her head in a way that would neither annoy nor alarm him. and then started when her father spoke again.
'Do leave the room. Ruth.' he exclaimed, waving a weary hand. 'I assure you. it's nothing to worry about, just a little tiredness. I'll be perfectly all right in the morning.'
'But Daddy-'
Ruth took an involuntary step forward, and her father gave a resigned lift of his fingers. 'Tomorrow. Ruth." he said, with finality, and she left the room feeling as if she had deliberately deceived him.
CHAPTER SIX
Ruth slept fitfully, plagued by the knowledge of Dominic's identity. She had nightmares of him lying in a pool of his own blood, and herself and her father watching him die, powerless to do anything to save him. She saw jagged wounds, limbs hanging by a shred of skin, putrefying flesh—and awakened, bathed in her own perspiration, to find that the sky beyond the living room windows was gradually turning pink.
It was morning, and with a sigh of relief she got up off the couch. Normally she slept quite soundly, in spite of the hardness of her bed, but her dreams of the night before had coiled her body into a knot, and she stretched her aching limbs with real enjoyment.
Below the gardens of the bungalow the ground sloped away gradually towards the beach, and she shivered as she opened the shutters and felt the errant breeze against her heated flesh. The sea was translucent, shading from blue through green to palest amber, as the sun rose steadily above the horizon. Tiny clouds threaded the paling sky. and the air smelt fresh and clean, and unbelievably exhilarating.
Turning, she shed the cotton nightshirt, and rummaged through the clothes her father had installed in the cabinet behind the couch for a bathing suit. She had several bikinis, made by Celeste when her childish one-piece suits had become too small for her. and although her father had not been enthusiastic, he had allowed her the freedom, as no one else was likely to see them.
The bikini she chose had white spots on a blue background, and it complemented her olive colouring. The texture of her skin meant little to her, however. She was too used to it. and she had no idea that many girls of her age spent hours lying in the sun. trying to acquire just such an all-over tan.
Snatching up a towel, she let herself out of the bungalow, treading softly across the verandah and down the steps. Then, giving in to the surge of well- being that the morning evoked, she ran swiftly across the dunes and down on to the smooth damp firmness of the sand. Her hair, sleek and unconfined, streamed behind her. and she spread her arms and did a couple of pirouettes before becoming aware that she was not alone. A man was standing near the water's edge, looking her way. and she sobered rapidly as she realised he had been watching her. He was a tall man. lean and muscular, not a West Indian, but with darkly tanned skin that contrasted sharply with his light hair—
She put uncertain fingers to her lips. It was Mr Howard, she realised in amazement, or Mr Crown. as she had to get used to calling him. It was he who had been walking on the beach at this early hour of the morning, and as he began to stroll towards her she saw the bandage projecting from the turned- back sleeve of his shirt.
He looked different with his clothes on, shethought, and then blushed at the connotation, but she hadn't realised he was so tall, or that a man could move so lithely. He had a co-ordinated indolence that was almost graceful, and the pants hanging low on his hips accentuated the powerful movement of his thighs. They must be the levis Joseph had told her about the previous day. and she couldn't help feeling that they were not quite decent. They moulded his legs like a second skin, hugging his hips and drawing her unwilling attention to the awareness of his undoubted masculinity. Even his shirt, opened down the smooth expanse of his chest, was not like the shirts her father or Joseph or any of the men she
'Do leave the room. Ruth.' he exclaimed, waving a weary hand. 'I assure you. it's nothing to worry about, just a little tiredness. I'll be perfectly all right in the morning.'
'But Daddy-'
Ruth took an involuntary step forward, and her father gave a resigned lift of his fingers. 'Tomorrow. Ruth." he said, with finality, and she left the room feeling as if she had deliberately deceived him.
CHAPTER SIX
Ruth slept fitfully, plagued by the knowledge of Dominic's identity. She had nightmares of him lying in a pool of his own blood, and herself and her father watching him die, powerless to do anything to save him. She saw jagged wounds, limbs hanging by a shred of skin, putrefying flesh—and awakened, bathed in her own perspiration, to find that the sky beyond the living room windows was gradually turning pink.
It was morning, and with a sigh of relief she got up off the couch. Normally she slept quite soundly, in spite of the hardness of her bed, but her dreams of the night before had coiled her body into a knot, and she stretched her aching limbs with real enjoyment.
Below the gardens of the bungalow the ground sloped away gradually towards the beach, and she shivered as she opened the shutters and felt the errant breeze against her heated flesh. The sea was translucent, shading from blue through green to palest amber, as the sun rose steadily above the horizon. Tiny clouds threaded the paling sky. and the air smelt fresh and clean, and unbelievably exhilarating.
Turning, she shed the cotton nightshirt, and rummaged through the clothes her father had installed in the cabinet behind the couch for a bathing suit. She had several bikinis, made by Celeste when her childish one-piece suits had become too small for her. and although her father had not been enthusiastic, he had allowed her the freedom, as no one else was likely to see them.
The bikini she chose had white spots on a blue background, and it complemented her olive colouring. The texture of her skin meant little to her, however. She was too used to it. and she had no idea that many girls of her age spent hours lying in the sun. trying to acquire just such an all-over tan.
Snatching up a towel, she let herself out of the bungalow, treading softly across the verandah and down the steps. Then, giving in to the surge of well- being that the morning evoked, she ran swiftly across the dunes and down on to the smooth damp firmness of the sand. Her hair, sleek and unconfined, streamed behind her. and she spread her arms and did a couple of pirouettes before becoming aware that she was not alone. A man was standing near the water's edge, looking her way. and she sobered rapidly as she realised he had been watching her. He was a tall man. lean and muscular, not a West Indian, but with darkly tanned skin that contrasted sharply with his light hair—
She put uncertain fingers to her lips. It was Mr Howard, she realised in amazement, or Mr Crown. as she had to get used to calling him. It was he who had been walking on the beach at this early hour of the morning, and as he began to stroll towards her she saw the bandage projecting from the turned- back sleeve of his shirt.
He looked different with his clothes on, shethought, and then blushed at the connotation, but she hadn't realised he was so tall, or that a man could move so lithely. He had a co-ordinated indolence that was almost graceful, and the pants hanging low on his hips accentuated the powerful movement of his thighs. They must be the levis Joseph had told her about the previous day. and she couldn't help feeling that they were not quite decent. They moulded his legs like a second skin, hugging his hips and drawing her unwilling attention to the awareness of his undoubted masculinity. Even his shirt, opened down the smooth expanse of his chest, was not like the shirts her father or Joseph or any of the men she
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