Marone! She was acting like a schoolgirl. Sure, he was drop-dead gorgeous. And charming. And successful. And adored by everyone. So what? Cassie’s comments left her to believe he’d had a string of women and none of them seemed to pass his test, whatever it was.
It didn’t matter. All that mattered now was finding out what happened to Paradisio and Marco. She had to remember if it weren’t for that snippet of talk she heard in the dining room, she’d be signing legal papers in Grayson Boyd’s office right now.
Justice. Retribution. Reconciliation. All noble causes. So, what was she doing getting a pedicure and going gaga over the guy who was trying to charm her out of filing a lawsuit?
She wanted to see just how these poor widows lived and be certain, absolutely certain, that justice was done.
The water taxi that picked them up from the Nirvana left a lot to be desired in comfort and speed. Ava knew immediately that Antigua would be far different from the exclusive enclave of St. Barts.
The taxi operator’s melodic English droned on about shore excursions to Nelson’s Dockyard and shopping in the markets of St. John’s, but Ava paid little attention to the tourist information. Dane sat next to her, dressed like the other passengers in khaki walking shorts and a T-shirt, but without the expectant look of an adventurer. He’d seemed preoccupied since they met on the main deck a few minutes ago.
“Where do we go when we dock?” she asked when the taxi operator paused for a breath.
“We’ll take a cab from St. John’s, the biggest city on the island. We’re meeting both families together, at the Steeles’ home near English Harbour. It’s about a half-hour drive. Pretty, though.” He wore dark wire rim sunglasses against the glare, so Ava couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. But she could see a slight frown between his brows.
“Are you okay?”
He nodded slightly, still studying the water. “I’m not looking forward to the visit, as you can imagine. Each time I’m with a widow or a parent, I lose the man all over again.”
A wave of sympathy hit her and she put her hand on his arm. “It’s very thoughtful of you to go in person. I’m sure you could have sent a representative from the company. Even a lawyer.”
The crease deepened. “I wouldn’t consider it.”
She lifted her hand and repositioned herself on the wooden bench. “Have you spent a lot of time in Antigua?”
“Some. I used to go every year for Sailing Week. It’s a huge regatta. Marco and I raced it together a few times.” He smiled at a memory. “Never won, though.”
So he was a sailor before he was an entrepreneur. It explained the bare feet, the ultra relaxed dress he adopted. The anti-CEO.
“I can’t imagine Marco sailing in a regatta or even living in this tropical, mellow world,” she said. “He never showed any interest in sailing or this type of life. If he hadn’t left—I don’t know, I guess I always pictured him in a kitchen somewhere.”
“Evidently no one in your family knew him very well.”
At his sharp tone, she turned to him, ready to defend. But before the heated words came out, she realized he was right. “Apparently not.”
They joined hands automatically to navigate the crowds on the shabby docks. Dane strode purposefully past the weather-beaten wooden houses with corrugated tin roofs and peeling louvered shutters that shielded the occupants from the relentless sun, toward a line of European cars with various colorful taxi logos and nodded to the man who leaned against the first one.
“You need a taxi, mon?” The driver dropped a cigarette on the ground without moving anything but his hand and wrist, and disengaged himself slowly from his reclining position, flipping his shoulder-length dreadlocks over a shoulder.
Inexplicably, her heart started to pound. She suddenly realized how far from Santori’s she was. In another world, with this breathtaking, determined, complex man taking her into a strange land. She shivered, even though the cab felt like the inside of an oven.
“I’d have rented a car, but it requires a visit to the Inland Revenue Department in St. John’s for a temporary license,” he explained. “It’s not a Caribbean experience you want to have, believe me.”
“This is fine.” She turned to the open window.
“The scenery will improve, I promise.” Dane bent over her to study the building on her side. “St. John’s has seen better days and the crime rate is soaring here. But before you know it, we’ll go over the main mountain range to get to English Harbour and you’ll think you’ve landed in the rain forest.”
