by Anne Mather
‘Oh…’ Camilla cast a diffident look in Alessandro’s direction, and then made a negative gesture ‘…no. No, I’m afraid not. I…live in a flat, you see. A window-box is the best that I can do.’
‘A flat?’
Wong Lee seemed quite prepared to stand and debate Camilla’s circumstances, but his employer was growing restless. ‘She lives in an apartment, Lee,’ he told the little man rather testily. ‘The English call them flats, for some reason best known to themselves. Probably because they’re all on one level. No stairs, you see.’
‘Ah!’ Enlightenment dawned, and Wong Lee smiled again. But then, seeing that the other man was gazing at him with a decided lack of tolerance, he quickly stepped back and gestured towards long windows that opened out on to a sunlit patio. ‘Please, signore, sit. I will tell Mama Lu you are…both…here.’
‘Do that.’
Alessandro offered a tight smile, and then indicated that Camilla should precede him outside. She did so a little unwillingly, supremely conscious of him behind her, observing the sway of her hips, the pale legs, emerging from her shorts, that never tanned, no matter how long she sat in the sun.
In an effort to maintain an appearance of composure, however, she didn’t hurry. Instead, as she sauntered ahead of him, she made a leisurely appraisal of the pretty garden-room, admiring the basketwork furniture that was set at intervals between trellises of trailing vines, the bright cushions that covered them adding generous splashes of colour to the greenery.
She emerged on to a flagged terrace that spread in both directions and was liberally shaded by a frangipani-hung pergola. Bees buzzed among the fragrant blossoms, and the air was much gentler now, brushing her skin like warm silk. A table was waiting on the terrace, spread with a crisp white cloth and set for two. A jug of freshly squeezed orange juice, a steaming pot of coffee, and a plate of blueberry pancakes already resided on the table, together with butter on ice, a trio of preserves, and sweet maple syrup.
Camilla caught her breath and looked round at her host, but he was showing no particular interest in the waiting breakfast, and she quickly averted her head again. Obviously this was just a normal day for him, or at least as normal as it could be with his wife and daughter missing, but for Camilla it was all new and exciting. Even in the present situation there was an irresistible sense of anticipation to the day, and she didn’t need to look at the ocean surging on to the beach only yards away to feel the blood quickening in her veins.
Alessandro Conti waited beside the table, and, realising he expected her to sit down so that he could take his own seat, she subsided on to one of the cushioned plastic chairs. It was superbly comfortable, but now was not the time to say so. Instead, she accepted the jug of orange juice he proffered, and made a creditable job of pouring some into the stemmed glass that stood by her plate.
‘This…this is lovely,’ she said at last, wiping a film of juice from her upper lip. ‘Just like…just like…’
She had been going to say ‘being on holiday’, but the inappropriate words stuck in her throat, and instead she brought her glass to her lips again, trying desperately to think of an alternative.
‘Like…being on holiday?’ Alessandro suggested, a certain dryness to his tone, and Camilla managed to control her colour with a distinct effort.
‘Well…yes,’ she said, deciding there was no point in lying to him. ‘This is a…heavenly spot.’
Alessandro inclined his head. ‘I like it.’
‘Oh, but surely, Virginia—’ Camilla realised she had put her foot in it once again, and finished somewhat lamely, ‘Virginia must, too.’
‘No.’ He was very definite about that. ‘My…wife…finds Kumaru boring.’
‘Kumaru.’ Camilla liked the way he said it. Until then it had just been an address, but suddenly it had assumed an identity all its own.
‘Yes, Kumaru,’ replied Alessandro shortly, and she realised she must have spoken her thoughts aloud.
Mama Lu’s arrival precluded any further discussion, and for once Camilla was relieved to see the housekeeper. In a long flowing gown that was patterned in exotic island colours, she came across the terrace towards them, her dark face split by a white-toothed smile. Camilla couldn’t help wondering if she was remembering how she had had to put their guest to bed the night before, and whether she was comparing Camilla’s skimpy body with her own generous curves. After all, there was no denying that, for all her size, Mama Lu swelled in all the right places. Fat she might be, but unshapely she was not.
