'That's enough for today. You can come and see the pearl factory at Manacor and the caves at Drach on an excursion if you want the typical tourist visits. We'll have dinner in a small place I know near Villafranca,' Lorenzo stated as they drove down the narrow twisting road.
Ros was feeling limp from concentrating on trying to identify some of the places on Tim's postcards.
'I'd love a meal but I'm paying for myself,' she added, and felt unduly aggressive and somehow rather foolish when Lorenzo's only reply was an amused glance.
*
The restaurant, difficult to find, tucked away from the main road, was full of local people, not tourists. The owner greeted Lorenzo warmly, though he seemed rather preoccupied. Ros noticed that the other diners were all looking rather gloomy, but she forgot to wonder as they began to eat. They were given a small table close to a blazing log fire, where the air was fragrant with scent from the apple wood, and the owner had recommended his special dish of lamb and herbs. It was all delicious, far better than in many celebrated restaurants Ros had been to.
'How do they produce such food? It seems a very simple place, yet they could make a fortune in Palma.'
'The owner and his brother, who's the chef, grew tired of big cities. Though even here on the island there are crimes. They came here last year and they and their wives do everything.'
'How did you discover it? It's off the regular road and not advertised.'
'I knew them in Madrid,' Lorenzo replied. 'I must go and compliment the others, if you'll excuse me,' he added, and with the owner following him, he went through the kitchen door.
When they returned with two plump, smiling women peeping through the doorway at Ros, she produced her purse and indicated she wished to pay.
'Senorita, no, it is our pleasure. You and Senor Carreira are our guests tonight.'
Ros knew she would offend him irretrievably if she insisted, but as she smiled and thanked him she was inwardly furious with Lorenzo.
'Did you pay when you went into the kitchen?' she demanded as they drove away. 'You mustn't pay for me all the time!'
'Why not?'
'Because – well, my business is very successful!'
'And you earn more than an itinerant guitar player?' Ros flushed. That idea had crossed her mind. 'And you wish to be the independent, equal career woman, is that it?'
'What's wrong with that?' Ros demanded.
'Nothing, but as it happens, unimportant though it is, I earn a great deal, and if I choose to give myself the pleasure of buying you the occasional meal I expect you to accept it gracefully.'
What abominable male superiority, and male Spanish pride too, Ros thought angrily, but his challenge had effectively forestalled any further protest. She would appear foolish and petulant.
Did he really earn so much, she wondered, puzzled. Tim had said the wages were poor, but just adequate. But he'd been a raw beginner. Lorenzo was much more experienced and might be exceptionally good, in great demand. So far she'd had no chance of hearing him play except in a group. Perhaps he could command a much higher price. He certainly had expensive tastes.
'I'm sorry,' she murmured at length, 'and thank you for the meal. I did enjoy it.'
She had enjoyed his company as much as the superb food, she was thinking in some surprise. He had that aura of authority, the absolute certainty of getting his own way which in some peculiar manner ensured he did. He was a delightful companion when he wished to be, and she could imagine many women falling heavily for his particular brand of seductive charm.
His potent sexuality was an important element in that charm, but it contained far more than physical attractiveness. He was intelligent, entertaining, attentive. He made her feel she was the only person he cared about, and he had a lively, sometimes sardonic sense of humour.
'And you needn't fear I want payment of another sort, either,' he went on, laughing softly. Ros bit her lip angrily. 'I'll wait until you welcome my kisses, but if you're always expecting me to try to seduce you, to involve you in a casual holiday affair, you misjudge me. I wasn't prepared for you, I didn't think a girl like you existed, but I know with utter certainty I want your love, my darling, for ever.'
*
Ros was silent, utterly taken aback, incapable of rational thought, much less speech. This wasn't happening. She was dreaming.
They drove in silence, and after a while Lorenzo made a casual remark about one of the places they'd visited, and she replied, rather stiffly, but soon they were talking normally again. At the Castilla Lorenzo took her hand in his, and despite her involuntary stiffening lifted it to brush her wrist with the lightest of kisses.
