The Innocent and the Playboy

by Sophie Weston

  So an hour later Rachel pushed her way through the casuarina trees at the far end of the garden, feeling extraordinarily exposed and shy. The warm breeze touched her skin, reminding her constantly that her shoulders were bare. She wore long jet earrings, emphasising her pale throat and the soft tendrils of red-gold hair that escaped artlessly from Stephanie’s inspired swirl.

  But Stephanie had relented as far as further jewellery. was concerned. Instead, Rachel had a golden trumpet of hibiscus in her hair and another at her waist. In the mirror she had looked like a stranger—a beautiful, exotic stranger with apprehensive eyes.

  She stood for a moment in the shadow of the trees, watching the party. It was obviously as sophisticated as Judy had said it would be. She could not see her host or the chart-topping group he had hired but there was a fair crowd of expensively dressed people on the terrace and round the pool. Rachel noted white dinner jackets and jewel-coloured silks and shrank back into the grateful shade of the trees. She wished herself anywhere else in the world.

  There was no sign of the pirate.

  She drew a deep breath and made her way to the terrace. Above the background music, the cocktail party buzz and the clink of glasses, her ear caught snippets of conversation.

  A long-legged blonde called Helen was saying, ‘Sylvie’s here.’

  Her companion expressed surprise.

  ‘She rang earlier,’ Helen said. ‘She’s with the Lamberts. The yacht docked in St Lucia yesterday. So when she called Anders asked them to the party.’ She added in a voice pregnant with meaning, ‘She’s bringing them over. And Riccardo.’

  The companion was satisfactorily impressed. ‘Riccardo di Stefano? I thought that was over.’

  Helen giggled. ‘So does he. So does everyone except poor Sylvie.’

  Rachel turned away, wincing for the unknown Sylvie. But the next overheard gossip was even more unpalatable.

  ‘Do you think she’ll get him?’ a grey-haired woman was saying. She wore a skintight coral dress with a neckline that plunged to her navel. Everything you could see, and you could see a lot, was as brown as a coconut.

  ‘Judy? Get Anders? Shouldn’t think so.’

  Rachel stiffened and stopped strolling.

  Someone else said, ‘He didn’t stop her marrying her dull Englishman. Don’t see why he should bother now.’

  Rachel stood as if turned to stone. Oh, Daddy, she thought. Poor, poor Daddy.

  ‘So why is he giving a party like this for her?’

  ‘Don’t be silly darling,’ said the grey-haired woman. ‘Anders always gives a big party when he’s at the Villa Azul. It’s supposed to be fun but really he asks all the people he wants to do business with. Kent and I were asked months ago when he started negotiating for the Gregor field. Judy has just hijacked it, that’s all. She’s trying to manipulate him.’

  ‘Then she’s lost her touch,’ said a short, dark-haired man indifferently. ‘God, you women! Millionaires are dangerous to your health.’

  How right you are, thought Rachel. Her skin crawled. A passing waiter held out a tray to her. She took one of the offered glasses, uncaring as to its contents, and took a great gulp.

  It was champagne. Of course. Trying not to cough, Rachel turned away. She felt bitterly scornful of the whole party and everyone there.

  Then, across the terrace, she saw her stepmother. After what she had just heard, she was almost sick. Hard-eyed, Rachel watched Judy’s progress.

  Her stepmother was certainly doing her best to act the hostess. She drifted from group to group, putting proprietorial hands on people’s backs as she exchanged a few words, summoning waiters to top up emptying glasses, making sure she was seen doing just that. Judy might say she wanted to stay married, but she clearly wanted everyone to see her position at Anders’ side more. Rachel’s sympathy for her father turned into slow-burning rage.

  Judy caught sight of her. She came over, her eyes sharp. The rage seemed to be mutual.

  ‘What on earth are you wearing?’

  Rachel did not answer. She was too angry. She folded her lips together tight in order not to say exactly what she was feeling.

  Judy glared for a moment, then shrugged. ‘Oh, well, at least it looks original, I suppose. Now, dinner—there’s a table plan by the bar. I suggest you have a look.’

  Rachel nodded.

  Judy’s voice hardened. ‘And try to behave in a civilised fashion. All this glowering is very embarrassing. You’re only making yourself look utterly naive.’

