A smile was in his voice. ‘I don’t believe that’s an option. My self-control couldn’t take the strain.’
‘Don’t make fun of me.’
‘I’m not. I’m making fun of us.’
Us! ‘Dennis really slept around. I don’t know if he always used . . .’
‘I understand, Holly. It’s okay.’
‘And I’m not on the pill.’
Connor turned her towards him and cupped her face in his hands. ‘It can wait.’ He kissed the end of her nose. ‘You are very beautiful.’
‘So are you.’
‘Very direct.’
‘You’re not.’
His eyes twinkled. ‘Honourable.’
‘Stop it.’
‘Touchy.’
‘Agreed.’
‘Funny.’
‘Hysterical.’
‘Down-to-earth.’
‘What is this?’
He kissed her nose again. ‘You have a very aristocratic nose.’
‘Bullshit!’
He let that go. ‘And a beautiful body.’
She glanced down at her crumpled clothes.
‘But your dress-sense needs attention.’
‘Says who?’
Stopping the banter, he gathered her close. ‘You make me want to protect you.’
The slick reply died on her lips. It was actually quite a nice thought.
‘Connor?’
‘Hmmmmm?’
‘What time do the shops open in the morning?’
It was after midnight when Connor left the hotel. They’d had a light supper and stayed in the dining room, just talking. Their conversation came easily.
Connor was open and frank about his two divorces. While he’d been busy out there building an empire, his first wife found solace and company in alcohol and cocaine. He blamed himself. ‘All the signs were there but I was too involved in my work to see it happening. She needed me, and I wasn’t around.’
‘But no-one forced her to take drugs.’
‘That’s not the point. I should have seen it coming. By the time I did it was too late. She stopped trying to hide things from me and refused to accept help. It was a downward spiral from there. I promised to lighten my workload, spend more time at home, but she blamed me for everything. In the end, it became obvious that she hated me.’ He’d breathed in deeply. ‘It’s the most hideous and painful thing, to see someone you love destroy themselves.’
Holly asked the same question he’d asked on Friday. ‘Do you still love her?’
‘Not any more.’
‘And how about the second one?’
He looked uncomfortable. ‘To put it crudely, I was in lust. She was incredibly beautiful. Cold as an iceberg. She didn’t love me either, just my money and the social pages.’
Holly saw how the truth pained him. Not an easy thing for a man to admit. ‘Yet you kept all this from the media. By remaining silent you took most of the blame. Why?’
‘Believe it or not, Holly, I’m a very private person.’ He saw she was about to argue. ‘I am. Sure, I get up to all kinds of publicity stunts. Everybody knows of Connor Maguire, but no-one really gets close. My private life is just that – dirty linen and all.’
‘Aren’t you worried about telling me? After all, I’m a journalist.’
‘No.’
She’d given a small smile. He was right. Although Holly would go to almost any lengths to get a story, abusing a confidence wasn’t one of them. She was pleased he knew that.
‘You’re very loyal. That’s what hurts most, isn’t it? Trust being thrown back at you?’
‘Psychology at this late hour.’ Holly glanced at her watch and yawned. It was twelve fifteen. ‘Be warned, Maguire. I’m only tolerating this interrogation because I’m bloody tired.’ She was not hiding or dodging the issue this time, simply stating a fact.
He grinned, realising that some kind of understanding had been reached between them.
‘Are you loyal?’ she asked suddenly.
Brushing a hand through his hair, Connor pretended to think about it. ‘I could be,’ he admitted. ‘Given half a chance.’
They said goodnight outside in the car park. ‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ he whispered into her hair. ‘Just as soon as I can get here.’
EIGHT
Misgivings hit her the moment she opened her eyes. The previous evening had occurred with no planning, as naturally as it should have been. But now? Now it was calculated. Connor would arrive at the hotel where Holly, presumably, would be lying in bed just waiting for him. No way! This was definitely not on. But she didn’t know how to stop him, how to tell him not to come, that she’d changed her mind. There was something tacky about the whole situation. She couldn’t go through with it.
