The same mocking tone that grated on Sham’s nerves. ‘Should I be?’
‘If making sure I meet my mother’s flight turns you on, go for it. It’s a free country.’ Dulac studied the fingernails on one hand.
‘We’ll see about that,’ Sham said, turning away.
Guy Dulac made no response.
The Merville Beach Hotel put Holly back into the same room she’d had before. She unpacked and then sat at the desk with a map of Mauritius, planning her strategy for the next few days. Little more was required on the Chinese, Creole or French perspectives. She needed material on the Indian community. She had seen Mahébourg, Grand Baie, Cap Malheureux, Poudre d’Or, the Flacq district, Bamboo Mountain and Port Louis, she now needed to concentrate on southern and western Mauritius and the central highlands.
She glanced at her watch. Twelve twenty. Twenty past six in Sydney. Thursday. Business lunch day for Quinn. He usually went back to the office. Holly made the call. Quinn was still working.
‘It’s me.’
‘Hello sweetheart. We got your message at home. How’s it going?’
‘Good. I’ve been on Rodrigues for the last couple of days. Connor is still there. There’s not much more I can do on the treasure front. Maguire’s unlikely to find anything, he’s hardly bothering to look.’
‘How does it read?’
‘Don’t know. I haven’t written it yet. Should be okay. There’s some solid background material on his ancestor.’
‘The mad pirate? Good stuff, I like it.’
‘Daddy?’
Silence. Quinn had suddenly switched to defence mode.
‘What else did Connor tell you about his reason for being here?’ She shouldn’t be asking, she knew she shouldn’t be asking. Holly anticipated and got a one word, stone wall response.
‘Nothing.’
This time she pushed it. ‘I know he told you something.’
‘What makes you think . . .?’
‘Because he let slip that it should have prevented you from sending me to cover the story.’
More silence.
‘Well? Come on, Quinn. What did he say?’
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘I think he’s in danger.’ ‘He has my word . . .’
It was time to turn the screw. ‘Maguire wants me out of Mauritius. He doesn’t want me mixed up in whatever it is.’
‘Then you do as he says, Holly. Get out.’
‘Sorry. I’m not ready to leave yet. That’s one of the reasons for this call. I’m staying on at my expense, ostensibly to gather material for a travel piece. But I keep tripping over undesirable mates of Maguire’s. So you see, Quinn, it would save an awful lot of angst if somebody . . . that’s you, Quinn . . . told me exactly what he was up to. That way, if a story blows, I know what I’m up against. That way, I keep my scalp. That way, I know what to avoid and what to go for. You with me here, Quinn?’
This time, he didn’t hesitate. As Holly was anticipating, professional ethics ran a poor second to his daughter’s safety. ‘He didn’t say much. It’s got something to do with an organisation called Scylla.’
‘Scylla! As in the mythological monsters Scylla and Charybdis?’
‘The very same.’
Holly recalled the saying ‘between Scylla and Charybdis’. It had something to do with a place between two equal evils where, in order to avoid one, a person must face the other. ‘Who are they? What do they do?’
‘It’s an international network for hire to governments anywhere in the world. They operate as a legitimate trading company. Concessions in return for services rendered, that kind of thing. Mercenaries basically. There’s an office in Western Australia that recruits a lot of ex-South Africans. They have land in the north-west which is used for training.’
‘So where does Maguire fit in?’
‘Didn’t say.’
‘Quinn . . .’
‘Truly, sweetheart. He didn’t.’
‘And you didn’t think to ask?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
She heard him expel breath. ‘This might sound strange coming from me, but I like the man. We’ve got a good rapport. If he couldn’t tell me then there must have been a good reason. That’s all I know. I didn’t see how it could affect you.’ A slight hesitation. ‘Are you really in danger?’
‘Let me put it this way, Quinn. Because of this damned story I’ve been attacked, kidnapped –’
‘Kidnapped!’ Quinn yelped.
