A Masterful Man

CHAPTER THREE

'I always say to people that Mr Warwick is a lovely, lovely man. I know! I know he can be a bit hard to handle sometimes, but he's really dependable.'

Davina drew a deep breath and stared a little helplessly at Steve Warwick's cleaning lady, who resembled nothing so much as a talking, walking beach ball, from her round red face to her round, brightly clad figure. 'Well, I wouldn't know yet,' she murmured.

'Take it from me, luv,' Maeve confided. She had not, in fact, stopped talking since they'd met an hour ago. 'Now, is there any china you'd like me to get out and dust off? Mrs Warwick-that's his grandmother-she's got an eye like an eagle. She could see a speck of dust on them rafters.' Maeve looked upwards and pointed. 'So-'

'No, no thank you,' Davina said hastily and looked around a little wildly. 'Uh-oh, yes, I'd like their bathrooms to be polished up if you wouldn't mind, Maeve. Then perhaps you could start the ironing. I've aired some sheets for them on the line, I'd like them to go through the Elna Press.'

'Certainly!' Maeve said with a wide smile. 'I love that machine. Takes an awful lot of the slog out of ironing. See what I mean about him, Davina? Mr Warwick? It'd be a lucky wife who got him; there's not a thing to make housekeeping easier he hasn't thought of!' And with this further paean of praise she rolled upstairs with bucket and mop and an assortment of cleaning agents.

Davina breathed a sigh of relief and made herself a cup of coffee. She also darted a barbed thought at Maeve's Mr Warwick who could have warned her beyond simply wishing her good luck, she felt-added to all the other things she felt about him. But, as the day wore on, she got more used to Maeve's ways and found that as long as she wasn't given anything too delicate to do, she was a tower of strength. She even cleaned and shone the barbecue which had been neglected since its last use with vigour and much good will.

All the same, when she left at three o'clock, the peace and silence was like a blessing. Davina walked around the house and decided it was nearly perfect and also decided that she was hot, it was a beautiful day, and she'd like nothing more than a swim. So she put her togs on beneath short white shorts and a shirt, stowed a beach towel in the carrier of the bike she chose, donned a helmet and set off towards Blinky Beach.

It was sheer magic pedalling through the golden afternoon with green, green grassy fields leading down towards the lagoon on one side and wooded hills rising on the other. She passed a dell of agapanthas and had to stop and simply gaze at their blue and white heads tossing gently in the breeze. She also couldn't help but feel glad that Steve Warwick had chosen the almost deserted southern end of the island for his house because the feeling of space and aloneness didn't disturb her at all now.

Past the airport she discovered a swamp full of bird-life alongside a paddock of contented cows and she made two resolutions: never to leave home without her camera again, and to buy a book so that she'd be able to identify all the birds.

There was the inevitable bike rack at the bottom of the steps that led over the grassy slope to Blinkys, with several bikes in it and she added hers to it with a slight smile. The beach, she discovered, was perfect. A long crescent of fine sand beneath the almost limitless blue sky, bordered at each end by rocky outcrops and with a decent surf rolling in. The few people on it looked tiny and insignificant and she wasted no time.

The water was delicious, cold and bracing at first but, once you were in, marvellously refreshing. She was a good swimmer and enjoyed surfing and she must have spent half an hour playing in and under the waves before she caught a roller back to the beach, and stood up with water cascading off her and wiping it out of her eyes to come face to face with Steve Warwick.

'Why, Davina.' His hazel eyes laughed at her. 'I thought it might be you!'

She took in, in one swift look, his bare chest, his black board-shorts, the freckles on his arms and legs, his lean, hard physique, and said the first thing that came to mind, 'What are you doing here?'

'The same as you, my lovely mermaid, the same as you,' he drawled, but there was nothing swift in the way his gaze lingered on her figure beneath her pink swimsuit and he smiled as his eyes met hers again. 'I've come to cool off in other words. I often do on the way home in the afternoon. Although, you're looking at me as if there should be a law against it,' he mused.

'There should be a law against the way you're looking at me,' she retorted fiercely.

'Sorry,' he murmured, but his eyes laughed at her again. 'I think we've been through this before, I'm talking about the-er-men will be men syndrome. Is that a good way of putting it?'

Davina opened her mouth but decided to storm off instead, something she was unsuccessful in simply because he put out a hand, took one of hers in it so that she couldn't free herself, and said in a different voice entirely, 'No, let's not ruin a beautiful afternoon like this, Davina. Come in and have another swim. I need a break and I wouldn't be surprised if you did too.'

