Then he kissed her—not a swift, parting kiss, nor a clumsy, unsubtle expression of lust. His mouth took hers in complete mastery, replacing every fear with poignant delight and a swift, fierce longing that lodged in her heart.
And because she didn’t know whether he’d survive, whether she’d ever see him again, she kissed him back with everything she had to give.
Too soon, he released her with an odd half-smile to scribble a name on a piece of paper. ‘My agent on Valanu,’ he said, handing it to her. ‘Get in touch with him straight away and show him the papers Josef’s making out now—he’ll find you a place to stay. You have no money?’
‘No,’ she said wretchedly, feeling empty and oddly weepy.
He wrenched a wallet from his pocket and took out the notes in it. ‘This will cover your costs for tonight.’ He handed them over, adding with wry humour, ‘And there’s enough there to buy you another sarong from the market.’
‘Your shirt!’
One hand clenched around the notes and his ring, she began to jerk his T-shirt upwards, but he said, ‘Keep it on. It gives you that authentic refugee look.’
She hesitated, then let the material fall. ‘What will you wear?’
‘I will lend him one of mine,’ Josef said sombrely.
Guy’s intent, uncompromising scrutiny drowned her in tawny fire. ‘I’ll contact you as soon as I can.’
‘P-promises,’ she said, sudden tears blinding her.
He laughed and picked up her free hand, kissing the back and then the palm, folding her fingers over to keep the kiss there. ‘I always keep my promises.’ It sounded like a vow.
‘Come, ma’am,’ Josef said earnestly. ‘The plane is ready.’
‘Go now,’ Guy said, and strode out into the darkness without a backward glance.
An hour later, as the engines droned above the dark, empty ocean, Lauren twisted the gold signet ring on her finger, and wondered what was happening back on Sant’Rosa.
‘Keep him safe,’ she whispered.
And with the stars swallowed up by the moon’s light, and the white circle of Valanu’s biggest atoll on the horizon, she tried to forget that somewhere behind her a stranger, a man she had only met that day, might be fighting for his life.
And tried very hard to convince herself that she hadn’t fallen in love in three short hours.
The ceiling fan whirred, wafting a sluggish wave of clammy air over Lauren’s head. Gathering her dignity, she said, ‘So I can’t leave Valanu yet.’
Regretfully the immigration official shook his head. ‘I am afraid not,’ he agreed. ‘It is complicated, you see. You came here without papers; we let you in as a favour because you are married to a man who has a good name in this place.’ He tapped the file on his desk. ‘But it is taking longer than we expected to get replacement papers from Britain, and until then you cannot leave Valanu because our only air link to the outside world is Sant’Rosa, and they say they will not allow you to land there without a passport.’
‘My parents said my passport had been sent by courier two days ago.’
They had had variations on the same conversation for the past six afternoons. Tension plucked Lauren’s nerves, but screaming wouldn’t achieve anything. Everyone had been utterly polite, very helpful—and determined to stick to the rules.
Guy had been right. With no British consulate, all official matters had to go through the distant island nation that ruled Valanu, so she was stuck on this lovely, isolated atoll until proof of her identity and citizenship arrived.
Guy’s agent might have been able to speed things up, but he’d flown to Singapore the day before she’d arrived on Valanu and wasn’t expected back for several more days.
Fortunately the clerk at Valanu’s airport who’d converted Guy’s notes to the local currency had asked her where she was staying. When she’d admitted she had nowhere, he’d recommended his cousin’s place, and half an hour later she’d rented a one-room bungalow standing on a coral platform in a tangle of foliage and sweet-smelling flowers.
She pasted a smile to her face and got to her feet. ‘Thank you very much for all your help.’
‘I’m sorry I can’t make things happen more quickly for you, but I hope you are enjoying our little island.’ He paused, before saying carefully, ‘It is a possibility that if you spoke to one of the journalists trying to get to Sant’Rosa, they might be able to help you contact your family in England.’
God, no! Lauren had been carefully avoiding them for the past few days. Not that she was interesting to the media, except for the fact that she was Marc Corbett’s half-sister, and Marc was a player on the world stage. She didn’t want anyone poking around in the past and discovering the secret of her mother’s long-ago affair with Marc’s father. Apart from humiliating her mother, any publication of that indiscretion would stress her father, whose health was precarious.
She held out her hand. ‘I’m enjoying my time on Valanu, and you’ve been most kind,’ she told the official truthfully. ‘I’m just worried about what’s happening on Sant’Rosa.’
Sombre-faced, he shook her hand. ‘Yes,’ he said heavily. ‘War is a terrible thing, and it is so sad to see the Sant’Rosans suffering again. However, if what we are hearing is correct, the invaders are already being pushed back beyond the border and their ringleader is dead.’
Rumour or truth? ‘I hope so,’ she said in a flat voice.
Slowly, because the late-afternoon sun beat down with unmitigated ferocity, she walked to her bungalow. Once in its blessed coolness, she poured a glass of water from the jug in the tiny refrigerator and stood slowly sipping it in the minuscule kitchen.
Beneath the high, thatched roof, a huge bed draped in mosquito netting dominated the room; although Lauren slept with only a sheet over her, the coverlet was a work of art, brilliantly quilted in a pattern of hibiscus flowers. With a table and chairs, the only other furniture was a wardrobe that held Guy’s shirt—washed and pressed and awaiting his arrival—and the spare sarong she’d bought the morning after she’d been decanted from the plane.
During the day the woven mats that made the walls were rolled up so that sea breezes cooled the building; at night, they provided privacy.
Spartan, she thought, draining the glass with relief, but clean and comfortable; more importantly, it was cheap. The call she’d made to her parents in England had used so much of Guy’s money that she’d had to watch every penny, haggling for fish and fruit in the market. With funds from home apparently wending their way via outer space, she’d soon be forced to borrow from Guy’s agent when he returned from Singapore.
Apart from her daily trek to report to the immigration officer, she swam, prepared meals and chatted to her landlady’s teenage daughters, trying to satisfy their curiosity about life outside their idyllic island. Unfortunately, such a lazy life gave her too much time to imagine Guy Bagaton dead…
Even though death was no respecter of persons, it was impossible to imagine all that vibrant power cut down by a bullet—or worse.
‘He’ll be fine,’ she said aloud. She had the oddest feeling that if he died she’d know.
‘You don’t even know him,’ she scoffed, and went down to the lagoon to swim off the dust and the sweat of the walk home.
The water lapped against her like liquid silk, soothing and lukewarm, but a blood-red sky to the west heralded the sunset, turning her white skin copper as she strolled back along the beach. It seemed ominous, a bad omen.
‘Grow up,’ she chided, slipping off her sandals at