Leaving the town, they passed a massive stone cathedral and a freshly painted museum, then skirted the iron fence of a botanical garden. With each mile away from the city, the landscape became lusher and Dane seemed to relax a little. He told her about the history of the island and the influence of the British Navy when it turned Antigua into a powerful naval base.
“How do you know all this?” she asked as he described how British men-of-war chose the coves and harbors to hide from hurricanes and pirates.
“I never paid attention to any subject but history, as a boy. Ten years in British schools, and I picked up a lot of nonessential trivia. And I always loved sailing and sea stories.”
“Ten years? Did you grow up in England?”
“My parents moved there right after I was born, when my father took over the European operations of Erikson Hill Hotels. We lived in London until I was about eleven and then moved back to New York when he assumed control of the entire company.”
That explained the faint British accent.
“Then did you live in New York City?”
“After that, I never lived anywhere. I grew up in boarding schools in various places. I never spent more than a week at a time at home—or whatever hotel my parents called home, once we moved to the States. The business was their life. I even did some time up in your area at Andover.”
“Did some time?” She chuckled at the expression and tried to imagine him among the elite of that rich kid’s academy.
“School was like jail to me. I never stayed in one for too terribly long, though.” She suspected why and he confirmed it. “Expulsion was my favorite extracurricular activity.”
“You were a bad boy?”
He grinned at her. “Were?”
She laughed to cover the zing that shot through her with the single word. “Seriously, how’d you get through college?”
“I didn’t.” He rubbed his hand over nonexistent stubble on his chin, then studied the scenery. “Did you think I was kidding when I said I dropped out?”
She remembered him referring to it when they toured Valhalla. “I assumed you got back in somehow.”
“Nope.” He turned to her, dropped his sunglasses, and shot a deliberate, challenging stare over their rims. “Still like me?”
That roller coaster dipped again. She wanted to take his arm to steady herself but gripped the edge of the seat instead.
“I don’t judge people on their education. It certainly hasn’t hindered your success.” She paused for a moment. “I guess Marco never finished school, either. He was only a freshman at Boston College when he…he left.”
Dane nodded. “Marco and I had a lot in common.”
She watched a filthy goat eating the grass of a rundown churchyard.
“How about you? Harvard or MIT?”
Ava gave an incredulous laugh. “CIA. There was never anywhere else for me.”
“The Culinary Institute? Whoa. You really are serious about cooking.”
“I had no desire to study sociology and calculus. I knew what I would be doing for the rest of my life. Even though Marco would have gotten the ‘real’ degree and the restaurant, had he stayed.”
“So what would you have done? If he had taken over the restaurant?”
Heat and humidity closed in on her and the foliage thickened to a wall of green along the mountainside. “I really don’t know, Dane. I never had to figure it out.”
“This is
Fig Tree Drive,” he said, pointing out the window.
Ava suppressed a sigh. “What a pathetic change of subject.”
He dropped his hand to her arm and lowered his voice. “Look, we’ll have enough grief in a few minutes. I didn’t mean to make it worse by bringing up Marco and what might have been. I’m sorry.”
Did he know how appealing he was when he relinquished his constant control and slipped into kindness for a moment? Was that part of his scheme to confuse and unnerve her? Or was he genuine? She wished she knew.
She purposely didn’t respond to the apology but turned toward the car window. “I hate to tell you, these aren’t figs. They’re bananas.”
The cabdriver twisted around, laughing. “Fig means banana. In Antiguan.”
“Oh, that explains it.” Ava realized he’d been listening to every word. “So where are we now?”
“Here’s the island.” Dane drew an imaginary map in the air. “We’re going to this area.” He indicated the southeastern corner. “Be prepared, though. It’s a fishing village, not much more.”
He saw it through her eyes, and it did indeed look shabby. Still, Dane knew that Delia Steele and her three children lived much better than most of their island neighbors. They had running water, electricity, an indoor bathroom, a separate bedroom for the children, and plenty of food on the table in their tiny whitewashed home. The same was true of Christa Brier, who would have a doctor deliver her baby at the hospital in St. John’s. They had a lot more than most Antiguans.