'I'm sorry if I misjudged you,' she said hastily. 'Thank you for the dinner, and for showing me so much of the coast. I'm grateful.'
'And please may I go now?' he added softly, and Ros giggled. It was exactly how she'd been feeling, a chastised little girl anxious only to escape after a difficult but necessary apology.
'You're a witch, my Rose. But one day you'll come to my castle where we can love one another to distraction. Sleep well, my darling.'
There was insufficient light for her to see his face and judge his sincerity. She was torn between a crazy feeling of lightheadedness and a desire to laugh helplessly. It was too intense, too soon, even for a Latin heartthrob like Lorenzo. Only stupid little girls living in a world of fantasy would believe the emotion injected into his voice, and as for the harping on his imaginary castle, it was ridiculous!
She muttered a swift goodnight and scrambled out of the car. As the interior light came on she couldn't resist glancing at him. His eyes were twinkling and a wry smile twisted his lips.
Was he laughing at her or himself? Was he a heartless flirt, or really attracted to her? Ros had vowed she would not easily fall in love again, after Larry's death, and with the dreadful example of her mother's frequent failures. When she married it would be for keeps, and how could you fall in love with someone you hadn't even known existed three days ago?
As her thoughts reached this stage she mentally shook herself. There was no question of falling in love with Lorenzo, let alone marrying him. It was foolish and sentimental and impracticable. He would forget her as soon as someone more receptive, ready to play his game, appeared.
*
The following day both Mandy and Veronica were going on a morning trip to the western corner of the island, where new tourist developments were slotted in amongst the old fishing villages. One of these villages, Paguera, had been marked on Tim's postcards, so Ros decided to go with them instead of driving herself. She had so far made no use of the rented car, she thought ruefully.
They visited the cross marking the site of the first Spanish landing in 1229 before going on to Paguera, a delightful small town fringed with pine shaded dunes. Veronica said she preferred to walk along the shore, but Mandy and Ros went towards the welcoming aroma of coffee.
This, Ros decided, gave her a chance to question Mandy. The other girl was only too ready to gossip.
'Tell me about Lorenzo's sailing accident,' Ros invited. 'Are there many accidents here?'
Mandy grinned at her.
'Don't let him con you,' she advised. 'He's never serious about any of the women flocking round.'
Ros coloured slightly.
'I've no intention of being taken in by soft words and synthetic emotion!' she declared, and Mandy gave her a swift, curious glance before shrugging and leaning back in her chair.
'Then why the interest?'
'I used to sail a lot and might do some here. I'd have thought it was safe, so long as people were sensible.'
'It is, most of the time. And he's good, he won't do anything silly or risky. It was a freak accident.'
She related the details Ros had already gleaned, without saying anything new.
'Was he alone?' Ros had to prompt her.
'I never heard he wasn't,' Mandy said in surprise. 'Why should you think anyone else might have been with him?'
'The children?'
'What children?'
'Haven't you heard? No, they keep it quiet from the tourists. There's been a series of odd disappearances the last few years, young girls, mainly blonde northerners, German or Dutch or Swedish visitors.'
'How dreadful,' Ros exclaimed. She would not admit she knew, Mandy might be prepared to give more details. It wasn't likely Tim's disappearance was connected, but she couldn't rule it out.
'They never found any bodies, or any trace of them. One or two island girls have vanished too, and in fact there was a rumour last night that another, local girl, disappeared a few days ago. But we've been warned not to gossip, I'd better not say any more.'
'It was a man I heard about.'
'Oh, that young drummer? Yes, come to think about it, he did, a day or so after that sailor was found with his throat cut. But I never heard anything to connect it with the accident.'
'Sailor? Throat cut? Majorca sounds a dangerous place!'
'No, that was probably some drunken brawl. He was a steward from one of the yachts, foreign, South American, I think.'
