her lamp, and her room was in darkness. If I had money, she thought. If—if -She took a deep breath. The solution was quite simple. She only had to go to her grandfather, and say she would live with him in America, on one condition - She gave a wry smile and put her hands on the windowsill. How easy it could be, in theory. Not in practice. For then he would have won. As he always did, always had. Everywhere was still. The children slept, and faintly from the distance, singing came from the chapel, and a moon was high in the sky, casting a ghostly sheen over the countryside. A wave of utter desolation washed over Mia, and in her mind came the image of Cory. Tall strong Cory, a half smile on his face as if he watched her, and Mia's heart ached with sudden longing. It was no use. She had

tried, oh, so hard, to put him away from her, to tell herself that she didn't love him— but it was in vain, she knew that. The ache was there, and it would not go away. But Cory had. He had said goodbye and walked off without a backward glance. Why? He was not a man to give up easily. But he had. Mia, looking out, saw a horse and rider in the distance, and knew that her eyes were playing tricks on her. For if she hadn't known better, she would have sworn the figure on the horse was Cory. She closed her eyes, then opened them, expecting the image to have vanished— but they were still there, more distant now, as the rider turned and galloped off into the distance. She watched until they were out of sight, and then turned away. Of course it wasn't Cory. Why should it be? But for an instant her heart had stopped. Just for a precious moment of time, as she had thought of him, longed for him, it seemed as if he had appeared. She looked at her room, barely visible, and wondered how long she would stay. A week, a month—longer? And then what? The future remained, dim and shadowy, and she closed her eyes in momentary despair. It was the present that counted. What was it H.G. had said, in his role as Carlos? One day at a time—we can only live one day at a time. And that was what she was going to do. She began to undress, in the dark, and then lay in bed. But she found sleep elusive. The next day was very hot. A dry wind had blown up from the desert, and fine sand covered everything, and the children were irritable. Mia's head ached, and she felt wretched from lack of sleep. 'You don't look well, Mia,' Sister Maria told her as they prepared the children's supper that evening. 'Why don't you go and rest? We'll manage, don't worry.'

Mia shook her head. She was better off working, she knew that, keeping herself busy, for she dreaded not sleeping again. The air was heavy, even though the sighing wind rattled the window-panes of the kitchen. It was not a cooling breeze, anything but. It made the air almost unbreatheable, as if grains of sand were everywhere, and Mia knew that it was equally uncomfortable for everyone else—but none of the nuns complained. So neither would she. 'Of course not,' she answered. 'You can look cheerful through it all—so can I,' and she smiled at Sister Maria, who responded with a laugh. 'As long as you're sure,' she said. 'You are, after all, a guest—and yet, I don't know how we'd manage without you.' Her words brought a warm glow to Mia, making her feel slightly better—for a while. But much later, as she lay in her darkened room, all the doubts and uncertainties came rushing back, and she felt' restless and completely wide awake. It was nearly midnight, and sleep was as far away as it had been at ten-thirty, when she had said goodnight to Sister Maria. It was no use. Mia slipped out of bed and went to the window. The wind had died down, and it was cooler, but distantly, thunder rumbled in the air, and the occasional distant flash of lightning told of a storm far away over the hills. She looked round, found her shorts and sweater, and quickly dressed. Then, so as not to wake anyone, she opened wide her window and climbed out. All was silent. The compound, so full of children during the day, stretched bleakly out, and the wooden buildings were dark and shadowed. Mia crept along towards the chapel. The door creaked open and she went in and sat down at the back, trying to clear her mind. Near the altar a solitary light burned, casting flickering shadows on walls and ceiling, and gradually the peace of the place enveloped her as she sat there unmoving. Her head was full of Gory. He never left her, not for one waking moment—and then not even in