She tightened her mouth but out of the corner of her eye noticed that a couple strolling along the beach had stopped and were watching them interestedly. 'Damn,' she muttered, and then, 'All right, but you don't have to hang on to me as if I was a prisoner.'

So she had another swim and was perversely pleased that she was able to go out as far he did and do everything he did but of course, pride often comes before a fall she was to remember later. Her downfall came in the form of a dumper which caught them both by surprise but he reacted faster and, with all the strength he was capable of, grabbed her just as she was about to cartwheel into the sand and held her safe in his arms as the wave surged beneath them. He then coasted gently into the shore, still holding her. They lay together in the shallows as she spluttered a bit and took some deep breaths to restore air to her lungs.

'Davina?' he said after a few moments.

'Mmm…?'

'OK?'

'Yes,' she panted. 'Thanks-I haven't been dumped for years.'

'That's why Blinkys can be a bit tricky sometimes.' 'I believe you.' She stopped abruptly, and her eyes widened as she realised she was lying cradled against Steve Warwick with gentle wavelets washing up to their waists, and realised that her body fitted against his as if it had been made for it, that their legs had somehow got entwined and that she felt wet and silky where their skin touched, protected and safe in the circle of his arms yet with every inch of her body aware of his and stirred by that awareness. And, finally, aware that she was not alone in this reaction…

They parted by mutual consent, and wordlessly, a bare few moments later. But, while Steve Warwick released her and helped her up and did so expressionlessly, she felt a torrent of colour rushing up beneath her skin and her movements were a bit uncoordinated. She also turned abruptly to walk back up the beach but he said quietly, 'No. At least rinse the sand off you. I'm in need of another swim.'

He swam for at least ten minutes although she just dipped herself and walked back to her towel. But as she dried the moisture from her body and her hair, she couldn't help wondering how she was ever going to face him again. How, for that matter, he would be when he came out… She pulled her shirt and shorts on with unsteady hands.

He was perfectly normal. He made no mention of the fact that it had taken ten minutes of vigorous exercise in cold water to get himself in control-in fact all he said was, 'What's for dinner?'

'R-roast beef. Oh! I'd better get going-'

'Relax. It's over an hour to dinner-time. Isn't that plenty of time to roast a piece of beef?'

'Yes, but I've still got to get there and there's one hill between here and your house that needs to be walked up,' she retorted with more spirit.

He dried himself briefly and dragged on a T-shirt. 'Then I am the answer to all your problems, Mrs Hastings,' he said with humour as his head emerged.

Davina tensed and he narrowed his eyes slightly as he stuck his arms through the sleeves. 'I've got a bike rack on the back of the Land Rover, that's all.'

She bit her lip.

Davina went straight into the kitchen when they got to the house to put the meat on and while she was at it, got the vegetables ready and made her other preparations.

Steve came into the kitchen as she was rinsing her hands. He'd showered and changed into long twill trousers and a blue open-necked shirt. 'All in hand?'

'Yes.'

'Then why don't you have a shower while I make us a drink?'

Davina faced him with uncertainty and wariness clouding her violet eyes. 'I think I'd rather-'

'Davina, I'm thirty-five,' he interrupted pleasantly. 'Which means to say I've had plenty of experience at practising self-control-if that's what you're worried about now.'

She blushed. For the life of her she couldn't help it and at the same time felt a streak of anger because she'd been so hoping he would continue to act as if what had happened on the beach hadn't happened at all. To make matters worse, she could think of nothing to say.

'Go on,' he said mildly, after a moment. 'Unless you're proposing that we avoid each other entirely for a month?'

She went with a toss of her head that brought a faint smile to his lips.

It took her twenty minutes to shower, wash her hair and blow dry it and get dressed into a loose, sleeveless, chalky blue cotton dress that floated around her as she walked. And, all the while, she sought rather desperately for some composure, but it was hard to beat the hollow feeling she had that she couldn't blame her employer for the events on the beach because it was one of those things that had happened quite spontaneously-and mutually.

'How did you get on with Maeve?'

Davina contemplated her drink then looked through the windows to where rays from the setting sun were playing on her favourite mountains and a faint smile curved her lips. 'You might have warned me.'

'You might have run away.'

She laughed. 'No, not really. Once we got to know each other we worked well together. Uh-how do your grandmother and stepmother get on with her?'

'They both keep urging me to get rid of her. They both get totally frustrated by her, not that Maeve notices at all, but the result is general chaos.'

'I can imagine,' Davina murmured and raised an eyebrow at him. 'So, you've stuck with her through thick and thin?'