‘Jesus, Jones!’ she berated herself. ‘What were you thinking?’
She flung back the covers, grunting with pain as her ribs reminded her that sudden movement was a bad idea. A quick shower, a cup of coffee, and her worst outfit later, Holly paced the room, still unable to relax. It was nearly eight thirty and she was an emotional mess. ‘Jesus, Jones!’ she repeated angrily. ‘Your bloody libido takes over and your commonsense doesn’t just go out the window, it checks itself off the bloody planet altogether.’
A demanding shrill from the telephone scared her half to death. ‘Holly Jones.’ She fair barked it out.
‘It’s Connor.’
Might as well come right out with it. ‘Look, I . . . about last night . . .’
‘It’s okay, Holly.’
She didn’t hear him. ‘It’s just that . . . well, I’ve been thinking . . .’
‘I’m not coming.’
‘What was that? What did you say?’
‘I’m not coming.’
Of all the cheek!
‘I’ll pick you up at eleven as arranged.’
‘Fine.’ Her voice was stiff.
‘See you then.’ He hung up, leaving her staring at the instrument in her hand.
She was slow to replace the receiver. Doubts crowded her mind. Was he backing off because he had the same misgivings? Or because what seemed like a good idea last night was now a bad one? Did it mean anything at all to him? Was she not good enough? She caught sight of herself in the mirror. Drab grey trousers, loose white blouse, no makeup, the unflattering way she’d combed her hair. Holly sank down on the bed, put her face in her hands, and laughed herself silly.
At eleven, she was waiting for him outside reception. The oyster-coloured linen trouser suit had been resurrected and a touch of make-up applied. She was in brisk mode. So was he.
‘Got the directions?’
‘Yep. And the presents.’
‘Let’s go.’
Silence was loud in the car for about ten minutes. Connor broke it. ‘We must talk.’
‘What about?’
‘Today.’
That surprised her.
‘Shoot.’
‘And last night.’
Holly turned to face him. ‘Must we?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay.’ She squared her shoulders.
Connor stamped on the brakes to avoid hitting a stray dog. ‘Sorry. It won’t happen again.’
The question popped out before she could stop it. ‘Why not?’
If he hadn’t been concentrating on the road she’d have seen the amusement in his eyes. As it was, all she had to go by was his voice, which he kept neutral. ‘Because it will get in the way.’
‘I agree.’
‘You do?’
‘Absolutely.’ She was staring straight ahead.
He glanced sideways at her. ‘Good.’ His voice was quiet.
‘Yep.’ She nodded.
‘I’m not apologising, you understand?’
‘Sure.’
‘And I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it.’
‘Elephants,’ she said, a trifle desperately. She was blushing and it annoyed her.
‘What?’ He was startled.
/>
‘Let’s talk about elephants.’
‘Why?’
‘Because.’
‘I don’t want to talk about elephants.’
‘Oh.’
He reached over and squeezed her arm. ‘There’s no reason to feel embarrassed.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Good. So don’t be.’
‘Okay.’ She turned away, seeing but not seeing the view through her window.
‘Holly.’
‘Yep.’
‘Look at me.’
She did, reluctantly.
‘You look very beautiful today. It’s all I can do to keep my hands to myself. I want to throw you over my shoulder, take you to my cave and ravish the daylights out of you. I want you begging for mercy.’
‘I’m not in the habit of begging.’
‘Would you consider demanding mercy?’
‘Demanding is good.’ She felt a rush of affection and gratitude. He was trying to lighten her discomfort. She undid the seatbelt, leaned over and kissed his cheek. ‘Thank you.’
‘Get off me.’
Holly smiled as she buckled up again.
‘There’s just one more thing,’ he said.
‘Damn! Just when I thought you’d finished.’ She watched his profile, wondering what he was about to say. He was so damned good-looking.
‘When we get back to Oz, brace yourself.’
‘Is that a warning, Maguire, or are you simply bragging?’
