Island Quest

by Oliver, Marina

  'Be off, before I set the dogs on you!'

  It was a woman, and she started to close the door. Ros hastily put her hand on it and spoke.

  'Please, I need to know where Mr Goldstein is. Is he on his yacht?'

  The crone grimaced. 'What's that to do with you? It's no good chasing him, he's gone back to his wife! And about time too! All that carrying on,' she muttered.

  'I don't want Mr Goldstein,' Ros hurriedly tried to reassure her, but the old woman wasn't listening.

  'And the cheek to come here and disturb me, asking for him as bold as brass. Off with you, I say!'

  'I'm looking for my brother!' Ros said, but the door had closed, and she heard the woman shuffling away. Clearly she would get no more information out of her.

  Frustrated, Ros looked about her. The gardens looked well tended, there must be a gardener. Thoughtfully she got back into the car and drove it a little way down the drive until she was hidden from the house by the screen of bushes. There had been no barking at the house. She'd have to take the chance there were dogs. She hadn't come so far to be deterred by a crusty old caretaker. She parked, and set off to explore the gardens.

  By making use of the formal terracing to hide her from anyone who might have been watching from the house, she managed to circle round to the back and see across to what looked like a boundary hedge. No gardeners appeared. It was too early for them to be eating, and there were no sounds from the complex of outbuildings set round a yard some way behind the house. There were stables, but they were empty. All the sheds and store rooms appeared to be locked, although she did not venture down to investigate closer when she saw a large dog, apparently asleep, lying in the centre of the yard.

  Now she knew there really was at least one dog, and it had not been an empty threat, Ros went still more cautiously round the other side of the house, and scrambled over a fence into a small citrus orchard.

  The boundary hedge was at the far side, and she had almost reached it when a sound made her look round. The dog was racing purposefully towards her.

  Ros didn't wait to test his friendliness. If he took after his owner it would not be very obvious. She made for the gap in the hedge as fast as she could and shot through, going too fast to check when she came out the far side at the top of a steep slope, the edge of one of the terraces.

  She slithered, slid, and rolled to the bottom, and then let out a gasp of agony as she sprawled on a gravelled surface. Dimly she'd been aware of another noise, but hadn't stopped to work out what it was. As the car screeched to a halt she instinctively buried her head in her arms. The thought flashed through her mind – would the dog or the car get her first?

  *

  The dog's snarl withered and Ros, cowering unashamedly, heard a snuffling noise, then a 'woof' of welcome mingled with stern commands to sit. That voice sounded incredibly, wonderfully familiar, and she tentatively lifted her head.

  Lorenzo was staring down at her in puzzled amusement.

  'How the devil did you get here?' he demanded.

  'I – I came to see – ' Ros began, but stopped when he bent to lift her to her feet.

  'Are you hurt? No bones broken?'

  'Just a hundred scratches and a few dozen bruises,' she snapped, her nerves shattered. 'Is that animal safe?'

  The animal was exhibiting signs of ecstatic joy, sniffing and fawning round Lorenzo, but Ros didn't trust him, she'd heard his snarl at much too close quarters.

  'He's safe while I'm here. Home, boy! Home, I say!' Ros, from the comfort and protection of Lorenzo's arms, peered round at the dog. He was reluctantly scrambling back up the bank, his tail lowered dejectedly, looking back with wistful, hurt eyes.

  'I've never known a dog which can't make a human feel an utter brute for not giving in to it,' Lorenzo commented, laughing.

  'So give him me for his dinner!' Ros said sharply.

  'What are you doing, trespassing on Goldstein's property?'

  'Trying to find someone who'll tell me where to find him,' Ros answered, trying to wriggle out of Lorenzo's embrace. 'The old hag of a caretaker shut the door in my face, so I was trying to find a gardener.'

  'Knowing you'd have better luck with a susceptible male?' he queried. 'They're not here today. Did you come by car? Where is it?'

  'On the drive,' she replied shortly, ignoring the crack about susceptible males. She was feeling guilty at the way she'd persuaded the doctor and the reporter to talk by use of what she normally considered despicable feminine tricks. 'What are you doing here?' she asked instead.

