The Velvet Touch
By
Margery Hilton
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
"Foolish senhorita! You are afraid."
Laurel looked tearfully into the Conde's eyes. "Of course I'm afraid!" she cried. "You just tried to drown me and now you're trying to force me to go home with you. You must be crazy!"
"You don't know what you are saying," the Conde snapped, glints of impatience narrowing his dark eyes.
"You will come home with me to recover from your hysteria."
"I'm not hysterical!" Laurel said wildly. "I just want to get away from this place—and you."
"We shall see." The Conde turned abruptly and strode away down the beach, his shadow falling sharp and black against the golden sand.
For some reason Laurel shivered and put her hand to her heart.
Other titles
by
MARGERY HILTON
IN
HARLEQUIN PRESENTS
A MAN WITHOUT MERCY 52
GIRL CRUSOE 163
Other titles
by
MARGERY HILTON
IN
HARLEQUIN ROMANCES
YOUNG ELLIS 1022
THE DUTCH UNCLE 1068
DARLING RHADAMANTHUS 1125
THE GROTTO OF JADE 1188
INTERLUDE OF ARCADY 1367
BITTER MASQUERADE 1438
THE WHISPERING GROVE 1501
TRUST IN TOMORROW 1536
THE HOUSE OF THE AMULET 1581
DEAR CONQUISTADOR 1610
THE SPELL OF THE ENCHANTER 1634
FRAIL SANCTUARY 1670
THE INSHINE GIRL 1710
MIRANDA'S MARRIAGE 1752
THE BEACH OF SWEET RETURNS 1950
THE HOUSE OF STRANGE MUSIC 2135
THE DARK SIDE OF MARRIAGE 2213
Harlequin Presents edition published July 1979
ISBN 0-373-70797-5
Original hardcover edition published in 1979
by Mills & Boon Limited
Copyright © 1979 by Margery Hilton.
Philippine copyright 1979
Australian copyright 1979
CHAPTER ONE
Thank heaven it would soon be Saturday!
Laurel Daneway put the sheaf of notes on Mr Searle's desk, capped her machine with its cover, and turned the key of her drawer. Then she crossed her fingers and wished.
She was not an unduly superstitious girl, but the day was far from over, even though it was nearing seven and she should have been finished over an hour ago. She was beginning to wonder if indeed there were some potent malign being whose special day of joy was Friday the thirteenth. If there were, he had certainly had a field day today as far as Planet Panorama Holidays was concerned!
The boss called away by family trouble, the Rome courier gone sick, the opening of the new La Reina hotel delayed yet again by industrial action—where on earth were they going to transfer the three hundred hopefuls who had booked for the opening gala week? —and the lunch-time news to cap it all. A small war in Saringo, surely the last safe standby left on the globe, as far as arranging holidays was concerned. They hadn't had a war there since Hannibal crossed the Alps! And now there were forty-five trusting, highly nervous old dears marooned there in the middle of it.
It made Laurel feel that her own tribulations, like a tear in her tights, missing the bus that morning, and being stood up for the weekend, were petty worries in comparison. It had also made her muttered imprecations concerning a missing boss rather uncharitable. After all, he was really a darling to work for, and all the bad news would be waiting for him in the morning…
A frown puckered Laurel's brow as she glanced round the office before letting herself out. Had she done the right thing in sending Jeanne off by the evening flight to Rome? And phoning Roy in Tangier to tell him to leave everything to his assistant and get himself into Saringo come hell or high water to look after those forty-five very precious clients…? She did not usually have to make such vital decisions, but there had been no one else available.
The phone began to shrill as she snapped the door shut. She sighed softly, standing indecisively in the corridor while the imperative summons went on behind the closed door, then quickly fished out her key to re-open the office. She ran now, braced for another crisis and half expecting the phone to go silent before she could reach it. Unless Phil had found he was free tonight after all.
But it wasn't Phil; it was her boss.