  Anders had appeared at the far end of the kidney-shaped pool, talking to knot of people. He looked serious and so did they. Rachel could well believe their conversation was pure business.

  Judy caught sight of him. She took no more notice of Rachel. She picked up two glasses of champagne and went purposefully to his side. Rachel watched.

  Judy was wearing tiger-striped chiffon and quantities of gold chains which chinked as she moved. Her eyelids, Rachel saw now in the light of the brilliant poolside torches, were as gold as her jewellery. She looked like a Hollywood pattern of a pagan princess. She gave Anders his champagne but she slipped her hand into the arm of another man in the group. Her eyes were challenging.

  Her words floated up to Rachel. ‘Oh, good. Another lovely eligible bachelor. I haven’t seen you for ages, Ricky.’

  The man she was standing next to looked down at her. He was tall and elegant in his dinner jacket but something in the gesture made him seem preoccupied. Another of Anders’ business cronies pretending to be on holiday, Rachel thought, her lip curling.

  Then he turned slightly and the harsh lights threw his profile into relief. Rachel received yet another shock—her worst yet. It was the pirate.

  She stood mesmerised. Her hands slowly clenched on the terrace balustrade. It seemed impossible that he should not look up and see her, so intense was her gaze.

  Someone else noticed.

  ‘Who’s that? Oh, di Stefano,’ said the grey-haired woman on whom Rachel had eavesdropped earlier. ‘Back from South America, then.’ She leaned over the balustrade, peering. ‘I heard he’d been ill. Doesn’t look it, does he? Heck, he’s a good-looking man.’

  ‘Isn’t he heaven?’ said a girl who answered, to Rachel’s surprise, to the name of Monkey. She added wistfully, ‘Do you know him?’

  Another woman laughed. ‘I had a bijou flingette with him in Aspen last year. Heaven just about covers it. Trouble is, it never lasts with him.’

  ‘All that turbulent Italian blood, darling,’ said the grey-haired one. ‘Can’t expect it to last.’

  ‘Italian? But surely...? He sounds American.’

  ‘Fourth-generation New York but the family came from Genoa originally. Great-grandfather was a black sheep, though he made money fast enough. Riccardo always says he was thrown out for seducing the mayor’s daughter.’

  ‘It’s in the genes, then,’ sighed Monkey.

  ‘That and the rest,’ said the woman from Aspen. ‘Everything he touches turns to gold.’

  Rachel wanted to turn away, not to hear the cynical gossip. She had liked the pirate. Yet she had to listen.

  ‘Slippery?’ asked the grey-haired woman, unsurprised.

  ‘As an eel, darling. Don’t know why Sylvie doesn’t face it. Like he says himself, he travels light.’

  ‘And does he travel,’ agreed the other. She turned to Rachel. ‘Known him long?’

  ‘What?’ Rachel jumped at being directly addressed. She pulled herself together quickly. ‘Oh, no. We’ve only just met. I didn’t even know his name.’

  The other women exchanged glances.

  One of them said kindly enough, ‘Di Stefano’s a heartbreaker. He should leave a baby like you alone.’

  Rachel flushed. ‘He has. I mean, we only met. We just talked. I—’

  I was going to meet him this evening. He was going to come and get me if I didn’t come to the party. He slept beside me on my beach this afternoon. He kissed me; he teased me about my instincts.
I thought he was different.

  Well, of course, said a newly awakened, cynical voice in her head. He would not be much of a heartbreaker if he could not manage to convince a girl that he was different. Suddenly her anger took on a new focus, directed no longer at the Villa Azul sophisticates, no longer at Anders, not even at Judy in her predatory gold. Riccardo di Stefano, pirate heartbreaker and liar.

  Oh, she would show him, Rachel vowed. She was trembling with outrage. She would make him sorry, as none of the other girls had ever managed to make him sorry. She would puncture that ego, tear off that charming, lying mask, make him hurt as he had hurt so many others. And then she would laugh.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  RICCARDO had said that, in Rachel, he had got more than he’d bargained for with her. He was going to find out how true that was, Rachel promised herself. But first she was going to have to make herself look like the rest of Anders’ party people.