'Her mother used to work for my mother and her husband, now deceased, worked on one of our boats. I would feel guilty for the rest of my life if I abandoned Maeve.'

'She certainly is a great fan of yours,' Davina commented.

'That probably surprised you,' he replied, with a glinting little smile.

Davina didn't answer but sipped her drink then put it down. 'Dinner should be ready in about fifteen minutes. Where would you like to eat it? Here?' She gestured to the dining setting across the room. 'Or-'

'Here,' he said. 'Why waste the view? I'll set the table-you weren't planning to abandon me to dining alone, were you?'

He only set one end of the big glass-topped table but he did it quite artistically and he opened a bottle of red wine.

'That's not necessary-for me, I mean,' she said when she saw it as she put a silver dish down, loaded with roast beef with faintly pink juices running from it, roast potatoes, pumpkin and sweet potatoes. She also had on the tray she'd brought from the kitchen cauliflower au gratin, gravy and some wonderfully risen Yorkshire puddings.

'Hell,' he said, ignoring her comment entirely as he gazed with genuine admiration at the puddings, 'and you whipped this all up in a matter of minutes!'

'I've had plenty of practice,' she said with a grimace. 'Would you like to carve or shall I?'

'I will. Do sit down, Mrs Hastings-what's that old saying about the way to a man's heart?' He picked up the carving knife and fork, looking gravely attentive.

Davina sat and said quite calmly, 'But we've spoken of that before and both agreed it's not on, haven't we, Mr Warwick?'

He put the fork into the meat and sliced one slice of beautiful, just rare roast beef before he said, 'We may have, Davina, but other things have spoken for themselves.'

She took up her as yet empty wine glass and examined the pattern on the crystal. 'I think-I'm sure-we should put that down to a momentary aberration.' And her violet eyes were level and cool as she looked at him across the table.

'Well, you're certainly a lot more composed about it now,' he commented, and returned to carving the beef.

She gritted her teeth but forbore to reply. Instead, she rose to serve the vegetables and she was still silent as he poured two glasses of wine, without consulting her. Which left her thinking he really was impossible. But as she was to discover more and more, just when you thought Steve Warwick was impossible, he had a habit of turning the tables. He did so then…

'Tell me about your photography.'

She hesitated then with a slight shrug began to do so. And he listened attentively while she explained how she'd always been fascinated by light and shade, by juxtaposing unlikely subjects and capturing them on film.

'So it's been a lifelong ambition?' he said after a bit. 'How come you got sidetracked into catering?'

'That was my mother. She insisted I have some "solid" qualifications, as she put it, behind me. She's the kind of person who thinks that being artistic in any way is all very well but not much to fall back on when the chips are down-she was right, as it happened, although what she'd had in mind for me was starting my own business that catered for very exclusive parties for the rich and famous.'

'But I should imagine you have a flair for it anyway.' He put his knife and fork together and pushed his plate away. 'That was absolutely delicious.'

'I do enjoy cooking,' Davina agreed as she did the same and picked up her glass. But as he offered to top it up she said, 'No, no more, thank you. I was going to make a pudding but ran out of time. I've prepared a cheese-board and fruit instead.'

'That'll be fine but don't rush. How come the chips came to be down?' He looked at her quite seriously across the table.

Davina looked away and finished the last of her wine. 'I'd rather not go into that.'

'Sometimes it helps,' he commented.

'With a perfect stranger? I doubt it.'

'We're not exactly perfect strangers. On the other hand, strangers can have a less-biased view of things.'

'Why do you really want to know?' she said, at last. 'Anyway, it's nothing earth-shattering and I'm quite happy the way I am, believe it or not.' She smiled faintly.

He lay back in his chair and regarded her thoughtfully. 'Marriage to someone who thought you were a frigid bitch, which, incidentally, we've now proved you're not, must have been a bit devastating.'

A faint smile lit Davina's eyes. 'I think it was more devastating for him than it was for me.'

Steve Warwick took his time digesting this. 'So, it was an act?' he said at last.

'Not entirely. He certainly didn't turn me on-for want of a more elegant phrase.'

'Were you forced into marrying him?' 'I was… conned,' Davina said meditatively, then she sighed. 'You remind me of the Spanish Inquisition in velvet gloves. So, if it will set your mind at rest, my father was faced with the prospect of bankruptcy, my ex-husband was the guy who could either bring it all about or save him, I was the price he asked to take the latter course. There you are.' She smiled at Steve Warwick but not with her eyes. 'You have it in a nutshell.' 'And after you'd done the deed you discovered it wasn't all that simple?' he queried perceptively after a moment.

