And so absorbed was she, as she set up her tripod and started photographing, that it wasn't until with a sigh she took her last shot that she realised S. Warwick was standing a few paces away watching her thoughtfully.
'Oh. Thank you-the light's fading now so I won't take any more. I do appreciate your driving me here; you probably think I'm quite mad!' She telescoped her tripod and started to pack her camera away. 'Uh…' She looked around a bit blankly.
'You were going to say-what now?' he suggested with a trace of irony.
'Well.' She grimaced. 'Yes…'
'How about a drink?'
'Oh, I-'
'Don't argue, Mrs Hastings,' he returned. 'Just do as you're told. We still have a discussion to conclude-I think it's the least you owe me.'
Davina hesitated, but there was little she could do; there was no one about, no buildings that she could see, nothing but wild and wonderful Lord Howe and the South Pacific. So she climbed back into S. Warwick's unusually well-sprung Land Rover.
They didn't drive far, towards the base of Mount Lidgbird in fact and they did pass one guest-house before he turned off the narrow road on to a side track and they came to a small compound of houses in a valley. 'Is this it?' she enquired.
'This is it.'
'It's very-lonely,' she commented.
'It would take you about twenty minutes by bike to ride to the community hall, the so-called centre of the island,' he commented.
Davina said no more as she alighted and followed him through a stand of tall Norfolk pines towards the main house. And she had to admit that it was a lovely house built entirely of timber with two stories and a steeply pitched roof. She also noted that the front door was unlocked as she followed him through and she gasped with pleasure because, even in the fading daylight, she was presented with another marvellous view through wide glass windows of Mounts Lidgbird and Gower.
'Which is entirely why,' S. Warwick said, 'I chose this lonely spot.' And he waited a few moments before switching on some lights, thereby negating the view.
'I see,' Davina said a little lamely as she looked around and couldn't fail to be further impressed. From where they were standing, two steps led down to a large living-area and the wall of windows with their marvellous view, and it was all panelled in a deep, rich wood with shining wooden floors. Grouped at one end were three long, plump sofas around a large glass and forged-iron table. The sofas were covered in a shadowy chintz print in colours of pink and green and the forged iron was tinted an old, soft green that matched. In the other direction was a dining setting, again a glass and forged-iron table surrounded by eight chairs. There were a few occasional tables with lamps, and chairs scattered around, a beautiful Chinese carpet between the two settings and the whole impression was one of space, elegance and comfort.
She looked up and saw a soaring ceiling with a gallery running round it and guessed the bedrooms, or some of them, led off it, and she was just looking around for a staircase when he said, 'Sit down, Mrs Hastings. What would you like to drink?'
Davina hesitated again, which he took note of and said witheringly, 'I don't plan to make you drunk for the purposes of seduction in this lonely spot, believe me.'
She bit her lip and shrugged. 'All right. I'll have a brandy and soda, thank you. But-'
'But you don't entirely trust me yet,' he filled in for her with a certain malicious humour.
Davina cast him a speaking look and walked calmly down the two steps towards the sofas. But she did say over her shoulder, 'No, I don't. As to whether I could ever like you, I have the gravest possible doubts about that, too, Mr Warwick.'
'Well, I wouldn't worry too much about it,' he replied as he opened a tall, beautiful antique oak cabinet and pulled forward two glasses. 'You wouldn't be alone and we need see very little of each other.'
Davina tossed her head and sat down facing the view and presently he handed her a glass and sat down opposite her.
'Cheers,' he said. 'Would you care to tell me what you meant about being a photographer when you weren't moonlighting as a housekeeper?'
Davina sipped her drink then said wryly, 'An unfortunate choice of words. What I meant was that photography is… what I would like to be my chosen career, but it's not a career I make much money from, yet, so from time to time I do the other thing I'm good at which is temporary housekeeping. It's an ideal combination, actually, and-' she paused and looked levelly at him '-should you still be worried about that term moonlighting, I've been thoroughly vetted by the agency- they have very high standards and they've checked me out from top to bottom, so you can rest assured I won't be pinching the silver or anything like that. I also have a degree from a technical college in catering-does that help you, Mr Warwick?'
He lay back and looked at her meditatively. 'So, you've decided to do the job,' he said idly, at last.
Davina shot him a cold little look. 'No, I haven't, not yet. I was merely trying to make the point that I'm trustworthy and respectable.'
'It still seems to be an odd combination,' he mused, unperturbed. 'It also-' he looked down at his glass and frowned '-indicates a preference for a gypsy sort of lifestyle-how come?'
'Just the way I am, I guess,' she said blandly.
He raised an eyebrow. 'And then there's the jump from catering college to photography.'
She said nothing but sipped her drink again.
'And how come,' he pursued, 'if you're so determinedly a "Mrs" you don't wear a wedding-ring?'
'I thought I told you, that's my business-'
'Well, not really.' S. Warwick sat forward. 'I mean, were you-moonlighting as a married woman, for example, for reasons best known to yourself,' he said with soft satire and smiled a sort of tigerish little smile, 'it could be my business too.'
'I fail to see why.'
'I'll tell you-because if you were misrepresenting yourself in one thing, you could do so in others, despite being vetted from top to bottom.'
Davina grimaced. 'I still fail to see in what way it could affect this job. As a matter of fact, were I moonlighting in this respect, it would probably be to protect myself from-'
'All those ubiquitous single men that abound in the land? Ah! Is that the case, then?'
Davina stared at him with her nostrils flared. 'Unfortunately, no,' she said tautly and reached for her bag, then her purse from which she pulled a small gold object and slid it on to her left hand. 'There,' she said. 'My legitimate wedding-ring, and if you're right about one thing, Mr Warwick, the only misrepresentation involved is that I'm no longer married. But I believe I'm perfectly entitled to claim to be a Mrs, despite that small fact, and if you must know,' she went on in a goaded sort of voice, 'I do use the ring and the title when I'm on these kinds of jobs just in case I need the protection of them.'
'But you don't normally wear the ring.'
'How do you know?'
He shrugged. 'I noticed that the tan on that hand was unbroken. Did you forget to put it on?'
'Yes. Will you please drop the subject!'
'Why?' he said lazily. 'Surely you can tell me if he's dead or alive or has merely divorced you?'
'All right, we're divorced.'
'Why?'
Davina stared down at her wedding-ring, her expression frozen then she raised her remarkable violet eyes and was not to know how bitter and sombre they were as she said, 'If you really want to know, he thought I was a frigid bitch-among other things.' She sat forward and put her unfinished drink on the table. 'I'll go now. I would hate to impose on you any further, so if you could call me a taxi, I'd be grateful.'