Holly relented. ‘Sort of. Look, the treasure story is as ready for writing as it’s ever going to be. Maguire won’t let me in on whatever else he’s up to but there’s a story there and you’ve just confirmed it. If I keep my distance, I’ll be fine. I really did need to know what else he was up to so I didn’t blunder into any more trouble. Thanks for telling me . . . finally.’
He ignored her sarcasm.
‘When is Maguire returning to Mauritius?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I don’t like this, Holly.’
‘Quinn, a few days doing the tourist thing isn’t exactly high risk.’
‘How did you get kidnapped?’
‘Quite easily, actually. Grabbed from behind, hands tied, shoved into a car, that kind of thing.’
‘Holly!’ Quinn really had the wind up.
Again, she relented. ‘There are two other people also looking for the treasure. They’re working together. One is Justin Parker, the dodo man Mrs Hammond sent me the information on. He got it into his head to try and find out how close Connor is to finding the treasure.’
‘Did you tell him?’
‘Them as it turned out. And you know me, Quinn. I’m a pushover for bullying tactics.’
‘Were you hurt?’
‘No. They let me go after I’d told them what I knew. It wasn’t much.’
‘Bastards!’ Quinn swore angrily. ‘Where was Maguire?’
‘It wasn’t his fault. He’s been trying to get rid of me for days.’
‘Terrific!’ Despite his concern, Quinn saw the funny side. ‘Fat chance. He doesn’t know you like I do.’
‘I think he’s getting the message.’
‘You sound as though you’ve changed your mind about him.’
‘Really.’ She tried indifference but she could never fool Quinn.
‘Well?’ he prodded.
‘Well what?’ She was smiling and knew he’d hear it in her voice.
‘Ah!’ He sounded satisfied.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘What it means, Big Shot, is that yours truly took one look at Connor Maguire and decided how perfect he would be for one hurting little girl. That’s why I was so insistent that you get him to agree to an interview. I wanted you to meet him. I couldn’t tell you that, could I?’
‘I guess not. But why all the mystery?’
‘The AIDS research people came to me and asked if we’d cover his search. I agreed on the proviso that Maguire was willing. I set up a meeting with him.’
‘And he wasn’t willing?’
‘That was the strange thing. I couldn’t figure it out. Normally he’d have jumped at it. Then he told me that the treasure was a cover-up for something else. He mentioned Scylla. I didn’t push for more information. Like I said, I trust him. So I decided to send you. Knowing Maguire, he’d do enough to make the treasure story interesting. And, I also decided it wouldn’t hurt to have a journo around in case anything broke on Scylla.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me this before? How am I supposed to cover something I’ve never heard of?’
‘Maguire asked me to keep Scylla under my hat.’
‘Guess what?’
‘What?’
‘You’ve been had.’ Holly was smiling. Quinn was astute but he’d walked right into Maguire’s manipulations.
‘What do you mean?’
‘He wanted the publicity. Just didn’t need it to look that way.’
; Quinn gave a short laugh of admiration. ‘Sneaky bastard. I’ll get him for that.’
‘I think you’ve met your match, Quinn.’
‘The question is, sweetheart, have you? I mean, forgive me for asking, won’t you? It’s not like I care or anything. Your ever-loving father wouldn’t dream of interfering. No ma’am. He knows his daughter has the stubborn streak of a brumby, a temper like a Tasmanian devil, and the independence of a moggy. But a man can always hope. Given the tropical island paradise, and the unusual nature of the treasure hunt, and boys being boys and girls being girls, and throw them all together, well . . . Let’s just say I had my fingers crossed.’
Holly was smiling broadly. ‘You interfering old goat.’
‘So? Give.’
‘Not on your nelly. You can bloody-well wait until I get home. Bye.’ She hung up, still hearing his spluttering protestations.
She began to pace, trying to remember about Scylla. That was it! The monster had been turned into a rock, a dangerous outcrop on the Italian side of the Strait of Messina. And Charybdis became a whirlpool on the opposite Sicilian side. The two faced each other, forcing sailors to make a choice – the rock or the whirlpool. Two evils. To defeat one you exposed yourself to the other. Scylla. Not a bad name for a company offering the services of mercenaries. But how was Maguire involved? If indeed he was. Could it be that Scylla and the secretive anti-drug vigilantes were one and the same?
