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One Night Of Love
Sally Wentworth
A physical attraction… . Oliver Balfour is a man who always gets what he wants, and he makes it perfectly clear that he wants Dyan - in his bed! He is without doubt the most attractive man Dyan has ever met. What woman could resist his charm and sexual charisma? Dyan knows she has to try… . It's all too much, too soon. They barely know each other!Yet every time Oliver looks at Dyan, she senses a physical passion that threatens to overwhelm her. But they're supposed to be business partners, not lovers. Dyan simply can't afford to give in to the desire she feels for Oliver - not even for the night!"Sally Wentworth's talented writing comes through in her riveting new book." - Romantic Times
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u24d211d8-891a-54f0-9826-12fe0b1ce001)
Excerpt (#u8fd97430-ea4c-5ac0-9717-6d6afe94cde9)
About the Author (#u70877ac8-5ed4-5499-a189-3d65bd39500e)
Title Page (#ub81d021e-0e40-5b7f-a232-200e1a92ccb8)
Chapter One (#u00eac5b9-bc95-5619-b36a-79e72b9f1fc6)
Chapter Two (#uf478342e-37a4-5c74-8b55-667dcf0b321a)
Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“I’m very, very attracted to you, Dyan.”
Bending, Oliver lightly kissed her eyelids, her cheek, her lips.
Dyan lifted her hand and ran her fingertips over his mouth. “We hardly know each other,” she said softly. “We only met a few days ago.”
“Long enough to know that we like each other. Long enough to recognize the sexual attraction that we both feel. And don’t say that it isn’t there,” Oliver added, capturing her hand. “You know it as well as I do.”
“I wasn’t going to deny it,” Dyan admitted. “But…” She paused, seeking the right words, but Oliver finished the sentence for her.
“But you’re not the kind of girl who goes with a man on the first date?”
SALLY WENTWORTH was born and raised in Hertfordshire, England, where she still lives, and started writing after attending an evening course. She is married and has one son. There is always a novel on the bedside table, but she also does craftwork, plays bridge and is the president of a National Trust group which goes to the ballet and theater regularly and to open-air concerts in the summer. Sometimes she doesn’t know how she finds the time to write!
One Night Of Love
Sally Wentworth
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_5af73f05-12d5-50cd-92c6-80227ef62ee1)
THE signature beneath the letter from a leading London insurance company was completely indecipherable, but, thanks to his secretary’s having neatly typed his name, Dyan was able to read that the letter was from Oliver Balfour, the man they were wishing on her throughout the expedition. Dyan had a theory, evolved from years of reading company letters, that the higher up the hierarchical scale a man rose, the less legible his signature became. And on that measure this man must be close to the top.
Her mouth twisted into a little grimace when she saw the terse command for the highly secret recovery expedition to find the yacht, Xanadu, to start at once, which, although it was put politely, was a definite order. Didn’t these people ever realise that there was seasonal weather and the state of the tides to be taken into consideration, for heaven’s sake?
The rest of the correspondence about the ill-fated Xanadu was in the file in one of their ‘Top Secret’ metal boxes to which Dyan had been given the key when her boss, Barney Starr, had handed her the project. Before opening it, Dyan had locked herself in her office and pulled down the blind, measures insisted on by Barney who had constant nightmares about industrial espionage. In this case she thought he might be overdoing it, because the Xanadu was only a small vessel as ships went, but when she read the list of missing artefacts sent by the insurance company Dyan gave an incredulous whistle. It seemed that the motor yacht was the luxury toy of a millionaire pop-singer who had been over to Europe on a buying spree. Nothing wrong in that, except that he had been buying old and almost priceless objects: Russian icons, Fabergе eggs, Holbein miniatures, Greek and Egyptian funerary artefacts, a Roman statue…The list seemed to go on endlessly.
The millionaire had been taking them all back to adorn his new home in the West Indies, but a couple of days before they’d been due to arrive the boat had been caught in the tail end of a hurricane and capsized. The crew and passengers had got off and been rescued safely, but the boat had gone down in the Caribbean Sea. Probably because of the huge waterproof safe that had been built into it to house all the objets d’art, Dyan thought grimly as she studied the plan of the yacht. And raising that safe would be her problem, and that of the team she would pick to help her. Reaching out for the phone, Dyan began to put that team together.
Three weeks later, Dyan was standing in the airport in Nassau on New Providence island, waiting for the flight from London which was bringing Oliver Balfour to join them. She had worked extremely hard during those three weeks, getting the expedition ready to put to sea, but had done so with maximum efficiency and the minimum of fuss. It was important that no other salvage company should hear about the Xanadu and its cargo, so it was necessary to keep a low profile. She hadn’t even told the crew what they were going after yet, letting them think it was a historic wreck. The only people who would know the truth were herself and the man from the insurers, whose plane, she saw from the Arrivals board, had just touched down on the runway.
Dyan wondered what he would be like, and didn’t look forward to meeting him. She would much rather have handled the expedition on her own, without some man from the insurers breathing down her neck. From the wording of his letters Balfour sounded to be a typically chauvinistic male, and she could just guess at his reaction when he found out that there was a woman in charge of the expedition. That he hadn’t been told she was a woman, Dyan was all too certain; Barney, the head of the salvage company, had a wicked sense of humour and he always found it extremely entertaining not to tell his customers that they would be dealing with a female. When he spoke to her, or spoke of her to a client, Barney always referred to her as just ‘Logan’, without any prefix, and also conveniently dropped the pronoun. Often she’d heard him on the phone saying, in his broad American accent, ‘I’m putting Logan in charge. One of my best salvors, a qualified oceanographer. Logan will handle it for you.’ A couple of dozen times she’d seen the customers’ smiles of greeting slip into a look of stunned surprise when they’d realised that ‘Logan’ was a female. And not only female but also young, tall and curvy, and with a mass of rich chestnut hair into the bargain!
The customers’ first impulse—and they were without exception male—was to get on the phone to Barney and demand to know what the hell was going on. They were brusquely told that there was no sexual discrimination in the Starr Marine and Salvage Company, that Logan had been hand-picked for the job and would do a good one. It had then been left to Dyan to prove herself which, because she really was good at her job, she had always managed to do, but she still found it annoying, especially as she knew full well that if she’d been a man her proficiency would have been accepted without question. It was a matter of pride that every customer for whom she’d worked had asked for her by name if they’d needed to use the company again. But Oliver Balfour, of course, was a new customer and she fully expected to encounter the usual problems.
Picking up the jacket of the short-skirted linen suit she was wearing, Dyan hooked it over her shoulder and made her way down to where she was to meet Mr Balfour. A great many beautiful, long-legged girls passed through Nassau airport on their way to or from the holiday resorts, but even so Dyan attracted attention. It wasn’t only her legs and that flaming hair; there was an air of cool confidence about her, in her walk and the proud set of her shoulders. It told anyone who cared to look that at twenty-six she had already made it, had got to where she wanted to be, and— apart from chauvinistic customers—no longer had to prove anything to anyone.
Dyan supposed that she could have dressed more conservatively for this meeting, made it less of a shock for the customer, but she didn’t see why she should; it was her work that was supposed to be important, not her appearance. So she perched her sunspecs on the top of her head, fished the small sign saying ‘STARR MARINE’ from her bag and held it up in front of her as she waited for the passengers to come through.