  'I've been visiting the other house, further along the track. Look, you're still shaken, I'll drive you to the Castilla.'

  'But the car?'

  'I can leave this one here, we'll take yours. Will you wait here for me while I take it back?'

  'The dog?' Ros asked quickly, clutching at his arm.

  'I'll walk you to your car first, it's only a few yards round the bend to Goldstein's drive. You can sit there and wait. But first I'm going to put something on those scratches.'

  He made her sit down on the grass and fetched a first aid kit from the car. A very expensive sports car, Ros noticed. And who lived in the house he'd been visiting? Her few scratches were superficial, although she knew she would be stiff on the following day.

  By the time they reached the Castilla Ros had recovered from her fright, and was simply angry she'd achieved nothing by her visit to Goldstein's house, and was no nearer tracing Tim. When Lorenzo suggested she rest that afternoon she dismissed it briskly, saying she was going to the barbecue with one of Veronica's trips that evening.

  *

  She soaked her bruises in a leisurely bath before dressing in a long, multi-coloured skirt and toning sea-green top, ready to set off for the evening's entertainment. To her mingled relief and disappointment she had not seen Lorenzo again, and there had been no signs of him at his chalet.

  The coach was full for these barbecues were popular with the guests. Some of the younger visitors were already singing before they reached the old farmhouse a few miles north of Palma. The barbecue was held in a huge barn which had been extended to accommodate hundreds of people, seated at rough-hewn tables around a small dance floor which doubled as a stage.

  Veronica led the way from the coach park past a fire where a pig and several chickens were being roasted on spits.

  'Mm, it always smells delicious,' she said, grinning and licking her lips. 'They provide all the food anyone could possibly want, sucking pig is the speciality, and gallons of wine and sangria.'

  As they entered the barn and found places at tables near the stage the musicians were giving a rousing version of Eviva Espana! It could be heard everywhere on the island and seemed, Ros was beginning to think, like an everyday national anthem. Almost immediately plates were put in front of them and smiling, quick moving waiters filled their glasses to the brim.

  The atmosphere was electric. Anticipation engendered a tremendous excitement and this was enhanced by the compulsive throb of the music, the scurrying waiters wafting deliciously scented food swiftly about the barn, and by no means least the heady wine which flowed unstintingly.

  'Ros, there's a single place left on that table, could you go there?' Veronica asked, reorganising her charges so that friends could sit together.

  'Sure, anywhere,' Ros agreed and wove her way round a couple of tables to where she could see the American, Matt, beckoning her.

  'Over here, Ros,' he shouted above the noise. Dodging an overburdened waiter and easing her way round a large pillar which helped to support the roof, Ros laughingly collapsed onto a bench seat next to Matt, who sat at the head of the long table.

  'Thanks,' she said breathlessly and found a strong arm round her waist. Startled, she looked up to find Lorenzo's face close above her own. 'How did you get here?' she asked. 'You weren't on the coach.'

  Her heart was thumping painfully, and she could scarcely speak.

  'It was full. I came by car. How do you feel?
Recovered? You won't have nightmares of dogs chasing you?'

  'Yes thanks. I was so pleased to see you,' Ros added, laughing ruefully at the recollection. 'Would the dog really have attacked me?'

  'He'd have held you until someone came. He wouldn't have bitten you. But forget him. Here, this is your glass, drink some wine. It's not the best quality but it serves its purposes very adequately.'

  'Making people drunk?' Ros queried, glancing about her. 'Even one glass seems to be effective!'

  *

  They were half way through the enormous meal when the floor show began, and the buzz of conversation was lowered as people watched and listened. A team of dancers performed both flamenco and the traditional Spanish country dances which were customary at village festivals. They were followed by a conjurer and then, as the main attraction of the evening the compère announced, 'The greatest singer of all time, the incomparable – Juanita!'

  Ros shook her head. Had she really had too much wine? She had in fact drunk sparingly. She looked again. Yes, it was the woman they had met in the night club who had seemed to be on such friendly, indeed intimate terms with Lorenzo. This was the singer Mandy had recommended to him on her first evening.