A dimple perched on the edge of his smile. ‘I could get unbelievably used to you, Jones.’ He shook his head as if to clear it. ‘Right, a word about today.’
Holly was sorry for the subject change but didn’t object. ‘What about it? Raoul has invited us to lunch. It’s because he knows you and because I need a Franco-Mauritian angle on my story.’
‘Okay. Keep it that simple. Keep everything superficial.’
‘Superficial! As far as I know, it’s the truth. You let that little word “drugs” escape the other day but since then you’ve been as tight as a duck’s arse on the subject. What about the treasure? Does Raoul know you’re after it?’
‘Probably. I’m a Maguire and he’s not stupid.’
‘What if he asks me?’
‘If it comes up there’s no harm in saying that you know. Madame Liang does and as she’s his mistress there’s every chance he does too. But be very guarded with your words. Don’t mention that fellow Justin, Kathleen, or the journal. If Raoul is after the treasure he’ll stop at nothing to beat me to it.’
‘You said he’s a business acquaintance. What kind of business?’
Connor’s tone hardened. ‘Shipping. Cost me a lot of money, that little venture. I had a first-rate South African partner but we needed a third man. Raoul seemed perfect. What a mistake. The man has no professional ethics. Took what he could when he could. No proof, of course. Always some excuse. He knows that I know but it doesn’t bother him one iota.’
Holly hesitated, then asked, ‘Is Raoul involved in the drugs thing?’
He blew out air. ‘I’m beginning to wish I’d never mentioned them. Can’t you give it a rest?’
‘Is he?’
His answer surprised her. ‘It’s complicated but I don’t think so. Not what I’m . . . No, he’s not.’
‘I hope you’re right. You don’t sound very sure. From what Kathleen said, he’s a man to be avoided.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. It might simplify things.’
‘What things?’
‘Things. Just things. I can’t say any more. Just be very careful around him.’ Connor’s voice was quiet but there was no doubting his sincerity. Whatever the reason for Connor Maguire being in Mauritius, and Holly was not fooling herself that she had been told the full story, Raoul Dulac had him worried.
Their arrival had been announced by shrill, hysterical barking from within the house. Raoul himself opened the door and Holly was nearly bowled over by an eager Afghan hound that pushed past its master to sniff out the scent of newcomers. Realising that Raoul had made no attempt to stop the embarrassing investigation, Holly, who believed that dogs, like children, should be taught good manners from an early age, delivered a sharp slap to the inquisitive pointed snout. Thus rebuked, the hound turned its attention to Connor who, equally unfazed by what Raoul might think, jerked its collar hard enough to get attention, said ‘no’, quietly but firmly, then patted the animal’s chest when it obeyed.
Raoul, like his house, was clad entirely in white. ‘Welcome, so glad you could make it.’ The expansive smile and outstretched arms were followed by flamboyant cheek-kissing and exclamations of protest when the wine and chocolates were handed to him. He pressed himself too close for Holly’s liking and it took a conscious effort to control the frown she knew had appeared between her brows.
Ice tinkling in a glass announced the presence of Raoul’s wife. Solange stood a few paces behind her husband, waiting to be introduced. Elegant was the word that came to Holly’s mind. Dressed in coral silk trousers and a loose tunic-style top, her blonde hair deceptively simple though expertly cut in a chin-length bob, Solange was a trifle over made-up, yet there was no disguising the fact that she had once been stunning. With age, that beauty had started to blur, her features to coarsen, and the smile accentuated bitter lines around her mouth. Her expressionless eyes were hard and impossible to read.
A crystal glass in her hand held liquid the colour of honey. Her breath, as she approached to press a powdered cheek, advertised cognac. Words of welcome came loud yet strangely halting, making it obvious that their hostess was trying very hard not to slur. Holly speculated that the lady had a lengthy head-start on them liquor-wise.