She didn’t expect to have to wait too long; the Club and Business Class passengers always came ahead, and she was quite sure her customer would be among them. A man was already emerging into the concourse, tall and carrying his one large bag himself. Dyan put him down as a returning local and looked past him for someone pushing a trolley loaded with enough luggage to last several weeks. But then she did a double-take as the man stopped in front of her and said, ‘Are you looking for me? I’m Oliver Balfour.’
It wasn’t often that Dyan had to tilt her head to look at a man, but she had to now, which must make him about six foot three, she judged. And so very English-looking in his well-cut dark business suit, worn regardless of West Indies heat. But what surprised her most about him was his youth. As he was a director of his company she had naturally expected him to be at least middle-aged, but this man looked quite young, only in his early thirties, his features still lean and clear-cut. And it was a good-looking face, which she also hadn’t bargained for.
Taken aback by surprise, she hadn’t answered, and he said on an impatient note, ‘Well? Are you waiting for me or not?’
She gave him a hasty smile. ‘Yes, I am. Welcome to Nassau, Mr Balfour.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m Dyan Logan.’
Dyan looked at his face expectantly, waiting for realisation to dawn, for anger to take the place of shock, but to her surprise his brows merely drew together slightly for a moment and then cleared. Taking her hand, he shook it briefly. ‘How do you do?’ She blinked, expecting him to say more, but he merely added, ‘Shall we go?’
‘Er—yes, of course.’ She smiled in genuine warmth, thinking in amazed pleasure that for once in her life she’d found a man who accepted women on equal terms. ‘Is that all your luggage?’
‘Yes.’
‘You travel light,’ she remarked.
‘I try to.’
‘I have a car waiting.’ She started to lead the way, but paused to say, ‘Do you need to change any money or anything while we’re here at the airport?’
‘No, thank you; that’s all taken care of.’
She glanced at him with keen but hidden curiosity. He gave the impression of efficiency in that beautiful dark suit, and he looked very clean and neat, his dark hair trimmed to just the right length above his collar, his firm chin clean-shaven despite the long flight, and his nails newly manicured. With anyone else she would probably have reminded them that they wouldn’t be near a bank or anything for some weeks, but with Oliver Balfour Dyan felt that it would be quite unnecessary; if he said it was taken care of, then that was it. Fleetingly she wondered how someone who looked so fastidious—there was no other word for itwould manage on board the salvage ship for a month or more. It was a fairly new vessel but definitely not in the luxury class.
They emerged from the airport into the heat of the day. It was May and the temperature was already up into the seventies. Dyan automatically slipped her sunspecs on and her companion crinkled his eyes against the glare of the late afternoon sun but made no move to put on any glasses. He strode along beside her, carrying his bag easily, a briefcase in his other hand. He was, Dyan realised, a big man, his shoulders correspondingly broad for his height, but the dark suit played down his size, was so well cut that at first glance he seemed merely lean and athletic.
In deference to his being the customer, Dyan had brought an open-topped car rather than the pick-up. He put his bag in the back and opened the door on the driver’s side. For a moment Dyan thought he intended to drive, but it seemed it was merely good manners, because he looked at her expectantly as he held it open.
In that short skirt, Dyan showed a lot of leg as she got into the low car. She gave Oliver a quick glance under her lashes, interested to see whether it would have any effect on him. He saw all right; he blinked, but apart from that his face betrayed no emotion. The typical cool Englishman, Dyan thought, her lips twisting in intrigued amusement.
‘Where are we going, Mrs Logan?’ Oliver asked as they set off.
‘Well, you said in your letter that you were in a hurry, so I thought we’d go straight to the boat. And it’s Miss not Mrs. But please, call me Dyan.’
He gave her a sharp look. ‘Thank you.’ And added after a moment, ‘Do you live in Nassau?’
‘No. I’m only here because of your project.’ Glancing at him, she saw him frown a little, so said, ‘Unless you’d like to drive round the island for a while first? Have you ever been here before?’
‘Yes, I have—and I’d rather go straight to the boat.’
‘OK. Fine.’ They fell silent and to break it she said, ‘I hope you’re pleased with the speed that we’ve got the boat ready for you…Er—do you prefer to be called Ollie or Oliver?’
There was a second of silence in which she could almost hear him saying that he’d prefer Mr Balfour, but then he said, ‘Oliver will be fine.’ Adding, ‘I didn’t realise that the boat had been organised with any special speed; I expected it to be ready by now.’
Dyan choked a little, thinking of the endless hours she’d spent organising crew, provisions and equipment. ‘Oh, quite,’ she said faintly.
‘When will we actually leave?’ Oliver asked.
‘On tonight’s tide. After dark, when there are fewer people around. To maintain as much secrecy as possible,’ she explained.
‘You seem to be fully informed about this expedition, Miss—Dyan?’
‘Oh, yes, I am,’ she hastened to assure him because she’d detected a questioning note in his tone. ‘Fully informed on the whole project.’
‘I see.’
She glanced at him again, wondering at the coldness of his tone, but Oliver was looking out of the window at one of the island policemen directing traffic in his uniform of white shorts, shirt and helmet, and she could learn nothing from his hard profile. They were nearing the waterfront now and the streets were busy with people and cars. Dyan concentrated on where she was going and had no time to worry about Oliver until she eventually drew up in the car park near the dock where the boat was moored.
‘This way,’ she told him, and pointed down to the end of the dock. ‘The boat is called Guiding Starr. Starr spelt with a double R, after Barney Starr, the company head.’
‘The salvage boat belongs to the company, then? You haven’t hired it?’
‘No. The company owns all its own salvage vessels. This one was being used to help recover part of an oil-rig that had sunk in the North Atlantic, and had to be brought here and re-equipped for your project.’ Dyan let that sink in, wanting him to know that the company had pulled out all the stops for him, but he made no comment.
There was no way you could call Guiding Starr a beautiful ship. It had a large after-deck fitted with cranes and other lifting gear, an enclosed area where they kept the submersible, and a high bridge below a mast that had so many electronic tracking devices attached to it that it resembled a junk yard. The hull was black, the upper bulwarks white. A ship built to do a special job with no concessions to gracefulness. Aboard, it was much the same. The cabins were small and practical, but very comfortable. The galley was fitted up with the latest gadgets, and there was a decent rest area with television and videos for the crew when they were off duty.
Dyan led the way up the gangway and on to the ship where Russ was waiting to welcome them.
‘This is the captain, Russ Millar. Oliver Balfour,’ Dyan introduced.
They shook hands, the eyes of both men flicking over the other, summing each other up as they exchanged polite greetings.
Dyan hid a small smile of amusement. ‘I’ll show you to your cabin,’ she offered.
Oliver followed her below, apparently at home aboard a boat, ducking his head as they went down the companionway. Dyan opened the door of the cabin that had been set aside for him. It was one of the larger ones and should have been hers by rights, if the insurance company hadn’t insisted on sending Oliver along. Now, when Oliver stood inside it, the cabin suddenly seemed a whole lot smaller.
‘I’m sorry,’ Dyan apologised. ‘The boat isn’t really fitted out to carry passengers. But this is one of the largest cabins, and there’s a bathroom opening off it.’
‘You don’t have to apologise; it’s perfectly adequate,’ Oliver told her, dropping his bag on to the bed.
‘Great.’ She smiled at him again. ‘I’ll leave you to unpack, then.’
