At the same time, Sylvie said to Riccardo, ‘Darling, we really ought to say hello to Marthe.’
With an apologetic smile at Anders, she began to draw him away She looked like a small, determined tug towing a liner. Riccardo did not acknowledge anyone, even his host, by so much as a look. But at least he went. When he had gone there was a collective sigh of relief.
‘That man gets more impossible every time,’ muttered Hilton-Dennis.
Anders looked sharp and spiteful suddenly. ‘If he weren’t so damned successful, I wouldn’t give him the time of day. But face it, Piers-we need men like that. The new generation.’
He glowered at di Stefano’s departing figure. Nor was he alone, Rachel saw. From the way he and Sylvie were received, it seemed that the men were at least as resentful as they were admiring. By contrast, the women did not attempt to disguise the fascination he had for them. Which presumably made their escorts even more equivocal.
Not that Riccardo di Stefano noticed. In fact, he did not seem to be noticing anyone very much that night—not his host, not the gamine beauty on his arm, not anyone from the eager groups who greeted him. No one except Rachel.
He seemed as if he could not take his eyes off her. Every time she looked up, there he was, his narrowed gaze fixed on her, his face expressionless. Rachel stopped pretending to circulate and watched him.
He was neither the tallest nor the most handsome man there by any measure. But there was an indefinable presence about him, like an invisible cloak, which made people turn towards him as if they felt its touch. Was it something to do with the cool, commanding air he had? He was not handsome. He had heavy brows and high, haughty cheekbones that made him look hard and cold as an iceberg.
In fact this evening he was looking so cold that Rachel found it difficult to believe he was the same man who had kissed her on the beach. Yet this was the man that those women she had overheard knew, not the casual pirate.
Could they really find him attractive? she wondered, shivering. You could burn yourself on the ice in his eyes. Yet as he mingled with the party-goers women turned to him as if they needed something from him. Heaven preserve me from ever needing anything from Riccardo di Stefano, Rachel prayed. That would be a cruel trap indeed.
She meant it. In her deepest soul, she was afraid that it was a trap in which she was already snared.
They sat down to dinner even later than usual. Rachel had not managed to find where she was supposed to be sitting but Riccardo took her by the elbow and propelled her into a chair beside his own at Anders’ table. From Judy’s glare, Rachel inferred that this was not at all what her stepmother had intended.
‘Now,’ he said.
Waiters brought tureens of some gourmet soup. The smell was delicious but Rachel found she could not eat a mouthful with Riccardo di Stefano watching her. His deep-set eyes had laughter lines at the corners. At the moment he was not laughing.
‘What did you say your name was?’
Rachel sat ramrod-stiff. ‘Rachel McLaine.’
‘McLaine.’ He thought about it, then shook his head. ‘And not a sports professional to amuse the guests. So what exactly is it that you do for Anders?’
‘Nothing at all,’ snapped Rachel. She was not so young that she could not spot innuendo. Her loathing of Riccardo di Stefano increased to a new record. ‘My stepmother is a house guest.’ Thus she neatly disclaimed any association with Anders herself.
He pursed his lips in a soundless whistle, looking across the table at Judy. ‘Stepmother, is it?’
Rachel flushed. Even with her intentions towards Anders becoming painfully clear, Judy could not quite keep the hunger out of her eyes when she looked at Riccardo di Stefano.
Rachel said sharply, ‘My father thought she needed a break.’
His eyes mocked. ‘And you came along for a free ride?’
She hated him so much then. She could think of nothing more satisfying than to confirm all his prejudices.
‘And the free beach, the free parties and the free champagne,’ she agreed, baring her teeth in a smile that should have turned his blood cold.
It had no noticeable effect. In fact he did not even look surprised. If she had not sensed that deep, controlled anger earlier, Rachel would have said she was boring him. She was so furious that she went on the offensive.
‘And what’s your reason for being here?’
That did startle him. He did not look pleased but at least this time he looked at her as if he realised there was someone there. It was exhilarating.
‘I was on holiday,’ he said with bite.
‘Was?’
