CHAPTER 1
The island supply boat was an open structure with the wheelhouse well forward. Behind it was a large area for deck-top cargo around the two hold covered tops and seating for ten around the curve of the stern.
Ten people including Straun Duncan took their seats and as the deckhand was about to cast off a woman cried, "Wait."
He waited.
The woman arrived, panting, threw her two bags down into the middle of stern to land on other bags and she climbed down, showing long, tanned legs jutting from her tight denim cutoffs.
She stood looking for a seat and noting all were taken, looked exasperated and swept her golden fringe back into regular place.
Duncan went to the bow and sat on the deck against the front of the wheelhouse.
The twin diesel engines throbbed at a quicker rate and the black painted 'Ebony Queen' glided out from the wharf and as it passed between the breakwaters, skipper Marion Street steadily increased speed until the vessel was a cruising speed heading for the Isle of Deane basking in the calm of early summer eighteen miles off the Australian coast.
Duncan heard a soft cough. Opening his eyes he saw the knees below the denim and looked at her crotch for possible wetness but saw none. With the shorts being denim, no peach-like split, more crudely known as a camel toe, was visible.
Such a pity.
"Hi," she offered.
"Hi."
"Why did you give up your seat for me?"
"Two reasons. I thought it might improve my chances of getting sex."
"Fat chance and god you are foul. I ought to kick you in the nuts."
"Go ahead."
She looked startled.
"What do you mean?"
"If you try kicking me you'll be over that safety rail and into the water before you have time to scream."
"You wouldn't."
"Then try kicking me and find out if I'm talking bullshit."
"God you a horrible, an asshole," she practically spat and began walking away but stopped.
"You said there were two reasons. What was the other one?"
"I was aware you'd be tired after flying with two plane changes to get here. I need you fresh to be working with me in the kitchen tomorrow as we have a busy weekend ahead of us."
"Omigod, you are my chef, Mr Duncan. "If you are a chef, little wonder you're aggressive."
"Thanks."
"Oh god, I just meant to think that."
"Go back to your seat and rest. May I say great legs and a great ass?"
She left without commenting. He guessed that meant not he couldn't say that.
Straun knew some senior kitchen hands would have launched into threats, regarding what he'd just said as an employment issue. Yeah, yeah well half the adult female population didn't know what they wanted and the other half wanted everything. That's why females were unstable.
He dozed off thinking about that babe. Narene Phillips, twenty-eight, was from a town in South Australia near the border with Victoria. He'd advertised for an assistant chef and chose her because she'd been the only one to have applied in handwriting. The writing was neat, and that told him something: that she was a neat person. Her enclosed photo was clear and she had a body that was biologically interesting. He'd noted one of the other twelve applicants had bothered to send a photo but another reason for her selection she was the only person to have a formal food preparation qualification. In fact she was a diploma graduate from Sydney's prestigious Cuisine Cooking Academy where he'd tutored for a couple of years.
A blast of 'Ebony's Queen's' hooter as she approached the wharf on the Isle of Deane, that most Australians called Deane Island, pulled the Scottish-born red-headed Chef Duncan out of his dream. It had Narene Phillips holding his erection and saying in awe, "Struth Duncan, you're a very big boy."
Ah sometimes dreams had it all!
Straun pulled on his backpack containing four bottles of Scotch and an assortment of new kitchen knives and grinned at the line of people walking up the dusty road to the Castaway Luxury Retreat. The mini-bus had not come down to the wharf because it had engine problems again.
He waved to 'Skipper' Thomas, the wharf superintendent (required by State Government regulations at prime tourist destinations) and mounted his 125cc scooter and grinned when spotting his new hand striding out in front of the straggling line of complaining arrivals. He stopped beside her and said, "Place one of your soft bags on my knees, the one with all your underwear in. You will then walk easier."
"Go to hell."
"The hill becomes much steeper."
Narene put the bag in front of him and scowling said, "It's the heaviest bag and does have my underwear in it."
"Your underwear will be safe with me. I promise."
Narene arrived first at reception, hot and sweater, and gave her name.
"Oh our new super cook, welcome."
Narene smiled in delight and then frowned; something didn't ring true.
"You are doubling up with Chef Duncan. Accommodation is very tight at present."
"What, oh no. This is worse than going to jail."
The woman with the 'Mary' nameplate tag smiled and said, "Chef Duncan just popped in and told me to say that to you. He likes his little jokes. Here's your key to a single unit next to his. There's an inside bolt on your door."
"Thank god and thanks Mary. I'm trapped on this isle and Chef Duncan is out to make my life hell."
"Chef Duncan wouldn't do that to you. He's the nicest guy on the isle."
Narene sighed. God what were the others like?
She unlocked her cabin door and looked into the tiny room in shock. A CD was playing, the coffee-maker was on, there was a bowl of fresh fruit on the tiny table where a glass of iced water had been poured and there was a note beside it.
Oh one of the maids had been in. She read the message: 'Welcome and have a wonderful stay. Straun.'
"Omigod, he's schizophrenic."
She went to bolt the door and remembered she should shower. But where were they?
Narene knocked on the door. She heard footsteps and Straun opened the door and stood there nude, holding a glass of whisky.
"Oh hi, I was expecting you. Come in."
Stupidly she went in, passing him and taking care not to bump his flaccid dick.
As he shut the door she realized her mistake of coming into the room and closed her eyes tightly, waiting to hear the bolt slam shut.
"You might think it improper for me to close the door when a lady is visiting but it's the air-con you know. Keep your door closed to keep out the heat after say 9:30 and thru to 7:30 unless the night is heading to be a hot one."
"You have hot nights here?"
"If I get lucky," he grinned. "Listen, I admire you for not flipping when you caught me nude. I'll pull on some shorts."
"Um no, it's okay. I'm used to guy's dicks."
"Oh really?"
