Antigua Kiss Read Online Free PDF

bathed him, she left him with Ash while she went to change the white blouse which her nephew had accidentally splashed.
    When she rejoined them, wearing a grey flannel shirt-dress, she saw Ash looking critically at it. But it wasn't until she had tucked the child into bed that his half-uncle had the effrontery to remove the clasp which held her hair back.
    'It doesn't suit you like that,' he said, when she made a small sound of protest.

    'In your opinion,' she retorted.
    'Your husband wouldn't have wished you to mourn him indefinitely.
    Even Mrs Kelly, whose husband died fairly recently, wears lipstick and coloured dresses.'
    'Please . . . give it back,' she insisted, holding her hair back with one hand and stretching out the other for the clasp.
    Ash shook his head. 'It's time someone made you snap out of this state of withdrawal you've sunk into. You're a young and potentially beautiful woman. However much you loved him, however bleak the future seems without him, life still has plenty to offer someone of your age.'
    'You don't understand—'
    'No, I don't,' he agreed, rather curtly. 'If it had been you who had died, would you have hoped that your husband would never look at another woman . . . never enjoy life . . . never marry again?'
    'No . . . no . . . certainly not!'
    'Then why commit suttee yourself?'
    'I haven't. I—you don't know anything about me.'
    'I don't have to know you to see that there's something wrong with a woman who deliberately plays down her assets. You've an excellent figure, good legs, and the kind of streaky blonde hair which some of your sex pay a fortune to achieve by artificial means. But you're trying to pretend you're a flat-chested spinster of forty.'
    Christie opened her mouth to deliver a furious riposte, but was forestalled by the doorbell.

    'That'll be Mrs Kelly, I imagine.'
    Ash went to answer it, leaving her fulminating with annoyance at his high-handedness.
    'What a charming man,' said Margaret, in a confidential undertone when she and Christie were alone for a few minutes while he went to the kitchen for another bottle of champagne.
    'Do you think so?'
    'Don't you?' Mrs Kelly looked surprised.
    'I'm not sure. I haven't known him long enough to form any definite opinion.'
    'Nor have I, but my first impression—and I think I'm a reasonably good judge—is that he's a very nice person. Kind, sensible, very concerned to do the best thing for John.'
    'I'm not sure. It seems most peculiar to me—a bachelor wanting to bring up someone else's child. He and Paul weren't as close as all that,' was Christie's reply, in a low tone.
    Before Margaret Kelly could comment, Ash returned to dispense the champagne.
    Dubious about him as she was, Christie could not fault him as a host.
    During the excellent meal he had prepared, and which he served single-handed, insisting the women should relax for a change, she felt more than ever like a guest in her own home.
    While they ate a Dominican dish called Pato con pina, a stuffed duck garnished with pineapple, which followed the creamy aubergine soup, a speciality of Nevis, an island not far from Antigua, Ash kept Margaret amused with tales of the idiosyncrasies of some of his charter passengers. He was a good raconteur. Christie had to join in the other woman's laughter at some of his most absurd anecdotes.
    Long before the meal was over—it ended with a cold rum souffle—she had forgotten her vexation at being made to wear her hair loose.
    It was Margaret who reminded her that the evening had not begun amiably. She said, 'I don't remember ever seeing you with your hair as it is tonight, Christie. It suits you. The other way is too severe. Don't you agree, Ash?'
    They had been on first name terms for some time by then.
    'I do,' he said, looking at Christie with a quizzical glint in his dark eyes.
    Suddenly her mood changed. It occurred to her to wonder how much several glasses of champagne had contributed to her feeling of cheerful relaxation. And how