Standing on the bare floorboards and looking up the centre well of the iron staircase which curved around the inner walls, she almost lost her nerve but, having paid her fifty francs, Elizabeth's thrifty nature bolstered her wavering pride.
She made sure as she climbed that she kept very close to the wall, her grip on the handrail white-knuckle tight. She had to rest several times before she finally panted out on to the narrow open-air platform that circled the crown of the lighthouse.
She was glad she had waited until last to explore the view. It was like being alone at the top of the world, lord of all she surveyed, three hundred and sixty degrees of cobalt sea and sky, flat, featureless and almost indistinguishable from one another except where the rim of white surf outlined the curve of the reef. The view to the beach below was nauseatingly quick to make her feel dizzy. Elizabeth stepped back against the rough-cast wall, closing her eyes and breathing deeply before she dared open them again.
The thrill became a throat-tightening sensation of doom as her eyes cautiously lowered from sky—to seat—to pier... where a second boat was tying up alongside the hotel transport. A boat which was appallingly familiar.
And there was the pirate himself, dressed in his favoured white, striding off the pier on to the sand, lifting a hand in greeting to the cries of welcome from the small band of caterers and entertainers who had mingled with the guests to travel to the island.
Elizabeth watched, hypnotised, as the black head tilted and he looked up, almost as if he knew exactly where she was. He couldn’t identify her hat-shaded head, surely, not from that distance. She tried to convince herself of it, but as soon as he began to move towards the lighthouse she decided she would not, could not, just stay up here waiting. If she had to meet her fate it would be with solid ground under her feet!
Twenty steps back down the iron stairs she knew she was in deep trouble. Going up had been strenuous and nerve-racking, but going down was terrifying. There was nothing in front of her but the sheer fall of steps spinning around the open central shaft. The metal railing suddenly felt horrifyingly insubstantial in her sweaty grip. She froze, both hands gripping the rail, visualising herself free-falling forwards down the hundreds of lethal iron rungs. Her knees trembled and her sandy toes curled inside her canvas shoes. She teetered on the brink of black panic.
'Eliza-Beth?'
The deep voice curled up through the cavernously dim centre of the lighthouse, reverberating through her frozen horror.
'Eliza-Beth? Are you coming down or do I have to come up and get you?'
The idea was such sheer bliss that tears rushed to her eyes. Her first try was such a pitiful croak that her second over-compensated into a harsh scream that sounded graphically like a taunt rather than a desperate plea, 'Come and get me.'
A very explicit string of French swear-words rose like music to her ringing ears then there was the distant sound of steps striking metal, hard, rapid, angry steps, accompanied by a litany of threats that she only hoped she would live long enough for him to carry out!
She kept her eyes resolutely shut for what seemed an age, the echo of his magnifying footsteps confusing her senses until she wasn’t sure whether he wa
s coming or going. Suddenly they stopped altogether. Visions of his body floating through the air to smash on the boards far below peeled back her lids.
'Jack? Jean-Jacques?'
He stood on the curve of the staircase just below her, breathing deeply yet silently, a faint sheen of sweat coating his darkly flushed face.
‘I’m here, Eliza-Beth.'
He remained motionless and she swallowed at the murder in the stormy grey eyes.
'And I am not happy,' he added redundantly in that calm, threatening voice. He held out his hand, palm up. 'Come. You have made your pointless gesture of defiance and forced me to fetch you. I have ascended to your level, now you will descend to mine.'
If only she could. But her feet were glued to the shallow metal tread. ‘I-'
'Don’t argue with me, chérie.' He interrupted her feeble attempt to overcome her speechless horror with dangerous softness. ‘I am in no mood to be trifled with. Be thankful I have chosen not to send you down by the scenic route.'
Elizabeth's uncontrolled shudder nearly overbalanced her. She clutched the railing even more fiercely, her face blanching, and the fury that smoked his eyes flared suddenly into a blazing awareness.
'Beth?'
She looked at him dumbly.
He leapt up the three steps that separated them in one bound and she shrieked in combined fear and rage at his recklessness, abandoning the rail for the more substantial bulk of his body, her clutching hands making him curse as he swayed, gripping the opposite rail with one hand while his other snapped around her waist.
'For God's sake, chérie, are you trying to kill us both?'
Her face went milk-white as she buried it in his chest, knocking her hat off her head. He made a grab at it as it whispered beyond his reach, drifted down into the dimness of the centre shaft. 'Don’t,' she gasped. 'Don’t move.'
'How can I, with you practically crawling inside me? Calm down, chérie, I'm not going to let you go-'
'Yes, you are-'
His cheek turned to rub against her soft hair. 'No, I'm not. Why did you come up here if you suffer from vertigo?'