‘Is everything OK here?’ she asked, and Alessandro glanced up at her, his expression gentling amazingly. If he had been attractive before the smile that tilted his rather thin lips now gave his face a startling sensitivity, and for all her staunch resistance Camilla felt an instinctive response.
Then he looked at her, and she pressed her palms down on her knees, under the level of the table, feeling their dampness against her legs. ‘What do you want for breakfast, Miss Richards?’ he enquired politely. ‘Just say what you’d like, and Mama Lu will do the rest.’
‘Oh…’ Camilla surveyed the table, and then lifted her slim shoulders. ‘I…generally just have coffee at home. This is fine, really. I’m not very hungry.’
Which wasn’t strictly true. It was almost twenty-four hours since she had had a decent meal, and, although she didn’t look as though she did, she had a fairly healthy appetite.
‘Not hungry?’ exclaimed Mama Lu now, clearly not believing her. ‘But you had no supper!’
‘I know.’ Camilla gave her a rueful smile, hoping she was not going to make a big thing of that, and Mama Lu snorted.
‘Don’t you like pancakes?’ she asked, a frown drawing her dark brows together, and, although Camilla was sure Alessandro Conti didn’t allow the housekeeper to browbeat all his guests like this, she wasn’t a normal visitor.
‘I…love pancakes,’ she replied defensively, and then caught her breath when the housekeeper picked up her plate and ladled a generous helping of the blueberry pancakes on to it. She smothered these with maple syrup, and then set the plate back in front of Camilla.
‘Enjoy,’ she said, pouring both her employer and his guest some coffee. ‘And you let me know if you want any more.’
She ambled away again, and, while Camilla didn’t expect her host to make any comment, he surprised her yet again. ‘Leave them if you don’t want them,’ he said, eyeing her with mild amusement. ‘Mama Lu thinks everyone should eat generously. It’s her way of justifying her appearance.’
‘Hmm.’ Camilla acknowledged his explanation with a rueful grimace, but the smell of the pancakes was so delicious that she couldn’t resist taking up her fork and trying them.
‘So…’ he said, after pouring himself more coffee, ‘d’you want to tell me why you really came here?’
Camilla’s mouth was full, and she had to empty it before she could speak. But his words were so disturbing that it was difficult to swallow the sticky pudding, and her eyes were watering by the time she was able to answer him.
‘Why?’ she squeaked, and then, clearing her throat, ‘You know why. Virginia…Virginia invited me.’
‘Yes. But why did she invite you?’ Alessandro asked steadily. ‘Why now? And why hasn’t she mentioned you to me before?’
That hurt. It really did. She would have expected Virginia to have mentioned their friendship to Alessandro. If it had meant as much to Virginia as she had always said then she should have talked about her to her husband.
‘I…don’t know,’ she said now, taking another mouthful of the pancake almost automatically. ‘I really don’t.’
‘No.’ Alessandro seemed to believe her, and she breathed a little more easily. But then he spoiled it by adding, ‘And you didn’t know she wouldn’t be here when you arrived?’
‘No.’ Camilla swallowed again, and forked another mouthful of pancake into her mouth. ‘Why would I?’ she demanded, her voice muffled by the food. ‘I thought she was happy
here.’
‘How do you know she wasn’t?’ he shot back at her, and Camilla felt indignation at his attitude taking hold of her.
‘You said she was bored,’ she reminded him in the clear, concise tones she used in court, and now it was his turn to look discomfited.
‘Oh, yes,’ he said ruefully, and her indignation dissolved in the face of his admission. ‘I forgot.’
Camilla sighed. ‘You’ve still no idea where they are, then?’ she asked, and he hesitated only a moment before shaking his head. ‘So…what are you going to do?’
He put down his napkin then, and got up from the table, walking to the edge of the terrace and gazing out towards the ocean. He was silent for so long that Camilla thought he wasn’t going to answer her, but then he turned, with one hand gripping an arch of the pergola, and said flatly, ‘What do you think I should do?’