Ros dismissed him. He was irrelevant. 'Did this boy ever go sailing with Lorenzo?'
'He may have done, but Lorenzo was only here a few days before it happened. I hadn't really got to know him then, or young Tim.'
'You knew him?'
'He was nice enough, but young. He spent a lot of time riding his scooter around the island. That's odd.'
Ros was thinking furiously. Tim had never mentioned having a scooter, yet he'd appeared to tell her everything in his frequent letters. What other secrets had he hidden from her?
'What's odd?' she asked.
'His scooter was never found. He went off one day without a word to anyone, leaving his drumkit behind. For a few days I believe the police kept an eye open for him, and they'd have let the hotel know if the scooter had been abandoned. But he was grown up, not like the girls. They decided he'd just left of his own accord. Then a week or so later Senor Mendez was hopping mad, he'd had a phone call asking him to keep the drumkit safe until it was sent for. I remember him raving about ingratitude, young people deserting their jobs and then expecting others to pack up after them. So I expect young Tim just went off on a ferry, taking his scooter with him.'
Ros was becoming more concerned. The phone call needn't have been from Tim, but if it weren't something suspicious had happened. And if it were, why his long silence? If it hadn't been for that call it might have been assumed Tim had ridden over a cliff, or been involved in an accident on his scooter. It was quite possible his body might not be found if this had happened on the inaccessible cliffs of the north coast. This was one possibility she hadn't considered, and it was frightening. Yet the phone call made a nonsense of that theory. But it didn't seem as though Lorenzo could have been involved.
'I've just remembered another odd thing that happened at the same time, actually the day Lorenzo came out of hospital,' Mandy said, her tone puzzled. 'He came back to the hotel to collect his things, and while he was talking to Senor Mendez the boatman, who looked after the hotel's boats, was sent for.'
'But they might have wanted to talk about what had happened, especially if the boat had been found, or something,' Ros suggested.
'It wasn't that. Old Jorge was sacked. He had to pack his things and get out that very morning. He didn't even have time to say goodbye.'
'Where did he go?'
'To the mainland. No one had any idea he wasn't an islander, but we heard he'd gone home to somewhere near Madrid. It was rumoured Lorenzo was behind it, but no one had any idea why.'
A surprising number of odd things had happened around the same time, Ros thought. What, if anything, had Tim become involved with?
*
Chapter 5
Mandy's words gave rise to furious thought as they were taken back to the Castilla. Had the boatman seen Tim leave with Lorenzo? Was that the reason for Lorenzo contriving his dismissal? Had Lorenzo done that, and if so how had he been able to manage it? He was on much closer terms with the Manager than could be expected from a normal employee. Did he have some hold on Senor Mendez?
She shook herself. This was getting ridiculously melodramatic. If Tim had been involved in the accident and drowned, why the secrecy? With boats involved it pointed more and more towards the smuggling of drugs. It could account for Lorenzo's money. Yet this opened up a dreadful possibility, that if Tim had discovered something and made threats, Lorenzo might have had a reason for killing him.
There, she'd put it into words. Tim's disappearance could be explained if he'd really been in the sort of danger his letter hinted at. If perhaps he knew something he shouldn't, if someone wanted him safely dead, out of the way, no longer a threat.
Tim would never willingly become involved with drugs but Spain was notorious as Europe's gateway. He might, with schoolboy enthusiasm, have tried playing detective. That could explain his excitement.
She forced herself to consider the facts calmly. If Lorenzo had killed Tim there had been no real accident, though he might have faked one. Tim's scooter could have been thrown over a cliff, and the phone call could have been a ploy to make it appear Tim had vanished voluntarily, and deter any search for him.
If the accident was real, and Tim was not involved, where was he? Why had he kept the possession of a scooter from her? What had he been using it for?
She must search the newspaper files for reports of the accident. She would take her car the next day and set off as if exploring another part of the island.
