Island of escape by Dorothy Cork Page A

would imagine she was chasing Steve—and she would probably find that very funny because a man like Steve Gascoyne would never even look at a girl like the Ellis Lincoln Jan knew.
    Ellis drove more and more slowly. She knew now she wasn't going to look up Martin, though in time, since he was friendly with Charlie, he would certainly discover she was there. But Ellis didn't want it to happen yet. In any case, she might not stay here much longer. It all depended whether or not Steve accepted her on her own terms. If he was going to jump on her every time he got her alone, then she would have to leave, but if he behaved himself she'd stay—at least until she found something else to do.
     
    She saw no more than one or two farmhouses as she drove along, enjoying the sight of the green grasses rippled by the wind, the distant line of granite mountains, and the picturesque clumps of native pines. Occasionally there was a dead wallaby by the side of the road and once she saw a snake wriggling across the white quartz gravel.
    When she reached a narrow track that turned off to the left she decided to take it and see if it led to the beach. It wound along through clumps of tea-trees and scrub and presently, sure enough, Ellis found herself by the sea, and her spirits rose. It would have been lovely to picnic here at the beach, but it appeared no one was going to tell Leanne what she was to do, and if Steve said, 'Go to the beach', then that was the last thing on earth Leanne would do.
    Ellis drove slowly along looking for a good place to pull up. The sand was starkly white and the sea was like jewels—emeralds and sapphires, she thought, and that thought conjured up another—a sapphire ring for Jan, an emerald one for Ellis. It was funny how all her thoughts seemed to lead her to a man she'd met so resently and didn't even like. Once, all roads had led to Paul, every lovely thing she saw she had wanted to share with him. Not that, in retrospect, she had actually managed to share a great many of her thoughts or enjoyments with him. It was odd how thin that love affair was beginning to seem. It had consisted mostly of daydreams—of reliving his kisses, dreaming up love scenes —more passionate ones than ever eventuated.
    What had Steve Gascoyne said? 'He didn't set any fires alight in you! ' But he had, she thought, determinedly. She had been deeply in love with Paul.
    Had been. It was a disquieting thought, and Ellis put it aside.
     
    She pulled up under tea-trees on the slope above the beach. It was a small secluded beach that looked as if no one had ever visited it. There was not a footprint on the sand, not a boat or a human being in sight. Ellis climbed out of the car, relishing the quiet now the noisy motor had cut out, and made her way over clumps of coarse grass to the beach. The water looked so terribly inviting she wished she'd brought her swimsuit. The sun was hot and she pulled off her shoes and wandered along the sand, occasionally stooping to pick up a shell or to let the water wash over her feet.
    Presently she flung herself down on the sand and stared at the seagulls that were the only living things within sight, but soon the temptation to go into the water grew too much to resist. She took a long look around her, then, deciding she was completely alone and perfectly safe, she quickly discarded her clothes —white jeans and a scoop-necked cotton shirt, bra and panties.
    She enjoyed her wallow in the sea, and didn't care in the least that her hair was going to need washing and resetting—she'd attend to that when she got home. She had no idea of the time—she'd taken off her watch when she washed those shirts of Steve's and forgotten to put it on again, but she had plenty of time to dry off before she dressed again, and she stretched out on a big time-smoothed rock—flat on her stomach, her head turned to one side so that her cheek rested against the warmth of the great ancient rock that seemed to have been made