‘“A peaceful break” was what they said. No one was supposed to know how to get hold of me.’
Rachel looked round at the party and lowered her lashes as she had seen Judy and Monkey do. She mocked him with an innuendo of her own.
‘Oh, boy, did you come to the wrong place if you didn’t want to be got hold of.’
Riccardo’s eyes narrowed. ‘I take it we’ve met before? I mean before that charming pastoral interlude this afternoon.’ His voice was cynical.
That hurt. She was not going to let him see how much. So Rachel widened her eyes at him as innocently as she could manage. ‘Well, I’ve heard a lot of your advance publicity today. Does that count?’
For a moment he looked as if he was about to burst into flames. ‘If it meant that you came looking for me, it counts,’ he said. He sounded grim.
Rachel quailed. She was not going to let him see that either. ‘Why should I come looking for you?’
‘The pastoral idyll,’ he drawled. ‘Rather a good ploy with a man who is known to be looking for—peace.’
Rachel sat very straight in her spindly chair. Suddenly she did not want to play games any more. She spat, ‘Just what are you implying?’
‘Implying? Nothing. I’m congratulating you on your tactics, Rachel McLaine.’
The drawl was more pronounced and his lids dropped steeply, hiding his expression. But his whole attitude, from the lounging body to the lazy voice, was insolent. Calculatedly insolent, Rachel thought. Only just on this side of downright insult and quite deliberately so.
Rachel would not have believed mere words could hurt her so much. She actually caught her breath at the pain. Then she rallied. She had promised herself she would teach him a lesson. By heaven, he deserved that someone should do just that.
So she said with contrived sweetness, ‘I’m flattered, of course. But I don’t quite see what there is to congratulate me on.’
‘Don’t you? Everyone else here does.’
She raised her eyebrows.
‘I wouldn’t have spent the afternoon with any other woman here,’ he explained in a reasonable voice. ‘They know it, too.’
Rachel gasped. For a moment her eyes blazed. Riccardo laughed.
‘Your marketing strategy is impressive,’ he told her softly. ‘It’s a great skill—not to let the punter know he is being marketed to. You’re a natural.’
Rachel went cold with a fury she would not have believed herself capable of. Her feelings towards Anders and Judy paled in comparison with it. She even forgot her betrayed and hoodwinked father in her outrage.
She said chokingly, ‘At least I’m not a playboy. A vain, silly playboy.’
He leaned back in his chair, toying with his wineglass. He did not even look annoyed.
‘Rude,’ he said, sounding pleased. ‘A shift of marketing strategy? Or do you get upset when your target sees through you?’
Rachel had got hold of herself. She managed a smile, though her cheeks felt as if they would crack with the effort. ‘Only when everyone else is falling over themselves to lay out the red carpet. I like to think of it as redressing the balance.’
‘You’re quick to make judgements.’
She put her head on one side. ‘Oh, I don’t think so. I’ve been watching a pretty nauseating display ever since you arrived this evening.’
Across the table Letit
ia Lambert drew in a shocked breath and even her easygoing husband said, ‘I say, hang on there.’
But Riccardo silenced him with an upraised finger.
‘Watching me all evening, were you?’ he said softly. ‘Now why was that?’
To her fury Rachel found a fiery blush rising to her cheeks. She set her teeth and flung back, ‘Doesn’t one always watch the main attraction at the circus?’
Letitia Lambert exchanged a shocked look with her husband. ‘Ask the waiter how they barbecue the lobster,’ she said quickly
‘But we’ve barbecued our own dozens of times.’
‘I want to know how they do it here.’
Ronnie raised a hand to summon a hovering waiter. Riccardo ignored it. He had not taken his eyes off Rachel. He seemed unaware of anyone else.
He drawled, ‘Main attraction? Are you trying to flatter me?’
Rachel raised her eyebrows. ‘Your standards of flattery can’t be very high,’ she commented.
He stretched suddenly, his hands clasped at the back of his neck, and gave her a long, slow smile. And what he said was utterly unexpected.