She spent the afternoon swimming and relaxing beside the indoor pool. It was rather like a giant conservatory with high domed glass roof, banks of luxuriant flowering shrubs, palms and vines surrounding the water.
Lorenzo had not appeared at lunch, and to her annoyance Ros found herself glancing up expectantly every time a newcomer arrived at the pool. She could not dismiss him from her mind, especially when one of the guests, a large blond Dutchman, asked her out to dinner. She smilingly refused him. She hadn't meant to become involved with anyone, and had tolerated Lorenzo only because he might have been able to help her in the search for Tim. She swiftly banished the thought of Lorenzo's seductive words, his gentle but demanding lips, his compelling dark eyes. He might have murdered her brother, how could she possibly submit to his blandishments even if they were genuine? But they couldn't be, not after two days. And of course he hadn't murdered Tim. The idea was ludicrous. Yet there was some mystery.
*
Later Ros donned a long black skirt and cream lacy blouse. It was a gala night at the Castilla and a visiting singer was, with the regular entertainers, to provide a floor show during the meal, and the small orchestra would play for dancing afterwards.
As Ros entered the dining room her eyes went automatically to the raised platform where the musicians sat. Lorenzo was there, in tight black trousers, a wide-sleeved white silk shirt, and embroidered waistcoat. He was playing a solo softly, apparently absorbed in the music, and Ros realised with something of a shock that he was a very talented player.
'He's good, isn't he?' Veronica echoed her thoughts as they sat down. 'Much better than Miguel.'
'Miguel? Who's he?' Ros asked casually.
'The regular guitarist. He's doing a winter tour in America, not due back for another few weeks. Lorenzo's filling in.'
'He knows the island well.'
'I think he comes every year but I know very little about him. I heard something about him coming when the chap who replaced Miguel during the winter broke his wrist.'
He'll soon be gone, then, and I'm not sure whether to be pleased or sorry, Ros thought in surprise. Disturbing though he was she found suddenly that she could not honestly say she wanted him to disappear from her life. She'd maintained a fierce check on her emotions after Larry's death, and Lorenzo was the first man who'd even begun to crack the surface of icy indifferen
ce she showed, although plenty had tried. But how could she trust his blandishments, especially when he might be involved in Tim's disappearance? The only way to protect herself from his magnetism was to remain cool and firm.
She watched Pedro and Maria give a scintillating display of flamenco dancing, ecstatically appreciated by the diners. Then a rather corpulent tenor, the visiting artiste, sang several operatic arias and a selection of sentimental songs in Spanish and Italian, with a few in barely recognisable English as a somewhat doubtful compliment to the English and American guests.
Afterwards the orchestra took over again and played both modern and classical music until dinner was over. The largest lounge doubled as a ballroom. The chairs had been set out in small clusters round the edges of the room. After a short interval the orchestra began to play dance rhythms. The dancers then once more performed, and Lorenzo deserted the classical guitar and demonstrated his versatility on a modern electric one, skillfully mingling the older more sedate dances with the latest pop tunes.
Ros had successfully avoided the Dutchman all evening, but he approached her as the final dance began and she could not refuse without appearing impolite, even though he swayed slightly, giving the impression he had been drinking too much. She recalled seeing him perched on a stool at the bar for most of the evening.
He pulled her into a tight embrace so that she could hardly breathe, and propelled her round the floor with remorseless vigour but little skill. When he tried to dance cheek to cheek she contrived to turn away her face and endured it when he rested his head on hers. She moved away quickly when the music stopped and he released her.
'Have a drink with me,' he suggested thickly, trying to take her hand in his, but Ros evaded him and smilingly shook her head.
'Thank you, but no, I must get to bed. It's late and I have to get up early tomorrow. Good night.'
*
She turned and walked swiftly away, unaware that he followed her until she had crossed the foyer and was outside the main door. Then she felt his arm about her shoulders and swung round in alarm. But someone else spoke before she could.
Island Quest Page 5