her dreams. He was just there, however hard she tried to put him away from her. 'Where are you now, Cory?' she breathed, but only the soft echo of her whisper came back to answer her. She closed her eyes, and saw him again as she had the very first time, lying on the beach. From that moment on, her life was changed for ever—but she couldn't have guessed that then. Her only desire had been to help the stranger from the sea—and to find a way of escape. The images passed through her mind then of all that had happened since that fateful moment, and it seemed as if there was a certain inevitability about it all, a drawing together of threads, pulling her towards a special place—here. The thoughts were profound and disturbing, and she looked around her, puzzled, as if expecting Cory to walk in the door at any moment. She frowned, because it seemed almost as if he were here, as if she only had to call out 'No, stop it!' she told herself. She didn't want to stay in the chapel any longer. She had thought it would help, but it hadn't. She felt instead more restless than before, and put her hand to her head. I'm going crazy, she thought. Her headache had returned, and her forehead burned with fire, and she felt ill. Standing, she opened the door slowly and looked out at the silvery-shadowed compound, and to her right was the gate that was always closed at night, and all she had to do was climb over it and go for a long walk— then perhaps she would feel better. It was easy to climb. A huge, high, white-painted wooden gate that Mia scrambled up, and over, and jumped down the other side. For a moment she stood there taking stock of her surroundings. The track to the right that led straight to the village—and beyond it, the rancho. On all sides, the hills, suddenly and briefly lit by the far lightning— and quite beautiful in those odd moments, and all around her sand, and cactus, the odd shrubs—and more sand.

She was entirely alone. And nobody knew where she was. No one could see her. No one in the world. She would go for a long walk, and then she would be tired, and then she would sleep. She hoped. Mia set off 'walking, and it seemed as if Cory called her name, so that for a moment she stopped in her tracks and looked around her. But nothing moved. It was an eerie sensation, as if she had heard his voice—she mentally shook herself and set off walking again, and when she paused to look back, the compound, and the buildings surrounding it, were quite far away. Not too far. She was not going to go out of sight and get lost, but far enough so that she could feel a heady sense of freedom from everything. Walking steadily and slowly, counting the paces, concentrating on that because it was one way of keeping Cory out of her mind, she walked on, and on, her target a distant cactus that reared up like a giant with two grotesque heads, and enormous arms, and one thing had happened anyway. Her headache had nearly vanished. Then two things happened at once. There had just been a distant flash of lightning which made her blink. Then she turned round, just to see how far she was from her new home—and she saw a tongue of yellow flame leaping upwards—and she heard Cory shout her name loudly and clearly. For a confused moment, the two events were linked. And then Mia began to run, back towards the orphanage, running as swiftly as she could, her long legs flashing as she sped along, and along, and 'Mia!' The thunder of hooves reminded her of that other, startling thing—Cory's calling her, and she half turned to see a huge horse bearing down on her, and it was suddenly like a dreadful nightmare so that she screamed. The next second she was swept up in a pair of powerful arms, and she heard his voice, and now it was real, for he was holding her in his arms, and he said: 'For God's sake, hang on -' and they galloped along, she clinging for dear life, her hands round his warm body, and then—up, up, they were flying—- it must be a

dream - Then they were inside the compound, and she saw the closed gate—saw too the tongue of flame ahead, only now it had grown, and was spreading, and smoke obscured the sky and Cory pushed her to the ground and shouted: 'Ring the church bell as loud as you can—now!' And he was off the horse, and running towards the kitchen, but Mia didn't see any more for she turned and ran to the chapel, and into the small bell room, and began to tug the bell rope with all her strength so that the clangour echoed round her and filled the air. White-faced, desperate, she pulled and pulled until her arms felt as though they would drop off. She heard voices, confused, shouting, and she dropped the rope and ran out into the courtyard to see several of the nuns shepherding sleepy children from the various buildings. The air was filled with smoke and sparks, and the children were coughing and crying, terrified. A nun was dragging the gate open, helped by an older child, and Mia spared them only a brief glance as she sped towards the kitchen. Tongues of flame licked at the windows and smoke belched out of the door —and she knew Cory was inside. Taking a deep breath, she ran in, and collided with him as he turned to come out, smoke blackened, coughing. He wrenched at her arm. 'You—fool -' he croaked. 'Get out— there's nothing we can do here -' As he pushed her out, there was a roar, a final burst of flame, and the building went up like tinder. 'Roberto!' She grabbed his arm. 'Quickly, we must find him -' She ran towards the dormitory where the younger children slept, and already it was emptying. She saw Sister Maria carrying out a young child. 'Where's Roberto?' she called. 'I don't know -' Mia ran in, found a little girl wandering about dazed, and scooped her up under one arm. Sparks were falling everywhere. It was only a matter of time before all the wooden buildings were enveloped in flame. She pushed the crying child into a nun's arms and turned, groping her way further into the darkened room, and

