I can assure you that this definitely isn’t a personal vendetta,’ he’d assured her when she had tentatively raised the subject. ‘My bust-up with Jack is now ancient history, and I certainly don’t bear him any ill will. In fact, as it turns out, he did me a considerable favour. I’ve had far more success as a property developer than I ever would have had as a theatrical agent. What we’re talking about here is purely a business proposition. I’ve got some empty office space which needs filling, and from all I hear you’re more than capable of running a successful agency.
‘However,’ he’d continued, with a slightly self-conscious bark of laughter, ‘I must admit that I do sometimes miss the buzz I used to get from meeting so many famous and interesting people. And it might be fun to have a small stake in the business once again. However, it’s nonsense to think that Jack Wilder, with so many highly successful clients on his books, is likely to care about my involvement, one way or another,’ Donald had added firmly.
Despite his reassuring words, Laura hadn’t been entirely convinced, feeling obliged—however reluctantly—to turn down what was clearly the offer of a lifetime. Because it was one thing for her to run a small theatrical agency from home, or from a garret in Soho, neither of which was likely to trouble her ex-employer, but she was quite certain that he’d be extremely annoyed if, as Donald had proposed, she began operating from a large and glamorous business suite directly beneath his own office. And, if she was so unprincipled as to pinch any of his clients, Jack wouldn’t just be extremely annoyed—he’d go completely bananas!
Sinking down onto a sofa, Laura indulged herself for a moment in the delicious daydream of causing the maximum number of headaches for her ex-boss, before she eventually pulled herself together. She might be furiously angry with Jack—but even if he had behaved badly there was absolutely no excuse for her to do so. A good job will turn up soon; you’ve just got to be patient, she told herself firmly, then decided to have a shower and wash her hair.
Unfortunately, she was only too well aware that being patient wasn’t one of her strong points. And the normally refreshing, fine needle spray of hot water did nothing to soothe her battered spirits, nor ease her weary body. Over the past few weeks, it had seemed as though she’d barely had any sleep, with Jack’s tall, dark figure striding arrogantly through her restless dreams. Even now she couldn’t seem to prevent herself from recalling, in vivid detail, every moment of those few short days spent alone with Jack in the South Pacific.
She’d had no idea what lay ahead of her when they’d landed at Papeete Airport. It had been her first visit to the Polynesian Islands, and she hadn’t realised just how exhausting the hot and humid atmosphere would prove to be. While she and Jack had tried to deal with the problems of their client, Craig Jordan, it hadn’t taken them long to discover that the set of Mutiny on the Bounty was definitely not a happy ship.
Not only had Craig been at loggerheads with the director, principally over his interpretation of the part of Fletcher Christian—the leader of the mutineers—but the producer had been constantly on the phone to the financiers in New York, who had been threatening to withdraw backing from a production which was clearly going over budget. To make matters worse, the actor playing Captain Bligh had been carted off to hospital with a grumbling appendix, the make-up department had been maintaining a ‘go slow’ over difficult working conditions, and the scriptwriters had appeared to be permanently drunk.
Quickly sorting out his client’s difficulties—which had mainly consisted of telling Craig to forget his new-found enthusiasm for method acting and to concentrate on earning his two-million-dollar fee—Jack had also somehow managed to pour soothing oil over most of the other problems currently bedevilling the production.
‘I don’t know how you do it,’ she told him at the end of the week as they sat out on the terrace of their hotel, sipping gin slings as they watched the tropical sun sink slowly down beneath the horizon. Gazing at Jack’s tall, broad-shouldered figure clothed in a crisp white short-sleeved open-necked shirt and trim navy shorts, Laura found herself envying the way that he always managed to look so cool and unruffled—in sharp contrast to herself, the scruffy film crew and the heavily costumed actors, all visibly wilting in the steamy heat.
‘When we arrived, I felt certain that it wouldn’t be long before there was going to be a real mutiny,’ she continued. ‘But now that the writers have decided to lay off the booze, and everyone else has calmed down, the only problem you haven’t yet solved seems to be the question of extra finance to complete the film.’
‘I may be able to sort out some simple problems but I’m afraid I can’t perform miracles!’ he laughed, before ordering more drinks from a passing waiter.
Continuing to discuss various aspects of the troubled production, which, in her view at least, was destined to be a total flop at the box office, she was surprised when he suddenly announced that it was time they both had a break.
‘A break...?’ She frowned at him in puzzlement.
He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Frankly, there’s not much more we can do here—although Craig has asked me to let you stay on for another week, just in case any further problems should arise. Hey, relax!’ he added with a grin as she groaned and pulled a face. ‘I know looking after Craig isn’t easy—but it’s hardly a fate worse than death!’
‘Maybe not, but it comes pretty close,’ Laura grumbled, dreading having to cope with the neurotic, highly strung film star, who genuinely believed that he was totally irresistible to women. ‘Do I really have to stay on here?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid you do,’ Jack told her firmly, explaining that he was returning to London after the weekend for an important meeting. However, with a few days in hand, he’d decided, he went on to tell her, to accept an invitation from the producer of the film, who’d arranged a trip to an archipelago of tiny atolls in the Pacific Ocean, only ninety minutes away by air from Tahiti.
‘Quite frankly, Laura,’ he added, ‘for the past week we’ve been forced to listen to enough moaning and whining to last a lifetime! So it will do us both good to get away for a few days.’
‘You mean...the invitation includes me as well?’
‘Well, I was hardly planning to leave you behind,’ he drawled sardonically. ‘Unless, of course, you simply hate the idea of sitting beneath shady palm trees, gazing out over a blue lagoon—and savouring the total peace and quiet?’
‘It sounds like heaven,’ she agreed with a wistful sigh. ‘But—’
‘Good, that’s settled,’ he said firmly as he rose to his feet. ‘I’m going to be tied up with business calls for the rest of this evening, but I’ve arranged for us to be collected from the hotel first thing tomorrow morning. By the way, don’t forget to pack your bikini,’ he added, gently brushing her cheek with his finger before turning to stride away.
Left alone on the terrace, Laura’s mind was filled by a mass of confusing emotions as she gazed blindly out over the ocean, now barely visible in the gathering darkness. Back in London, frantically busy during working hours with the phone going non-stop, she normally had no trouble in stifling her feelings for Jack. But she wasn’t at all sure that this weekend break was a good idea. Especially when merely the soft, warm touch of Jack’s hand on her face could leave her feeling almost sick with hunger and desire.
It had, of course, been nothing more than a careless, friendly gesture. But there didn’t seem to be anything she could do about the almost overwhelming, deep longing to find herself clasped within his strong embrace.
Desperately trying to pull herself together,
