and silent, its inhabitants still fast asleep. But, when she looked across at the Estoque, the man who had made such a big impression on her was standing on the deck—almost as though he was watching and waiting for her!
She hastened her steps, but the hurried beats of her heart took her by surprise. It was not a feeling she was used to. How could she feel so disturbed simply by looking at a man from this distance? What sort of power was it that he wielded over her?
She wore jeans this morning and trainers, and a thin T-shirt, because despite the time of day it was already very warm. She had dripped with perspiration during the night, as there was no air-conditioning in the room, and taken another shower this morning, but already again she was uncomfortably hot. Her hair was tied back in a pony-tail and she had not bothered with make-up. For one thing she had been in too much of a rush, for another she remembered Warwick’s words that he hated too much of it. If he liked her as she was, then she had no need to try and impress him.
He took her hand and helped her on board, and her body reacted instantly to his touch; but her first words were about Rebecca. She had had time to think during the night, to realise that she had been in danger of letting Warwick fill her mind to the exclusion of all else. Rebecca was the reason she was here; she must never lose sight of that.
He led her down into the saloon before answering, pouring her a cup of coffee from the pot that was keeping warm m the galley. ‘Milk and sugar?’
‘Just milk, please,’ she said impatiently. ‘Rebecca? Where is she? Is she still asleep?’
‘I’m afraid she never came back.’
‘Never came back?’ Libby felt the colour drain out of her face. ‘But that’s impossible; she must be here. Where is she if she’s not? Warwick, something must have happened to her!’
‘I’M sure there’s some perfectly good explanation,’ Warwick told Libby succinctly. ‘It was a pity you didn’t let your sister know you were coming out here. Surprises are all very well, but they can fall flat.’
‘Does she often stay out all night?’ Libby reminded him of her previously unanswered question.
‘I’m not Rebecca’s keeper, Libby. I’m merely her employer. And surely she’s at an age where she is free to do what she likes?’
‘She’s only eighteen.’
His brows lifted. ‘I thought she was older.’
‘She gives that impression,’ Libby rejoined drily. ‘You claim she’s always here to cook your breakfast. What time is that?’
‘About eight.’
‘And it’s almost that now,’ claimed Libby, glancing at her wristwatch. ‘She’s cutting it a bit fine, don’t you think?’
‘If for some reason she’s detained, she’ll send a message, I’m sure,’ he said quietly, but as the minutes ticked away they heard nothing, and as morning progressed into afternoon Libby began to get seriously worried.
‘I think we ought to contact the police,’ she said.
‘And what would we tell them?’ he asked reasonably. ‘It’s too soon, Libby. She’ll either turn up or be in touch. Whatever is detaining her must be out of her control.’
‘Was she happy working for you?’ asked Libby sharply. She felt so responsible for her sister. She hadn’t been keen on her leaving home in the first place. What if she’d got in with the wrong crowd? Who knew where she was or what she was doing? ‘Cooking and cleaning isn’t exactly the sort of thing Rebecca enjoys.’
His lips suddenly quirked. ‘For the first few days I thought I was being poisoned, but she learned quickly when I made her eat her own food. Yes, I would say she’s happy here. She certainly never complains.’
The thought of Warwick and Rebecca sitting and eating together disturbed Libby. It wasn’t the sort of relationship she had expected them to have. Had anything else happened between them? Was there something she did not know? ‘So why did you employ her in the first place?’ she asked with some asperity.
‘She was introduced by an acquaintance of mine,’ he told her. ‘He said she desperately needed a job with accommodation thrown in. Like a fool, I thought all women could cook. Nevertheless she pulled her weight, did whatever I asked of her, and was appropriately decorative about the place.’
Libby imagined this last was at least accurate. She could imagine Rebecca sunbathing in a minuscule bikini on the deck. Rebecca coming out of the shower with nothing but a towel between her and her modesty. Rebecca in all sorts of seductive poses. That was the sort of girl her sister was. But where was she now? And why wasn’t Warwick as worried as she?
‘Are you sure you don’t know where she is?’ she asked in sudden suspicion.
‘You think I wouldn’t tell you if I did?’ His tone was surprisingly sharp. ‘I’m as anxious to find your sister as you are.’
‘But not anxious to involve the police?’ she swiftly returned.
‘Simply because it’s too soon,’ he pointed out.
‘Can I have a look at my sister’s room?’ He was right, but what else could they do? How long did he expect her to wait before they did anything?
‘Of course; it’s down here.’ A short flight of steps led through the galley and dinette, a cursory glance revealing an inset microwave oven and refrigerator, everywhere spotlessly clean. Between the galley and dining area a door led into the forecabin, which was much larger than she had expected, with a double bed and plenty of hanging space and cupboards, and behind another door was a shower-room.
Libby looked into the wardrobe, and was surprised by the number of new dresses Rebecca had bought in the short time she’d been working for Warwick. He either paid her very well or…The alternative did not bear thinking about.
‘It doesn’t look as though she was planning not to come back,’ commented Warwick. He was standing close behind her, his hands on her shoulders, his breath warm on her cheek. Libby felt her senses tingle, but concern for her sister had to take precedence.
She pulled away from him. ‘I still think there is something terribly wrong.’
He shrugged. ‘If it will make you happy I’ll go and have a word with the policia, even though I think it’s premature. Your sister has always given the impression that she’s more than capable of looking after herself.’
‘But she wouldn’t just disappear without leaving word,’ Libby insisted. ‘Rebecca might have her faults, but she wouldn’t do that. There is something wrong, I know there is.’
She hurried up the steps to the saloon, but when she would have left the boat Warwick put a detaining hand on her arm. ‘I’ll go alone. You wouldn’t want to miss Rebecca if she turns up, would you?’
‘Of course not.’
‘I won’t be long,’ he promised,
