A Diamond for Del Rio's Housekeeper

by Susan Stephens

  The look she gave him when she planted flour-covered hands on her hips shot straight to his groin.

  ‘Excuse me, please...’ She drew herself in as she went to move past him, presumably so they didn’t touch.

  He stepped in her way. ‘It’s good of you to go to so much trouble for my team.’

  ‘Your team?’

  ‘The people in my team will really appreciate it.’

  She frowned at him, confused. ‘May I go now?’ she murmured, still frowning.

  ‘Of course.’ He smiled as he stood back. ‘Coffee would have been enough, though.’

  ‘But cake’s always nice, don’t you think?’

  His lips pressed down as he shrugged. ‘If you insist.’

  Remembering his colleagues in the next room, he turned to leave, but paused at the door to remind her to bring cream and milk when she served refreshments, and also decaf coffee for Margaret. ‘A plate of biscuits on the side for those who don’t like cake would be nice,’ he added. ‘Oh, and maybe a cheese sandwich to bridge the gap between meals. What are you serving later, by the way?’

  There was a long moment of silence, and then she said, ‘There must be some mistake. The muffins aren’t for you. I can manage a packet of biscuits—’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘And I won’t be serving meals, either, as I’ll be busy later.’

  ‘Busy? But you’re the housekeeper.’

  ‘I used to be the housekeeper,’ she said. ‘As you made clear, my job here is done. It ended when your aunt died. Only the bequest in Doña Anna’s will allows me to stay on—that and my tiny pot of savings. As I promised your aunt, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be holding one of my regular meetings with the islanders today, so I can update them with where we are with applications and so forth. The cakes are for them. I’m sorry if you thought otherwise. If you’d asked, I’d have been happy to bake a double batch, but you didn’t let me into your plans. That’s why we need to work together.’ She added, tongue in cheek, ‘Perhaps we could cut them in half?’

  ‘I take it that making coffee won’t be beyond you?’ he asked coolly.

  ‘I’ll leave everything you’ll need ready on a tray, but I do have some chores I must do while the cakes are baking. Oh, and I’ll need the dining room by four o’clock.’ Seeing his expression, she added, ‘Now you’re back, we have to cooperate on certain things. I’m sure you don’t want the islanders upset any more than I do, thinking everything’s going to change overnight. They miss your aunt too. We owe it to them to keep things as smooth as possible. Cake will help,’ she finished with a smile.

  She might be young, and owning anything might be new to her, but she was learning fast. She was also sending him a message. This was not the young girl the lawyer had described to him, or the uncertain girl he had first met on the beach. This was a woman who was slowly becoming aware of the power she had been given, and who wasn’t afraid to use it. He would have to rethink his plans where Rosie Clifton was concerned.

  * * *

  She had no complaints where Don Xavier was concerned. At least, not today. He and his team behaved perfectly, vacating the dining room at three-thirty prompt. They were to continue their discussions during a walking tour of the island, apparently. One of his team had even offered to stay behind to help Rosie in the kitchen.

  ‘It won’t take me long, honestly,’ she told the kindly older woman called Margaret, who was a bit like a city version of Doña Anna, that was, a bit more put together, but with the same shrewd, wise air. ‘I know you have to get away.’

  Margaret wouldn’t take no for an answer and picked up a clean linen cloth to dry the dishes. ‘Don Xavier is an impatient man. I take it you’ve noticed?’

  ‘I have,’ Rosie confirmed as they shared a smile.

  There was something in Margaret’s eyes that said she was very fond of Xavier, and that any criticism she made was made with the warmth of a friend who knew him well. ‘There’ll be some changes here,’ she said, glancing keenly at Rosie. ‘You are prepared for that?’

  ‘If I agree with them, yes.’

  ‘You wouldn’t want to see this place falling down, I imagine?’ Margaret looked at her.

  ‘Of course not, but I wouldn’t like to see it bulldozed, either.’

  They cleared the kitchen together in silence for a while, then, folding her cloth, Margaret said, ‘I know things seem black now, but remember you’re still grieving. Both of you are. It should be possible to bend a little in time.’

