Dangerous Waters by Jane Jackson Page B

torn between gratitude for his tact and resentment of his gentle but relentless determination. It’s all for the best. I won’t deny you might find things difficult to begin with. But you’re not short of pluck, Phoebe. Once you’re there you’ll see it was the right move. Then you’ll wonder why you ever had doubts. That was what Uncle George had said. No doubt Jowan Crossley would use those very same words to justify his actions. Though she had to admit he had not said them yet.
    â€œPersonally,” he confided over his shoulder, “I think calling them idlers is most unfair, and surely inaccurate. They are not part of a watch working four hours on and four hours off. Instead they are at their duties from seven in the morning until five-thirty in the afternoon. That cannot be called idleness. Would you not agree, Miss Dymond?”
    To try and counter the clamour going on in her head, Phoebe had kept her gaze fixed on the pattern of holes and curls in each brass tread. But at her name she automatically looked up. He had hefted his bag out onto the deck, stepped after it, and was waiting for her. For a moment the temptation to turn and run back down the stairs to the sanctuary of her cabin was almost overpowering. Cramped, stuffy, and dark, it still represented safety. As if reading her thoughts he leaned down, extending his hand.
    â€œTwo more steps that’s all.” His voice was low-pitched, for her ears only. Should anyone be close by they would not be able to hear. “Already you’ve come this far.”
    She shook her head, gripping the rail, frozen. Nausea churned in her stomach. “I can’t.”
    â€œYou can. You’re safe, I promise. Come.”
    She stared at his palm; at the long fingers slightly curled as he waited; a hand that fought death. She knew everything he had said was true. It wouldn’t be good for her health to spend three months either in the mess or her cabin. Lack of sunlight and fresh air would make her ill. And how could she be of use to anyone else if she was weak and unwell herself? He was trying to make it as easy as he could. And for that she owed him: not just gratitude but effort.
    â€œRemember,” he murmured. “You are not alone on this ship.”
    Her head snapped up. Welling terror choked her as vivid images filled her head: a small child huddling, drenched and chilled in a corner of a storm-lashed deck. She struggled for control as he continued talking.
    â€œYou are in the company of men who know the sea, know their job, and want to reach Jamaica as quickly and safely as you do. All of us: the master, the mate, the crew, the other passengers, and me, value our lives just as much as you value yours. If we are not fearful, why should you be?”
    Everything he said made perfect sense. Her brain knew it. But her body and her emotions – Help me. She did not know to whom she was pleading. Then she pictured her aunt’s face. Heard the brisk “All right, my bird, steady now,” with which Sarah had strengthened and encouraged her in everything from her first attempts at decanting tinctures to coping with the tragic aftermath of a stillbirth.
    Her heart crashing against her ribs, every muscle taut, she reached for his hand. As his fingers closed over hers, a moment’s blissful relief – you’re not alone  – was shattered by the jolt that tingled up her arm. She caught her breath. She was so anxious he should not see her confusion that she was hardly aware of stepping over the coaming and onto the deck.
    Deeply disturbed by her physical response to his touch she swiftly pulled her hand free and used both to hold onto the edge of the hatch. He was a doctor, a professional man doing his professional duty, almost a stranger. And she was on her way to be married.
    To avoid looking at him she turned her head and found her gaze climbing from the scrubbed deck to the vast expanse of water.