Escape From Desire. PENNY JORDAN

      It was only when they drew nearer that Tamara realised that what she had mistaken for a narrow cleft in the volcanic rock face was, in actual fact, the entrance to a much deeper fissure.

      ‘I discovered this place when I was a boy,’ the guerrilla leader told them, adding boastfully, ‘I doubt there are half a dozen people on St Stephen’s who know of its existence, and certainly no one who would be able to lead anyone here.’

      Tamara could well believe him. She shrank back instinctively from the almost Stygian darkness that seemed to reach out greedily for her as they approached the fissure, and this time it was Zachary Fletcher who urged her on, his face unreadable and remote, as though his thoughts were elsewhere.

      The fissure was so narrow that they could only walk through it in single file, and Tamara, who had always had a horror of being underground, felt her skin crawling with a terror remembered from a childhood visit to the caves at Inglewhite, many years before. But this time there were no understanding parents to hurry her out to the welcome fresh air, and she bit down so hard on her lower lip to prevent herself from protesting that she could taste the blood.

      At last, when she felt she could not stand another second trapped in that narrow passage, it opened out into what was obviously a series of caves. The first one was empty, and despite the number of openings leading off from it, the guerrillas seemed to have no difficulty in selecting one of them, and herding their prisoners into it.

      This time the tunnel was mercifully short and it opened into a large cavern, well lit by Calor gas lamps which threw eerily reflected shadows over the shiny rock face. Furniture of the type used on camping holidays—folding canvas chairs, a table, a cooker next to a container of gaz with a fridge on the other side of it was scattered incongruously inside the cavern, and as though he sensed her surprise, the guerrilla leader laughed at Tamara.

      ‘Even men such as we need our “home comforts”, but do not be deceived, we are quite capable of living off the jungle if need be.

      ‘Kennedy,’ he addressed one of the men over his shoulder, ‘make us some food, while I show our guests to their quarters. You will be very comfortable,’ he threw over his shoulder to Tamara. ‘I shall give you the honeymoon suite.’