  ‘Really?’ Rosie raised an amused brow. ‘You see Xavier bending?’

  ‘Give him a chance.’ Margaret’s soft tone held Rosie’s attention. ‘More importantly,’ she said, ‘give yourself a chance, Rosie.’

  The rest of the afternoon was taken up with Rosie’s meeting with the islanders, so she didn’t have the time to think much about what Margaret had said. Her meetings were happy events, casual, but purposeful. Everyone brought something to eat in the break, and there was quite a feast laid out on the dining-room table. Don Xavier’s team had left on the launch, so she thought it the ideal opportunity to ask him to join them. The islanders remembered him well, and she thought they’d be pleased to see him.

  She was surprised by just how pleased. And this wasn’t the aloof and arrogant man who had emerged from the surf like an invader come to claim his territory, but the man she had played with on the beach, a warm and engaging man amongst his friends. She doubted there’d be much time left for more formal discussion while so many reunions were under way, but that was okay. This was all she could have asked for.

  Everything was going swimmingly until one of the elders of the village asked outright about changes that might be coming to the island.

  ‘You have nothing to worry about,’ Xavier told him before Rosie had chance to speak. ‘My project will bring more jobs. Nothing will change for you. It will only get better.’

  ‘That’s not very specific,’ Rosie tried to point out, but everyone was too busy smiling at Xavier and patting him on the back, telling him they knew he’d come back, and that he would never let them down.

  He turned to look at her eventually, but it was the briefest glance. ‘And you will have the reassurance of knowing that Señorita Clifton is here amongst you. You already know she has your best interests at heart.’

  So everything was decided without a single word from her. But at least he’d accepted her staying on, Rosie reasoned, so she’d hold back on confronting him right away. ‘You still haven’t told us about your plans,’ she reminded him. ‘Wouldn’t this be a good time to share?’

  ‘When the architect’s scheme is finished, everyone here will be the first to see it,’ he assured the room with a charming smile and an expansive gesture.

  That went down well, but Rosie wasn’t reassured. ‘By that time whatever you decide to build on the island will be a fait accompli,’ she pointed out.

  She hated being railroaded, and as the conversation turned to dredging the bay to build a fabulous marina, and clearing vast swathes of land for the luxury hotel and golf course, she could feel her tension growing. Xavier could turn on the charisma, and had won everyone over. He could have suggested erecting a launch pad for moon rockets and she guessed the result would have been the same. Everyone was so pleased to see him, they would have agreed to anything he cared to suggest, and he would push these plans through, regardless of her opinion.

  She waited until everyone had left before confronting him with her concerns. ‘A six-star hotel? A golf course and marina? Do you think that’s what Doña Anna intended?’

  ‘Doña Anna isn’t here to guard her island any more,’ he said, easing onto one taut hip. ‘We have to do that for her.’

  She shook her head and laughed. ‘You’ll spoil the island. You’ll tear it apart.’

  ‘And you’d see it crumble into the sea,’ he countered, straightening up. ‘Improvements have to be made.’

  ‘I agree,’ she exclaimed with frustrat
ion. ‘But why can’t they happen slowly, and develop naturally?’

  ‘You might have time for that—the islanders don’t. I’m offering jobs today, not uncertainty tomorrow.’

  And Margaret had said they could compromise?

  ‘You only see what you want to see, Rosie,’ Xavier insisted. ‘And I understand why. You had a difficult life before you met Doña Anna. The contrast between here and the orphanage must have been extreme, so now you only see the good things and blank the rest. But that’s no good to the islanders. They need progress now.’

  ‘I’d do anything for them...anything.’

  ‘I know that. So take my money. Make a good life for yourself,’ he said quietly and intently, ‘somewhere else.’