  She swept onto the stage, her black dress lavishly adorned with gold sequins. It was crude and vulgar but with her golden hair undeniably effective, Ros admitted as the lights were dimmed and Juanita was picked out in a pair of spotlights.

  She had a magnificent voice, Ros had to concede. Low, slightly husky, she seemed to be singing individually to each man, seducing him not only with that caressing voice but also with her half closed, slumbrous eyes. Unlike many singers she did not move her body, swaying sinuously, but allowed her voice and eyes to make the effect, and it was a powerful one.

  Ros watched Lorenzo out of the corner of her eye. He was sitting forward, one hand supporting his chin, and seemed totally absorbed. When Juanita finished and the audience burst into a rapturous round of applause he merely sat back with a sigh and continued to look at the singer.

  'She's good, isn't she? A wow with the men, anyway,' Mandy said as she appeared beside them. 'Do you think Senor Mendez would try to get her at the Castilla, Lorenzo?'

  Lorenzo turned towards her and Ros thought he dragged his gaze away from Juanita reluctantly. She felt suddenly cold. It was no good telling herself she'd known all along he was a flirt, that all he wanted from her was a holiday romance, another conquest, it hurt abominably to see evidence of his interest in another woman.

  She was so lost in her thoughts she missed his reply to Mandy, and only came back to an awareness of her surroundings when she felt Lorenzo's hand on her arm.

  'Let's dance, it'll be good for keeping the stiffness at bay,' he said, laughing down at her, and she realised the stage was being used as a dance floor. Unresisting she permitted him to lead her there, but she stiffened when he clasped her tightly to him as they began to dance.

  The music, Lorenzo's silence, and the pressure from the crowded dance floor gradually calmed her and forced her to dance closer to him, and she was incapable of resisting when she felt his lips gently kissing her brow and then murmuring compliments into her ear. She shuddered when he took the lobe of her ear gently between his teeth and he held her even closer against his hard lean body.

  'That's better, don't freeze me out,' he murmured, and Ros began to think perhaps his appreciation of Juanita had been a purely musical or professional one. She had recovered sufficient sense to tell herself that it was none of her concern even if he had a different appreciation of her other obvious attributes. They returned to their table and Ros did not draw away when he pulled her to lean slightly against his shoulder, his arm about her.

  *

  After some time Lorenzo excused himself to go through a small door near the back of the stage, reappearing a few moments later with a small dark man who gesticulated vehemently, talking rapidly, and then clapped Lorenzo on the shoulder and shook hands, a beaming smile on his face.

  'Who was that?' Ros asked when Lorenzo returned to his seat.

  'Juanita's manager,' he replied casually, drawing her into the circle of his arm again. 'I've known him for some time.' Before Ros could reply Juanita herself emerged from the same door and made a steady progress, despite the many people who tried to talk to her or detain her, to their table. Lorenzo stood up as she reached them and she leaned over and took both his hands in hers, drawing them up against her voluptuous bosom.

  'Lorenzo, my darling, how charming to see you here,' she said in Spanish, totally ignoring Ros and the other diners at the table. 'Miguel tells me you'll get me a booking at the Castilla. You know I'll come if the terms are right, and I don't mean just the money, darling. How could I resist it when you're there too?'

  'So it would be possible?' Lorenzo asked, looking down into her eyes intently. Ros found her hands were clenched so tightly that her nails were biting into the flesh of her palms. She turned away abruptly, trying not to hear Juanita's seductive tones, and to listen instead to a long rambling anecdote one of the men was laboriously relating. But she could not avoid hearing Juanita's next words.

  'You know my kind heart. I cannot bear to think of you, with your choice of the loveliest women in Europe, condemned to pander to the adoration of insipid little foreign girls! Is it some new thrill for you after being the most sought after man in Madrid?'

  Lorenzo laughed. 'You wouldn't understand, Juanita. I'll speak to Pablo Mendez as soon as possible and let you know.'

