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She wasn’t even dressed for the part. She had come straight from a late tutorial and her grey sweatshirt, white cotton trousers and flat black shoes were hardly provocative, but the fact that hardly an inch of flesh was on display didn’t seem to deter the men who had approached her. The innocent, fresh-scrubbed look was obviously in big demand in ports around the world!
She glared at the small, wiry man who had got her into this trouble. She had thought he was helping her but they were evidently at cross-purposes because he had looked a picture of guilt when the wharf police had approached and asked to see their identification…
‘He says he’s not Dmitri,’ the policeman was saying suspiciously.
‘I know he’s not Dmitri. I never said he was. I said I was asking him about Dmitri.’
Anne was glad that Katlin had finally come to the conclusion that she owed her lover the chance to acknowledge his son. The newspaper story about the Russian ship’s return cruise to Auckland, on the verge of Katlin’s own visit, had been an omen that her superstitious sister couldn’t ignore, but Anne wished that she hadn’t been the only intermediary that Katlin would trust!
Rather than contribute to her sister’s apprehension by pointing out that it was quite possible that the man she had spent a single passionate week with had given her a false name, or was no longer on board the ship, or was merely a lowly seaman rather than the dashing officer he had made himself out to be, Anne had accepted the dog-eared photograph of the swarthy, handsome-looking man and agreed to try to see him and personally hand over a letter from Katlin. She was to note his reaction to the letter and carry a message back, if there was one, thus protecting Katlin from the trauma of a confrontation and possibly humiliating rejection.
Katlin was in her usual state of urgency. She had no intention of hanging around for days in an agony of uncertainty waiting for a written reply or a response to a shore-to-ship message that anyone might intercept or overhear. It all had to be settled now.
When she had arrived on the wharf Anne had noticed a number of well-dressed people arriving in cars and taxis, and had briefly toyed with the idea of trying to mingle with the crowd that was boarding the ship, but the visitors all seemed to have invitations which were being checked by the officer at the top of the gangplank.
The unhelpful sailor was now backing away, waving his arms and issuing a rapid stream of aggrieved Russian. Fortunately, from the blank look on the policeman’s face, he understood even less than she did.
‘Ah, there you are, Anne. What on earth are you doing here? I thought I told you to wait for me by the gate.’
Before Anne could react to Hunter’s unexpected appearance she found herself grabbed and grimly kissed. When she was finally released, flushed and breathless, she found that the policeman had tactfully moved away.
Moments later she was being hustled up the gangplank.
‘I can’t do this!’ she hissed at him, hurriedly stuffing the photo of Dmitri into her trouser pocket. ‘I haven’t been invited.’
‘I’m inviting you,’ he told her ominously, his voice as tight as the hand clamped around her elbow. Without breaking his stride he dug into the inner pocket of his dinner-jacket to flourish a gilt-edged card at the white-uniformed ship’s officer who was inspecting the invitations.
Anne surreptitiously checked that the officer bore no resemblance to Dmitri’s picture. She had wanted to get on board, but not like this. She had the feeling that Hunter intended to remain glued to her side.
‘What happened, did your date for the evening let you down?’ she asked acidly, remembering that he had left her to stew in uncertainty all day.
‘I have some business to conduct. I didn’t want the distraction. Besides, your baby-sitter told me you were going straight out from your evening tutorial.’
Anne stumbled on the smooth deck, forgetting her mingled annoyance and delight at being labelled a distraction. ‘My baby-sitter?’ she squeaked.
‘The woman you had looking after Ivan today. Didn’t she tell you I called in this afternoon between lectures?’
‘No, she didn’t,’ Anne said weakly, acquitting Katlin of any deliberate malice. She had probably genuinely forgotten. Ivan, her book and Dmitri were her sole topics of interest at the moment. And to think that Anne had been on hot bricks all day wondering when her two worlds were going to collide, convinced that Hunter was regretting everything he had said and done the night before! ‘What exactly did she say?’
‘Not much. She seemed rather scatty and vague. Are you sure she’s reliable?’
‘Of course I’m sure!’ Anne snapped, shuddering at the thought of the damage Katlin could have wrought if she hadn’t been vague. But, after tonight, she hoped that there need be no more secrets between them.
‘Hunter, I’m not dressed for anything posh. All the other women are in evening things.’ The strong hand on her back continued to propel her along the deck. ‘I’ll make you look ridiculous!’ she warned him desperately.
‘You already have, twice in as many nights,’ he warned back, but he turned sharply, pushing her through a brassframed door into a narrow companionway. His black eyes quickly undressed her in the mellow yellow light.
‘What have you got on under that sweatshirt?’ he demanded.
Anne clamped a hand defensively to her breast. ‘A leotard.’
‘What colour?’
‘Black.’
‘Sexy? Low-cut?’
Her eyes narrowed angrily. ‘None of your business.’