'After I'd done the deed I discovered… well, eventually, that my parents were still going to go bankrupt.'

'He reneged, in other words?'

She shrugged. 'He was one of the crop of entrepreneurial millionaires who popped up all over Australia at the time with about as much substance to them as a pack of cards. He crashed like a pack of cards too,' she said dispassionately.

Steve Warwick acknowledged this phenomenon with a grimace and a faint frown in his eyes and Davina knew he was trying to place the name and she held her breath for a moment but all he said was, 'So he conned your father as well?'

Davina traced a pattern on the tablecloth with her finger. 'My father was desperate. So was my mother- desperate about how it was all affecting my father's health, and right to be. He died of a heart attack.'

'I'm sorry. Was that when you-released yourself from the marriage?'

'Yes, more or less.'

'How old were you when you got conned into this marriage?'

'Twenty,' she said briefly. 'How old was he?'

'Forty. But a very fit and young-looking forty, I'll give him that.'

'How did you first come to his notice?' Davina narrowed her eyes and glanced at him coolly. 'At a ball.'

'Where else?' Steve Warwick murmured, looking wry. 'What do you mean?'

'My dear Davina, you in a ballgown…' He shrugged. She closed her eyes for a moment and remembered the gown. It had been black and strapless and had fitted her like a glove. She'd also worn long white gloves with it and a choker of pearls… And she remembered the sick feeling that had started to grow in the pit of her stomach as she'd realised her mistake, that she'd have been far better off to wear sackcloth and ashes rather than display herself in a ballgown to a man who stripped her naked with world-weary, cynical brown eyes in a way that left no doubt he meant to have her in his bed by hook or by crook.

She stood up abruptly. 'Yes, well, there you have it, Mr Warwick, but I'm afraid "show and tell" time is over. I'll bring the cheese.'

'So you've hated all men ever since?' he queried softly, making no physical effort to detain her, but managing to do so all the same.

'Yes,' she said through her teeth but added, 'I certainly don't trust them and if you're about to lecture me on the folly of making sweeping generalisations like that, please don't waste your time or mine!'

'I wouldn't dream of it!' He stood up. 'A lot of people prefer to enjoy their misery.'

Davina stilled with her hands around the silver platter, and was briefly tempted to hurl the remains of the roast at him. She said instead, coldly, 'But I'm not miserable, that's what you don't seem to understand. Not all women 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 discussion gets out of hand, I think I'll forgo the pleasures of your cheese-board if you'll forgive me-I have some work to do- but I wouldn't say no to a cup of coffee. I'll be in the study'

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 The Rambler's Guide to Lord Howe, and went to get it.

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 least that, if I don't slip and break a leg or fall down the cliff and kill myself; as it is I'm a mess already. She sat on a rock and grimaced down at herself, liberally coated in mud already from places where the only viable way to proceed had been on her bottom. And, she thought, they're right when they say very steep places are harder to come down than get up…

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 could do this, very, very slowly and carefully.

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. 'Yes.'

'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. The alternative might not appeal to you.' 'W-what alternative?'

'The one,' he said pleasantly, 'where I lose my temper and tell you that only a bloody idiot would get caught on Mount Lidgbird in this kind of weather because you could kill yourself that way, and where I tell you never to go off like that again without leaving some indication of your plans because I was just about to mount a search-and-rescue operation.' And, so saying, he shouldered the laundry door open, put her on her feet and switched the light on.

Davina swayed unsteadily where she stood, her poor strained knees showed an alarming tendency to buckle, and shock darkened her eyes. 'But…but,' she stammered, 'why should you have worried about me? For all you know I might have… I might have… just stayed out for dinner or something like that.' She stopped and he put his hands about her waist as she swayed again. 'I thought of that, but you would hardly have walked and all the bikes are here as well as the other Land Rover. Besides which, I had this intuition,' he said drily. 'Now will you take your clothes off or shall I?'

'Don't you dare,' she retorted, but with not a great deal of menace, and raised her hands to deal with her shirt buttons only to realise she still had her back-pack on. She made a frustrated sound and was horrified to discover she had tears of exasperation in her eyes. 'Just go away, will you?' she begged. 'I simply can't cope with you and all this at the same time!'

Steve Warwick surveyed her sodden, dirty, bedraggled person for a moment then said, with a twist of his lips, 'Don't feel embarrassed, Davina. I've never seen anyone look half as good as you do in the circumstances. I'll get you a drink while you have a shower. I'll bring it to your chalet.' And he left.