'Nadine gave me that,' Sean said, the flick of his eyes making her heart skip as she remembered the occasion. It had been Christmas Day four years ago; they had got up late and drunk buck's fizz while they opened their presents under the tree. She had given him the Beryl Cook picture: he had given her the most breathtaking emerald earrings.
'Put them on now,' he had said huskily, and taken her back to bed to make love, still wearing them and only them.
She knew he was remembering it too, and her cheeks burnt under his gaze.
'This afternoon you must look round my studio,' Luc said with that wicked look she was beginning to recognise. He enjoyed coat-trailing, teasing, being provocative. 'Maybe you'll see something of mine you like. You can't have a good modern collection without one of mine!'
'I already have two of your water-colours,' said Sean, and Luc looked genuinely surprised.
'Really? Which? When did you buy them?'
'I bought one of them at your London exhibition four years ago: a painting of a harbour, done on the island, here, I imagine. The other is a painting of a West Indian market which Nadine gave me years ago—that's my favourite, I love the blindingly bright colours. On a rainy grey morning in London they can lift my whole day.'
Luc smiled with pleasure. 'Glad to hear it! I'd hate to live in London, I love the sun too much. I've often painted the market—it always gives me a good picture. I suppose painting and film making are very similar. We're both after the same thing.'
Sean nodded. 'Couldn't agree more. In fact, we start with a story-board, of course: each little sketch one frame of the film, showing how the story will move along, what
it will look like.'
'Fascinating,' Luc said. 'I'd love to come along some day and watch you working, or does it put you off to have visitors on the set?'
'Not at all. Let me know in advance and I'll fix it for you.'
'Thanks,' said Luc with warmth, caught Nadine's cool gaze and asked, 'Do you act, Nadine?'
'No,' she said curtly and Sean made a wry face.
'Ouch. That's a tender spot you touched, Luc. She wanted to act, but...'
'But I can't!' she finished for him and stood up. She had finished her grilled fish, and everyone else was already eating a dessert, mostly local fruit. 'I don't want a dessert, I have things to do, excuse me.'
She hurried back into the hotel to her room before Sean could catch up with her. After locking the door she changed into a swimsuit, tied a filmy beach-wrap around her, put a book and a Walkman with headphones into her beach-bag, and went off to the beach. There were no more classes that afternoon; everyone was free to do as they liked and what Nadine wanted to do was lie in the sun, listen to music and relax.
The hotel's beach was private, and, when she arrived, empty. The blue Caribbean waters tumbled on to the silvery sands with a restful murmur, the sun was high and hot, the horizon shimmered. Nadine moved one of the hotel's loungers under the shade of a large striped umbrella, set her bag down on a low plastic table beside her and sat down, her head on her bent knees, staring at the sea, listening to gulls crying overhead, watching some black and white waders moving along the beach, their long, curved beaks digging deep into the fine sand.
She gave a sigh, and untied her beach-wrap, stood up and hung it carefully from the ribs of the umbrella so that it gently blew to and fro over her, like a lace curtain in the faint breeze coming off the sea. Sitting down again, she got a bottle of suntan lotion from her bag and began to use it on her legs.
'Need some help?'
The cool voice made her jump. She almost dropped the bottle of lotion as her head swung to face Sean.
He was practically naked, just wearing black sunglasses with mirror lenses which reflected the sun back at the sky, and black silky briefs which deepened his golden tan and made his long legs look even longer. Nadine looked away, swallowing, a pulse beating hard in her throat.
'Did you have to come down here? Why can't you leave me alone? I wanted a couple of hours' peace, and you're going to ruin the whole afternoon.' She put the cap back on to the bottle of lotion. Sean reached for it. 'Leave it alone!' said Nadine furiously, but he pulled it out of her hand and unscrewed the cap again.
'I'll do your back—turn over.'
'No.' Her face was mutinous. He was beginning to make her really angry: arriving out of the blue, wrecking her holiday, refusing to leave, and now coming down here and destroying the blissful silence of the golden afternoon.
Sean put the bottle down on the sand and knelt beside her on the lounger, his bare legs brushing hers. She gave a gasp of shock.
'Don't you touch me!'
He looked down at her through those shielding lenses and she wished she could see his eyes. 'You don't want to get sunburn and that sun is very hot.' He poured glistening oil into his palm and Nadine's mouth went dry.
'I can put it on myself!' She tried to sit up and he pushed her back with one peremptory hand, and with the other began to smooth the oil into her bare shoulders, his fingers sensitive, cool, following her bone-structure, the roundness before her arm began, the line from there to her neck, sliding down into the hollows between bones, up along her throat.
Nadine felt boneless, weak; she watched him from under her lashes, intensely aware of everything around them, the sound of the sea, the cry of the seabirds, the burning blue of the afternoon sky. Sean slid the straps of her swimsuit down and an alarm bell went off in her head.