Honeymoon with the Boss

CHAPTER THREE

‘WELCOME, Mr and Mrs Maddison, and congratulations!’ The resort manager himself met Tom and Imogen as they stepped onto the jetty. The light was dazzling and the heat was both a relief and a shock after the air-conditioning on the flight. A flying boat had brought them from the airport on Malé to their base, and their luggage was already being transferred to a sleek speedboat that was waiting to take them on the last leg to Coconut Island itself.

Imogen averted her eyes from her battered old trolley bag. It was perfectly adequate for package holidays to Greece and Spain, but it looked very out of place here amongst the other designer cases and honeymooners’ matching luggage sets that were being unloaded from the seaplane.

She must look as out of place as her luggage, she realised. She was very conscious of her crumpled trousers and creased top. February wasn’t the best time to buy hot-weather clothes in London, so she had little choice but to bring the clothes she had worn to Greece the year before. They were cheap and cheerful, and had been perfect there, but she could see the other travellers eyeing her askance.

There was nothing cheap about this resort, where all the guests seemed to be beautifully dressed. Everyone seemed to be in couples, and they were uniformly lithe and golden and glowing with happiness.

Imogen shifted uncomfortably. In comparison, she knew she must look pasty, fat and frazzled by the tension of the last few days. There was no way anyone would take her for a radiant bride, that was for sure. They must all be wondering what on earth she was doing with someone like Tom Maddison.

Not that Tom fitted in any better than she did. He was actually wearing a suit! At least he had taken his jacket off now, but his shirtsleeves were still buttoned, his tie still knotted. Imogen wondered if he had ever been on holiday before.

Tom wasn’t giving a very good impression of a newlywed either, it had to be said. His expression was as forbidding as ever, but the power of his presence was such that the resort manager had picked him unerringly from all the couples who disembarked from the seaplane as the recently married Tom Maddison, who had hired the most luxurious and expensive accommodation available.

‘If you wouldn’t mind completing a few formalities…’ he said, politely concealing his disbelief at Tom Maddison’s new wife, who was clearly not what they had been expecting.

He led them ahead of everyone else to the spectacular reception area, which was all dark wood, lush tropical plants and understated glamour. It practically reeked of money, thought Imogen, trying not to stare. Fabulously expensive hotels would be ten a penny to the new Mrs Maddison.

‘As soon as this is done, you’ll be taken straight to Coconut Island, where you’ll be assured complete privacy during your stay,’ the manager went on. He gestured towards a slim young man dressed in pristine white, who was waiting to one side. ‘Ali will visit once a day and will make sure you have everything you need.’

Tom merely nodded, but Imogen felt as if she ought to show a little more enthusiasm. ‘Thank you,’ she said, plastering on a big smile. ‘I’m sure it will all be lovely.’

The manager, having obviously decided he wouldn’t get much small talk out of Tom, turned to Imogen with a courteous smile.

‘I hope you had a happy day for your wedding?’

There was a tiny pause. They had agreed on the plane that it would be easier not to go into complicated explanations, but surely it must be obvious that they weren’t actually married. Imogen felt as if there must be a neon sign flashing ‘liar’ with an arrow pointing down right above her head, but she kept her smile in place somehow.

‘Er…yes…thank you,’ she said awkwardly, tucking her left hand away so that the manager wouldn’t notice the glaring absence of a wedding ring.

Tom glanced up from the form he was signing and, rather to Imogen’s surprise, seemed to pick up on her discomfort. Or perhaps he just didn’t think she was putting on a very convincing performance, because he reached out and put his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side.

‘Imogen’s very tired,’ he explained her lack of enthusiasm. ‘She’s had a busy time organising the wedding, and it was a long flight.’

‘Of course, of course.’ The manager beamed at them both. ‘But now you are here, you can be alone together and relax.’

Oh, yes, sure, thought Imogen, who had rarely felt less relaxed than she did at that moment. Tom had shaken her hand when they’d first met, but she didn’t think he had ever touched her since, and now his arm was warm and strong around her, holding her against a body that was leaner and harder and more solid than she could ever have imagined. His big hand rested casually, proprietorially, at her waist, exactly as a besotted husband’s would, and he seemed astonishingly natural, as if he knew her body as well as his own.