heard Cory's voice. From behind her, he said: 'I'm with you. Guide out as many as you can -' and together, they did. But she didn't see Roberto. Was he already out? She didn't know. She couldn't take time to find out. She just had to make sure that the dormitory was completely, empty. Three nuns were with them, and it was like a shuttle service, passing along sleeping or sleepy children to outside, where they could be guided to the gate and out to safety. Mia could hardly breathe, but she had no fear. Because Cory was there, and with him, she was safe— would always be safe. The last child was out, and Cory took Mia's arm roughly. 'Quickly—outside -' he said, and began to half push, half carry her. And suddenly, with a flash of instinct she could not have explained, Mia knew. 'No!' she shouted. 'Roberto—he's here—somewhere -' 'They're all safe,' he said. 'For God's sake 'No!' Half choked, half screaming, she fought him. 'You go. I know he's here—somewhere -' and at that moment, they heard a muffled sob, a young child's sob, and the half indistinct word— 'Mia -' 'Roberto, I'm here—I'm here!' She turned and ran blindly through the smoke, and now she knew where to go, and she didn't care whether Cory came with her or not, because she was going to get Roberto out safely. He was crouching, sobbing, on the floor of the tiny washroom at the end of the dormitory, and Mia knelt and cradled him in her arms. 'I'm here, Roberto,' she said. 'You're safe,' and she picked him up, half

turned, felt herself falling, stumbling, crying out, blinded by smoke— choking—and then knew no more. * She was lying on the damp ground, and someone was pouring water over her. Mia opened her eyes, wondering where she was, and why anyone would waste precious water on her—and felt the rain lashing down. She sat up, and looked around her at a scene she would never forget as long as she lived. Groups of children were standing there, soaking in the rain, watching as the orphanage burned to the ground. Some were crying. The older ones held younger ones, and the nuns were soothing those that they could, and somewhere in the middle of a group stood Cory, holding Roberto, and talking to Sister Maria— looking as though he was in charge of the entire operation. In spite of everything, Mia smiled. Of course. What else would he be doing? Then it was as if she had called him, for the next moment he looked across at her, said something to Sister Maria, and strode over. Kneeling beside her, he put Roberto in her arms and said: Are you all right, Mia? 'Yes. Is everyone safe?' 'Yes. Everyone is accounted for.' She hugged Roberto who was soaking wet. 'What's going to happen now?' 'This rain might put out some of the fire—all we can *do is hope. My horse bolted when they opened the gate, otherwise I'd have gone back to the rancho for help. As it is'—he reached out and took her hand 'all we can do is wait here and keep the kids together. Are you sure you're all right?'

