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  Mediterranean eyes, she would say, blue, deep blue, and hair a wild, natural, sunstreaked blond; a tough, lean face, strong jaw, enough lines to give him character, but not too many to put him at more than thirty, and then—she gulped—a physique to match his looks.

  It wasn't fair! Heavenly broad shoulders, the build of an athlete, and surely, when he eventually stood up, he would be tall, with those long, long legs in their white cricketing trousers. Heavens, he had it all --

  'Sorry? She blushed furiously. He had actually asked her a question, and she had been so taken up by the way he looked that she hadn't even heard!

  'I said, would you like me to get you a cup of coffee?'

  'Sorry, I still feel as if I'm sitting on that old bus.' She grinned up at him, recovering her composure at once. 'There's nothing I would like better. Make it black, no sugar.'

  Somehow he seemed to cause the proprietor to materialise, smiling, from behind the counter, and soon a cup of the very best and blackest hot coffee, together with a plate of brioches oozing butter were placed before her.

  'You're a magician,' she remarked. 'If I'd tried that I'd probably have finished up with lamb chops.'

  He laughed aloud. 'You'll have to mime everything. You've got the face!'

  She wrinkled her nose. 'And what's that supposed to mean?'

  He didn't answer, but went on, 'What on earth made you come out here at this time of year? You must have a real yen to get away from it all!'

  Shanna pulled another face. 'I might ask you the same question,' she told him, giving him an opening to tell her something about himself, but he merely grinned at her, making her scowl. On closer inspection he didn't look at all like a tourist, but more as if he'd taken a long lease on the whole town.

  His high-handedness acted as a provocation, but before she could think up a reply he went on, 'You must have come in on the night flight?'

  'How do you know?' she demanded.

  'Didn't you?'

  'I did, as it happens --'

  'Most people do if they intend to get the biweekly bus out here,' he explained, confounding her by modestly disclaiming any special knowledge, 'not much point in hanging around in the main town out of season unless you happen to live here.'

  He was watching her with an amused expression, and it made her toss her head with a gesture of annoyance. 'What else do you deduce, Monsieur Poirot?' she mocked.

  'You're about twenty, single, work in fashion or publicity or something like that, and --' he paused '—if you're hoping for some disco action you're in for a big disappointment. Come back in August.'

  She gave him a sardonic glance, lips slightly parted.

  'Am I right?'

  'Maybe.' She shrugged, annoyed that he had read her so accurately. 'Not entirely, though.' At least he didn't know why she was here. And, given his arrogance, she would keep that to herself! 'Do I look the disco type?' she asked with a level glance.

  His blue eyes trailed deliberately over her slim form in white cotton trousers and skimpy T-shirt, and by the time it returned to her face she felt she had been thoroughly stripped. Fighting back her blushes, she said coolly, 'Obviously your answer's yes.' Let him think what he likes, she thought furiously. Who in hell is he to sit there looking me over as if he's some sort of Spanish senor with feudal rights he fully intends to claim? She blushed at the thought, honest enough to realise that it owed as much to her own wishful thinking as to the blazing provocation of his own raking scrutiny.

  Angry with herself for letting her feelings get so out of hand, she began to fish around for her phrase-book in the capacious black travel-bag at her feet.

  When she managed to drag it out, he took it from her hands before she had time to open it. 'I'm sorry.' He didn't need to explain why. Looking at his watch, he said, 'I suppose you were hoping to stay overnight in Cala Longa and get a boat out to the island tomorrow?'

  She nodded, feeling confused by the swift change from open sexual appraisal to this brisk efficiency.

  'Not a hope, I'm afraid. You obviously haven't done your homework properly. Cala Longa is nothing but a beach bar together with about fifty brightly coloured parasols—and that's in the high season.'

  'But I thought it was a fishing village. There must be boats --' she protested.

  'There are four houses on the clifftop, once owned by local fishermen, but, like all the rest of the houses up here these days, they now belong to summer residents.'

