She wondered about all sorts of things. She’d set out on this trip full of a crusading spirit on her baby’s behalf, not to mention full of righteous indignation.

Then, under the influence of his company, she’d forgotten all about that until she’d been brought rather sharply back to earth by him.

But had it been even worse than that? she asked herself.

Had she given off the vibes of a girl who fancied Rafe Sanderson because she just couldn’t help herself? Was that why he’d decided to shut a metaphorical door in her face?

The thought was mortifying and made her feel helpless and confused. It also presaged a feeling of doom as she remembered that attack of loneliness she’d suffered in the moonlight…

Would she ever get over Rafe Sanderson?

No, no, it could hardly have come to that yet, she assured herself. Even if she couldn’t stop herself from loving his company, even if she felt so restless and unloved, yearning, even burning a little to be loved…

She finally fell asleep with it all going round and round in her head.

When she woke the next morning she realised she hadn’t heard him come to bed although his bed had been slept in. But there was no sign of him.

Instead, there was a note on the pillow.

She reached for it groggily. It said,

Something’s come up; I’ll be gone until tomorrow morning. I’ve booked you on a whale-watching cruise-have fun. I think we’ll be going home tomorrow. Rafe.

She lay back and closed her eyes. She thought about how she’d sparkled last night in his company, quite unwittingly but, perhaps, quite revealingly. And now this.

Yet another disengagement. Could the message be louder or clearer? He didn’t want anything more to do with her.

CHAPTER SIX

AT FIVE o’clock that afternoon, Maisie came back from her whale-watching cruise in a much better frame of mind than when she’d set out.

Hard not to be, she reasoned, on a glorious day when she’d got to within metres of three humpback whales-a mother, a day-old calf and an escort-for the islands of Vava’u were right in the path of the annual whale migration north from the Antarctic.

She did have one regret. The stronger swimmers of the party had actually snorkelled in the crystal-clear Pacific waters with the giants but she’d, at the last minute, changed her mind about it although she was a good swimmer. But it had been made clear to everyone that they did so at their own risk.

‘I’m pregnant,’ she told the girl guide, ‘so maybe I shouldn’t.’

‘If they suddenly start to breach and you have to get away fast it can be really strenuous, so no, I wouldn’t,’ the girl agreed. ‘It’s also not that easy to get back on the boat in a hurry. But you could probably snorkel later at the Swallow Caves.’

So with that Maisie had had to be content, and it had still been a unique experience.

Once the swimmers were back on board the boat, their three whales had put on a magnificent display of breaching, propelling themselves backwards out of the water in an arc, and flapping the water with their tails. The calf had copied everything its mother and escort did and was especially endearing, looking so small against the other two.

Maisie decided it was an emotional experience that actually brought a lump to her throat, and she discovered that her fellow cruisers, all from the resort, felt the same.

She didn’t realise amidst all the clicking cameras as everyone photographed the whales that one of the cameras was trained on her as much as the whales.

She failed to notice that one of the guests, a man in his late twenties who’d actually been in the dining room the night before but had left before she and Rafe had, was studying her curiously from time to time and he continued to do so throughout the day.

She had no idea that he’d heard her tell the guide she was pregnant.

After that they’d cruised around the islands, stopped on a perfect white beach for lunch and finally snorkelled in the fabulous Swallow Caves.

Their boat dropped them off on the Tongan’s jetty and she was still exhilarated as she walked to the room. She even stopped to look around affectionately at the Tree House built on stilts over the beach and used for private dinners, at the red-gold leaves of the cotton-wood trees that lined the beach, the Sand Bar with its beach-sand floor, the distinctive shape of the palm thatch roof of the dining room.

But then it hit her that she was the only one alone, all the others were couples, and she didn’t even have anyone to describe her wonderful day to.

She closed herself sadly into her room, actually dabbing at a couple of stupid tears, to find Rafe stretched out on his bed, but awake with his hands crossed behind his head.

He sat up as she dropped her holdall in her surprise.

‘You!’ she gasped.

He sat up and frowned. ‘Yes, me. What’s wrong?’

‘N-nothing,’ she stammered. ‘I mean, I’m all sandy and salty, some of it must have got in my eyes, and I really need a shower, but-that’s all.’

