room was on the floor below, and that he would meet her in the bar for a drink before dinner.
Emma showered, changed into a sleeveless coral chiffon gown which she had made herself for a dance before Christmas, smoothed her dark hair and descended the stairs in high-heeled white sandals. She was glad she had brought the dress with her. Christopher was wearing a white dinner jacket and he looked approvingly at her as she came in.
‘Did I tell you that I like the way you dress?’ he asked, as she sipped a glass of some strange concoction which he had provided, the top of which was covered with various slices of different fruit.
She looked at him over the rim. ‘Mr. Thorne, you're flirting again!'
‘No, I'm not. I mean it.’ He grinned. ‘And the name's Chris, in case you forget.'
‘I haven't forgotten,’ she replied, and accepted a cigarette. ‘It's been a wonderful day. Thank you.'
‘Don't thank me, I should be thanking you,’ he returned. ‘No matter what you may think, I don't find every woman I meet as attractive as you, Emma.'
‘Thank you, again.’ Emma glanced away, not wanting him to think she had any intentions of considering this a serious declaration. No matter how likeable he was, and he was indeed very likeable, Emma knew she could never become closely associated with any relation of Damon's.
After dinner, there was dancing in the ballroom to a rhythmic all-Negro band. The music was streamlined and seductive, and no one could have failed to find their pulses moved by the beat.
Emma danced with Christopher several times, and twice two older men approached her and she danced with them, much to Christopher's annoyance. But she had to admit she liked dancing with him best for he was a good dancer, and his hands were cool and not hot and sweaty. He held her close, and she could feel his breath on her neck and the faint odour of his after-shave lotion was pleasant to her nose.
‘You dance well,’ he said once, looking down at her.
‘Well, it's not from practice,’ she said, smiling. ‘I don't attend many dances back home.'
Patently, he didn't believe her, and she wondered what he would say if she told him the truth about her relationship with Damon. Obviously their association had been forgotten by his family. After all, they had never met her; she was only a name to them, and that was a long time ago.
At eleven-thirty they stood on the terrace in the light from the hall behind them. It was a wonderful evening. The moon hung crazily in a sky as blue as sapphire velvet, while Emma thought she had never seen so many stars.
‘Let's take a Surrey and tour the town at night,’ said Christopher, turning towards her eagerly.
Emma hesitated, and then shook her head. ‘I don't think we'd better. It's getting late, and tomorrow is going to be quite a day for me. I think I'll go to bed, if you don't mind.'
Christopher pulled a face. ‘Aw, Emma, that means you're going whether I mind or not.’ He shrugged, and then capitulated. ‘All right. I'll take you to your room.'
‘That's not necessary,’ she replied.
‘I know it's not. But I'm going to do it all the same,’ he retorted.
In the elevator, he smiled at her expression. ‘Don't worry. I don't expect to come in. I just want to see you get there safely. There might be some dubious types roaming the corridors.'
Emma giggled. ‘Honestly, Chris!'
At her door, he put a hand on either side of her as she leant against the doorpost. ‘You have enjoyed yourself, haven't you?'
‘Enormously,’ nodded Emma, smiling.
‘Good. Good night, Emma.’ He bent his head and put his mouth to hers. The touch of his lips was cool and pleasant, and Emma responded almost involuntarily. His mouth hardened, and then he drew back. He was breathing rather faster, and he looked a little pale. ‘I'll go,’ he murmured huskily, and squeezing her fingers he walked away along the corridor.
Emma watched him go feeling a pleasant sensation of tiredness combined with a kind of contentment. Her first day in the islands had been a memorable one. Christopher was one of the nicest men she had ever met, and she might, she just might, be going to enjoy her stay here.
SAINTE DOMINIQUE’S bay was a small, peaceful island, situated on the Windward side of the Abaco Cays. That morning, as their launch cruised its way towards their destination, Emma had seen dozens of tiny islands and atolls, sprouting out of the sea. She had spent the journey leaning on the rail enthralled with her surroundings. Some of the islands were covered with houses and resembled villages set in water instead of amongst fields. Others were quite deserted, their white beaches seemingly untrodden by human foot.
It was another wonderfully clear day, and the early morning mist had dissipated leaving a vista of blue sea and sky as far as the eye could see. Now that she was nearing her destination, Emma was beginning to feel twinges of nervousness. It was all very well for Chris to aver that she would receive a very warm welcome, but he was not going to be staying, he would be returning to Sainte Catherine almost immediately, and she would be left alone with strangers.
The launch could not go right in because of the shallowness of the water, so Christopher and the boatman, a dark-skinned Negro, pulled on thigh-length waders and Christopher carried Emma up on to the sand. The boatman brought her cases, and Christopher took charge of them.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘This way. I should have thought the reliable Miss Meredith would have had Annabel on the beach to meet you.'
Emma sighed, and followed him up the incline and through a belt of palm trees. They came upon a clearing through the trees where several thatched huts indicated that this was the native village, where the servants who worked at the house were housed.
Beyond the village, another clump of trees hid the homestead itself.
Damon Thorne's house was low and modern, without having the type of structure which would be out of place on an island like this. Shutters were bolted back from windows which stood wide to the morning air, while climbing plants in a glory of colour overhung the walls. The gardens in front of the house were a riot of colour also, and Emma recognized oleanders and hibiscus, as well as more common varieties such as roses and nasturtiums. Wide, shallow steps led up to white double doors which at present were standing open, and Christopher glanced at Emma to make sure she was behind him before mounting the steps and waiting for her by the door.
‘Go on,’ he said, prodding her into the hall. ‘No one's going to bite you.'
The hall was cool with a tiled floor and white panelled walls. Doors led off to the various regions of the house while a horseshoe staircase drew attention to a white-balustraded gallery.
Immediately at their entrance, a tall, slim woman came walking towards them down this beautiful staircase, her eyes cool and aloof, appraising Emma.
Christopher stood down Emma's suitcases, and grinned. ‘Well, well! If it isn't the inestimable Louisa, herself. How are you, my old love?'
Louisa