  'So how on earth am I to get out to the island?' In the light of this new obstacle, finding somewhere to stay seemed the least of her worries.

  'There is a chap who might help out if he's not worrying about the olive harvest or whether his hens are laying this morning, or if there's an "r" in the month,' he grinned disarmingly.

  'It's no joke!' she protested. 'And I'll pay --'

  'That probably won't have much bearing on the issue.'

  'But where on earth am I going to stay?' Shanna bit her lip, taking in the full implications of her predicament. Despite her mixed feelings about this man he was her only life line and she had a sense of throwing herself on his mercy.

  'First things first.' He put some coins on the table beside his empty coffee-cup and stood up. 'Look, while you're tucking into that I'll go and fix a cab for you. There is only one, and I'm sure it's not booked.' With another of those wide, white smiles like the one with which he had first greeted her, he made his way between the tables. 'Don't go anywhere. It may take a few minutes,' he called back.

  *

  After he'd gone, Shanna looked round. Not much chance of going anywhere! And with the prospect of such a gorgeous-looking man coming back to fetch her, goings anywhere was the last thing she was likely to be doing! ~

  Eagerly looking out for him, she soon heard the noise of a car engine, followed by the sight of a rapidly driven orange cab. It was quite battered and Shanna would have feared for the proficiency of the driver and her own safety at any other time. Now, however, she felt only relief. At least she could push on with the next stage of her journey.

  The stranger who had gone to fetch the taxi climbed out of the front passenger seat and opened a rear door, throwing in her leather bag and indicating that she should climb in after it.

  She was relieved to see that he intended to come with them, and as he resumed his seat beside the driver the cab lurched forward and they were soon bowling along the coast road with the sea sparkling to one side.

  Shanna heard the name Cala Longa, and a little later something that might have been Tago Mago, but she couldn't make head nor tail of what else was being said and, seeing how well her rescuer seemed to be handling things, she sat back and began to enjoy herself.

  The twenty-minute journey gave her a chance to speculate about him in more detail. He really seemed at home here. Fluent in Spanish, he could have passed for a local businessman but for the bright hair and blue eyes, and she wondered what he was doing out here. He hadn't denied that he was on holiday, but he hadn't admitted it either, and, now she thought about it, he didn't look like an average British holiday-maker either. He didn't look like an average anything.

  For one thing, he was so chic. Really cosmopolitan. His suit cut just right. His shoes casual but obviously beautifully made. He was probably the type to speak about ten languages and have homes in several continents, Shanna thought, wondering what it was he did for a living. She let her imagination run riot, shamelessly imagining him as a film star, taking a short, reclusive holiday away from the gaping crowds perhaps, or as a famous writer, plotting his next best-seller in the charm and seclusion of this out-of-the-way spot.

  She laughed at herself. He was probably a villain, dodging the police of three continents, and she was a fool to trust him.

  Surprised at herself for putting herself so completely in his hands, she pondered the pros and cons. She supposed she could handle most situations, ingénue traveller though she was.

  Soon they were pulling up outside a large villa at the top o
f a narrow lane. As the car door opened, she could hear the breaking of waves on a not too distant beach and, following her glance, the cab driver smiled and pointed, saying, 'El mar,' and making swimming movements with his hands.

  She nodded and smiled back, feeling like a fool again because she couldn't communicate properly. But it didn't matter, for he nodded, adding, 'Cala Longa.'

  In a moment a woman came to the steps of the villa and the Englishman called out to her in Spanish, apparently explaining. She nodded, gave Shanna a brief smile, and went back inside, obviously meaning for them to follow her.

  Shanna began to fish around in her shoulder-bag for her currency to pay off the taxi, but the Englishman came back, waving her aside. 'Let me handle it. I had to visit people out here and it means I've simply arrived a little earlier than anticipated.'

  'No, really, I --'

  'Please. I'm not just being polite.'

  I can believe that, thought Shanna silently. Despite his dazzle of a smile and his air of charm, she could imagine his courtesy came from natural feelings, not from the wish to fit into conventional models of polite behaviour. She could imagine he'd be very abrupt if he wanted to be.