She turned to go but Oliver said, ‘Just a moment,’ and she looked back expectantly. ‘When am I going to meet the rest of the crew?’
‘At dinner, I expect. We don’t leave for a few hours yet, so I expect most of them are still on shore, making the most of being in port.’
‘I’d like to see round the ship.’
‘Of course. I’ll take you round myself. I just have to go back ashore for a few things.’
‘Shall we say half an hour, then?’
‘Make it an hour,’ Dyan said with a smile, the thought coming to her that she hadn’t brought anything very glamorous in the way of clothes with her. Although that hadn’t seemed important earlier.
The smile wasn’t returned. ‘Very well, an hour,’ Oliver accepted, but with another frown.
‘The steward’s name is Joe. If you need anything just ring for him.’
Dyan left him in the cabin and hurried ashore, wondering if Oliver was always this austere. But a man who could so easily accept her as the head of the salvage project could, in her eyes, be forgiven a great deal. And there was something attractive about him, too, which was why she went to a boutique in the town and carefully selected a few new things for the voyage: a couple of dresses for the evenings and some new casual clothes, things she definitely wouldn’t have bothered to buy if Oliver had turned out to be the middle-aged man she’d expected.
One of the crew was just going aboard as she got back to the ship and gave her a hand to carry her parcels, making her laugh as he tried to guess what was in them. Glancing up, Dyan saw a figure leaning over the ship’s side, watching them, and recognised Oliver. He didn’t return the wave she gave him, but raised the wrist that held his watch, letting her know that her hour was up. He had changed into lighterweight clothes, but he still wore a tie.
Dyan gave the crewman the rest of her parcels. ‘Drop these in my cabin for me, will you?’ She walked over to Oliver and lifted a hand to push back her hair, blown by the evening breeze off the sea. ‘Ready for the guided tour?’
His eyes were on her and this time he couldn’t—or else didn’t try—to hide the flicker of interest in them. ‘Quite ready.’
She took him round the deck first, explaining what the equipment was used for, telling him she’d show him the submersible once they were out to sea.
‘For security reasons?’ he questioned, but said when she nodded, ‘But surely anyone walking along the dock, or any boat passing by can see that this is a salvage ship?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘And don’t all salvage ships carry a submersible?’
‘Yes, but not like this one,’ Dyan told him, patting the covered underwater craft. ‘This is specially for your project, and we prefer to keep it under wraps.’
Below again, she showed him the galley and the rest room, gestured forward. ‘Those cabins are the crew’s quarters.’
‘How many are there in the crew?’
‘Fourteen; seven people on each watch. Plus the cook, the steward, and ourselves.’
‘You don’t count yourself as crew, then?’ he asked.
‘No. I’m always on call.’
His eyebrows rose and Oliver was about to ask her a question, but she led the way into the operations room, the heart of the ship, where every gadget that had been invented to help in the search for underwater wrecks had been fitted. It was like an extremely modern computer room with a large chart table in its centre. Oliver walked into the room and looked round in fascinated interest.
‘It’s as you’d imagine the control deck of a spaceship to look,’ he exclaimed.
‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ Dyan agreed.
He swung round to face her. ‘You’re obviously used to it. Do you know what all the machines are for?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she answered in surprise. ‘This one, for instance, is the sonar. That’s pulses of highfrequency sound that are bounced off the sea-bed,’ she told him, getting her own back. ‘The time taken for their echoes to return gives you the depth of the sea-bed at that point, so you can draw a map of the sea bottom. If there’s anything unusual, a wreck or something, then it will show.’
‘And you’ll be able to recognise the boat we want from that?’
‘No. It could be any wreck. Then we have to send down a submersible with a video camera to take a look.’
‘Do people go down in the submersible?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’d very much like to go down some time.’
‘It’s really only for experienced divers,’ Dyan started to explain.
But, ‘I have diving experience. I told you I’ve been to the West Indies before; I took a diving course then.’
‘Well, in that case, I’m sure we could arrange something,’ Dyan smiled. There was a question which had been niggling at the back of her mind, and now, glancing at the bank of phones, she saw a way to answer it. Gesturing to them, she said, ‘We’re connected up to the international communications satellite; if you’d like to phone your wife and family, to tell them you’ve arrived safely, you can do it from here.’
‘How very kind of you.’ Oliver gave her a quizzical look in which she thought she noticed a touch of amusement. ‘I’d like to use the phone some time—but there’s no one waiting with breathless anxiety for me to call.’
‘Oh. Fine.’ Dyan turned away, feeling slightly abashed, which was totally unlike her. She glanced at her watch. ‘It’s almost time for dinner. We’re eating early tonight so we can sail on the tide. Would you like a drink first?’
He nodded. ‘Sounds a good idea.’
They went back to the rest room where Dyan poured the drinks herself and noted them in the book. Oliver asked her what it was and she explained that everyone entered the drinks they’d taken and settled up at the end of each voyage.
‘Doesn’t that encourage drunkenness?’ Oliver questioned.
Dyan shook her head. ‘Starr Marine doesn’t employ drunks. Any crew member who got drunk would be put ashore at the next port; they all know that.’
‘The men in the crew—I take it that they are all reliable and discreet?’
‘Of course. They’ve been hand-picked for this project. They’ve all been with the company for some years and are seasoned sailors and divers.’ That hadn’t been what Oliver meant, but Dyan deliberately paused before she looked him straight in the eyes and added, ‘They are all also honest men. You need have no fear that they’ll steal anything they find.’
She had spoken stiffly, her tone cold, affronted by the implied insult to the men. But Oliver said, ‘I’m more worried that they might be indiscreet, let fall information about the—about our quarry, so that another salvage company might get there first.’
‘They haven’t been told what we’re going after. And as for where—well, no one knows that yet. You’re supposed to be bringing that information with you,’ she pointed out rather tartly.
Oliver nodded, but his eyes had drawn into a frown again.
A bell sounded. Russ came in with the first mate, followed by most of the crew. He introduced them to Oliver and they almost immediately moved into the galley for dinner. There were no set places; people sat round the long table where they pleased. Dyan would have sat next to Oliver, but she was still a little annoyed with him, although she supposed that he was bound to ask about the integrity of the crew given the nature of the salvage they were to raise. So she sat next to Hal, the head of the diving team, and let Oliver find a place next to the chief engineer.
There were four empty spaces round the table, those of crew members that they would be picking up in Antigua, local men who were taking advantage of their being in the area to take a break with their families. Dyan heard Oliver ask about the empty chairs and the chief engineer tell him that there were some men to come, but then Joe began to serve the food and nothing more was said. It was a good meal, made of fresh food and plenty of it. Not up to five star hotel standard, but very good for a Starr Marine boat. Dyan couldn’t help glancing at Oliver to see his reaction, but he was apparently eating with as much appetite as the rest.
She only glanced at him a few times, and seemed to be giving her attention to Hal, who was recounting the story of his very first dive. But she had heard it all before and so her mind wandered, and naturally dwelt on Oliver, the stranger in their midst. He seemed a paradox; to be so open-minded that he had accepted her at once and without question, and at the same time anxious about the reliability of the men— men that he must know had been thoroughly vetted by Barney before they would be employed for a project such as this. And whatever his mind, his character wasn’t open; he seemed to have a natural reserve, an air of reticence about him. The chief engineer was talking to him and Oliver was listening politely, but he glanced up before Dyan could look away and caught her eye. She gave him one of her warm smiles and he looked at her for a moment before nodding in return, but he didn’t smile back. He didn’t seem to smile much at all. Perhaps this is his first assignment, she thought excusingly. Perhaps he’s too tense to relax.