  For a moment she was lost for words. The island was her home, the only home she wanted. It was everything she had ever dreamed of; that and a family of her own. The islanders and Doña Anna had given her that family, welcoming her to their beautiful island with open arms. Now it was her turn to do everything in her power to help them. She was getting better at writing to companies she’d found on the Internet, and she had sourced a huge number of charities to approach for grants. It was all work in progress, but she couldn’t walk away from it now. Just because she hadn’t received any positive replies yet, didn’t mean she was ready to give up.

  ‘Who is more likely to make things right for the islanders?’ Xavier pressed. ‘You, or me?’

  His words stung her, because they were too dangerously close to the truth. But she couldn’t back down now. She remembered the orphanage, and the matron deriding her. Rosie had wanted to stay on at school and go to college, but had been told that she could put that out of her head, as there were no funds for that sort of thing, and she didn’t have the brains for it, anyway.

  What if the matron was right?

  Never mind that. Was she being selfish? Would Xavier’s plans be better for the island?

  No. Shaking her head, she remembered her promise. ‘If you would only help me a little—maybe introduce me to some of your contacts, I could put the islanders’ scheme in front of them, and try to get the business off the ground. Surely, there could be room for your scheme and theirs if everything was coordinated properly?’

  ‘Are you backing down?’

  ‘No,’ she said firmly.

  ‘In that case, I can only assume that you’re asking me to help you fund your dream of Utopia.’

  ‘All I’m asking is that you act as a go-between in this one small thing.’

  ‘It isn’t a small thing to invite my contacts to invest in you. Exactly how much experience of running a business shall I tell them you have? And make no mistake, Rosie, doing what you’re suggesting—turning smallholders into commercial farmers—will be one hell of a business. You’d have to replace the infrastructure of the island, just for a start.’

  ‘You’ll need to do the same thing,’ she protested. ‘Why can’t we work together?’

  The sensible thing, Xavier reasoned, was to pay her off and send her packing, but so far they hadn’t found a price. And though Rosie Clifton was the biggest risk to clear thinking he’d ever met, he was loath to send her away.

  ‘If you’re serious about this, you have to start thinking commercially. You need to meet the right people—’

  ‘Exactly,’ she interrupted, her eyes firing with passion. ‘But how am I supposed to do that, unless you help me?’

  ‘My money, your heart?’ he mocked lightly.

  ‘Why not?’ She didn’t even blink.

  ‘All right,’ he agreed, accepting her challenge. ‘I’m holding a cocktail party at my apartment on the mainland. The guests will be exactly the type of people you need to meet.’

  ‘Are you inviting me?’ she asked him with suppressed excitement.

  It was hardly fair of him to do so. His guests were hard-driven business professionals who would eat her alive.

  ‘Are you?’ she pressed.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he admitted honestly.

  ‘Why not?’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Because it might be said that every party needs a novelty item, an engaging piece of gossip to make it fly, and I’m not sure I’m ready to see you humiliated.’

  ‘Only “not sure”?’ she asked, starting to smile.

  ‘I wouldn’t stand for it,’ he spelled out.

  ‘I accept,’ she said brightly.

  Closing his eyes for a moment, he groaned inwardly at the thought of what Rosie’s attendance at the drinks party would do to his precious clear thinking.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Decision made. You’ll come to the mainland with me, and I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t feel out of place.’

  She tipped her head to one side to stare at him with laughing eyes. ‘You don’t have much confidence in me, do you?’

  The truth was, he didn’t know what to expect from the redoubtable Rosie Clifton. But then she frowned. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to wear for this party of yours.’

  ‘I’ll buy you a dress,’ he offered.

  ‘I can’t accept money from you—’

  ‘Dios, Rosie! When are you going to stop being so proud? What are we talking about here—a dress and a pair of shoes? When you’ve sorted yourself out, you can pay me back.’

  ‘When I’ve accepted your pay-off, do you mean?’ she asked him suspiciously.

  That was exactly what he meant. ‘We’ll think of something,’ he said.

  She had to accept. She was getting nowhere on her own, Rosie thought. And unless she could come up with funding for the islanders’ scheme, Xavier and his team would steamroller his plans through.