  She waited while he gave the cab driver some notes, and with much smiling the man drove off back to town.

  'You can stay here overnight. Luisa is a friend of mine and runs this as a holiday villa in the season. There's always room at this time of year. Come inside and have a rest. I shall return before dinner with a boat trip organised for tomorrow morning.'

  'Quite a Mr Fix-it, aren't you?' Shanna couldn't help remarking, taken aback by the man's self-confident handling of events.

  He laughed aloud and the blue eyes flashed as they met hers. 'Coming from any other-lips but yours, I would take that as a very back-handed compliment.'

  'How do you know it wasn't intended as such?' she sparked back.

  'Ingratitude from lips like yours—never!' he said at once in a voice like velvet. He raised one hand and for a moment she thought he was going to reach out and touch the lips he'd just remarked on, but, apparently thinking better of it, he spun on his heel and strode up the steps into the house.

  Used to getting in the last word, Shanna watched him disappear with a muttered exclamation, only following him when he vanished from view. He had her bag. If for no other reason, she hurried after him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  AFTER he had gone, leaving her in the hands of the housekeeper, Shanna looked round the room she had been given, noting the pretty flowered duvet, the simple furnishings, the grey marbled floor and blue shutters now standing open. It was simply furnished but spotlessly clean.

  Luisa evidently spoke no English, for after showing her where the bathroom was and how to open and shut the wardrobe, she had disappeared downstairs without another word. Feeling much like an abandoned parcel, Shanna was now alone.

  And I don't even know his name, she realised, thoughts flying back to her rescuer once more. Opening her bag, she took out a clean towel and sponge-bag. At least she could make use of the private shower, put on a change of clothes and try to regain a stake in this game of guess what happens next. She had never felt so helpless. Lucky for her someone had appeared on the scene to sort things out! She would have to get over her crossness at feeling so deeply in his debt.

  True to his promise, he walked up the drive just before dinner. The unaccustomed heat had forced Shanna out on to the terrace, and she was sitting by herself sipping an aperitif when she saw the gleam of his white jacket through the dusk. He came straight across to her.

  'Everything all right?' he greeted her.

  'Apart from the fact that it's like a ghost house with no one else staying, yes,' she replied shortly, and in case that sounded ungrateful she added, 'It seems strange to be travelling alone. I'm not really used to it. And I'm certainly not used to places like this out of season. I can't get over the fact that I'm the only person here.'

  'We may find the weather warm enough, but the locals regard this as the beginning of winter.'

  'It's like an English summer evening,' she smiled. 'In fact, better—I don't need a raincoat!' She paused. 'I'm sorry if I sounded ungrateful just now. You've really saved my bacon. It's just that I hate to feel I've made such a hash of things.'

  'You haven't made a hash—on the contrary, you've succeeded in doing exactly what you set out to do. Or at least, by tomorrow you will have if you follow my instructions.'

  'Oh?'

  He sat down opposite. 'Your boat to the island will be ready when you are after breakfast. I suggest you try to make it about nine o'clock.'

  'Where do I meet it?' she asked.

  'At the beach. Just follow the road you saw when we arrived. In fact,' he suggested, 'we might take a walk that way after dinner if it isn't too dark.' He paused. 'You don't mind if I join you, do you?' Before she had time to answer he went on, 'Or do you have something else planned?'

  'Like a disco, you mean?' She gave him a teasing smile from beneath her lashes and was disconcerted to find his glance, direct and amused, answering straight to her own. It was like an open caress. She blushed before she could stop herself. He had the most sexy eyes. They were pretty sharp, too, weighing every nuance of expression. It would be hell to try to conceal anything from someone like this. Not that she could imagine ever wanting to do so.

  'I'll see what kind of entertainment I can lay on for you,' he murmured suggestively.

  'It's all right,' she exclaimed, confused, 'you've already done such a lot for me. I feel like an early night actually --' She broke off when she realised what she'd said.