His meal finished, Russ, the skipper, glanced at his watch and stood up, several other men doing the same. But those not on watch stayed in the cabin for coffee.
The boat made little noise as it put slowly out to sea, its modern engines hardly vibrating, the calmness of the harbour holding the boat steady. The curtains in the cabin were drawn and there were no passing lights to show that they were moving. Not until they were out of the harbour and into the open sea, when the engines were opened up, did a slight tremble along the decking betray that the boat was in its element at last.
Oliver felt it and looked up in sharp surprise. Putting down his coffee-cup, he said to Dyan, ‘I’d like to talk to you, if I may?’
‘Of course.’ She stood up. ‘Shall we go to the operations room?’
She walked ahead of him, her legs immediately adjusting to the movement of the ship, finding it no problem after so many salvage operations such as this. When they reached the ops room she waited until Oliver had followed her in and then closed the door behind them.
‘This room is completely soundproof,’ she told him reassuringly. ‘I expect you want to give me the coordinates for the last known position of the Xanadu. All I know at the moment is that she went down off the Windward Islands.’
‘No, that isn’t what I want,’ Oliver said tersely. ‘What I want to know is just when your father is coming aboard?’
‘My father?’ She stared at him incredulously, thinking that she couldn’t possibly have heard right. ‘I haven’t got a father—I mean, I did have one but he died years ago.’
‘Well, your brother, then,’ Oliver said impatiently. ‘Whatever relation to you this man Logan is who’s supposed to be in charge of this expedition. He should have been here from the start, but now I want to know exactly where he is.’
All the happy thoughts of a uniquely open-minded man faded abruptly. Dyan’s face hardened. ‘You’d better come with me,’ she said shortly, and led the way into the office section where all the telephones were. Glancing at the clock, she calculated that Barney would still be in the office, hopefully having lunch…and hopefully the call would give him acute indigestion. She wrote the number down and gave it to Oliver. ‘This is Barnaby Starr’s private line in London. He’ll be expecting your call. In fact, he’s probably been waiting for it for the last four hours.’
She went to leave but Oliver lifted a restraining hand. ‘Just a moment. Why should he be waiting for me to call? And where is Logan…?’ Even as he said it the truth dawned on him. Oliver’s eyes widened incredulously. ‘You?’ he exclaimed in utter disbelief.
‘Yes, that’s right. I’m in charge of this expedition, this ship, these men.’ Her chin came up in angry challenge. ‘And why not?’
Oliver’s hand had automatically reached towards the telephone when she’d given him the number, but now his eyes were fixed on her face, his own still wide with shock. ‘But I expected a——’
‘A man,’ Dyan finished for him. ‘Of course you did.’ Her tone was heavy with sarcasm, mostly because of her own disappointment.
Recovering quickly, Oliver’s jaw hardened at her tone. ‘Yes,’ he agreed frankly, ‘I was expecting a man. I was also expecting someone twice as old as you.’
‘Really?’ Dyan gave him a sardonic smile. ‘You’ve turned out to be exactly the kind of male chauvinist I was expecting.’ And then was immediately angry with herself for letting her feelings betray her into being rude.
And Oliver didn’t let her get away with it. His eyes narrowing, he said tersely, ‘A typically ferninine and silly remark.’
Dyan’s cheeks flushed a little. She should have apologised, she supposed, but was determined not to. Instead her chin came up and she said, ‘You have two alternatives, Mr Balfour. You can either entrust me with your project, or we can turn the ship round, go back to port, and you can find yourself a new salvage company.’
‘Or I could instruct Mr Starr to send out someone else to take charge of this expedition,’ he reminded her shortly.
She shook her head decisively. ‘No, you couldn’t. Your contract with Starr Marine specified that they would supply an experienced and capable oceanographer to take charge of the operation. They’ve done that. If you don’t want me, then that’s your choice, but you will have to break the contract and go elsewhere.’
‘That sounds suspiciously like blackmail,’ Oliver said angrily.
With a shrug, Dyan said, ‘I can’t help the way it sounds. That’s the way it is. Talk to Barney on the phone. Ask him for someone new. See what he says, if you don’t believe me.’
She went to leave him alone in the office but Oliver, his eyes on her face, on the heightened colour in her cheeks and the angry fire in her green eyes, said, ‘You don’t sell yourself short, do you?’
‘I don’t have to. I know my job. Your project is no big deal from the point of view of finding and raising the Xanadu; it’s only the nature of the cargo that makes it at all special.’
‘Is that supposed to put me in my place?’
Dyan took a deep breath, striving to hold in check a temper that went with her hair. Usually she had no trouble; experience and responsibility had taught her self-control, and she was adult enough to know that disappointment was playing a great part in her emotions now. Balling her hands, she said as calmly as she could, ‘No, it was meant to imply that I’ve done this job many times before—but you must already know that; Barney would have told you.’
‘Yes, he did. But he left out one or two very relevant details,’ Oliver said wryly.
‘You mean he didn’t tell you I wasn’t a man.’
‘Or how young you are.’
‘Well, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about either. You’ll just have to make up your mind what you want to do.’ She opened the door. ‘I’ll leave you to call Barney.’
‘Wait.’ His grey eyes regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Does Starr ever tell the customers that you’re a girl?’
‘No.’ She shook her head.
‘Why not?’
‘He has a twisted sense of humour,’ she answered flippantly.
Oliver gave her a level look. ‘Now tell me the real reason.’
Dyan met his eyes for a moment, then gave an angry gesture. ‘Why do you think?’ she said on a bitter note. ‘If he did, I’d probably never get any work. Women don’t usually do this kind of job, and men are naturally biased against women who encroach on what they consider to be their world. If I were a subordinate it would be OK, but they neither like nor trust a woman who’s in charge.’
‘You’re talking about the company’s customers?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘What about the men in the crew?’ Oliver said. ‘Do they resent you?’
‘No. We’ve all worked together before. They do their jobs, and I do mine.’
‘But do they trust you?’
She saw what he was getting at. ‘Yes, they trust me. They have to. Their lives are in my hands, are my responsibility.’
Again he gave her a thoughtful look. ‘During dinner—they didn’t seem to treat you as their boss, show you any deference.’
Dyan could see why he was doubtful, but it was difficult to explain to a stranger. Perching on the edge of the desk, she said, gesturing expressively with her hands, ‘It’s different on the sea. When we’re down in the galley we’re all shipmates together. But when Russ is on the bridge, then he’s the captain and the men jump to obey him. And when we’re diving, then Hal is in charge and his orders have to be obeyed. But I’m in overall command of the whole project, and I tell the ship where to go and the men when and where to dive. But they know I’m an expert at my job, that I know the sea. And they respect that. Just as I respect their expertise in their own particular fields.’
She paused, wondering if he understood. Oliver was watching and listening closely, his attention centred on her, and she knew that he did, that he was intelligent enough to imagine how it must be.