Imogen’s heart was pounding and her skin where she was pressed into his side, and beneath his hand, was tingling and twitching with awareness of him, of his warmth and his strength and the clean masculine smell of him. Her knees felt ridiculously weak and she was conscious of a bizarre and disturbing desire to turn into the hard security of his body, to hold him tight and burrow into him.

Her mouth dried at the very thought of it. Relax? Ha!

She managed a weak smile. ‘I can’t wait.’

‘You must let us know if there is anything-anything at all!-we can do to make your stay more comfortable.’

Imogen wondered wildly if she could ask if he would swap Tom for a less unsettling companion, one she could chat away to without her heart thudding and thumping with the memory of what it felt like to be held against him.

She was overreacting, Imogen scolded herself. She could blame it on jet lag. This was Tom, for heaven’s sake! Her boss.

The boss who had just had his heart broken, remember? Imogen felt a little ashamed to realise that she hadn’t given Julia a thought since she’d arrived. It had been such a thrill to fly over the islands. Pressing her nose against the seaplane’s window, she had gasped at the heart-stopping beauty of the scene.

They’d flown across islands fringed with dazzling white sand, while the water between them was so intensely coloured it seemed almost unreal: the deep, dark blue of the ocean beyond the reefs; bright aquamarine striped with violet and lilac over the sand bars; the pale, translucent emerald of the shallow lagoons. Far below, the little boats zipping over the sea had been tiny streaks flecking the surface with their wake, while the waves broke silently against the reef in a froth of white.

Caught up in amazement at it all, it wasn’t surprising that she had forgotten Julia, but Tom wouldn’t have done. How could he?

This must all be so difficult for him, she thought as, to her intense relief, Tom released her to complete the paperwork. How hard would it be to arrive in this beautiful place to spend what should have been three glorious weeks with his bride, knowing that whenever he turned his head, instead of the svelte, gorgeous Julia, he would just see his very ordinary PA? It would be like salt rubbing into the wound every time.

Imogen bit her lip. And here she was getting in a state about a brief hug! It was far, far worse for Tom. He must surely be regretting now that he had asked her to come.

She stood feeling miserably self-conscious as the resort manager outlined the arrangements that had been made for them. It was clear that Tom wasn’t listening any more than she was. ‘Yes, yes,’ he said with a trace of impatience as he signed the last form. ‘Whatever’s been arranged will be fine.’

‘Excellent. In that case, I’m sure you’re anxious to be left alone.’ The manager waved Ali over and they all trooped back down to the jetty, where the speedboat was already throbbing gently, ready for the off.

Tom put his hand lightly against her back to guide her to the steps leading down to the boat, and Imogen’s heart lurched into her throat once more. Telling herself not to be so stupid, she climbed into the boat, barely noticing the hand Ali put out to steady her, but burningly aware of Tom’s touch long after he had dropped his hand.

Willing the blush she could feel creeping up her cheeks to fade, Imogen sat stiffly on the luxurious seat as Tom jumped easily down into the boat and took his place beside her. She couldn’t let herself get into a state whenever he touched her! The next three weeks were going to be difficult enough as it was.

Three weeks alone with him.

What on earth was she doing here? It had made a warped kind of sense that day in London when she had agreed to come. Tom had needed to get away. She would help him save face. It was a purely business arrangement.

True, Amanda hadn’t seemed convinced. ‘Business?’ she said when Imogen told her that she would be away for three weeks. ‘On a tropical island?’

‘It’ll be just like being in the office,’ Imogen said. ‘But with better weather.’

‘Sure.’ Amanda’s tone reeked scepticism.

‘It will,’ she insisted. ‘I’ve got to take my laptop. I’ll have to work.’

‘And when you’re not working and there’s just the two of you alone in paradise? It sounds like this Tom Maddison is pretty hot,’ said Amanda. ‘How are you going to keep your hands off him? And don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it!’

‘I haven’t!’ And she hadn’t. Not since Tom had announced that he was getting married, anyway.

‘Honestly, Amanda, the man has just been jilted at the altar,’ Imogen went on a little huffily. ‘He won’t admit it, but he’s really hurt. The last thing he needs is me making things awkward for him! Besides, this is my boss we’re talking about.’

‘So?’

‘So there’s no question of anything like that. Tom’s too churned up about Julia and I’ve got more sense. OK, he is quite attractive,’ Imogen conceded, ‘but he’s out of my league, I know that.