  ‘You think too much,’ he said, reading her preoccupation. ‘You want it—you’ve got it. Now, leave it alone.’

  He was right. Building bridges between them was more important than worrying about her entry into high society. But...

  ‘A cocktail party.’ Her throat tightened on the unaccustomed phrase. ‘I’ve never been to one of those before.’

  ‘You’ve never owned half an island before,’ Xavier pointed out, ‘but you seem to be handling it.’

  ‘Handling you, do you mean?’

  He almost smiled. She did too. It was time for new beginnings. She had to take the next step, or he would leave her in his wake. She had to find the courage to finish what she’d started.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  WHEN THE MASSIVE marble and gilt hotel where she was to stay on the mainland loomed into sight, Rosie thought it even more terrifying than the flight over from the island, and that had been something. She had never travelled in a private jet before. They used the bus at the orphanage, and she had caught the ferry to the island after flying there on a commercial jet with the comfort of hundreds of people around her. There had been no one to talk to or distract her in the hushed luxury of Xavier’s private jet, as he had gone on ahead, and her nerves were shredded by the time the plane landed. The hotel was her second hurdle. The limousine that had brought her directly from the tarmac outside the jet had stopped outside the grand entrance. Her luggage would be brought up directly, the driver told her stiffly as she stepped out of the car.

  Her throat dried as she mounted the marble steps and glanced up at the towering façade. Doors were opened before she had a chance to touch the handle, and once inside the lobby she found it bustling with elegant, beautifully dressed people, who seemed to smell of money; everything smelled of money to Rosie’s untutored nose. There were huge floral displays, and such a mix of scents, sounds and new impressions they made her dizzy as she wove her way through the throng.

  Having been given her instructions at the desk—where she’d stood in line for ages, only to discover she should have used another desk where they only handled those privileged individuals whose rooms were located on the higher floors—she crossed to the bank of elevators. Having tried frantically to operate the lift, she now discovered there was a man to do that for her. And the elevator cabin wasn’t just a fu
nctional steel-and-glass method of moving between floors, but an elegant affair with a velvet banquette and gilt-framed mirrors. She was careful to stand well away from the walls in case she marked them.

  ‘This is your floor,’ the lift operator informed her.

  ‘Thank you.’ She’d had a chance to study her reflection. She looked so out of place it was almost funny. Except it wasn’t, because she wanted to make the right impression, and, judging from the man’s manner towards her, she hadn’t made a very good start. He was probably wondering why Security had allowed her upstairs in the first place in her thrift-shop dress and worn canvas sneakers. She might have wondered the same thing, if she hadn’t known by now that the name Don Xavier Del Rio opened any door. But whatever was waiting for her beyond the elevator doors, she would remember her promise to Doña Anna and hold her head up high.

  She walked slowly down the subtly lit corridor, trying to take everything in. She felt as if she were wrapped in money, cosseted and protected from the outside world, which was obviously the hotel’s objective. Even the air smelled expensive. And it was so quiet. The carpet was so thick it absorbed the sound of footsteps, while the walls were covered with silk rather than paper, which would muffle any sound. The décor was the type of tasteful opulence Rosie had only seen in magazines before. It must have taken a lot of putting together, she guessed, but it was certainly effective. Even the muted colours had been chosen to soothe the harried guests, providing them with a haven from their busy lives.

  So what was she doing here?

  It was time to put thoughts like that out of her mind. She had to think positively now. She was here to attend a cocktail party, whatever that might entail.

  Her door was at the end of the corridor. After several failed attempts, she managed to get her key card to work. Standing on the threshold, she stared around. The room was so vast she couldn’t take it in. Catching sight of her bedazzled expression in one of the mirrors on the wall, she quickly closed her mouth, closed the door—and then she saw the dress. It was spread out on the sofa with a soft cream wrap next to it. She loved the wrap, but her heart picked up pace when she took a closer look at the dress. It looked like something a starlet would wear. Cut to fit like a second skin, it had a plunging neckline, and a split up the side that would leave nothing to the imagination. No way could she wear underwear beneath it.