can only find fulfilment in the arms of some man, and before you take that the wrong way-'
'I wouldn't dream of doing that, either,' he said with his lips quirking, 'but before this
Davina stared at his tall frame with narrowed, frustrated eyes as he walked away, and counted to ten beneath her breath.
They had no further conversation that evening, beyond the basics, and she retired to her chalet feeling thankful but curiously wrought-up. It took a while to fall asleep.
'Have the rest of the day off, Davina.'
It was nine-thirty in the morning, a beautiful cloudless morning with sunlight sparkling on the sea.
'Oh, that's not-'
'Look, just do it,' Steve Warwick said irritably as he stood in the kitchen doorway juggling his car-keys. It had been obvious from their first encounter of the day at breakfast that he was not in a good mood-at least, he'd been terse and preoccupied. 'You might not get another opportunity,' he continued, 'and from the look of the place it's all hunkydory.' He looked around, but not as if his clean, gleaming home gave him much pleasure. 'I'm eating out tonight, anyway.'
'Well…'
'And lunching out,' he said sardonically and added, 'If you would care to have a precise timetable of my movements today, I'm also-'
'Don't bother,' Davina said shortly and turned away to hide the anger in her eyes.
'It is what you wanted to know yesterday, however,' he said cuttingly.
She swung back to him, her violet eyes cool and ironic now, as she said, 'Only in the interests of doing my job, Mr Warwick. You could go to…the moon today, for all I care.'
'And you can go to hell too, Mrs Hastings, which is what you really wished for me,' he replied and walked away leaving Davina with her mouth open for two reasons. Because he was right; she had been sorely tempted to tell him to go to a hotter nether region and because it was unbelievable how things had a habit of boiling up between them…
Not, she thought, as she sat down at the kitchen table rather suddenly, that I could be accused of starting the hostilities today. It's really no wonder he hasn't married, he's got to be the most temperamental man, it surely can't just be me that arouses this reaction? Can it?
She stared at nothing for about two minutes, then shook herself and tried to direct her thoughts elsewhere- such as what she was going to do with the day. And she remembered a little booklet she'd found in her chalet called
Which was how, half an hour later with some sandwiches, a drink and her camera packed into a back-pack, she embarked on the Goat House walk up Mount Lidgbird. She'd chosen it because it was described as the next best thing to climbing Mount Gower, which you couldn't do without a guide, and because it sounded too taxing for an eight-year-old. Halfway up, she saw that they were right. It was very steep, the path was very narrow and littered with roots, it was slightly slippery from the rain of two days ago and, because of the dense foliage and cover, she felt almost as if she were exploring some Amazonian rain forest. It was difficult to find anywhere to stand her tripod, so rough was the terrain, but anyway the lack of light was a problem so she contented herself with simply getting to the top.
But once out of the forest, with the grey, bare, basalt upper cliffs of Mount Lidgbird before her, it became intensely worth the effort. She stopped for lunch beneath those eerie cliffs, perched on a clump of grass at an acute angle and admired the northward view of Lord Howe as it lay literally at her feet. The crescent-shaped lagoon side of the island with its turquoise water towards Malabar and Mount Eliza and the rocky, bay-studded eastern side. She could pick out Steve Warwick's house and the airstrip and Intermediate and Transit Hills in between. She could see birds wheeling over the wrinkled blue of the ocean and hear them calling.
She consulted her rambler's guide before making the final assault on the actual Goat House cave and then climbed and edged and hung on by her finger nails until she made it. She discovered the view was even better from the shallow cave in the cliffside but the stench of goat manure was rather overpowering, although there was not a goat to be seen. She stopped to take some photos before edging round on a tiny path with a sheer drop beneath her until she gasped with sheer delight as Ball's Pyramid to the south-east came into view, floating just like a storybook castle in a sea of pale blue shimmering ocean.
It then became necessary to find a niche where she could sit in some comfort and get her tripod set securely. That done, not exactly comfortably but the best she could manage, she lost herself in trying to capture the marvellous spectacle spread out before her. And when she'd finally filmed enough of Ball's Pyramid and the western side of Lord Howe and the birds wheeling and patrolling the cliffs, she consulted her guide again and turned her attention to some of the plants only found at this altitude like the mountain rose and bush orchid, the island apple and pumpkin tree, most of which were sturdy, twiggy and squat as befitted their station in life-clinging to the side of an exposed mountain.
She started to inch her way back at last, feeling a glorious sense of adventure, space and fulfilment-to be greeted by a sight that made it all flee rather suddenly. Dark clouds coming from the west that looked set to deposit heavy rain on the island.
She swore beneath her breath. The path had been tortuous, steep and slippery enough on the way up; it would be impossible in pouring rain…
But that was what happened. A little less than halfway down the rain came, the already limited light was further reduced and the path became a ribbon of mud. I'll get lost, she thought in some panic. At
She took some deep breaths and looked around at the dark, silent, dripping jungle. Even in full daylight, such as it had been on the way up, the path itself wasn't well defined and she'd had to depend on the red arrows nailed to trees or the splotches of red paint on their trunks that were guide marks-now she couldn't even see them. She closed her eyes, then suddenly remembered she always carried a torch in her camera-bag, so she fished it out, felt slightly comforted by its yellow beam-and told herself with gritted teeth that she
She did, but it took her nearly four hours, which was double the time it had taken her to get up, and when she finally came to the end of the walk and out into blessed flat open only about a quarter of a mile from the house, she was exhausted, aching in every muscle, limping, sodden and looking rather like a chocolate soldier. It was half-past six, she saw as she forced herself to go on-if she stopped she might stay stopped, she thought. But hopefully I'll avoid my employer, she also thought; he'll probably be gone by now…
He wasn't. As she limped up the drive she was bathed in a pair of headlights-Steve Warwick driving down it in the Land Rover.
He pulled up abruptly and jumped down without turning the lights off.
Davina halted in her tracks and sighed heavily. It was still raining.
He said reverently, stopping a foot in front of her, 'Holy mackerel! Is that really you, Mrs Hastings?'
She gritted her teeth. 'It is indeed, Mr Warwick, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't say another word!'
'Right.' That was all he said but, although he retraced his steps to the Land Rover, it was only to turn the lights off, then he loped towards her again and quite silently picked her up, ignoring the discomfort of her back-pack to both him and her, and headed for the house with her in his arms. Davina gasped. 'What are you doing?' She felt his chest jolt and knew it was with laughter. 'Am I allowed to speak?' he queried.
'I'm going to deposit you in the laundry where you can strip your clothes off with impunity and make use of the shower there to get all the mud off yourself without worrying about fouling up any of your impeccable bathrooms, then I shall convey you to your chalet where we can check you out for any damage. Any queries?'
Davina bit her lip because it was exactly the course of action she'd planned. The shower recess in the laundry had obviously been put there for these kinds of occasions. But she said, 'You don't have to…have anything to do with it, Mr Warwick, however. I'm not significantly damaged, only a bit stiff and sore-'
'Well, Davina,' he broke in, 'I'm afraid you're just going to have to accept my having something to do with it.