‘Even if he wasn’t in love with someone else, I wouldn’t consider it,’ she went on. ‘Tom Maddison doesn’t even have a nodding acquaintance with his emotions. Look at how he’s suppressing everything now! A relationship with a man like him would be asking for trouble. I’d end up miserable, and I’ve had enough misery, thank you very much.

‘Quite apart from anything else, it would be unprofessional,’ Imogen finished primly. ‘It’s a well-paid job, and if I can stick it for another two or three months I’ll have enough money to take off for a year. There’s no way I’m risking that for the sake of a quick fling. No,’ she told Amanda, ‘I don’t think I’ll have any trouble keeping my hands to myself!’

Now her words rang a little hollowly in her ears. It had been easy to say in London. She had been so confident then, but that was before he had touched her, before the nerves beneath her skin had started jumping and jittering with awareness of him. Before that long flight, sitting right next to him.

They had travelled first-class, of course, and to Imogen, used to cheap package holidays, it had been absolute luxury. She had been thrilled, playing with her chair, opening her free bag of toiletries, accepting a glass of champagne.

Only she would have enjoyed it more if Amanda had been with her, say. Tom wasn’t the kind of person you could have a giggle with.

Understandably enough, he was looking forbidding when he’d come to pick her up from her flat in a chauffeur-driven limousine that had whisked them out to Heathrow. Conversation so far had been confined to practicalities about passports and boarding times. There had been no speculation about what to buy in Duty Free, no testing of perfumes or loitering in the bookshops. The First Class Lounge was very comfortable, but it wasn’t much fun, Imogen had decided.

Tom had sat down and opened his laptop and, apart from take-off and landing, he had worked steadily. To Imogen, it seemed as if the anger and hurt over Julia’s rejection was still buttoned up tightly inside him. She desperately wanted to help him but she didn’t know how. With anyone else she would offer a hug, but she hesitated even to lay a hand on Tom’s arm.

Which was difficult when it was just there. Imogen could see the immaculate cuff of his pale blue shirt, the expensive watch, the square, capable hand, and she’d found herself fixating on tiny details, like the creases on his knuckles, or the fine dark hairs at his wrist.

Afraid that Tom would see her staring, she’d forced herself to look at the magazine she had bought instead, but her eyes kept straying back to him. His gaze had been fixed on the computer screen and, with the piercing grey eyes shielded, it was easier to study his face. He had surprisingly thick, dark lashes, but the uncompromising angles of cheek and jaw offset any suggestion of softness, as did his mouth, which was set in a stern, straight line. Every time Imogen’s eyes had come to rest on it, she got a squirmy, fluttery feeling inside.

In the end, it had been a relief to get off the plane and have something else to look at but, as Imogen sat in the boat, the reality of the situation began to sink in. She was about to spend three weeks alone with a man she found unsettlingly attractive, who just happened to be (a) her boss and (b) in love with someone else, and therefore doubly out of bounds.

Imogen adjusted her sunglasses and tried to wriggle the tension out of her shoulders. Perhaps Amanda was right and it was all going to be a terrible mistake.

But how could it be a mistake when the sun was warm on her skin, and the sea so clear that she could see every ripple in the sand beneath the boat? When she could hear the water slapping gently against the hull and smell the bleached wood of the jetty?

She could be in London, making the most of Tom’s absence by catching up on her filing. She could be fielding phone calls and dealing with the emails stacked up in her inbox and chasing up those expenses with the Finance department.

Instead, she was here, with Tom, very distinct beside her, his austere profile outlined against the tropical sky. Eyeing him surreptitiously from behind her glasses, Imogen felt as if she had never seen him properly before. He had put on his sunglasses, which made his expression even more inscrutable than ever, but everything else about him seemed preternaturally clear in the light that bounced off the water: the texture of his skin, the line of his cheek, the faint stubble darkening his jaw after the long flight, the edge of his mouth.

She wished it would curl in a smile sometimes.

The boat started slowly, making its way out to the gap between the reef, but once on the open water the throbbing note of the engine deepened to a throaty roar as Ali accelerated and they skimmed over the waves.

The sun glittered on the water and, in spite of the wind-shield, Imogen’s hair blew crazily around her face. It was so exhilarating that she could feel her fretfulness unravelling with every bounce of the boat and, without thinking, she smiled at Tom, who looked startled for a moment until, incredibly, he smiled back.