He just wished they still had their husbands.
Delia’s oldest boy, Thomas, burst through the screen door as the cab pulled up. “It’s Mr. Dane!” he yelled into the house, his skinny, boyish legs hopping in excitement. “Mama, come on!”
Soon they were all out there, three boisterous children under seven who seemed oblivious to the tragedy they had just experienced. They weren’t, he knew. Delia had just been doing a good job of holding it together.
The tall, graceful black woman embraced him and apologized for not being at the memorial service.
“I could not bring these children,” she whispered, wiping a wayward tear from her big, dark eyes. “Too much sorrow for them.”
Christa lumbered out to the patio, looking as though she could give birth then and there. “Hello, Mr. Dane.” He kissed her on the cheek and she clutched him. She too had missed the service. He touched her lovely brown face.
“I’m sorry you weren’t there, Christa. Everyone missed you.”
Ava had scooped up the baby and bent over to say hello to young Thomas. Dane made the introductions and watched the women react with warmth and sympathy to the news that she was Marco’s sister.
Marco had told almost no one about his estrangement with his family. Whether it was from embarrassment or a deep sense of privacy, Dane never knew. But his decision saved Ava from having to be anything but the grieving sister. They hugged and held her. A wellspring of pride in the Utopians and their families burst in him.
The two women bustled about to set up lemonade and sandwiches on the veranda, and baby Angelique climbed on Ava’s lap to play a finger game. Ava giggled with the child, the sweet, charming sound of someone enamored with the innocence of a little one. Looking at her in the high-backed wooden chair, the sun revealing reddish highlights in her curls, she looked so appealing. As beautiful in this shabby setting as on the deck of Nirvana at a cocktail party. He swallowed against the unfamiliar sense of protectiveness she seemed to ignite in him. He didn’t want protectiveness or desire to cloud his thinking where Ava was concerned. He had a reason for bringing her here.
She looked up and caught him staring at her. The baby smacked a tiny hand on Ava’s cheek, demanding her attention back.
“Again! Again!”
But Ava held his gaze, wordlessly. Then her smile faded and she looked at the child self-consciously. He was starting to read her wonderfully unfiltered expressions, and what he read rattled him. The attraction was mutual…and strong.
Ava stayed discretely in the background, focused on the children, while he talked to the widows about the settlement. He knew from their reaction they were astonished by the amount but, he hoped, not surprised at the offer.
“It is my promise that you will never have to leave your children to work, or worry about money,” he said quietly, leaning his elbows on his knees as he spoke to them. “I can never give you back Michael or Quincy. I’m so sorry. I truly am.” He looked from one to the other as they squeezed each other’s hands.
“Mr. Dane,” Christa said quietly. “This is generous. This is good. But, we don’t know what to do about this lawyer. One of his people, a woman, came here yesterday. They keep telling us that you—you are responsible for the shipwreck and that you are going to get millions of dollars…I am so sorry to say these words, Mr. Dane…I…this lawyer…he wants us to get…more…”
Dane nodded. “I understand that, Christa. I know what he’s saying. I’m sure you know I had nothing to do with this accident.”
“It’s not that we don’t believe you, Mr. Dane,” Delia broke in, beads of sweat darkening her brow. “It’s just that a million dollars…we…well…we would be very rich.”
“Delia, I know he wants you to think that. But he will get at least half of it. And then I will not be legally allowed to give you the payments I want to make.”
Ava sat a few feet away, quietly cooing in the baby’s ear but still, he suspected, listening to the conversation. “Ava will talk to you about that. She is in the same situation as you are regarding that lawsuit. I don’t want to discourage you. I want you to do what’s right. I want to take care of you and your families.”
He stood and saw Thomas sitting in the corner, bouncing a tattered tennis ball against the floor-boards.
