sure.”
“I dreamed that I was being carried,” she murmured, holding her aching head.
“That wasn’t a dream.”
She stared blankly at Nan. “Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. Your nemesis carried you in here and put you to bed. He was pretty nice, considering what you said to his fiancée.”
Shelly groaned aloud. “I don’t want to know, but what did I say?”
“You’re right. You don’t want to know. Sit down and drink your coffee.”
Shelly sat down and held out her cup. “Have you got any hemlock?”
Nan only shook her head.
* * *
B EN WAS LYING IN WAIT FOR Shelly when she came out onto the beach much later, wearing dark glasses and feeling vaguely sick. Nan had promised her that some sea air would cure her. So while Nan was having a shower, Shelly slipped into her yellow one-piece bathing suit and her terry cover-up and oozed down to the beach.
“Marie’s really mad at you,” Ben said, and grinned. “I knew you’d make a great mother!” He scowled. “You look terrible. What’s the matter with you?”
“Excess,” she said.
“Excess what?”
“Beer.” She found a single bare spot between tourists and sat down gently on the sand. She groaned at the blazing sunlight, which hurt her eyes even through the dark glasses. “It’s your father’s fault.”
“My dad made you drink beer?” he asked hesitantly.
“He drove me to it. He’s a terrible man!”
“Well, he isn’t, really. I exaggerated a little because I was mad at him,” Ben said pleasantly. “But he’s rethinking sending me to that school. Thanks, Mom!” He grinned at her.
“Think nothing of it. Is there a facility near here? I think I have to throw up.”
“Why don’t you lie down?” Ben suggested. “It might help. Where did your friends go?”
“They are going sailing.” She took off the robe and stretched out on a towel, grimacing as her head contacted the ground. “I feel awful.”
“I can imagine. I’m glad I don’t drink,” he observed. “Neither does Dad, except for a glass of wine occasionally.”
“Delighted to hear it. I’m sure your future stepmother doesn’t approve of wine.”
“She only hates things that taste good,” he agreed. “I hate wine.”
“Haven’t you got something to do?”
“Sure. I have to look after you. Poor old Mom.”
“I’m not your mother,” she croaked.
“Yet.”
“Ever!” She let out a pained sigh.
“How about something cold to drink?”
“Anything, as long as it isn’t beer!” She dug into her pocket for change and handed him some.
“That’s too much.”
“Get yourself something, too.”
“Gee, thanks!”
He darted off. She lay quietly on the sand, trying to breathe, and a dark shadow loomed over her.
“Nan?” Shelly said.
“Not Nan,” came a familiar deep voice. He dropped beside her on the sand. “How do you feel?”
“Sick.”
“Serves you right. If you can’t hold your liquor, don’t drink. You could have ended up in severe circumstances last night, except for Nan.”
“Rub it in,” she muttered.
“I intend to. Nan’s had a go at you already, I’m sure.”
“Several. My head hurts.”
“No wonder.” He smoothed back her windblown hair. His hand was big and warm and surprisingly gentle. She opened her eyes and looked up. She wished she hadn’t. He was wearing white swimming trunks and nothing else, and he looked better than the sexiest suntan commercial she’d ever seen. He was beautiful, just beautiful, and she wasglad she had on dark glasses so that he couldn’t see her appreciation.
“Where’s your shadow?” she muttered, closing her eyes again. “Or does she sunbathe? It must be disconcerting to have men screaming ‘put your clothes back on!’”
“Not nice,” he said firmly. “Being thin is fashionable in our circles.”
“It is not,” she said, forgetting that he didn’t know she frequented the same circles he did. “Thin is fashionable only with models and—” she sat up, taking off