‘OK?’ he shouted over the noise of the engine, and she nodded vigorously as she tried to hold her hair back.

‘It’s wonderful!’ she said, trying to ignore the breathless flip of her heart at his smile.

Although it had only taken a matter of minutes to reach the island in the powerful boat, it felt as if they had entered another world, one that made the laid-back resort seem a frenetic metropolis in comparison. When Ali cut the engine, the silence hit them like a blow.

‘Welcome to Coconut Island,’ he said.

From the little wooden jetty, Imogen could see the curve of a blindingly white beach, overhung with the coconut palms that cast a jagged shade. A lagoon the colour of a glacier mint and as clear as glass was encircled by a reef, but beyond that there was just the Indian Ocean, stretching out to a horizon smudged with a few billowing clouds. They had been promised seclusion, and seclusion they certainly had.

Set back from the beach and half hidden by a tangle of tropical foliage, from the outside the house was a simple wooden structure with a thatched roof, but inside it was furnished with exquisite style and discreetly fitted with the latest technology from top designers.

The attention to detail made Imogen’s eyes pop as Ali showed them round. Outside, there was an infinity pool, a Jacuzzi and a second fabulous bathroom, open to the sky, with a wet area, a waterfall shower and a bath that would hold two easily, all perfectly designed with natural materials to blend into the foliage.

Inside, there was an immaculately equipped kitchen. There were polished wooden floors, long luxurious couches and low tables. There were huge ceiling fans, and a sound system the like of which Imogen had never seen before.

And there was a huge, beautiful bed.

It had to be at least seven feet wide, and made with white sheets of the softest and purest cotton and piled with inviting pillows. A bed made for love.

Imogen, who had been exclaiming with pleasure as Ali showed them round, fell suddenly silent.

She glanced at Tom. His expression was unreadable, but she could imagine all too well what he must be thinking. How could he not be imagining in his turn what it would have been like if Julia had been there with him? If they had been impatient for Ali to leave them alone so that they could fall across that wonderful bed and make love?

It would be heaven. Imogen swallowed, unable to stop herself wondering what it would be like if she and Tom really were on honeymoon, if she was here because he loved her, not because Julia had left him in the lurch.

Too polite to comment on the awkward silence that had developed in the bedroom, Ali continued the tour, showing them the meals that had been left in the fridge, discussing the menu for the next day and pointing out the generator. Then he got into the speedboat and headed back to the resort, leaving Tom and Imogen alone.

They watched the boat speed out through the reef and then veer right in the direction of the islands they had passed on their way, its wake foaming behind it, and then even the sound of its engine vanished.

Imogen listened hard. She could hear the ocean murmuring against the reef, and somewhere a bird called raucously, but otherwise it was utterly quiet.

‘Well,’ she said awkwardly.

‘Well,’ agreed Tom in a dry voice.

Biting her lip, she looked out over the lagoon, which was achingly clear and green in the glaring light of midday. A cat’s paw of breeze shivered over its surface and rustled the palms overhead, but then it was gone, leaving the scene still and dreamlike in the heat.

‘Do you think you can spend three weeks here?’ he asked her after a moment.

‘Oh, yes, of course! It’s absolutely beautiful,’ she said. ‘I feel as if I’ve stumbled into paradise! I just wish…’

Tom lifted an eyebrow as she hesitated. ‘What?’

‘I just wish things could be different for you,’ she told him impulsively. ‘I know how hard it must be for you to have me here instead of Julia.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Tom gruffly. ‘I’m more afraid that you’ll be bored.’

‘Bored?’ Imogen stared at him. ‘How could I be bored here?’ she asked, waving a hand at the view.

‘You’ve always struck me as a very sociable person,’ he explained to her surprise. She hadn’t realised he had observed her at all. ‘I see you chatting to people in the office and talking to your friends on the phone.’

Imogen grimaced at that bit. She had hoped Tom hadn’t realised how much time she spent on personal phone calls.

‘You seem like the kind of girl who likes to have fun,’ he went on, uncharacteristically hesitant. ‘There won’t be much fun with just me for company.’