‘So why don’t you show me some of the high-grade stuff?’
Rachel could not have been more shocked if he had thrown his champagne over her. She blinked, silenced.
There was a short pause. She became aware that other people were watching them openly. Riccardo di Stefano gave her a bland smile. She flushed deeply and turned away. She felt as if she had lost a battle somehow. A public battle.
Waiters came and went, bringing food that Rachel barely touched. She kept her back resolutely turned to Riccardo, talking hard to her other neighbour. She took about as much notice of what he had to say as she did of the food.
The meal finished. Anders made a brief speech, welcoming everyone. He did not, Rachel noticed, mention Judy’s birthday.
Afterwards the famous band began to play and the guests started strolling from table to table. The blonde Helen made a beeline for them as soon as Anders sat down. She flung her arms round Riccardo’s neck from behind.
‘Wonderful Ricky,’ she said, nuzzling his ear. ‘I waved but you weren’t looking. Are you losing your touch?’
He turned and flicked her chin. ‘It seems like it,’ he said drily.
Helen laughed. ‘Oh, not with me, lover. Never with me. But, from what I could see, you haven’t cracked the thought police.’ And she sent a malicious look across at Rachel.
Rachel stiffened. Riccardo looked from her to Helen and back again.
‘You’ve lost me.’ He was drawling, the last word in sophisticated unconcern.
Helen gave a tinkling laugh. ‘Didn’t you know, darling? Rachel—it is Rachel, isn’t it?—is here to make sure that Judy doesn’t stray too far off the straight and narrow. At least, not while anyone important is looking.’
Riccardo raised his brows. His expression was unreadable. Rachel felt as if her feelings would boil over and scald them all. Abruptly she turned her shoulder and began to talk to her other neighbour. She was aware of Riccardo taking Helen off to dance but she did not look round as they went.
The music became louder and more insistent. Voices rose. More and more people began to dance. Rachel’s neighbour went too, with an apologetic look as he was swept off into the crowd.
‘Looks like you’ll have to dance with me, then, my siren.’ The husky voice was low, as if only she was meant to hear. As presumably she was.
There was something faintly threatening about it. Rachel froze. She looked round. Those who were not dancing were talking noisily or sipping champagne so cold that it frosted the glasses. For once, nobody seemed to be taking any notice of Riccardo di Stefano. Except her.
She lifted her chin and looked at him. Throughout the evening his manner could have added several inches of ice to those glasses. Now he was looking warm and lazy and—worst of all—as if it was all her doing.
Rachel sat very stiff in her chair. She was certain that she was being mocked—and by a master. She did not like it. But this was a new ploy and she did not know how to handle it at all.
Feeling horribly gauche, she said, ‘This is not really my sort of party. I don’t think I’ll—’
Riccardo twirled one of the spindly chairs round and sat down astride it. He smiled at her from under his lashes. Rachel’s stomach turned over. She found she was grasping the arm of her patio chair rather tightly. She let it go—but not before Riccardo had seen that convulsive grip. His smile widened. ‘I was thinking the very same thing.’
Young and inexperienced she might be, but she was not an idiot. It was quite clear what he was thinking and it was as far away from her own ideas about how to spend the rest of the evening as you could get.
She said levelly, ‘I didn’t quite finish my book this afternoon. I really want to know what happens. I’d like to read for a bit before I go to sleep.’
She thought he would mock. Once again he confounded her with the unexpected. ‘You’ll miss the birthday cake.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ Rachel announced defiantly.
‘Aren’t you?’ He seemed surprised. ‘I am.’
He let his eyes smile straight into her own. She could not pretend not to know what he meant. What was more, the sexual challenge might be contrived but it nevertheless had a shocking effect on Rachel. Her stomach turned several back-flips and started to tremble like an earthquake warning.
Humiliatingly, Riccardo knew it. He had to know it. His experience would have told him even if he had not seen the tell-tale tremors of her fingers against the arm of the chair.
His experience was not sufficient, however, to hide the small gleam of triumph in his eyes. Rachel saw it. It fired up all her pride in one glorious surge of anger.
