'Oh,' he grinned, 'they usually accept whatever I tell them to.'

Davina compressed her lips, and said with suppressed violence, 'Do you really believe I could work for you now? No, Mr Warwick, you may be able to walk all over your female relatives but it would be a grave mistake to think I was in that category. I'll go straight back.' And she turned away, as much because she was actually trembling with rage as with disgust.

'You can't,' S. Warwick said after a moment's thought.

'Can't what?' Davina queried, still turned away from him.

'Go straight back,' he said mildly.

That caused her to turn to him and say coldly, 'Of course I can go back-what do you mean?'

He observed her taut stance and the fact that the rain had caused her abundant hair to start to curl, then his gaze once more wandered over her figure, taking in things like the straight-cut beige linen jacket she wore over a now damp white silk blouse and slim white linen trousers, her beautiful narrow hands and the only ring she wore, a small gold signet on her little finger, her elegant flat beige leather shoes and her matching soft leather travelling shoulder-bag. Then his eyes rested briefly on her camera case before coming back to examine the smooth, faintly tanned skin exposed by the V of her blouse…

Which was when Davina said furiously, 'Now look here, Mr Warwick-'

'Of course you can go back,' he murmured then, looking amused. 'You just can't go straight back.'

'I…' Davina narrowed her eyes then glanced outside at the airfield. 'Are you telling me there are no more flights today?'

'Precisely,' he agreed.

Davina swore beneath her breath. 'Well, I presume there's somewhere I can put up for the night.'

'There is-'

'Other than with you,' she said pointedly.

He withdrew one powerful hand from his pocket and gestured amiably. 'There are actually four hundred beds on the island; I'm sure we could find you one. Or, it crossed my mind that you might be interested in… dispelling my first impressions of you, Mrs Hastings.'