Dyan went on, ‘There has to be someone who’s experienced in wet salvage who is in control of the project. I’m that someone because I am experienced, because I’m a professional oceanographer and perfectly capable of undertaking this expedition. That I’m a woman shouldn’t matter,’ she said on a forceful note. But then gave a bitter little laugh. ‘But it does matter, of course. Because all the rest counts for less than nothing where male prejudice is concerned.’
‘I don’t like being made a fool of,’ Oliver said grimly.
‘And I don’t like being treated as a second-class citizen,’ she retorted.
This time when she made for the door Oliver didn’t try to stop her.
Glancing back briefly, she said, ‘I’ll be up on deck when you’ve made your call.’
But once outside the room, out of his sight, Dyan leaned against the wall for a moment, fists clenched, eyes closed, trying to regain some degree of composure. What the hell was the matter with her? she wondered, angry that she’d let it get to her. This had happened to her many times before but she’d seldom felt this uptight about it. But there was nothing more she could do. Oliver would either agree to go on or they would go back. But she had the sick feeling that this was one customer she was going to lose. He had been so convinced a man would be in charge that it hadn’t even occurred to him that it might be her. Oliver had merely marked her down, first as ‘Logan’s wife, then his daughter or sister. What she had thought was open-mindedness was in reality a mind so closed that it hadn’t even contemplated the possibility of her being the boss.
On a sudden surge of anger, Dyan went into her cabin, picked up the parcels of new clothes that she’d bought, and threw them, with as much force as she could find, against the far wall. The boxes burst open, the flowing silk of dresses and underwear, the bright cottons of swimsuits and shirts spilling over the floor and furniture. Feeling a little better, but not much, Dyan went up on deck.
Oliver joined her much sooner than she expected him to. She was standing in the bow of the boat, looking out at the velvety blackness of the night, pinpricked by stars and lights from the distant islands. The wind caught her hair, tendrils of it hiding her face, for which she was glad. Oliver came up to her but she didn’t look round.
‘That didn’t take long,’ she commented wryly. ‘I take it we’re turning back?’
Leaning an arm on the rail, Oliver said, ‘I didn’t make the call.’
Dyan stiffened her shoulders. ‘You had already decided, then,’ she said flatly.
‘Yes—but to go on, not to turn back.’
That brought her swiftly round to face him, an impatient hand going up to push her hair aside. ‘You mean you’re willing to trust me—and without consulting Barney?’ Her voice was full of surprise, and there was a flare of hope in her eyes.
Oliver nodded, and suddenly grinned, the unexpected smile so transforming his face that he seemed like an entirely different man. ‘I thought we’d leave him waiting by the phone, wondering what the hell’s happening.’
‘Thanks,’ Dyan said in husky gratitude. ‘It usually takes Barney about an hour of persuasion before a new customer will give me a try,’ she confided, on a sudden wave of happiness.
Oliver spread his hands. ‘I recognise a fait accompli when I see it. I don’t like the way it was done,’ he paused, his eyes resting on her, ‘but I’m willing to give you a try—Logan.’
Dyan laughed, said goodnight, and went down to her cabin to pick up all the new clothes and carefully hang them in the wardrobe.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_41c34248-b420-5914-8f5c-7f099071f554)
THERE was no set time for breakfast on board the ship. Those of the crew who weren’t on watch went to the galley when they felt like it, or when they were no longer able to resist the savoury smells of frying bacon and hash browns. Dyan usually contented herself with fresh orange juice and toast, so often had her breakfast in her cabin, brought to her by Joe. But on their first morning at sea she went down to join the others. Today she was wearing what she described as her working clothes; a pair of shorts and a loose, short-sleeved shirt, and a pair of yellow canvas espadrilles on her feet, but today the clothes were new. Her hair she had woven from the top of her head into one thick plait that she’d fastened with a yellow bow, although ordinarily she would have used just an elastic band. And ordinarily her face would have been clean of make-up, because there was no way she wanted to be seen by the men as a sex object, but today she’d looked at her bare face in the mirror and impulsively added enough make-up to enhance her appearance.
It was still early and most of the crew were in the galley, but Oliver wasn’t there. He came in about ten minutes later, looking as if he hadn’t slept very well. All the other men, without exception, were wearing shorts, but he had on a pair of lightweight trousers, although he had put on a short-sleeved shirt. Dyan was sitting at a table with Russ, and after helping himself from the buffet Oliver came over to join them.
‘Good morning.’
Russ gave him a nod, but Dyan smiled at him and said, ‘You look as if you’re suffering from jet lag or something.’
‘Probably,’ he agreed. ‘My body clock hasn’t caught up yet.’ He looked at her. ‘I didn’t give you the coordinates you wanted last night.’
‘That’s OK. There’s plenty of time. We have to go to Antigua first to pick up some more members of the crew. That’s where we’re heading now. So you can count this part of the trip as a pleasure cruise,’ she said lightly.
‘I’ve never been the kind of person who goes on a leisurely cruise,’ Oliver remarked. ‘Not enough to do.’
‘Why not go up and have a look round the bridge? I’m sure Russ will be pleased to show you round.’
‘We already did that last night,’ Russ remarked. ‘After you’d gone down to your cabin.’
Dyan glanced at Oliver, guessing immediately that he’d gone to talk to Russ about her; to find out if she really was respected by the crew, if she really did know her job as she’d claimed. His face was impassive, but the fact that he showed no emotion told its own story.
‘I hope you were reassured?’ she said lightly.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Reassured?’
‘If I were in your position I’d do some checking, too.’
‘I told him I’d as soon sail under your command as any other expedition leader in the company,’ Russ said brusquely.
She smiled her thanks at him and stood up. ‘If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.’
Russ only nodded, but Oliver stood up politely. Dyan glanced at him as she went by, but his eyes were on her legs, which didn’t altogether displease her.
Dyan went to the ops room to carry out the daily checks, mark up the logs. Her first concern was to see what other craft were in the area, to make sure that they weren’t being followed. But they were still too near the islands and there were too many blips on the screen to be certain one way or the other. It wouldn’t be until they’d left Antigua behind and were out of the main traffic lanes that they could check for sure.
A beeper sounded and Dyan went into the office to answer the phone. Without waiting for the caller to speak, she said, ‘Hi, Barney. Have you got any nails left?’
‘No nails, no fingers,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘What happened; didn’t Balfour show?’
‘There are some people, Barney, who believe in the equality of the sexes.’
‘Yeah—mostly women. You talk him into it yourself?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Define “something”.’
‘We were already at sea before he realised,’ Dyan admitted.
Barney gave a shout of laughter. ‘Nice one, Logan. But if you have any trouble, put him on to me.’
‘I don’t somehow think that will be necessary.’
‘Is that so? Balfour’s fallen for that luscious body of yours, has he?’
Glancing through the glass partition, Dyan saw that Oliver had come into the ops room in search of her, and was profoundly grateful that the partition was soundproof. ‘He appreciates my mind,’ she said primly.
That brought another roar of laughter. Barney was a tease and enjoyed trying to discomfit her, although she’d long ago got his measure. He might make chauvinistic remarks but she knew that he was proud of her in his way and would give her all the protection she might need. He gave the impression of being tough, a rough diamond, but she knew that he was just a marshmallow below a hard crust.
‘The guy must be a nut, then,’ he told her. ‘Or is he one of those?’
Dyan knew what he meant and said with certainty, ‘Oh, no, he definitely isn’t like that.’
