was wry.
Paige laughed. ‘Not since jet planes were invented, surely? I thought the worst part of the journey was actually the ferry trip from Sainte Marie,’ she added, wrinkling her nose. ‘I’m not a brilliant sailor, so I’m not looking forward to the return journey.’
Brad stared at her. ‘You mean you didn’t use Hilaire? Then you must. He runs the local air taxi service, which is about as much as our tiny airfield can cope with. I’ll call him now.’ He rose and went over to his desk. ‘What time is your flight? He’ll get you there with time to spare.’
‘Oh, please,’ Paige said, swift alarm rising inside her at the prospect of further damage to her credit card. ‘There’s no need—really. I’ve got my ferry ticket and—’
‘But you’ll be much happier with Hilaire,’ Brad interrupted firmly, punching in the numbers. ‘You won’t stay and let me show you a good time—or give you a job—so please let me do this small thing for you. When does your plane leave?’
She told him reluctantly. She didn’t wish to be beholden to him, but sometimes it was easier just to give in gracefully rather than go on with an argument she suspected she wouldn’t win.
The trouble is, she thought ruefully, I’m not used to receiving kindnesses.
The Harrington clan on the whole tended to be takers rather than givers. And Nick …
Well, Nick gave nothing, she thought, as sudden unwelcome pain twisted inside her.
‘That’s all arranged,’ Brad said cheerfully, replacing the receiver. ‘I’ll send my car for you at noon to take you to the airstrip.’ He studied her, frowning. ‘Are you all right? Have I been putting on too much pressure? I don’t mean to.’
‘No,’ Paige assured him quickly. ‘Everything’s fine. I—I’m very grateful—really.’ She stood up. ‘Jack and Angie will be wondering where we’ve got to. Maybe we should join them.’
‘Of course,’ he said instantly. ‘I’m being selfish. It’s just so good to have you to myself for a little while.’ He came across to her and put his hands gently on her shoulders. ‘May I say goodbye now—in private?’
She smiled fleetingly, muttered something acquiescent as he bent towards her. His lips were warm and firm. The kiss was pleasant and not unduly prolonged.
‘Well,’ Brad said, as he let her go. ‘It’s a start.’
No, Paige thought with regret. It’s not.
She wished so much that it could be otherwise. That his kiss had lit some spark that would have prompted her to accede to his urging and stay. Explore a relationship with him, maybe become half of a couple.
Jack and Angie would have been so pleased—and so smug, she reminded herself wryly.
But it wasn’t to be, and that was all there was to it.
‘How did it go?’ Angie whispered as Paige sat down beside her.
‘He’s really sweet,’ Paige temporised.
‘But you’re still going back tomorrow.’ Angie’s face fell. ‘Jack said you would.’
‘He has wisdom beyond his years.’ Paige squeezed her friend’s arm affectionately. ‘But I’ll be back to stay some other time, if you’ll have me.’
She glanced around her. The tables, set with pristine white linen and gleaming silverware, were stationed round the edge of a large dance floor. The band, a four-piece combination, were playing quietly, but no one was dancing yet, although all the tables were fully occupied. Soft-footed waiters were moving among the diners, and there was a hum of conversation and laughter punctuated by the popping of corks.
Coloured lights were festooned across the thatched roof, and each table also had a candle burning in a pretty glass shade, surrounded by a garland of bright flowers.
‘It’s really lovely here,’ Paige commented. ‘And very crowded. I thought this was the off season.’
‘A couple of big yachts docked in the marina this morning. Jack says it’s Alain Froyat, who owns a string of European magazines, and Kel Drake, the film producer.’ Angie shrugged. ‘Apparently there’s been a weather warning, so they’ve decided to play it safe. And their guests have all come ashore to dine and lose some of their accumulated wealth in Brad’s casino.’
‘A weather warning?’ Paige frowned. ‘Do you mean a hurricane?’
‘Oh, it probably won’t be that bad. But we can get the odd tropical storm at this time of year.’ She pursed her lips. ‘And that might delay your ferry.’
‘That’s not a problem.’ Paige’s tone was rueful. ‘Apparently I’m going to Sainte Marie in style—courtesy of Brad, and someone called Hilaire.’
‘Holy smoke,’ said Angie. ‘I’m impressed. Hilaire must have had to toss out the odd millionaire to make room for you.’
Their table was in the corner of the restaurant nearest the beach, to take advantage of the breeze from the sea. Only there didn’t seem to be one. The air was very warm, and very still. In fact it had almost a brooding quality, Paige thought, watching the reflection of the moon on the calm water. Maybe the skippers on those yachts had known what they were doing when they’d looked for a secure haven. For a moment she was aware of a faint shiver of uneasiness, but dismissed it. She would be halfway home by the time bad weather struck, she told herself resolutely. If indeed it did.
The food was delicious—pumpkin soup followed by red snapper, and a spicy chicken dish served with fragrant rice, all of it accompanied by vintage wines. Dessert was slices of fresh pineapple marinated in liqueur, and a wonderful home-made coconut ice cream.
Brad was an attentive host, keeping the conversation general and light-hearted, and, to Paige’s relief, making no further comment about her imminent departure.
Now that the pressure was off, it was turning into a really enjoyable evening, she decided, as coffee and brandy were served.
The band was playing something soft and dreamy, and Jack and Angie got up to dance. Paige watched them slowly circling the floor in each other’s arms, Jack smiling adoringly into his wife’s eyes and Angie lifting her hand to stroke his cheek.
They’ve got it right, Paige thought, suppressing a pang of envy so fierce it was almost painful.
‘Shall we join them?’
Paige started. Brad was watching her enquiringly, his brow slightly furrowed.
She sent him a bright smile. ‘Why not?’
He was a good dancer, holding her lightly and not too closely. As they moved he exchanged greetings with the people at the tables they passed, or acknowledged someone’s presence with a smile and a nod.
‘You’re good at this,’ she told him.
His grin was rueful. ‘I’m in business, and the rich can be touchy. You can’t afford to ignore anyone. And when someone like Froyat hits town you’ve no idea who might be travelling with him, so it can