He got up and came over to her. ‘You looked as if you were crying.’ He shrugged as he inspected her closely. ‘How was your day?’

Relief flooded Maisie and her face lit up with genuine enthusiasm. ‘Absolutely marvellous. I didn’t actually swim with the whales-’

‘Why not? Oh,’ he added as Maisie looked down at her stomach, ‘of course. Well, at least you’re acquiring some wisdom along those lines.’

‘Yes and thanks so much for organising it-it was still wonderful! But,’ she paused, ‘I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.’

‘Change of plans,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you have a quick shower? Are you particularly starving?’

‘No, I had a big lunch on the boat so I can wait for dinner, but-’

‘I’ll wait outside,’ he interrupted.

Maisie showered and changed into khaki shorts and a loose primrose blouse. She tied her hair back and slid her sandals on.

Rafe got up as she let herself out onto the veranda. ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ he murmured.

She looked surprised then shrugged and fell into step beside him.

They walked to the main entrance, a set of gates with a fence climbing the hillside on one side and a rock wall groyne extending into the sea on the other. At the end of the groyne was a little thatched hut with wooden seats.

As they approached the gates, a man got out of a car parked on the other side and opened the gate-and Maisie suddenly stopped dead.

Rafe stopped, too, and watched her intently as all colour left her face and her mouth worked. Then she blinked and closed her eyes experimentally and, as her lashes fluttered up, she said in a trembling voice, ‘R-rafe? I mean…’

‘No,’ the man beside her side said on a harsh breath. ‘It’s my cousin, Tim Dixon.’ He took hold. ‘Maisie, here’s what I suggest. That you and Tim discuss things in the hut. I’ll leave you alone. But I’ve booked the Tree House for dinner and you and I can-talk.’

He turned on his heel and walked away.

Some time later Maisie stood on the beach on her own, staring blindly out to sea but with the sensation that the scales had fallen from her eyes.

Tim Dixon did bear quite a resemblance to his cousin and he’d admitted to impersonating Rafe. As he’d done so, she’d glimpsed a biting hostility towards Rafe.

But why? she’d asked.

He’d shrugged and told her that Rafe had a lot more than he deserved, a lot that was rightly his, Tim Dixon’s.

He wouldn’t bore her with too many details, he’d gone on to say but, he’d added with a charming smile, the irony of the fact she was one girl who apparently had never heard of Rafe Sanderson hadn’t failed to strike him.

Maisie had been struck dumb.

Then he’d sobered and told her some of his background. He’d also said he had nothing to offer her, he was on his uppers with a string of debts around his neck, that was why he was in Tonga working as a diving instructor, but he would acknowledge he was the baby’s father.

Throughout it all, along with his golden good looks-his hair was bleached fairer by the sun and was now longer, and a pair of board shorts and a T-shirt showed off his tan as well as his physique-she’d got bewildering flashes of the man who had swept her off her feet.

But as he spoke, even sometimes with the wry humour, the charm and the whimsy she’d loved, the knowledge had grown in her heart that Tim Dixon was like a rogue leopard, beautiful, mesmerising, but a loner with only his best interests at heart.

She hadn’t said much at all.

She hadn’t given him a piece of her mind or called him any of the hard names he deserved.

She’d agreed that there was no point in pursuing a paternity suit, but at that point he’d really stunned her when he told her Rafe would make some settlement on her anyway.

But you hate him, she’d cried then.

He’d agreed coolly.

That was when she’d stumbled to her feet and walked away from him.

But he’d had the nerve to call out, ‘So it’s settled, Maisie?’

‘Yes. Just go away!’

That was why she stood on the beach for so long with her sandals in her hand, viewing everything that had happened to her through new eyes.

Then she turned to go back to the room, but one of the waitresses called out to her as she passed the dining room, to tell her Rafe was waiting for her in the Tree House and she was just about to serve the first course.

It was a still, perfect night and the candle flames in the thatched Tree House hardly wavered as the water lapped softly on the beach below.

Rafe had changed into jeans and a blue shirt and he rose as she appeared. After taking one look at her face, he poured her a glass of wine.

‘No,’ she murmured.