He spoke quickly, seeming not to hear the drop of disappointment she could not keep out of her voice, and brushing aside the account of disasters she would have launched into he said: 'Are you free? Could you get over here by eight?'
'I think so.' She stared at the calendar on the wall, her frown deepening. What did Mr Searle want to discuss with her that was so important?
'Don't bother trying to rush home to change,' he instructed dryly, after telling her where to meet him for the meal. It was as though he sensed her dismayed mental picture of herself. 'I know you won't believe me,' he went on, 'but you always manage to look as attractive when you leave the office as when you walk in bandbox-fresh in the morning.'
'Thank you,' she said, knowing that Gordon Searle didn't indulge in idle compliments for the sake of them. 'But…?'
'I'm sorry to spring this on you,' he sighed, 'but I need your help, Laurie. Rather badly. Can you get round as quickly as possible? Take a taxi. Okay?'
'Yes, of course, Mr Searle.' Somewhat mystified, she rang off, then dialled their taxi service. While she waited she hurriedly touched up her make-up and swept her long, silver-gilt hair back into a smooth chignon. Whatever had happened? He sounded so worried, and usually he was quite unflappable.
He was waiting for her at the restaurant, and his smile was courteous as ever, but she noticed the drawn look round his eyes. Was his wife ill again? Or his daughter rebelling again? Could the firm be in financial difficulties?
She had to wait until they were settled at an alcove table, the order given and aperitifs brought, before he dropped the facade of sociality and looked directly at her across the table.
'I meant to leave this until Monday,' he began, 'but unfortunately my domestic affairs have reached crisis point and I've had to change my plans.'
Laurel sipped her Campari and nodded, waiting for him to go on.
'You'll remember my mentioning the possibility of our opening out a new island venue? There are two possible starters: Maraxos in the Ionian group, and Destino, a tiny spot north of but not belonging to the Canaries. I've just got a preliminary report on Maraxos, and I was planning to go out to Destino next week to look at it myself.'
Their first course arrived at that moment, and Gordon Searle waited until they were alone again before he resumed his explanation. A sudden warmth of enthusiasm temporarily drove the worry out of his expression as he outlined his plans for a new cruise-and-stay package the firm would offer the following year. Then he checked himself and smiled wryly.
'You're probably wondering why on earth I dragged you out tonight to tell you this. But unfortunately I'm not going to make it next week, so I want you to go in my place.'
'Me?' Laurel stopped eating. 'You mean to this island?'
He nodded. 'And make a report on it.'
'But I'm only your secretary,' she exclaimed. 'I—I wouldn't have the first idea of judging its suitability. I'd—'
'You'd do extremely well,' he broke in firmly. 'It's only a pr
eliminary survey. Checking some facts. Making a reconnaissance and noting the things that would worry you during a holiday. In fact, that's what you will be doing, and depending on your report I'll follow it up. Find out about treacherous currents—poor beaches and unsafe bathing are no good to us. Talk to the locals, find out the snags and sound opinion about tourism. The main thing is that you remain incognito. We don't want our rivals on the scene, and the less anyone knows of our plans at this stage, especially on the island itself, the better.'
He looked at her hopefully, and the worried lines had gathered round his eyes again. She said doubtfully, 'You know I'd do anything to help, but I'd hate to make a mess of things.'
'You won't. How could you? There isn't much in the way of accommodation, I'm afraid. Only one small place that takes in about half a dozen people. It's run by a retired English couple who've lived there several years. From all accounts it's the same old story; inflation, and a pension that no longer supports them adequately, so they boost their income with a few guests during the season. Very quiet, middle-class sort of simplicity. A chap at my club put me on to this. Says it's totally unspoilt, almost feudal, but he seemed a bit dubious about the water supply. So you'd have to find out about that. The plan's off if the water supply dries up after the first day of spring sunshine.'