The truth was, he hadn’t been thinking about Imogen. He had been so consumed with the bitterness of humiliation that he had thought only about getting away, and it was only now, very belatedly, that he was wondering if he had been selfish. Julia had often told him he needed to work on his social skills, but he had never been good at the kind of light-hearted conversation at which Imogen seemed to excel.

She made an unlikely PA, with that slightly chaotic air, but behind the warmth and the friendliness he had noted in her dealings with everyone from the most senior directors to the cleaners, she was unexpectedly practical, and Tom was grateful to her for the way she had dealt with the aftermath of Julia’s change of mind. She deserved a better time than he would be able to give her.

Not that there was much he could do about it now. Tom hunched a shoulder. He hated feeling that he had got things wrong. He liked to be in control and know what was going on, and as soon as any emotions were involved, he was neither.

‘You make it sound as if I’m a wild party animal,’ said Imogen, amused but also secretly flattered. ‘To be honest, I spend most evenings watching television with my flatmate and complaining about how nothing exciting ever happens to us. And now I’m here…’ She looked around her. ‘I couldn’t ask for more exciting than this!’

Unless it was someone to share that beautiful bed with, a sneaky voice in her mind had the temerity to point out before Imogen squashed it firmly.

‘I promise you I’m more than happy just to look at this view for three weeks,’ she told Tom. ‘Of course, I’m happy to work too,’ she added hastily, remembering their agreement.

‘There’s no need for you to work today,’ said Tom gruffly. ‘Since we’re here, we may as well make the most of it.’

Imogen beamed at him. ‘Sounds good to me.’

‘So…what would you like to do? Are you tired?’

‘A bit,’ she confessed, ‘but I want to swim first. I can’t wait to get in that water!’

Ali had put their cases together in the bedroom. Tom’s was sleek and black, Imogen’s squashy and battered, and they sat side by side, looking bizarrely mismatched and yet oddly intimate at the same time.

Imogen fished out her bikini and changed in the en suite bathroom. Adjusting the straps, she regarded her reflection in the mirror dubiously. Had this bikini been quite so revealing the year before? It certainly didn’t leave much to the imagination!

Why hadn’t she stuck more carefully to that diet she had planned in January? If she had known she would be dusting off her bikini in February, she would never have eaten her way through all those packets of chocolate biscuits.

On the other hand, they were all that had got her through some of those long winter afternoons.

It was too late now, anyway. Imogen pulled herself together. Tom already had his laptop open, and when he was working he wouldn’t notice if she walked past him stark naked. He certainly wouldn’t be eyeing her up and wondering if a one-piece in a bigger size wouldn’t have been a better choice, the way another woman would. There was a lot to be said for having a whole beach to yourself.

Still, she wrapped a sarong around her waist before heading out to the living area. Tom might not notice the way she spilled out of her bikini bottoms, but she would, and she didn’t want to have to hold her tummy in all the time.

Tom was on one of the couches, leaning forward and frowning intently at the laptop open on the coffee table in front of him, but he looked up as Imogen appeared.

‘Don’t you want a swim?’ she said, feeling self-conscious. He had barely glanced at her before returning his gaze to the screen, but it was enough to make her aware that the sarong was very thin and that, beneath it, she was practically naked.

‘Maybe later,’ he said. ‘I want to check the markets first.’

‘OK. Well… I’ll be on the beach if you need me.’

When she had gone, Tom let out a long breath and slumped back against the cushions. He had been totally unprepared for the sight of Imogen, barefoot and wearing little more than a skimpy sarong. He recognised the brown hair tumbling to her shoulders, and the wide blue eyes, but had she always had that body? How had he never noticed before what luscious curves she had, or how lush and alluring her skin looked?

And now that he had noticed, how was he going to stop?

Tom scowled. He was still bruised from his last encounter with a woman, and he certainly didn’t intend to get entangled with another, especially not one who was his PA. It would be totally inappropriate.

He shouldn’t even be thinking about how she had looked. He certainly shouldn’t be wondering if she would feel as soft and warm as she looked, wondering what it would be like to unwind that sarong and explore that unexpectedly voluptuous body with his mouth and his hands.

Setting his teeth grimly, Tom forced his attention back to the screen. He must be suffering some kind of a delayed reaction to the last few days, he decided. Nothing else could explain the lust that had gripped him when he had looked up to see Imogen just now. It wasn’t even as if she was his type. He had never even thought about what she looked like before. His preference had always been for slender, sophisticated women-women who were cool and controlled. Women like Julia.

