Fire in the Blood

'You want me!' he threw at her, and she couldn't deny it.

'I can't risk it again, Sean,' she whispered, tears in her eyes. 'I got hurt so much last time. We're a disaster together. Whether you call it an affair or marriage, it's still you and me, us together—and that spells disaster.'

His arms had dropped away. He was watching her, white-faced, tense, his eyes like a black hole in space, deep, cavernous, empty.

'I'm sorry,' Nadine said, and walked past him to her room. This time he didn't try to stop her. She unlocked her door and went in, shut the door behind her and bolted it, walked shakily to her bed and fell on it as if poleaxed.

She lay on her face, sobbing silently into the cover, her whole body shuddering, for minutes on end. She had had to say no to him, but it had cost her more than Sean would ever guess.

It was half an hour before she could force herself back to her feet. Walking unsteadily she went into the bathroom, showered crisply, towelled herself dry, and put on a thigh-length yellow towelling robe. She went back into the bedroom and sat down on the bed again to paint her toe-nails coral-pink. The room-maid had raised the blind, and drawn lace curtains across the open French windows. The curtains had begun to quiver in a welcome breeze off the sea which had sprung up while Nadine was in the bathroom.

While her nails dried Nadine lay on her stomach, gazing through the lace curtains, half sleepy, half weary, listening to the tropical sounds of the gardens, the croak of frogs, the whisper of the lush palms, the splash of guests in the blue swimming- pool, the clink of glasses at the pool-side bar, laughter and voices, and at a distance the soft murmur of the Caribbean rolling up on the sands.

She had never been anywhere so magical, but it was a dangerous magic because it was seeping into her, making her weaken towards Sean, when she needed to be strong.

She drifted into a light sleep, woke up some time later to realise she had to get dressed for dinner. She put on a chiffon dress which had half a dozen soft layers beneath the top one which was printed with delicate pale blue and pale pink flowers on a white background. When she walked the short skirts flared and floated around her bare tanned legs, and she had put high-heeled white strap sandals on her bare feet.

Sean was already at the table and the only empty place was next to him. She paused, hesitating; her skin prickling at the way he watched her. There was a hard, implacable edge to his face tonight: he made her very nervous.

While she dithered, he stood up and drew back her chair, gestured peremptorily. Everyone was watching them; she had no choice. She slid into the chair reluctantly, and felt his hands brush her back as he pushed her chair towards the table again before he sat down again.

'Good evening,' she said politely, glancing around the table at the other guests.

'Last one down again, Nadine,' said Karen, one of the other women from the art class, a sharp- tongued blonde in an off-the-shoulder silver- spangled dress which glittered every time she moved.

'Yes, sorry, I must have gone to sleep after my shower,' Nadine said, picking up the menu.

'That's such a beautiful dress,' one of the men from the art class said. 'So feminine and romantic.'

'Thank you,' Nadine said, smiling at him. Johnny Crewe was an accountant, he had confessed: a very ordinary man in his thirties, with hair beginning to recede slightly, pale blue eyes, and a job he found dull but which paid too well for him to risk giving it up. He was on the art course because he yearned for romance, excitement, a very different way of life. Under her smile he turned rather pink and Nadine felt Sean stiffen beside her.

'Have you chosen your meal yet?' he asked tersely, clicking his finger and thumb to summon a hovering waiter.

Nadine looked at the food on Sean's plate. 'What's that you're eating?'

'Sweet potato pancake,' he said. 'It's very good.' He forked a piece up and offered it to her. 'Try it.'

She was reluctant to; Sean pushed the fork between her closed lips. 'You'll like it.' It was almost an order. You will like it! he was telling her, and somehow making a public statement of ownership, telling the other men at the table that she belonged to him and ate what he told her to!

Flushing crossly, she would have liked to spit the food back out again, but he was watching her through half-closed lids, a glimmer of threat in his eyes, and eventually she ate the piece of pancake. She could not face a public scene.

'Nice, but too fattening,' she said after swallowing it. 'I think I'll have melon, and then I'll have a swordfish steak and salad.'

The waiter smilingly went off to get her first course, and Karen leaned across the table towards her, eyes enviously flicking over Nadine's dress. 'I suppose models get their clothes free?'

'Not very often, but we can usually get them at cost price if we've worn them on a shoot,' Nadine said coolly.

Johnny Crewe asked Sean, 'When are you going to put your beautiful wife in one of your films?'

'When hell freezes over,' Nadine said, and wasn't being funny.

Sean shot her a veiled glance. 'Nadine can't act, I'm afraid,' he drawled. 'But as you probably all know by now she's about to launch a new career in television, as a chat show hostess.'

Word had got out; nobody looked amazed. Johnny Crewe asked her an eager question, and Karen murmured spitefully, 'How did she get

that job, I wonder?' implying by her tone that it had been Sean's influence that got the job for her.

The waiter returned with her melon, which was sliced thinly, arranged in a fan-shape, piled high with tropical fruits, flavoured with some liqueur or other, and topped off by one of the hotel's little paper umbrellas.