Holly felt a pang of conscience. She shouldn’t have asked. She’d promised to stay well away from Connor Maguire’s clandestine activities. Even so . . . Holly had a feeling that she’d just prised open the jar that held the most important reason why he had come to Mauritius. It didn’t tell her much and she had no intention of taking it further. All she could do was hope that he stayed safe.
TWELVE
Having put off writing about Connor on a number of occasions, now that she had finally and unconditionally allowed him into her heart, Holly was eager to make a start. Alone in her hotel room, working on the piece brought him closer. She needed that. Once started, the words flowed easily. Dipping into tapes of interviews, her notes, remembered conversations, it was no trouble putting together nearly six thousand words without using anything from William Maguire’s journal. By the time she included previously written material from that source, Holly ruefully realised that the Out of Focus editorial department would more than likely have a fit when they saw the length of her article, their blue pencils working overtime to streamline it.
Unfortunately, the only thing missing was the treasure itself. A pity it hadn’t been found. Holly didn’t doubt that it had once existed. Whether it still did was up for speculation. Surely, with modern technology and the degree of development taking place in Mauritius, it would have been discovered by now.
She debated whether or not to include the interest of Raoul Dulac and Justin Parker, but decided against it. Connor wouldn’t welcome any mention of the French-Mauritian and besides, the addition of a cloak-and-dagger element could prove distracting. Discipline was required when writing about Connor. She had to force herself to be impartial. It was tempting to write more about him, rather than his activities.
Work finished for the day, Holly organised a taxi for eight the next morning. There were parts of Mauritius she still hadn’t seen. They could probably be covered in one day. Another to finish writing the tourist article and then what? The Indo-Mauritian perspective was important since that particular group made up seventy per cent of the island’s population. Perhaps a few of the hotel staff would be willing to speak to her. After that, Réunion was an option but Holly dithered. She was, she felt, in some kind of limbo.
At seven, hunger drove her to the restaurant. Settled at a table, Holly glanced around the openair area. The bar was fairly crowded but she spotted Guy Dulac immediately. He was watching her closely. When their eyes met, he raised his glass to her. It was a mocking gesture and Holly nodded briefly before looking away.
Seconds later, she sensed his presence at her table. ‘We meet again. Must be fate.’ He pulled out a seat opposite her.
Fate? Holly didn’t think so. She couldn’t shake off the feeling he’d been waiting. It made her uneasy. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’
He smiled. ‘Not when a beautiful woman is concerned. Anyway, you’re dining alone. Wouldn’t you prefer company?’ Guy sat with one arm draped over the back of his chair – a deliberate pose to expose his chest. Three shirt buttons had been left undone.
Short of making a scene, Holly was stuck with him. But she was going to make damned sure he knew that the evening would start and finish in the dining room. ‘Suit yourself,’ she gave in ungraciously. ‘Dinner only.’
‘Of course. What else?’ His eyes said what else.
Despite his good looks and attention, Holly was beginning to actively dislike Guy Dulac. She hoped he wouldn’t prove difficult to get rid of.
He leaned over the table towards her. ‘Where’s lover boy?’
‘Who?’ She stared at him coldly.
‘Maguire. The one you were with on Sunday.’
‘I have no idea.’ Well, it was true enough. He could have been anywhere on Rodrigues.
A waiter hovered. Guy asked him for a menu, ordered a bottle of red wine and instructed the man to put it and their food on his account. The waiter turned to do as he was bid.
‘Just a moment.’ Holly spoke coolly. ‘I’d like a glass of dry white wine.’
The waiter looked uncertain.
‘Share my bottle of wine,’ Guy said.
‘I prefer to be consulted, not told,’ Holly said firmly. She looked up at the waiter. ‘Dry white please.’
Dulac shrugged, but his expression was unpleasant. ‘Change the order,’ he said tightly. ‘Make it a Chardonnay.’
Holly frowned as the waiter hurried away.