'I am now.' And she looked at him. Cory looked levelly back at Mia, and in that still moment, when it seemed as if there was no one else in the world, he said very quietly: 'We have a lot to talk about.' 'Yes, I know.' Roberto had fallen asleep on her knee. Cory's hand was warm and strong, covering hers. 'I've missed you,' he said. 'I've not been able to get you out of my mind.' 'No. I know.' 'How do you know?' The corner of his mouth quirked. 'Because it was the same for me. I even thought I saw you the other night -' she stopped, marvelling that rain could actually feel wonderful. 'You probably did. I've been riding out here every damned night—I must be mad.' But he was smiling, and his eyes were very gentle. 'This isn't the place for an intimate conversation,' he went on, 'but I don't really care. I said goodbye to you—I let you walk out of my life because it seemed the only thing to do. You hated me—I thought. You hated H.G.—and you wanted out of the whole mess. So I let you go. I was going to fight H.G. every inch of the way for you. Only it wasn't necessary.' 'What do you mean?' 'He came back from his trip, and I told him what I'd let you do. Then I waited for him to blow up. Only he didn't. He did something I'd never expected to see him do—he wept.' Cory looked at Mia, and gently stroked her cheek with his free hand. 'I guess—you'd made him into a human being -'

'But when I met him, and thought he was Carlos, he was gentle and kind -' she began. 'I know. Oh, he's changed a heck of a lot over the last few years, and that Carlos bit wasn't really an act— he had softened up—but then, after getting to know you, he realised something. I think that's one reason he went away—to think.' He paused. 'Do you want to know what I think has really happened to him?' 'Yes. Tell me.' 'He loves you. And in loving you, he's realised you can't force people to love you in return. And I think,' his voice went slower, 'I think now, for all his millions, he's just learned one of life's great lessons.' He gazed at Mia, 'and all his heart was in his eyes, so that she went warm. 'He wasn't going to try and make you come back. He was, in a week or so, going to offer you the chance to go to England and find those other relatives.' 'Oh. I see.' She closed her eyes, feeling the tears pricking the back of her eyelids. 'Only now—I don't think I want to go, after all.' She opened her eyes, and he was all blurred. 'And you'll never guess why.' 'Won't I? Try me. It's because you've found you're quite fond of the old goat after all.' 'That's part of it, yes,' she said slowly. Cory took a deep breath. 'And—there wouldn't be another reason, would there?' 'There could be.'

'I don't suppose it could have anything to do with the fact that I've been quite unable to eat or sleep these last few days because I've discovered I'm head over heels in love with you -' 'Well, it could,' she admitted. And her heart was bursting. 'Oh, Cory! I've not been able to stop thinking of you -' 'Please.' He looked round, but the sound of the relentless rain would have drowned out anything but the loudest noise, and they were all three so drenched that it was almost comical, and Mia, just didn't care. She had never felt so wonderful in her life. There was just one thing that had to be said... 'You're making me blush!' but he was grinning. 'I want to take Roberto with me when I leave here,' she said. There, she'd said it. 'Honey, you're leaving here tonight. There'll be nothing left. Even if this rain puts the fires out, this orphanage will be uninhabitable.' 'But where will everyone go?' she gasped. 'There's room at the rancho. Until we get this rebuilt.' It took a few seconds to sink in. 'Rebuilt? But how?' 'Honey, you have a very rich grandfather. This'll be peanuts to him.' He stared at her. 'Don't look so surprised. He'll do it—when I've talked to him.' Then he looked down at the sleepy child on her knee. 'And when we're married, we can adopt him legally. That's what you want, isn't it?' That didn't take so long to sink in. Mia smiled. 'How perfect!'

'You will marry me, won't you? And incidentally, we live on my money, not H.G.'s, I'd like to make that quite clear before we go any further.' 'Yes, sir,' she murmured. 'And don't pretend to be demure when you're not,' he said severely. 'It's not you. I like my Mia with a bit of fire -' he stopped, and they both looked at the smouldering ruins. 'I didn't mean -' 'I know what you mean, you idiot.' She pulled him towards her. 'Oh, I love you, Cory Galen, I really do— and I don't care who knows it -' Then he kissed her, and Roberto stirred in his sleep, and murmured, and they both began to laugh helplessly. From somewhere in the distance a car approached, but they never heard. Not until a ragged cheer went up from the assembled children, and then they both turned their heads to see H.G.'s car coming nearer and nearer, in the pouring rain.