Laurel was silent. She wished she could summon up the same confidence in her own ability to make this vital assessment as Gordon Searle seemed to have. How did a girl, a stranger in the place, discover the vagaries of its water sources? And what was the language? Spanish or Portuguese? Not that it mattered, as she couldn't speak a word of either.
He said slowly, 'I've already made a provisional booking for you, for a month, but I feel it's only fair to tell you, before you commit yourself, that there are two snags.'
She smiled faintly. 'Tell me the worst.'
'I want you to take my daughter with you.'
'Yvonne!' Laurel had a vivid mental picture of the spoilt, self-willed sixteen-year-old who was a constant source of worry to her father. 'Does she want to see the island?' she asked aloud.
'It's the last thing in the world she wants at this moment,' he said grimly, 'but frankly, I'm at my wits' end over that brat. My wife's anything but well just now, and Yvonne's latest is guaranteed to wreck her health completely.'
'I'm sorry,' said Laurel, genuine sympathy in her grey eyes. 'Of course I'll do whatever I can to help.'
'I know, and I appreciate that very much, my dear,' he said heavily, 'but if you are to understand I must take you into my confidence. I know you'll be discreet.'
She felt a quickening of curiosity that was perfectly natural, but she nodded and met his gaze seriously.
'Yvonne has got herself mixed up with some undesirables, one boy in particular. We've tried reasoning with her, we've tried threats, and we've tried bribes.' He sighed and shook his head tiredly. 'But she refuses to listen. And now I've been warned that this boy is mixed up with the drug scene. I've got to get Yvonne away. It would break her mother's heart if she knew, and if Yvonne got involved…'
He stopped, reaching for his wine glass, and Laurel's own imagination had no difficulty in filling in the unspoken fear that haunted his eyes.
After a moment he said slowly: 'This morning I gave her the choice; to go with you, ostensibly to help you— which she won't, of course, but I thought it might appeal to her vanity. Or I'd stop her allowance till the end of the year.' He gave a grim smile. 'She settled for the holiday. Yvonne likes her comfort, and I think she's shrewd enough to realise that I've passed the stage of making idle threats. I'm afraid it's not exactly an auspicious prospect, from your point of view. Am I asking too much of you?'
Ten minutes previously Laurel might have expressed her doubts, but now she was committed emotionally. Her sympathies were aroused, and the generous instincts which had often in the past caused her to take on other people's problems without pausing to consider the extent she might become involved herself.
'No, of course not,' she said impulsively. 'And please try not to worry too much—I'm sure it'll work out—for Yvonne, I mean. After a month's holiday she may see this boy in a different light altogether, her own good sense should make her realise she's been a bit silly, and if you're understanding, let her see that you realise how easy it is to be taken in by someone who isn't what they seem, I'm sure she'll meet you halfway.'
'I hope you're right.' Gordon Searle gave a sigh, then straightened his shoulders. 'But I feel I have to warn you that she may prove difficult. If the worst comes, you'll have to contact me and let her come home. You can't keep a self-willed teenager anywhere against her will these days.'
Laurel knew this was only too true. If Yvonne decided she had had enough of Destino there would be little she could do about it, other than send her home to her despairing parents. But surely Yvonne wasn't as awkward as all that. If she was in love with this boy it was very unlikely that she would see him in the same sinister light as her father.
'If possible, I should like you to travel on the first —that's next Friday. If—'
Laurel must have given a tiny gasp of dismay, for he stopped and looked questioningly at her. 'Is that, inconvenient?'
'No.' She hesitated only a fraction of a second, steeling her heart against the thought of the weekend that might be spent with Phil. She had been foolish too long, keeping all her time free for Phil, avoiding making arrangements a while in advance in case he suddenly rang up to say he was in town and where were they going… Just as she could understand how Yvonne might feel, so should she recognise her own weakness…
Her employer was looking rueful. 'I'm sorry, my dear.' I've been so wrapped up in my own worries I forgot about the fact that you have a personal life, and a young man who isn't going to take very kindly to my removing you out of his reach for a whole month. Perhaps I'd better try and make other arrangements.'