‘Me?’ Camilla said the word around another mouthful of the pancakes. Despite her claims to the contrary, she had known her appetite would not remain dormant and she was embarrassed to discover that she had almost emptied her plate. Putting down her fork, she used her own napkin to dab her mouth, and then shrugged. ‘Well—make enquiries, I suppose.’
‘And where would you make those enquiries?’
‘Where?’ Camilla called upon her own experiences for an answer. ‘Um…well, do you know if they’re still on the island? Could they be visiting friends, or something—?’
‘A woman and a child, answering my wife and daughter’s description, left the island the same day they disappeared,’ he told her bleakly. ‘They flew to Los Angeles, on United Airlines, flight number—’
‘You say a woman and a child answering your wife and daughter’s description,’ Camilla interrupted him quickly. ‘Didn’t they use their own names?’
Alessandro left the pergola and came back to the table. ‘I’m afraid I have to go,’ he said, without answering her. ‘There are some phone calls I want to make, and then I’ll be leaving for my office. You’re welcome to stay here for a couple of days if you’d like to do so. But I suggest you make enquiries about your return flight to London. It isn’t always easy to get a booking at this time of year. April through October is the busiest season, as I guess you found out at the airport.’
Camilla blinked. ‘At the airport?’ She was confused.
‘When you tried to hire a car,’ he explained, and her brows, which were a deeper, dark auburn shade, drew together.
‘How do you know about that?’
Alessandro looked faintly rueful now, as if he regretted having said so much. ‘I…saw you,’ he said. And, as if justifying such a startling statement, he added, ‘Your hair: it’s quite…eye-catching.’
‘You mean…you came to meet me? But I thought you said—’
‘I didn’t come to meet you,’ retorted Alessandro quellingly. ‘I flew back from Los Angeles on the same flight you did.’
‘Los Angeles!’ Camilla stared at him. ‘So…you know where Virginia is!’
He was beginning to look a little irritable now, but he controlled his temper sufficiently to ask tersely, ‘What makes you say that?’
Camilla’s neck was beginning to ache with the effort of looking up at him, and, easing back her chair, she got rather jerkily to her feet. ‘Well—you said a woman and a child answering your wife and daughter’s description—’
‘Oh, that!’ He sighed then, and pushed long, impatient fingers through the thick dark hair that was longer than Camilla normally liked. The gesture caused his suit jacket to swing open, exposing the silvery grey shirt beneath and the narrow slate-coloured tie that matched it so flawlessly. It also drew Camilla’s eyes to his lean body, but she hastily averted them again. ‘Yes,’ he went on, and she forced herself to look up. ‘Virginia and Maria—that’s my daughter—did go to Los Angeles. But I haven’t seen them. Our investigation traced them as far as San Diego, but after that—nothing.’
Camilla blinked. ‘Your…investigation?’
‘Yes.’ Alessandro looked at her as if he resented this invasion into his private affairs, but was obliged to continue. ‘You didn’t think I’d let Virginia get away with this, did you?’
Camilla didn’t know what to think. What exactly had Virginia got away with? And why would her husband employ a private investigator to find her? Surely, sooner or later, she was bound to get in touch.
‘I have to go,’ he said now, fastening the single button on the jacket over his flat stomach. ‘As I said, you’re welcome to stay on for a few days, if that’s what you want to do. But I’m afraid I’m going to be too busy to entertain you.’
The detached impersonality of his tone was not encouraging. Indeed, Camilla felt like nothing so much as to tell him she would be leaving that morning, and be done with Alessandro Conti once and for all. What stopped her was the certain knowledge that that was what he would like her to do, and, while she had no great faith in Virginia either, she had flown a hell of a long way just to be told she should turn round and go home again.
So, instead of responding to his remarks in the way he wanted, she forced a polite smile and said, ‘I don’t need entertaining, Mr Conti. I’m sure I’ll find plenty to do to fill my time, and it does seem a shame to leave without giving Virginia a chance to get in touch with me.’
CHAPTER FOUR
THAT stopped Alessandro in his tracks. He had reached the glass door that led into the house, and Camilla guessed he had expected to have the last word. But now he paused, gripping the frame of the door with one hand, as he allowed what she had said to turn over in his mind.