‘Lighten up,’ Dulac’s voice was clipped. ‘It’s only a drink.’ He was smiling, outwardly very sure of himself. ‘Anyone would think I was trying to get into your pants.’
Holly felt a rush of annoyance. She hadn’t been this harassed sexually since she was seventeen and in the clutches of inexperienced enthusiasm. Guy Dulac was, it seemed, attractive only on the surface.
She’d just opened her mouth to tell him where to go when Guy glanced past her and made a noise of disgust. ‘This is going too far,’ he gritted, his expression furious.
Surprised, Holly turned to see what had upset him. A slim Indian in a blue suit was observing them from a table nearby. His expressionless eyes flicked to Holly, then back to Guy Dulac. He tapped two fingers against his forehead in a lazily mocking salute.
Dulac’s response was immediate. He rose swiftly and moved to stand aggressively, hands on hips, at the Indian’s table. Holly had never seen someone get so angry so quickly. Whoever the Indian was, he certainly had Guy Dulac rattled. She watched the two men carefully. So did most of the people nearby. As yet, no words had been exchanged but there was no doubting that a drama of some description was unfolding.
Guy had stooped to lean his knuckles on the table, his face thrust aggressively towards the seated man, eyes bulging in a face contorted with rage. By comparison, the Indian seemed unperturbed. He stared back at Dulac, unflinching, unafraid, a touch of challenge in his dark eyes.
Guy finally found his voice. At a pitch high enough to qualify as near hysteria and loud enough to attract the attention of those few diners who hadn’t as yet noticed the impending confrontation, he burst out, ‘Get off my back, you bastard! This is harassment. I’ll get you for this.’
The Indian’s response was too quiet for Holly to hear, but judging by his expression, he was unmoved by the threat.
Without warning, Dulac grabbed the man by his shirt front, lifted him from the chair and shook him roughly. Then, so fast that Holly wasn’t sure she could believe her own eyes, Guy head-butted the man in his face. Looking wildly around, eyes glazed with fury, Guy literally threw the limp form from him. The Indian fe
ll into his chair like a ragdoll, his momentum causing it to tip backwards, sending him sprawling. Blood streamed from his nose.
Reason was slow in returning to Guy Dulac, but when it did and he realised that every horrified eye in the dining room was on him, he turned quickly and blundered through the restaurant. His departure coincided with their shocked waiter bringing the bottle of wine.
‘Leave it here,’ Holly said. ‘Put it on my bill.’
She rose and went to assist the unfortunate Indian, who was struggling to sit up. Other diners, immobilised by the sudden vicious attack, were also rallying to his side.
‘No, no, please, I am all right,’ he insisted. ‘Just a misunderstanding. Please, I do apologise.’
One by one, those who came to help returned to their own tables. Without waiting to be asked, Holly sat opposite the man who dabbed delicately at his nose. ‘Is it broken?’
‘I don’t think so.’ He looked at her quizzically.
She sensed his curiosity over why she had been in Guy Dulac’s company. ‘I hardly know him,’ Holly volunteered. ‘He’s been making a nuisance of himself. Won’t take no for an answer.’
The Indian readjusted his jacket. ‘Typical.’
‘He acts like the law doesn’t apply to him.’
Dark eyes appraised her. ‘He’ll find out it does.’
She noticed that he was shaking slightly. ‘Are you going to be all right?’
‘I think so.’ He ran a hand through his hair, brushing it back from his forehead.
Holly pointed to her table. ‘I seem to have inherited a bottle of wine. Like some?’
‘That would be my pleasure.’
She beckoned to the waiter who brought the ice bucket, wine and glasses to their table.
‘My name is Sham,’ he offered. ‘Thank you for your concern.’
‘No problem. I’m Holly Jones.’
Sham nodded.
‘Is Sham your first name, or is it Mr Sham?’
He didn’t answer immediately, watching the waiter open and pour the wine. The waiter kept glancing at Sham. He was quite a sight. His nose blue black and blood had blotched his white shirt. ‘Will that be all, Mademoiselle?’ the waiter asked.
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