'No, I'll go.' Laurel returned his gaze steadily. 'I'd like to. By the way,' she hurried on, 'I haven't told you about today…' Quickly, her eyes becoming a little anxious, she recounted the chronicle of disasters, and ended: 'I hope I did the right thing, but I couldn't get in touch with you.'
Gordon Searle smiled whimsically. 'You did exactly what I would have done. Sent a replacement, and contacted Roy, asking him to leave his assistant courier in charge and go and sort out the Saringo problem.'
'Because this was Linda Dale's first job with the Saringo tour and she must be petrified with this happening.'
Gordon Searle nodded. 'Actually I did hear the news, and phoned Roy myself, but you'd already done that. And just before you arrived here tonight I was in touch with the Saringian authorities. They think they're containing the rebellion, and so far things are still quiet in the coastal province of Lyssan, where our party should be today, if they're on schedule—and there's no reason why they shouldn't be,' he added hopefully. 'So I'm hoping to hear later tonight that they'll be on their way out within a few hours.'
Laurel gave a sigh of relief. She sipped at her cooling coffee and thought of the job which lay ahead. Could she cope with this new responsibility thrust on her shoulders? For undoubtedly it was no light venture. On her report could depend the success and happiness of thousands of future holidays, to say nothing of the firm and the loss it might suffer if she made a mistake. And then there was Yvonne.
Suddenly she remembered something, and became aware of her employer regarding her with serious eyes.
He nodded. 'Yes, there's something else. The local lord of the manor—or his Spanish equivalent.'
'The second snag?'
'I'm afraid so.' Gordon Searle sighed. 'His estate covers a good two-thirds of the island, in effect, its most attractive area, I'm told. Apparently it's only one of lord knows how many he owns. There again, you may be able to sound local opinion and see if you can estimate the kind of reaction we're liable to meet from the gentleman. For a great deal will depend on his co-operation, and his attitude towards the island becoming a tour
ist centre.'
'You don't want me to go and see him?'
'Not until we've made this preliminary reconnaissance. We'd only waste his time and our own by contacting him before we're ready to make our decision.'
Laurel nodded thoughtfully. Already she was beginning to experience a sense of excitement. She had never done anything like this before, even the prospect of Yvonne proving a handful could not damp her eagerness, or the unknown quantity of the lord of this island domain. She said almost flippantly: 'You expect him to spell trouble?'
Gordon Searle hesitated, then nodded.
'Any special reason?' Laurel sobered, wondering why he hesitated.
'No, only my instinct.' Gordon Searle tugged at his lip. 'Unfortunately, or fortunately, I'm not often wrong.'
'What is his name—this island grandee?' she asked.
'I can't remember. I've got it written down somewhere. It's one of those long family strings—you know how their aristocracy often take on both names and estate title when two big families intermarry.'
Laurel didn't, but she murmured agreement as her employer dug into his pocket for his wallet. He riffled through it and gave a small exclamation of triumph as he extracted an envelope. He straightened out its creases.
'Conde Vicente Rodrigo de Renzi y Valdes!' he proclaimed dramatically. He looked at her wide eyes and his mouth compressed wryly. 'He could be as great a problem as my daughter! But for your sake, my dear, I sincerely hope not.'
'So do I,' breathed Laurel.
But she had little time for much metaphorical crossing of bridges during the next few days. There were two newcomers to the staff at the office, which meant a certain amount of time had to be spent helping them to devise a routine which would cover her absence. Gordon Searle's wife learned that she would have to go into hospital for a minor operation as soon as this could be arranged, and while there wasn't any frightening urgency about it, nevertheless it was worrying for Laurel's employer, who was devoted to his delicate wife. Despite this, he did not forget what might have seemed less vital points to a man and insisted on making a generous expense allowance to Laurel to cover the cost of the additional clothes she would need.
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