He had nice hands, she found herself thinking, the slim, leather-strapped gold watch he wore drawing her attention to the dark hairs on the wrist that protruded from his cuff. He wore a wedding ring, too, on his third finger, but no other jewellery, she noticed. Indeed, for a man of his wealth and affluence, his needs appeared to be remarkably conservative. But then, she concluded ruefully, a man like Alessandro Conti didn’t need to broadcast his superiority. Without any of the accoutrements that money had brought him, he would still be a man to be reckoned with.
‘You could be right,’ he said now, but slowly; reluctantly, she suspected. ‘Virginia might try to get in touch with you.’ He considered this possibility, and then pressed his balled fist against the window-frame. ‘Do I have your assurance that, if she does, you’ll tell me?’
Camilla hesitated. ‘You mean…even if she doesn’t want me to?’
His thin yet sensual lips twitched. ‘That’s exactly what I mean, Miss Richards.’
She took a deep breath. ‘And if I say no, you’ll find some reason for me to leave here sooner, rather than later, right?’
His nostrils flared. ‘No,’ he said, but there was an edge of hostility to his voice now. ‘I would not be so discourteous, Miss Richards. However, I have to say that if I find you’ve been lying to me—’
‘I haven’t been lying to you!’ Camilla found her nerve was not as great as she had thought. ‘For goodness’ sake, I’ve told you everything I know.’ Well, almost everything. ‘I don’t know what’s going on, any more than you apparently do.’
‘Apparently?’ He hadn’t missed the qualification, and she felt the hot colour bathing first her throat and then her face with scarlet.
‘Well, I don’t know you, do I?’ she protested defensively. ‘I—I mean…you could have something to do with Virginia’s disappearance, for all I know!’
She expected an explosion then. Her reckless words, brought about by a need to justify her own position, exposed the true state of her feelings towards him, and she was quite prepared for Alessandro to respond in kind.
But, instead, a faintly weary expression crossed his face and, shaking his head, he straightened. ‘Of course,’ he said, as if she hadn’t just accused him of being implicated in his wife’s disappearance. ‘As you say, we are strangers. And you have every right to form your own opinion of the situation. All I can say in my own defence is that Virginia
has never had anything to fear from me. On the contrary, had that been so this farce of a marriage would not have survived six months, let alone six years!’
* * *
The sun was hot on her shoulders, but Camilla hardly noticed it. She had noticed the heat of the sand beneath her feet, but that was because she had taken off her canvas boots, and the shifting sand between her toes was unfamiliar. Occasionally she bent and rescued a shell from her path, but even the beauty of cowrie and conch was only of passing interest. Her real attention was concentrated on more personal matters, particularly the not wholly unexpected announcement that Virginia’s marriage was on the rocks.
Of course, Virginia’s letter had implied as much, and her running away indicated a depth of desperation Camilla had yet to come to terms with. But what she couldn’t understand was why her friend and her husband hadn’t simply got a divorce when it seemed obvious that they both resented the ties that bound them together. After all, divorce was so easy in the United States. A simple trip to Nevada, or some other state where the divorce laws could be manipulated, and you were free again. Ready to make the same mistakes again, thought Camilla ruefully. Perhaps being independent wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
Still, this wasn’t the time to be considering her own principles. Just because no man had ever lived up to her expectations was no reason to apply her precepts to this situation. And, if she was perfectly honest, she would have to admit that not all the men she had rejected had wanted her. Her job frightened off the less intellectual among them, and not everyone liked hair that defied all her efforts to tone it down.
Which brought Alessandro Conti to mind again. The moment when she had challenged his admission of seeing her at the airport had been the only time when she had come close to truly disconcerting him. Oh, he had been roused by her suggestion that Virginia might try to get in touch with her; but only when she had picked up on his evaluation of her conversation with the girl at the car rentals desk had he shown any trace of embarrassment. He had not liked admitting that he had noticed her, even if it was her hair that had provoked his interest. It was as if he resented showing any kind of weakness, and Camilla wondered if he had always been that way. It might even provide part of the reason why Virginia had run away. If she had tried to get close to him, but he hadn’t let her.