  She retreated to one of the downstairs cloakrooms and considered the problem in the mirror. She was not alone. The sumptuous blonde called Helen was painting her sultry eyelids with a tiny brush. She ignored Rachel but when the door opened and Monkey came in she gave a little shriek of pleasure.

  ‘Darling. Wondered if you’d be here.’

  They air-kissed. Monkey sat down on a little dressing stool and began to make liberal use of the cosmetics set out there for the use of guests. They sat side by side, concentrating on composition.

  ‘Have you seen who’s here?’ said the blonde, her mouth not moving as she drew a careful outline. ‘Ricky.’

  Monkey sent her a warning look in the mirror.

  ‘Trust you, Helen. Yes, I’ve seen him in the distance. He’s been spending time with—’ She gave up on Rachel’s name and nodded her head in her direction.

  ‘Really?’ The blonde removed the little brush carefully and turned incredulous eyes on Rachel. ‘Have we met?’

  ‘My stepmother is a friend of Anders,’ Rachel said curtly.

  ‘Oh.’ Helen nodded, understanding perfectly. ‘The college girl. You’re staying here.’

  Rachel nodded. She contemplated the cosmetics critically. Should she go for the natural look or go for the high glamour of Judy and Helen? With the paint-box before her the possibilities were infinite.

  Helen was evidently still intrigued by her audience with the pirate. ‘You’ve actually talked to Ricky di Stefano?’

  You would think he was a rock star, Rachel thought contemptuously. She shrugged. ‘A bit.’

  There was a respectful silence.

  ‘It must be because you’re clever,’ the blonde and sultry Helen said at last, plainly bewildered. ‘He’s supposed to be the most brilliant trader on Wall Street.’

  ‘No, that’s wrong, darling,’ Monkey corrected her. ‘Money is in the family.’

  ‘Yes, but he quarrelled with his family. Never sees them. He made this million all by himself.’

  Monkey looked suitably reverent.

  ‘Could that be why everyone says he’s so attractive?’ Rachel wondered aloud.

  She leaned forward, trying a purple-grey shadow on the corner of her eyelids. A glittery-eyed reflection looked back at her, cool and dangerous.

  Helen gave her a dry look. ‘Honey, if you don’t know why Rick di Stefano’s attractive, you’re even younger than you look.’

  Rachel looked down at the paint-box, willing herself not to blush. She swirled the brush around savagely in some gold-shot bronze shadow. ‘He’s hardly the most good-looking man around.’

  ‘Oh, looks,’ Monkey waved them aside. ‘It’s the way he makes you feel when he looks at you.’ She gave a little shiver which strained the bikini-top to her vibrant dress almost to breaking-point. ‘Mmm. All weak and wonderful.’

  ‘He doesn’t make me feel like that,’ said Rachel defiantly.

  The two women looked at each other and laughed. They went out.

  Left alone, Rachel darkened her thick lashes, painted dramatic shadows about her madeira-wine eyes, and turned her mouth a luminous browny-gold. When she was satisfied, she stepped away from the mirror, fluffed up her hair and lowered the top of the sarong to a level that was just about decent.

  ‘That will give Judy a run for her money,’ she told her reflection with satisfaction.

  She might not look like a Hollywood princess but she was young and she had been to enough parties to have learned a certain style. Judy, she resolved grimly, was not going to know what hit her. And nor were any of the rest of those cynical beauties.

  And nor was Riccardo di Stefano. Her heart hurt when she thought about him. He had seemed so different. On the beach he had talked as if he and she were on the same side. It was an agony to find that they weren’t. He was in the same team as Helen and Monkey and the whole crew of the Villa Azul. How he must have been laughing at her this afternoon.

  Well, he was not going to laugh any more, Rachel vowed as she made her way to the pool area. The borrowed sarong clung to her legs as she walked. The night air was cool on her exposed shoulders. She felt like a war maiden, utterly ready to go into battle.

  She did not look at Riccardo as she went up to the group.

  ‘Good evening,’ she said quietly.

  Anders looked up. His surprise was almost comical as he took in her appearance. He pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.

  ‘Hello, Rachel. Giving the party a chance?’ He looked quickly at Judy, who was still clinging to Riccardo di Stefano’s arm. ‘You look good enough to eat. So when does the ice thaw, sweetheart?’