‘He’s not, huh? Now how come you’re so sure, I wonder?’ Dyan didn’t reply and he chuckled richly. ‘Well, just remember, kid; if you’re going to mix business with pleasure, then business comes first. OK?’
‘OK, boss. I’ll remember.’ And Dyan put down the phone to go to join Oliver.
But as she stood up he came into the office. ‘I’ve brought you the co-ordinates you wanted. And a report from the captain of the Xanadu on the sinking.’
Dyan glanced at the latitude and longitude figures he handed her and she gave a small frown. ‘Would you like to see where this is on the chart?’
‘Yes, I’d be interested.’
She opened the safe, put in the papers he’d given her, including the lat. and long. figures, carefully closed it again, and took him into the ops room.
‘Take a break for ten minutes, Ed,’ she said to the man bending over the radar screen.
The seaman left and she went over to the central chart table, sorted through the rolled charts beneath it, selected one, and laid it out on the table. ‘The position you’ve given me is to the west of the Windward Islands, in the Lesser Antilles. The sea there isn’t the deepest in the Caribbean, but it can be quite deep. We’ll just have to hope the Xanadu is in shallow water. The boat was on its way to Jamaica, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, but the pop star stopped off to live it up for a few days in Barbados, then got caught in a hurricane. When is the hurricane season out here, by the way?’
‘From May to November.’
‘Now, then?’
‘Yes.’ Dyan glanced at him, wondering if he was afraid. ‘But we’ll get plenty of warning from the National Hurricane Centre if there’s one due,’ she said reassuringly, testing him.
Oliver looked surprised so she knew she had been wrong. ‘Then surely the captain of the Xanadu would have been warned?’ he observed.
‘Yes. But your pop star might have decided he was bored in Barbados and wanted to head for home.’
‘But couldn’t the captain have refused if he thought it was dangerous?’
‘That might have depended on whether he wanted to keep his job,’ Dyan said drily. ‘Boat captains are at the whim of the owners. And he might have thought it was worth taking the risk. Late hurricanes are sometimes not much worse than a bad storm, and it could have gone in a different direction. Hurricanes are often capricious. They were unlucky to hit it. And having that heavy safe full of cargo aboard would have made it difficult for them to outrun the storm.’
‘Do you think you’ll be able to raise the boat?’
‘That depends on whether we can find it.’
‘But you have its last position.’
‘That’s not really much help,’ Dyan told him. ‘That could have been the Xanadu’s last known position before it hit the hurricane, and it could have been blown a long way from there before it sank. I’ll have to read the captain’s report to find out. Then again, the captain might have deliberately given us the wrong co-ordinates.’
Oliver’s eyebrows rose, his mind working fast. ‘You mean he might be indulging in some private enterprise?’
She nodded, pleased by his quickness. ‘Yes. Your pop star might have blamed him for the sinking and dismissed him without a reference. The captain could be out here right now, with another salvage vessel.’
‘He isn’t my pop star,’ Oliver pointed out, then shuddered. ‘God forbid.’
‘As bad as that?’ Dyan asked with a laugh.
‘Worse,’ he said with feeling. Then frowned as he said, ‘So we might not find the Xanadu at all.’
‘Or we might find it with the cargo already taken.’
‘You paint a grim prospect,’ Oliver said wryly.
‘It might not be that bad. It rather depends on the pop star’s intelligence and the crew’s loyalty. If he kept on the captain and crew, is employing them on another boat, then everything will probably be fine. But it might be worth checking on that point.’
‘I’ll see to it,’ Oliver said decisively.
She straightened up and found herself very close to him. His aftershave, fresh and tangy, filled her senses. For a moment she drank it in, but then their bare arms touched, and it so disturbed her that Dyan quickly moved away. She went to roll up the chart, but Oliver said, ‘Just a moment. You had a rough idea of where we were heading so why did you start the voyage at Nassau and not somewhere nearer?’
‘Because it was easier to equip the boat there. Because it gives us more time to see if we’re being followed. Because we had to pick up the new submersible there. Because——’
Oliver held up a hand and gave her one of his transfiguring smiles. ‘I think I get the message. Sorry I asked.’
Dyan smiled in return. ‘Not at all. As the hirer you have the right to ask any questions you want.’
‘I have?’ His grey eyes met hers. ‘Then tell me: what is a nice girl like you doing in a job like this?’
She gave a gurgle of amused laughter. ‘That’s a long story.’ There was a knock on the door as the crewman returned. Quickly she rolled up the chart and stowed it with the others. ‘OK, Ed,’ she called out.
The sailor came in and took his seat at the radar screen. Dyan indicated the office and said to Oliver, ‘I’ll leave you to make your call.’
She went up on deck, to the area which the crew used to relax and sunbathe. Most of them sprawled out on the deck itself, lying or sitting on towels as they sunbathed or played cards. Dyan, though, merited one of the deckchairs and she stretched out on it with a magazine.
Russ saw her from the bridge and came down to join her, a couple of cans of beer in his hands. He gave her one and said, ‘Where’s the landlubber?’
‘Phoning London. Checking on the captain of the boat we’re looking for.’
He nodded. ‘What do you think of this guy?’
‘Too early to tell,’ Dyan said off-handedly. She remembered her earlier flare of emotion, and wasn’t at all sure that she wanted to discuss Oliver, but Russ obviously did, so she said, ‘How does he strike you?’
‘Different from the ones we usually get. Not standoffish, but he doesn’t immediately try to be one of the guys, same as some of them do. I think he’ll be OK.’
Russ wasn’t a talkative man. Close to fifty, he was an American who had spent most of his life at sea, and loved it. Dyan had never seen him panic whatever the weather, probably because he had a great respect for the ocean and its sudden, dangerous changeability. And he was never irritated by the days of sailing up and down, searching the sea-bed, or dismayed by the orders she gave him to take the boat into tricky positions: close to barrier reefs or near to cliffs that towered over them. He was a seaman through and through. And a good judge of men; if he said that Oliver was OK, then that meant a great deal.
Leaning back, companionably drinking her beer from the can, Dyan wasn’t at all sure of her own opinion on Oliver. Her hopes about him had been raised too high to start with, then dashed too low. But that had been mainly her own fault, she realised. It had been a mistake to be so pleased at the thought of finding an unprejudiced man; if she’d been more wary, then she wouldn’t have been so disappointed to find that he was just as chauvinistic as the next man. So, she thought pensively, maybe it would be a good idea to look at him afresh. Start again from the beginning, so to speak. Taking a sip of drink, she pictured Oliver in her mind, remembering her surprise at his comparative youth and good looks when she first saw him. And she smiled to herself as she recalled how it had been important to find out whether or not he was married. Not that she particularly believed in marriage; she’d been disillusioned about that in the past, but she had to admit she’d been glad when Oliver had made it quite clear that he was unattached.
‘You’re smiling wider than a Cheshire cat,’ Russ remarked mockingly. ‘What are you thinking about?’
‘My next leave,’ she told him, knowing him well enough to be pert.
But he wasn’t deceived. ‘Watch your step with this guy,’ he cautioned. ‘Remember the last time.’
The glow faded from her face. ‘You don’t have to remind me,’ she said shortly.
Putting a hand on her knee, Russ leaned forward to look into her face. ‘I just don’t want to see you hurt again. Are you over that bum?’
She nodded. ‘It was nearly a year ago.’