Julia. The thought of her was like a shock. Had it only been three days since he had been ready to marry her? Tom couldn’t believe that he was thinking lustfully about another woman already. He had to stop it, right now, he thought. They had another three weeks to get through-three weeks when he would have to keep his hands firmly to himself.

He could do it. He could do whatever he set his mind to, Tom reminded himself. Hadn’t he built an entire career on sheer willpower and determination, on a refusal to let himself be distracted from his goal? He had resisted a lot more tempting distractions than Imogen, and he would resist her too. Quite apart from anything else, he didn’t want to distract her. They had work to do.

And work was what Tom Maddison did best.

It was hard to concentrate on it right then, though. He was hot and his eyes felt gritty from the plane. A quick dip would refresh him, Tom decided. An image of the lagoon shimmered in his mind, but he dismissed it. Imogen was down there. He didn’t want to crowd her.

Odd how vividly he could picture her, he mused, remembering how she had looked, smiling on the boat, her hair tangled around her face and her eyes full of sunshine, how she had looked in that sarong with her shoulders bare.

Remembering that was a mistake.

Restlessly, Tom got to his feet and wandered outside. The infinity pool shimmered invitingly. He would cool off in there and then get back to work.

But the pool seemed empty somehow and when he hung in the water with his arms stretched along the edge he could see the lagoon through the palms and he found himself imagining Imogen down there, on her own.

Really, it was ridiculous to feel that he had to avoid her! They were going to have to get on together for the next three weeks.

It wasn’t as if there was a problem, not really. Tom had already rationalised his momentary surge of lust as the simple reaction of a bruised ego. He might be alone on a tropical island with Imogen, but they were both sensible adults. There was absolutely no reason why they shouldn’t have the same professional relationship they had always had, and get on with some work.

Work was what mattered.

Hauling himself out of the pool, Tom dried himself off and went into the kitchen. Imogen wouldn’t be able to work if she was suffering from dehydration. He would take her a drink.

He found her stretched out on a lounger in the jagged shade of a palm. She had discarded the sarong somewhere along the line and was wearing only a bright pink bikini. Tom’s hand wasn’t quite steady as he offered her a glass of fresh lime juice.

‘Thank you,’ she said, sitting up, but her smile as she took the glass from him was definitely tense.

It couldn’t be easy for her, stuck here with her boss, thought Tom.

He sat on the edge of the lounger set out beside hers and stared out at the lagoon while he sipped his own drink and willed the image of Imogen in that bikini to stop dancing before his eyes.

He could do this. It was just a matter of getting used to seeing his PA without her clothes on.

There was a strained silence.

‘What’s the water like?’ Tom asked eventually, uncomfortably aware that his voice came out as a rasp, and he cleared his throat.

‘Lovely.’ Imogen drained her glass and put it down in the sand as she stood up. ‘I was about to go back in for another swim,’ she said, then hesitated. ‘Why don’t you come?’

It might be better to do something rather than sit here trying not to look at her, Tom decided. ‘All right,’ he said, getting to his feet.

They walked over the hot sand together and into the water. It was so clear they could see their feet in extraordinary detail as they waded past the shallows.

‘It feels like silk against your skin, doesn’t it?’ said Imogen, trailing her fingers over the surface.

Tom wished she hadn’t mentioned her skin. It was hard enough to keep his eyes off it as it was. As soon as it was deep enough, he dived into the water and swam in a fast crawl out towards the reef.

It felt good to stretch himself physically. It certainly felt less dangerous than standing close to Imogen wearing little more than a few triangles of cloth.

When he stopped at last, he shook the hair out of his eyes and trod water. Here, it had deepened to jade, but he could still see right down to the bottom, some way below. The sun was bouncing off the surface and fracturing the water into silvery patterns, and he had to squint against the glare to find Imogen, who was floating dreamily on her back, legs and arms stretched out like a starfish.

It was very quiet. How long was it since he had stopped like this and just listened to the silence, just felt the sun on his shoulders? His life was so focused, so driven by the need to succeed that he had forgotten how to relax the way Imogen was relaxing. Maybe he had never known how to relax like that, thought Tom, but he had the strangest idea that the tight feeling that had gripped him for as long as he could remember was starting to loosen in the sunlight and the warm silky water.