  Judy let go of di Stefano’s arm and gave a tinkling laugh. ‘Or a refugee from South Pacific. Darling, did you think it was a fancy-dress party?’

  Two hours ago, Rachel would have blushed and fled. Now, however, she was armoured by her anger—anger and a queer coldness, as if a limb had been amputated and she had not quite begun to feel the pain yet.

  So she put a hand to the hibiscus flower in her hair and caressed it. It was an affected, even a flirtatious gesture. It was meant to be. Although she was not looking at him she could feel Riccardo staring at her.

  ‘This, do you mean? I thought it would help me melt into the background,’ Rachel said sweetly.

  One of the men—not Riccardo di Stefano—laughed. Judy’s face darkened.

  Anders said quickly, ‘I hope you won’t, though. Not now you’ve made up your mind to join us at last.’ He said to the others in explanation, ‘Rachel has been very tired. We left her to recover in her own time. You will sympathise with that, Rick.’

  Rachel did not understand that last remark, but she knew she had run out of excuses to ignore Riccardo di Stefano. Reluctantly, she turned. He was looking stunned. It pleased her. It was some balm to her sore heart.

  Di Stefano said slowly, ‘Rachel?’

  ‘A relation of Judy’s,’ Anders said smoothly. He made the introductions swiftly. ‘Letitia and Ronnie Lambert. Sylvie Ford. Piers Hilton-Dennis. Riccardo di Stefano.’

  ‘We’ve met,’ di Stefano said curtly, cutting over the polite murmurs of the others.

  He did not look very pleased about it. The man who had threatened to come and get her if she did not turn up to the party seemed strangely unenthusiastic now that she was here as instructed, she thought. It turned the knife a little deeper in the wound.

  Rachel pretended to study him from under mascaraed lashes. In fact she was startled by the alteration in him. It was not just that he had changed out of his cut-off jeans into the black-tie uniform of the businessman at play. With the dark jacket and trousers had come an indefinable air of authority. He looked older and far more tense, as if his patience was on a very short rein.

  Rachel shrugged. It was nothing to do with her if he chose to behave like a chameleon. As long as he did not hurt her, it did not matter what he did. And it was up. to her to see that he did not hurt her, at least any more than he had done already. She got back into her new character and held out her hand, prettily.

  ‘Yes, but we
didn’t introduce ourselves. Hello, Mr di Stefano.’ Her whole manner said that he was a generation ahead of her and she was a nicely behaved adolescent. That should get him on the raw, she thought.

  His expression was unreadable. ‘Hello, Rachel.’

  He took her hand. But instead of shaking it he carried it to his lips. It was not a conventional, polite brushing of the air above her knuckles either, but a real kiss. It was quite deliberate and it was not intended as a compliment.

  Her careful indifference turned to ashes. Rachel jumped and snatched her hand away. She tried hard not to blush. She was not sure she was successful.

  Sylvie Ford looked at her narrowly. She was not unsympathetic, Rachel thought. It was an added humiliation.

  Sylvie was a dark gamine beauty with lines round her eyes which revealed that she was not as young as her dress sense invited you to think. Or as carefree. Now she took hold of Riccardo’s arm.

  ‘Have you been hiding behind dark glasses again, darling? You know, it’s really not fair, going around like a prince in disguise.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ he said coolly, not taking his eyes from Rachel’s flustered face. ‘If anyone was in disguise, it was Rachel.’

  Sylvie gave a little crow of laughter. She sounded genuinely delighted.

  ‘Then now you know what it’s like. I hope it teaches you a lesson.’

  His eyes dropped to Rachel’s painted and glowing mouth.

  ‘Do you know, I think it just might,’ he drawled.

  He lifted his eyes and met Rachel’s. Startled, she recognised a rage as great as her own. Only, it was far better controlled. She took a step backwards from pure instinct.

  Riccardo di Stefano smiled. It was not a nice smile. And it was very clear whom it was aimed at. Somehow she had managed to turn Riccardo di Stefano into a personal enemy. It shook Rachel to the core. And, although she did not want to think about it now, beyond the shock there was a grief as great as for the loss of a friend.

  She was not the only one disconcerted. There was a sharp little silence. Then three of the group started to talk at once.

  ‘Time you looked at the seating plan,’ Judy said sharply to Rachel.