‘Good.’ Russ waved an admonitory finger at her. ‘But you be careful. You know how susceptible you are to English guys. I don’t know how many times I’ve told you to go for a red-blooded American.’
Dyan laughed. ‘Like you, I suppose?’
‘Sure, like me.’
As, like Barney Starr, Russ had treated her like a daughter since she’d known him, Dyan knew that he was kidding as usual. Bending forward, she planted a kiss on his weathered cheek and said, ‘I could never find anyone half as sexy as you, Russ.’
He laughed, enjoying the game they played, but someone gave a polite cough behind her and they both looked round to see that Oliver had come up to them.
Russ finished his drink and stood up. ‘Time I was going back to the bridge.’ He gestured to the chair he’d been using. ‘Here, take a seat.’
Oliver thanked him and sat down beside her. Dyan was intrigued to see that he had changed into shorts. Compared to the rest of the crew, his skin was pale, but it was by no means lily-white. His legs were strong and muscular, as if he played a lot of sport, and, thankfully, not too hairy. There were one or two members of the crew who looked one step up from a gorilla. Some girls might like that, but Dyan found it a turn-off.
‘Did you find out anything?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Hopefully we’re in luck. The pop star has bought another boat, did so almost immediately, in fact—evidently it isn’t good for his image to be without a yacht—and he kept on the captain and the original crew. It seems they rescued him when the Xanadu went down, so he’s grateful to them for saving him to make more, and yet more music,’ he said with a mock groan.
‘Does he have his life insured with you?’ Dyan asked in some amusement.
Oliver grinned back, ‘Unfortunately, yes.’
‘You should be glad, then.’
‘Have you ever heard his so-called music, Dyan?’
‘I think there are probably a couple of his cassettes on board,’ she admitted.
‘Then, please, I beg of you, don’t play them when I’m around, or they’ll end up over the side,’ Oliver said feelingly.
She laughed delightedly. ‘I’ll tell Russ to give a top priority order to the crew.’
Joe came out on the deck carrying two tall glasses on a tray. ‘I thought you might like a martini,’ Oliver told her.
Usually Joe just brought up cans of cold beer, but these glasses were frosted and there was ice and lemon. He had evidently been given specific instructions. Dyan took one, hoping Oliver hadn’t seen the empty beer can under her chair. He must, she thought, be used to living in a very civilised style.
‘Thanks, that was thoughtful of you.’
‘I had an ulterior motive,’ he told her.
‘Oh?’ She gave him a half intrigued, half wary look.
‘Yes. I thought you might get thirsty telling me that long story of how you come to be in charge of “this expedition, this ship and these men”, if I remember your words correctly.’
‘Oh, dear, was I as bad as that?’ Dyan gave him a guilty look, but there was also amusement in her green eyes.
‘Much worse,’ Oliver returned and leant back comfortably. ‘So?’
Dyan hesitated, wondering why he wanted to know. Was it out of genuine interest—or was he still checking up on her? Hoping it was the former, she said, ‘I’ve always been fascinated by the sea. When I was small we had a house near the coast. My father loved to sail and he taught me. But I didn’t want to just sail on it, I wanted to find out everything about the sea: what made the tides and the storms, what lived in it, what was down on the sea-bed. So, as soon as I was old enough, I went to college and studied oceanography.’
‘And did well, obviously.’
She admitted that with a small shrug. ‘There are four branches of oceanography. I studied all of them, but specialised in marine geology and marine ecology.’
‘What are the other two?’ Oliver asked, his eyes full of interest.
Dyan liked the way he seemed to give her his whole attention when he listened; his eyes stayed on her, he didn’t look away as people often did when she talked about her work. ‘They are the study of the physical, and the chemical components of sea-water. Marine ecology concerns the plants and animals you find in the sea, and marine geology is the study of the structure, features and evolution of the ocean basins.’ She paused. ‘I hope that didn’t sound too much like a lecture.’
‘No, it didn’t. I suppose, in your job, you find the latter discipline the most useful?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where did you go to college?’
‘Oxford first, then I came over to America, to California for a year.’
‘And then you applied for the job with Starr Marine?’
‘No.’ Dyan shook her head. ‘First I took an engineering course so that I’d understand about lifting gear and weight ratios, that kind of thing.’ She frowned. ‘Why are you shaking your head?’
He didn’t answer directly, instead saying, ‘Are there many women in this business?’
‘I suppose you mean out at sea, actually supervising a salvage operation?’ Not waiting for him to answer, she said, ‘I’m the only one in Starr Marine at the moment, but there are other women coming into the job in other companies.’ She gave him a direct look. ‘Are you thinking that I’m the token woman, taken on to keep the Equal Opportunities Board happy?’
He gave her a lazy kind of look. ‘Are you?’
Perhaps Dyan should have been annoyed by that question, but she had just noticed how long and thick Oliver’s eyelashes were. She paused, having to gather her thoughts again, then decided to say teasingly, ‘Maybe I am. You’ll just have to find out, won’t you?’
‘I’m always reading that, to get anywhere in a man’s world, a woman has to be twice as good at the job than the average male,’ he commented. ‘And somehow I don’t think Barney Starr would risk his reputation by taking on someone who isn’t competent to do the work just to please a pack of officials.’
‘If that was supposed to be a compliment, it was so subtle that it hardly came across.’
Oliver laughed, his eyes arrested, and Dyan knew, with a surge of pleasurable excitement, that he was intrigued by her. But the warmth of the feeling brought her up short; after the last time, when she’d been so badly hurt, she had sworn off men. And Russ hadn’t had to warn her to be careful, she had known herself that falling for the wrong man was a big mistake. But how was she to have known that Crispin had just been using her for sex, that he had lied when he said he wasn’t married?
Taking a mental grip of herself, Dyan pushed the memories back into the deepest recess of her mind; not all men were the same, they weren’t all two-timing swine. But when you’d been hurt once—well, then you were always far more cautious in the future. So she put the brakes on where Oliver was concerned, and said in a calm, almost businesslike way, ‘How about you? How did you get into your job?’
Oliver shrugged. ‘Much the same way as you. University and then one or two special courses. But insurance is humdrum compared to this. Have you taken part in many exciting salvage operations?’
So he didn’t want to talk about himself. Through modesty, she wondered, or something else?
‘Quite a few,’ she answered. ‘Especially when I was working my way up through the company. My first job was to help raise an oil-rig.’ She started to tell him about it, making it sound interesting—because it had been interesting, and exciting at moments when it got dangerous. Again he listened intently, so Dyan went on to tell him of other salvage projects that she’d been involved with, ending, ‘But once I’d served my apprenticeship, so to speak, and took on jobs of my own, they’ve all been wet salvage, like this trip.’
“‘Wet salvage”?’ Oliver’s eyebrows went up.
‘Oh, sorry. Dry salvage is when you have to rescue a vessel that’s still afloat; wet salvage is when it has already sunk.’
‘I see. And where is your base?’
‘In London. But I’m not there very often.’
‘But you have a place to live when you’re not at sea?’
Dyan hesitated briefly, then said, ‘I have an aunt who lives in Highgate, near the cemetery where Karl Marx is buried, and she lets me have a room.’ She didn’t tell him about the flat that Crispin had rented for her, where she’d lived with him in the assurance that he loved her, that they would be married one day. And which she’d walked out of the moment she’d found out that he had lied to her all along. But that was getting on dangerous ground again. ‘Do you live in London?’