“Tom?” The boy looked up, black eyes expectant and excited. “Go over to the cab and grab the black bag in the back. I’ve got something for you.” He reached down and lifted the baby from Ava’s lap. “Come on, darlin’. Let’s find your sister and go open some presents.” He nuzzled the irresistible folds of baby fat and looked at Ava.
“Would you talk to Christa and Delia for a few minutes? They have some questions for you.”
She watched his strong hands stroke the baby’s head and then glanced over to the two women. “Of course I would.”
Dane took a long time to set up the plastic construction site and show Tom how to move the trucks through their paces. Angelique chewed on the toy foreman’s head while the middle child, Devinia, lay on the bed asking a million questions. When he finally left the children, he found Ava in the small kitchen with Delia and Christa holding up tiny green fronds.
Ava brightened when he came in. “Look at this, Dane! Lemongrass grows right here in their yard. It’s native to the area!”
He couldn’t quite capture her enthusiasm over lemongrass but ambled over to join the group. “You don’t say.” Whatever they’d talked about on the patio was behind them.
“I never knew it grew anywhere but Thailand and some Asian countries. It’s very expensive, you know.” She held up a stem and inhaled the fragrance. “It’s exactly like Asian lemongrass.”
“We call it King Edward’s mint,” Delia said, wrapping a thick bundle of it in wax paper. “You take it with you. For your tea. No more headaches.”
Ava took the package and nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard that. And it’s in several Eastern dishes I love to make, but it’s so hard to find. I usually have to wait weeks to get my orders from Thailand.” She leaned over and hugged Delia. “Thank you. For your hospitality and your honesty.”
After they left amid a flurry of kisses and thanks and a few last tears, Ava and Dane got into the waiting cab. An idea took form as he remembered that in his pocket was the piece of paper listing new vendors that Genevieve had located for Arnot’s outrageous food requests. One was in Antigua, not far from St. John’s. He smiled, imagining how Ava would light up with infectious enthusiasm at whatever r
are spices and foods they’d find.
“Let’s make one more stop. I think you’ll like this one.” Dane leaned forward and gave the address to the driver.
The braided head spun around, and he shot Dane a wide-eyed look. “You sure, mon? With a lady?”
“It’s a rough area?” That didn’t make sense. He’d expected a marketplace, somewhere women could shop comfortably and alone. “Not a spice market?”
“Spices? There?” The driver raised his eyebrows and laughed. “Not for the food. For the crack pipe, mon.”
A sudden trickle of sweat dripped down his back. “Just drive by it, then. I want to check it out.”
The driver shrugged and dirt kicked up behind the cab as they left the tiny home of Delia Steele. Thomas and Devinia waved from the porch, and as they drove away, Dane studied the paper in his hand.
“We’re going to a spice store?” Ava asked, a questioning look at the exchange she just heard.
“I’m not sure.” Suddenly Marj’s strange call this morning started to make sense.
There was no spice vendor on the eastern outskirts of St. John’s. Just a dusty road with broken-down shanties and sullen native men eyeing the cab with curiosity and malice. At the address from Genevieve’s list stood a two-story apartment building with missing window shutters and a blackened hallway for an entrance. Dane wanted to go in, he wanted to know just what he was up against. But he couldn’t take Ava in there and wouldn’t risk leaving her alone in the cab.
“No spices here, mon,” the driver said nervously.
“What’s goin’ on in there, bro?” Dane asked.
The driver shook his dreadlocks and ran an uncomfortable hand over his beard. After a long look in the rearview mirror, openly assessing Dane, he said, “Just the smackers, mon. It’s a halfway point to the U.S., eh?”
“Let’s go.” Dane reached over to pat Ava’s hand, sensing her unease and amazed that she hadn’t yet demanded an explanation. “We need to get back to the ship anyway.”
Back in town, they walked toward the water taxis, too busy dodging tourists and street vendors to talk. Another cruise ship had just landed, and the piers rocked with the noise and pressure of humanity. He held her hand again, an unnecessary protective gesture that he liked too much to stop.
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