  But he didn't take her up on it or tease her any more. 'Look, we don't even know each other's names,' he said briskly. 'I'm Paul Elliot.' He held out a hand.

  Gingerly reaching for it, she replied, 'Shanna Douglas,' snatching her hand away as soon as it touched his.

  'By the look of alarm on your face, you're having second thoughts about me,' he remarked casually, breaking off a piece of bread from the pieces piled in a straw basket. 'I'm quite harmless really.'

  'It all depends on what you mean by harmless,' she joked, regaining her composure. He really was all right. She knew she could trust her intuition.

  There was an amused quirk to his lips. 'Somebody harmless is one who keeps a sensible distance,' he told her.

  She wanted to ask, Do you have to? but knew it would lead at once into deeper waters. She drew back, only saying lightly, 'I can trust you to do that, I'm sure.' Perhaps he has an involvement already, she thought. A man like this is bound to be taken! Even now he's probably thinking about the woman he's going back home to tonight after our meal, somebody in Santa Eulalia perhaps.

  'Are you staying here long?' she asked, injecting a light, uninvolved tone into the conversation herself.

  He gave her an odd look. 'Possibly.' He didn't go on to explain.

  'I expect some hotels stay open all the year round?'

  'Some, not many,' he agreed, as if he didn't know it was a indirect way of asking him something about himself. He was so reticent that for a brief moment she felt he was hiding something. It made her feel as if she was being nosy when it was really just a way of making conversation. Or nearly so. She couldn't help admitting she'd like to know a lot more about him, but she wasn't prying and didn't like to feel he might think she was.

  He got up and went towards the kitchens and she watched as he leaned familiarly in through the open window to speak to someone inside. When he came back he was carrying a dish of aeoili and a carafe of wine.

  'This should keep the midges away,' he remarked. 'The rule is,' he indicated the dish, 'all diners eat it, or none.'

  'All, then,' she said at once, eager to try anything new. She copied the way he dipped a piece of bread into it, tasting it with her eyes shut. 'Heavenly!' she declared. 'I must learn to pronounce it properly so I can ask for it again!'

  'I've never seen anyone look so blissful over something so simple,' he remarked, laughing.
'Are you always so easy to please?'

  'Over some things,' she replied. 'Over other things I'm difficult beyond belief.'

  'Such as?'

  She frowned. Her impulse was to say 'men'—Dee was always telling her she was too choosy—but she hesitated, afraid of what it might provoke.

  'Come on, no cheating,' he coaxed, 'you were about to say something. What was it?'

  She giggled. 'Oh well, you asked for it—men, I suppose. My cousin Dee's always telling me I set impossibly high standards. She says, you want a saint, not a human being. But the way I see it is, if I can't respect a man, why should I devote my life to him?'

  'Is that what you intend to do?'

  Her eyes sparkled. 'Oh, well, not devote exactly, but you know what I mean! You have to spend an awful lot of time with someone when you're married to them. Imagine having to spend it with someone you didn't either like or respect? And the two go hand in hand --' She stopped.

  His face had adopted a closed look that startled her. She'd never seen anybody wipe the expression off their face so quickly.

  'Look, why don't we have a stroll in the gardens while dinner's being prepared?' He stood abruptly. 'There's a view of the island from the upper terrace.'

  Puzzled by his sudden change of mood, she rose to her feet too. 'I didn't realise it was visible from here.' She gave him a puzzled glance, but he was already coming round the table, pulling back her chair, and she went on, 'With all the problems of getting there I've hardly given the place itself a thought. I think I half believe it's in some never-never land over the rim of the world.'

  'Like the land of lost delight?' he murmured. 'A quaint thought. I like it.' He laughed softly, his eyes warm again as he looked down at her.

  For one suspenseful moment Shanna thought he was going to kiss her. They were standing so close to each other that it would have been an easy movement for her to bring that blond head a fraction lower, for her own dark one to tilt. . . but something came between them like a shadow. He frowned, turned and said prosaically, 'We'd better not be too long. Luisa will go mad if we're late for her fish soup.'