responsible men, who wanted to keep their jobs. He knew they could be relied on to enjoy themselves without getting into trouble. The men gave a cheer and went off to get ready to go ashore. Even the cook got the evening off.
Afterwards, Oliver came over to Dyan. ‘Have you been to Antigua before?’
‘Oh, yes, several times.’
‘Then perhaps you know somewhere good where we can eat?’ He gave her one of his slow smiles. ‘That’s if you’ll have dinner with me, of course?’
Dyan felt her heart flutter a little, but she said offhandedly, ‘Thanks. We may as well keep each other company, I suppose.’
An amused glint came into Oliver’s eyes as he said smoothly, ‘Of course.’
Dyan went to change, unable to stop the zing of excitement bubbling in her veins. She brushed her hair into a loose mane around her head, put on make-up, and a cream dress that accentuated her tan and clung in all the right places. Looking at herself critically in the mirror, Dyan saw that she was looking her best, and deliberately stifled mental reminders that she wasn’t out to encourage Oliver. Well, tonight was time out; tomorrow she would be back to normal again.
Oliver was waiting for her in the rest-room, wearing a white dinner-jacket and dark trousers, smart but casual clothes. He turned round as she came in and his eyes widened very satisfactorily. ‘You look—stunning,’ he said as he let out his breath. Then he grinned. ‘You ought to be a fashion model. No one in the world would ever think that you’re in charge of “this expedition, this ship and these men”.’
‘Aren’t you ever going to let me forget that?’ she asked, laughing.
‘Well, I certainly won’t.’ He paused and added teasingly, ‘And one day maybe I’ll tell you why.’
Intrigued, she immediately became terribly feminine, giving him a wide-eyed look. ‘Tell me now,’ she coaxed.
Taking her hand, Oliver laughed. ‘Oh, no. Come on, let’s go ashore.’
Dyan reported to Russ first, telling him where she could be found in case of emergency, noting that the three crewmen who had come aboard that day were standing watch.
They took a cab to a nightclub that served some of the best West Indian food in the Caribbean. It was an unusual place, with a straw roof and rows of tables in tiers above a dance-floor that looked too big for the room. A steel band played while the customers ate; music to dance to between courses. They had a couple of piña coladas served in tall glasses with fruit falling out the sides while Dyan described the dishes on the menu for Oliver. He made several witty, outrageous, comments about the dishes which made her laugh, and she suddenly felt intensely happy.
Oliver, too, seemed much more relaxed, and he deliberately set out to amuse and entertain her. She had thought him good company before, but here he seemed to come into his own, to be the kind of companion a girl dreamed about. And it became clear why when he leaned across the table after they’d given their order, and took her hand in his as he said, ‘This is the first time I’ve ever really been alone with you. There are always so many other people around on board the ship.’
‘Yes, I suppose there are,’ Dyan agreed lightly, trying to decide whether or not to take her hand away.
‘Mostly because you seem to invite people to join us,’ Oliver said, watching her.
She didn’t try to deny it, but said, ‘Do you mind?’
‘Yes. They cramp my style.’
Her eyes came up to meet his at that. ‘Oh! Really?’ she said in surprise, not quite knowing how to take it.
His mouth curved in amusement. It was a very sexy mouth, now she came to think about it. ‘Really,’ he assured her gravely.
She took her hand away. ‘I suppose you’ve had plenty of practice, back in London,’ she said on an offhand note.
‘Ah.’ Oliver leant back in his chair. ‘I think we’ve reached the moment when you’re supposed to say, “But I know nothing about you”.’ He imitated a girlish voice, overdoing it, making her give a gurgle of laughter.
‘Am I? I didn’t realise we’d reached that moment.’ The laughter was still in her eyes but there was a question in her voice.
‘Oh, yes, I think so.’ He gave her one of his laconic smiles. ‘Now, where shall I begin? I’m thirty-two. Educated and civilised at a public school, knocked into shape and a career at university—Cambridge in my case. The only son of terribly respectable parents…’ His voice was flippant, but now his eyes settled on her face. ‘And I’m what you might call experienced, but definitely heart-free.’
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