‘Yes, I have a flat in Chelsea.’ For the first time he opened up a little, saying, ‘But my parents live in the country and I escape there as often as I can.’
‘Do you ever go sailing?’
‘I haven’t done much,’ he admitted. ‘Mostly on holidays. I did some when I was out in the West Indies before, when I learnt to dive.’
They talked sailing and diving for a while, and Dyan found Oliver a good conversationalist. When he opened up on a subject he made it interesting and often amusing, but she sensed that he had barriers which he wouldn’t let down lightly. But then so had she; not just barriers but stone walls with red warning signs all along the top of them.
But, when she eventually went down to the ops room to check the log, Dyan had to admit that the couple of hours she was on deck with Oliver had been the most pleasant she’d spent for quite some while. And not only because she’d enjoyed talking to him; being a woman, she’d known instinctively that he found her attractive. Whether he, as a man, had known the same about her, Dyan wasn’t so sure. She’d tried not to give him any encouragement, to put out any vibes. Once bitten had made her more than twice shy, and there was no way she wanted to go rushing headlong into another relationship, another love affair. She had thought herself head over heels in love the last time and had been much too precipitate, given herself to Crispin too soon. So she had vowed to be careful in the future, to make her head rule her heart. But her head, unfortunately, couldn’t keep her stupid heart from feeling excited and full of hope.
The rest of that day and most of the following two were spent mostly in Oliver’s company, although Dyan made sure that Russ or some other member of the crew were often with them, or else she spent an hour or so alone in the ops room. She didn’t want Oliver to think that she was monopolising him, although it was mainly the other way round; he sought her out. This was natural enough as he was a sort of guest on board and she was his host on the company’s behalf, but she knew it was more than that. The smile he gave her, his eyes warm and interested, wasn’t the same smile that he gave to anyone in the crew. And when she changed for dinner in the evenings into one of her new dresses, his appreciative glance told her a great deal.
But Dyan also had her reputation with the crew to consider and didn’t want to get herself talked about, so she was circumspect and would often call Hal or someone over to join them as they sat out on the deck or in the rest-room after dinner.
Late in the afternoon of their third full day at sea, they motored quietly into the harbour at Antigua to pick up the other four members of the crew. But here they met the first snag of the voyage. One of the divers they were to pick up had been involved in an accident on the way to meet them. Dyan went ashore with Russ and Hal to visit him, but found that he wouldn’t be fit to work for at least a month.
The three of them had a conference after they left the hospital.
‘It could be a month before we find the boat we’re looking for,’ Hal pointed out. ‘He could join us then.’
‘Or we could find it straight off. We need a full complement of divers on this job. I’m going to call Barney and have him fly someone else out to us,’ Dyan said decisively.
‘It will mean staying in Antigua for a couple of days,’ Russ warned her.
‘Well, that can’t be helped. I’m not going to risk this lift without enough men.’
So, instead of immediately putting out to sea again, they found themselves having to wait at one of the most lively tourist resorts in the Caribbean.
‘Will it be OK to let the guys go ashore tonight?’ Russ asked her.
She nodded. ‘I don’t see why not. It will be some time before we’re back on land again so they might as well make the most of the delay.’
Russ made the announcement to the men as soon as they got back to the ship. He gave them no warnings about keeping their mouths shut, or not getting drunk, because these were all well-paid, responsible men, who wanted to keep their jobs. He knew they could be relied on to enjoy themselves without getting into trouble. The men gave a cheer and went off to get ready to go ashore. Even the cook got the evening off.
Afterwards, Oliver came over to Dyan. ‘Have you been to Antigua before?’
‘Oh, yes, several times.’
‘Then perhaps you know somewhere good where we can eat?’ He gave her one of his slow smiles. ‘That’s if you’ll have dinner with me, of course?’
Dyan felt her heart flutter a little, but she said offhandedly, ‘Thanks. We may as well keep each other company, I suppose.’
An amused glint came into Oliver’s eyes as he said smoothly, ‘Of course.’
Dyan went to change, unable to stop the zing of excitement bubbling in her veins. She brushed her hair into a loose mane around her head, put on make-up, and a cream dress that accentuated her tan and clung in all the right places. Looking at herself critically in the mirror, Dyan saw that she was looking her best, and deliberately stifled mental reminders that she wasn’t out to encourage Oliver. Well, tonight was time out; tomorrow she would be back to normal again.
Oliver was waiting for her in the rest-room, wearing a white dinner-jacket and dark trousers, smart but casual clothes. He turned round as she came in and his eyes widened very satisfactorily. ‘You look—stunning,’ he said as he let out his breath. Then he grinned. ‘You ought to be a fashion model. No one in the world would ever think that you’re in charge of “this expedition, this ship and these men”.’
‘Aren’t you ever going to let me forget that?’ she asked, laughing.
‘Well, I certainly won’t.’ He paused and added teasingly, ‘And one day maybe I’ll tell you why.’
Intrigued, she immediately became terribly feminine, giving him a wide-eyed look. ‘Tell me now,’ she coaxed.
Taking her hand, Oliver laughed. ‘Oh, no. Come on, let’s go ashore.’
Dyan reported to Russ first, telling him where she could be found in case of emergency, noting that the three crewmen who had come aboard that day were standing watch.
They took a cab to a nightclub that served some of the best West Indian food in the Caribbean. It was an unusual place, with a straw roof and rows of tables in tiers above a dance-floor that looked too big for the room. A steel band played while the customers ate; music to dance to between courses. They had a couple of pi?a coladas served in tall glasses with fruit falling out the sides while Dyan described the dishes on the menu for Oliver. He made several witty, outrageous, comments about the dishes which made her laugh, and she suddenly felt intensely happy.
Oliver, too, seemed much more relaxed, and he deliberately set out to amuse and entertain her. She had thought him good company before, but here he seemed to come into his own, to be the kind of companion a girl dreamed about. And it became clear why when he leaned across the table after they’d given their order, and took her hand in his as he said, ‘This is the first time I’ve ever really been alone with you. There are always so many other people around on board the ship.’
‘Yes, I suppose there are,’ Dyan agreed lightly, trying to decide whether or not to take her hand away.
‘Mostly because you seem to invite people to join us,’ Oliver said, watching her.
She didn’t try to deny it, but said, ‘Do you mind?’
‘Yes. They cramp my style.’
Her eyes came up to meet his at that. ‘Oh! Really?’ she said in surprise, not quite knowing how to take it.
His mouth curved in amusement. It was a very sexy mouth, now she came to think about it. ‘Really,’ he assured her gravely.
She took her hand away. ‘I suppose you’ve had plenty of practice, back in London,’ she said on an offhand note.
‘Ah.’ Oliver leant back in his chair. ‘I think we’ve reached the moment when you’re supposed to say, “But I know nothing about you”.’ He imitated a girlish voice, overdoing it, making her give a gurgle of laughter.
‘Am I? I didn’t realise we’d reached that moment.’ The laughter was still in her eyes but there was a question in her voice.
‘Oh, yes, I think so.’ He gave her one of his laconic smiles. ‘Now, where shall I begin? I’m thirty-two. Educated and civilised at a public school, knocked into shape and a career at university—Cambridge in my case. The only son of terribly respectable parents…’ His voice was flippant, but now his eyes settled on her face. ‘And I’m what you might call experienced, but definitely heart-free.’
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