  Ros missed the next words because Matt had turned to her and was asking her to dance. Blindly she followed him onto the floor and struggled to hold back her tears of rage and humiliation. Was it true, what Juanita had said? She knew quite well Lorenzo, with his good looks and musical skill, had women falling over themselves and each other for a share of his attention, but he'd been so complacent, revelling in her remarks so that Ros felt ill with disgust.

  Her revulsion did not lessen when she realised both Lorenzo and Juanita had disappeared. She thought she could see them dancing and swiftly turned her face away. It did not matter. It must not matter. He could dance with whoever he liked. It hadn't hurt her when he'd danced with Veronica and anyway, she had no possible right to object. He had not escorted her tonight, she'd not even expected to see him here.

  *

  By the time the dance finished her distress had risen above the fury at Juanita's contemptuous dismissal of herself, and she knew she would be unable to speak calmly to Lorenzo. It was reaction after the incident this morning, she told herself, making her feel so uncharacteristically on edge.

  She had all her possessions in a small bag hanging on her wrist, so she made some excuse to her partner and instead of returning with him to the table found her way outside. She would wait inside the coach, and since Lorenzo had to take the car back she'd be able to avoid him. It was already after one, and could not be long before the barbecue was over.

  There were a few dim lights outside and Ros picked her way past the embers of the fire and towards the coach park. There were a dozen or more coaches in two lines and many cars, and Ros saw with annoyance their coach was no longer where they'd left it. She supposed the driver had taken it to a more convenient spot, and set off across the wide space to find it. Then she realised with dismay she was unable to tell which one it was.

  None of the drivers were there and all the doors were locked. She could not have got in even if she had been able to decide which was their coach. What an elementary mistake to have made, she chided herself angrily. Even though she'd expected to return to the coach with Veronica and the rest of the party she should have made a note of the number of it, or at least the colour.

  She began walking once more along the first line of coaches, but none of them had any distinguishing marks she recalled. She went behind them to walk along the second row, and stopped suddenly. A woman's low laugh came to her just as she reached the gap between the two lines of coaches. Instinctively she glanced across t
o where the cars were parked and saw a couple standing close together, the man's back towards her and the woman's bare arms twined about his neck.

  The woman laughed again and moved before Ros could look away, and a gleam of light reflected in her gold hair and on the sequins of her dress. Ros stared in dismay. It was Juanita, and although she could not see his face the man's height and build made her certain it was Lorenzo.

  Turning, she moved swiftly away to the end of the row of coaches, walking as quietly as she could and angrily dashing away the tears that insisted on pouring down her cheeks. Then she hesitated, hidden behind a car, as she heard an engine spurt into life. She waited and watched as a low sleek car was driven away.

  *

  She could not bring herself to go back into the barn, but stood wondering what to do. She was beginning to shiver, for the nights were cold and she had no coat or wrap, when she heard footsteps approaching. Thinking it might be one of the drivers who would let her sit in his coach she looked up, but the tall figure was no driver.

  'What the devil are you doing out here?' Lorenzo asked curtly.

  'I – have a headache, I couldn't endure the noise any longer,' Ros invented, unwilling to reveal the true reason for her distress.

  'It's hardly surprising after this morning, but why on earth didn't you say so? You knew I had a car here and could have taken you home.'

  'You were preoccupied!' Ros snapped before she could stop herself. 'You were dancing with Juanita and I had no wish to spoil your fun!'

  He seized her by the arms and turned her to face him, shaking her slightly. 'I truly believe you're jealous,' he said in surprise.

  'Jealous!' Ros exclaimed, even more furious because she realised that it was humiliatingly true. 'In the first place I've no claim on your attentions, no desire to have such a claim, and in the second I wouldn't demean myself to be jealous of such an unmannerly slut!' she cried trying to wrench free of his iron grip on her arms.

  'Damn Juanita,' he said softly. 'My relationship with her isn't what you obviously think,' he added, and before she realised what he intended he crushed her to him and his lips, as hard and demanding as she recalled them in her dreams, descended on hers and imprisoned her in a fierce embrace.