‘Stop it,’ she choked. ‘Just stop it.’
She rose to her feet and bent her eyes on him with a sulphurous expression. Now they were beginning to attract attention. Rachel was in too much of a temper to notice, however.
‘Don’t think you can play your silly games with me,’ she said, bravely ignoring her scarlet cheeks and trembling limbs. Her tone was utterly contemptuous. ‘I’m not one of your fan club. And I don’t want to do business with you, either. I don’t have to take this. And I won’t.’
She stalked off through the tables, horribly conscious of the amused glances that followed her. Riccardo di Stefano was not unconscious of them either. He did not follow her but as she went he watched her. And his expression was no longer amused.
Still shivering with temper—she told herself firmly that it was temper—Rachel skirted the dancers. There was a small group by the pool, not dancing. As Rachel approached she saw the shoulder-borne camcorders and the businesslike cameras. This, then, must be the Press. They looked alarmingly well equipped.
Rachel hesitated. This was the reason why Judy had wanted her at the party. Should she join them? There was no sign of Judy. Anders was sitting on one of the pool loungers, waving a cigar as he held forth. But he was alone apart from his audience.
Rachel was beginning to turn away when one of the photographers saw her. Anders looked up at once. He waved imperatively.
‘Damn,’ muttered Rachel.
But she went over to him. There was reluctance in every muscle but she went.
‘Mrs McLaine’s stepdaughter, gentlemen,’ he said, urging her into the lounger beside him and putting a heavy arm round her shoulders.
It was all Rachel could do not to shudder. For Daddy, she reminded herself, and pinned on a dazzled smile. For a moment the click of camera shutters almost drowned out the cicadas. And then the questions started.
‘Been to the Caribbean before?’
‘How does it feel to be among the beautiful people for the first time?’
‘What do you want to be, sweetheart? Model? Actress?’
And then, sneering and somehow gleeful, a voice asked, ‘How long have you known Rick di Stefano?’
Rachel unfocused her eyes and looked round
at them all as if she were too dim to understand what they were implying. I hate this place and I hate these people, she thought. I’m never coming near people like this ever again as long as I live. I don’t care what Judy or Daddy or anyone says. Never again.
And then help came from an unexpected quarter. Judy appeared on the terrace. The whole tribe turned their cameras on her. She tossed her hair, laughing. Then she was strolling down the steps to the kidney-shaped pool, unbuttoning her gold dress as she came.
When she arrived in front of Anders and Rachel she stopped. She ignored Rachel, her whole concentration bent on Anders. Her head tilted provocatively. Anders lounged there, looking up at her, not moving.
Judy gave a soft laugh. Rachel was shocked. She had never heard any sound so intimate, so wholly adult in her life, she thought. Then, quickly, Judy shrugged off her gold dress. It fell over his legs. He made no attempt to move it.
Rachel and the whole crew of press men held their breath.
Underneath the evening gown, Judy wore a lacy bikini that left very little to the imagination. Nor did the look she sent Anders.
Rachel shrank back in an agony that was part embarrassment, part something far deeper. She felt desperately shaken. Judy had said Rachel did not understand how she felt about Anders. How right she had been. Looking, flinching, Rachel saw that it was as if there were only the two of them in the whole world. As if Judy did not even remember she had a husband, much less care about him.
With a toss of her head that was frankly challenging, Judy kicked off her shoes and dived into the pool. The cameras swirled round, following her. The oil magnate got to his feet, stripped off his jacket, and followed her.
Rachel could not bear it. The cameras trained away from her at last, she leaped to her feet and ran into the arbour. Straight into the arms of the man waiting in the shadows. The impact knocked the breath out of her.
He kissed her. She knew who it was.
At last he lifted his head. ‘It may not be your sort of party,’ said Riccardo di Stefano unevenly, ‘but you seem to be stuck with it.’
Rachel hauled herself away from him as far as he would let her go. His dark hair was stirring in the faint breeze from the sea. For a moment he represented everything she hated at the Villa Azul.
The Innocent and the Playboy Page 7