The Dulac residence was a three-storeyed mansion fronted by pseudo Corinthian columns along a wide, tiled verandah, onto which opened six separate French doors. Inside, ornate ceilings and imported marble floors set off antique furniture and gilt-framed oil paintings of racehorses, sailing ships and scenes from the French Revolution. Kathleen said the original house had been burned to the ground. This one, while reflecting a bygone era, was crass in its newness. Holly felt like she was in a museum. The house had no heart, no warmth – a statement shrieking of the money that had been thrown at it.
Raoul fussed over them, proudly pointing out features and furniture, then insisting on a tour of the garden – all five landscaped acres of it – before the other guests arrived. Solange melted away, murmuring about seeing to the food. Their host could not have been more superficially charming or more transparently flirtatious. By the time they went back inside, Holly’s patience had been sorely tried. The last straw was Raoul’s stage-whispered, ‘The beauty of this rose is matched only by your own, my dear,’ which provoked her to respond, ‘Thank you, Raoul, and just look at all those wicked thorns.’
Approval gleamed briefly in Connor’s eyes.
Raoul had just poured drinks, wine for Holly and a beer for Connor, when people started to arrive. The steady stream kept him busy. Staring up at a painting of Louis XVI’s execution by guillotine, Connor whispered, ‘Not receptive to good old Gallic charm, I see.’ He was grinning.
Holly, also pretending to study the old and obviously valuable picture, delivered a withering look. ‘Not when it’s conducted with all the sincerity of a hungry cat apologising to a mouse.’
As introductions and polite chitchat gathered momentum, a strikingly beautiful woman in her mid-thirties appeared on the winding staircase. She paused to survey the now crowded reception room and swept down to join the throng. She was dressed from head to toe in cream: a silk scarf wound Bedouin-style around her head, long silk caftan, cream-coloured open sandals. The only break from that single colour was her jewellery. She wore gold, lots of gold, around her neck, on her arms, and dangling from her ears. The cream and gold combined perfectly to enhance the rich amber of her flawless skin.
‘Ah, there you are, my darling.’ Raoul made an elaborate fuss over the new arrival. ‘Come and meet our speci
al guests.’
Even before the introductions were made, Holly realised she was looking at Kathleen’s daughter.
Raoul, the woman’s father, introduced Anne-Marie as his sister. Holly examined the coldly beautiful face. Of her mother there was little evidence. A family resemblance, yes, if you looked hard enough, but time and arrogance had chiselled the face into something cold and hard. Kathleen’s softness might have been there once but now there was no sign of it. Anne-Marie had her mother’s eyes, but only in shape. And the look she was giving her father was one of pure hatred.
Raoul left Holly and Anne-Marie together while he greeted more people. ‘I understand you live in France.’ Holly could have bitten her tongue. That information had come from Kathleen.
But Anne-Marie didn’t notice the slip. ‘Yes.’
‘You grew up here though, didn’t you?’
Anne-Marie’s eyes swept contemptuously around the walls. ‘Not in this house. The original one burned down last year. My parents were killed in the fire.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Hostile brown eyes bored into her. ‘Why on earth should you be sorry?’
‘It must have been . . .’
Anne-Marie’s gold-encrusted hand swept aside Holly’s unfinished response. ‘I wasn’t sorry then and I’m not sorry now. Does that satisfy your curiosity?’ With a curt nod she moved away, leaving Holly standing on her own.
Connor seemed to materialise out of nowhere. ‘Is that who I think it is?’
Holly nodded.
‘And did her words match the expression?’
‘Afraid so.’
A sudden hush in conversation served to emphasise the supposedly whispered words of several women in the room. Holly turned to see what had caused the silence. Madame Liang Song stood poised in the doorway, an expression of contempt challenging anyone to question her presence. Solange Dulac appeared frozen in mid-slurp, her knuckles white around the raised glass of cognac. Raoul, wearing the smug smile of a contented cat, threaded his way through the crowd as he called an attention-getting greeting. His eyes, as he bent over the Chinese girl’s hand, gleamed with malice.
A woman laughed and resumed her conversation. Slowly, the buzz of voices picked up again. Holly found she’d been holding her breath and let it out in a rush. ‘How the other half live,’ she commented quietly to Connor.
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