already here. Paris was awake and at work some hours ago.'
'That's all right, then,' she faltered, not having the nerve to say, after making a fuss, that it was unimportant. Knowing she could no longer put off what was realy important, she asked reluctantly, 'Won't Blanche want to know more than you told her last night? Perhaps you should see her? Or she might come to see you?'
'That's what I'm afraid of.'
'Well then…'
'If you aren't ready in five minutes,' he cut in threatening,
'you'll come as you are. I have no desire to see Blanche again, or for some time, anyway. While you, I'm afraid, as a married woman, must learn to forget about other men.'
'How many do you think I've had?' she whispered painfuly.
'Don't tell me,' Rick held up a decisive hand. 'I dislike being given information which I've no means of checking.'
'I see,' she sighed, a lump in her throat as she wished futilely that he could have trusted her. But even if he came to like her he might never bring himself to do that.
'While you're taking your shower,' Rick advised stringently, ignoring her despondent face, 'I'll bring in the parcels that came. After you find something to wear, pack the rest. Don't waste any more time or I'll come and do it for you.'
Unable to bear even the thought of him manhandling the new, delicate underwear she liked so much, Emma almost fell over herself to do as she was told. Swiftly she showered, then extracted from the pile of things Rick had tipped ruthlessly on her bed, a pair of thin trousers and a silky top with a matching waistcoat. What was left she thrust in her two lightweight suitcases and after running a quick comb through her thick hair she slung a large, soft shoulder bag over her slim shoulders and was ready.
They traveled first class from. France. It was a long flight and although Emma appreciated the extra comfort she grew restless long before they arrived at Barbados. There were quite a few men in the first-class cabin, but not many women.
The men looked mostly like business executives and she was surprised to find several of them glancing at her with interest.
She didn't understand how her extreme slimness gave her a kind of understated elegance which, with her shining fair hair, was very attractive. She simply thought the attention she was receiving was because she was so young. Sometimes, when receiving was because she was so young. Sometimes, when Rick glanced at her, she felt more convinced than ever that her lack of years irritated him a lot, although he didn't actualy comment on it again.
As the sky lightened and brightened as they flew farther west, Emma knew a grim tremor of apprehension. What were Rick's family like? She hadn't been curious before.
Now she wanted to know everything.
'Is your father alive, Rick?' she asked.
He was sitting beside her studying figures on sheets of paper, but she considered her lack of knowledge concerning him more important.
'No,' he replied, without looking up.
'You did mention your stepmother,' she persisted, 'but you haven't told me anything about her.'
He slanted her a quick glance, then with a sigh laid his papers aside. 'Tell me exactly what it is you want to know,'
he said resignedly.
His manner was enough to put anyone off. Frowning, Emma stared at him, biting her lip, suddenly at a loss when thus chalenged. Having decided a few cool little questions were all that was necessary she was impatient to find herself floundering in a manner far from as precise as she had planned. 'If—if we'd been an—a normal married couple, I'd have known, wouldn't I?'
'You'd have known,' he smiled, so oddly teasing that she flushed, realising vaguely he wasn't speaking of his relations.
'You haven't much figure,' he went on, almost absently, as he studied her, 'but your skin is beautiful.'
'I wasn't talking about me, or my skin,' she stammered, brushing aside his remarks indignantly while trying to staunch the little flame which was spreading through her.
'I
'That's all right, then,' she faltered, not having the nerve to say, after making a fuss, that it was unimportant. Knowing she could no longer put off what was realy important, she asked reluctantly, 'Won't Blanche want to know more than you told her last night? Perhaps you should see her? Or she might come to see you?'
'That's what I'm afraid of.'
'Well then…'
'If you aren't ready in five minutes,' he cut in threatening,
'you'll come as you are. I have no desire to see Blanche again, or for some time, anyway. While you, I'm afraid, as a married woman, must learn to forget about other men.'
'How many do you think I've had?' she whispered painfuly.
'Don't tell me,' Rick held up a decisive hand. 'I dislike being given information which I've no means of checking.'
'I see,' she sighed, a lump in her throat as she wished futilely that he could have trusted her. But even if he came to like her he might never bring himself to do that.
'While you're taking your shower,' Rick advised stringently, ignoring her despondent face, 'I'll bring in the parcels that came. After you find something to wear, pack the rest. Don't waste any more time or I'll come and do it for you.'
Unable to bear even the thought of him manhandling the new, delicate underwear she liked so much, Emma almost fell over herself to do as she was told. Swiftly she showered, then extracted from the pile of things Rick had tipped ruthlessly on her bed, a pair of thin trousers and a silky top with a matching waistcoat. What was left she thrust in her two lightweight suitcases and after running a quick comb through her thick hair she slung a large, soft shoulder bag over her slim shoulders and was ready.
They traveled first class from. France. It was a long flight and although Emma appreciated the extra comfort she grew restless long before they arrived at Barbados. There were quite a few men in the first-class cabin, but not many women.
The men looked mostly like business executives and she was surprised to find several of them glancing at her with interest.
She didn't understand how her extreme slimness gave her a kind of understated elegance which, with her shining fair hair, was very attractive. She simply thought the attention she was receiving was because she was so young. Sometimes, when receiving was because she was so young. Sometimes, when Rick glanced at her, she felt more convinced than ever that her lack of years irritated him a lot, although he didn't actualy comment on it again.
As the sky lightened and brightened as they flew farther west, Emma knew a grim tremor of apprehension. What were Rick's family like? She hadn't been curious before.
Now she wanted to know everything.
'Is your father alive, Rick?' she asked.
He was sitting beside her studying figures on sheets of paper, but she considered her lack of knowledge concerning him more important.
'No,' he replied, without looking up.
'You did mention your stepmother,' she persisted, 'but you haven't told me anything about her.'
He slanted her a quick glance, then with a sigh laid his papers aside. 'Tell me exactly what it is you want to know,'
he said resignedly.
His manner was enough to put anyone off. Frowning, Emma stared at him, biting her lip, suddenly at a loss when thus chalenged. Having decided a few cool little questions were all that was necessary she was impatient to find herself floundering in a manner far from as precise as she had planned. 'If—if we'd been an—a normal married couple, I'd have known, wouldn't I?'
'You'd have known,' he smiled, so oddly teasing that she flushed, realising vaguely he wasn't speaking of his relations.
'You haven't much figure,' he went on, almost absently, as he studied her, 'but your skin is beautiful.'
'I wasn't talking about me, or my skin,' she stammered, brushing aside his remarks indignantly while trying to staunch the little flame which was spreading through her.
'I