Scarlett Promise (The Scarletts

by Brenda Barrett

  Plus, he constantly spoke about his wife and four children. Who wouldn't feel safe around such a guy?

  In week two all of that changed. He had casually asked her to go to dinner with him. When she turned him down he had seemed even more determined to get her to go out with him. After one more sleepless night with him waiting outside her room door, whispering her name and describing what he would do to her if she opened the door, she had complained to Ricky, who had promptly sacked him.

  And now here was his replacement. Madison Sullivan.

  She had promptly arrived a day after Quame left. Francine did not waste any time in replacing someone to do her son's therapy.

  Lisa didn't know what to think of her just yet. She wasn't friendly, nor was she hostile.

  Up until now Lisa had not had the slightest inclination to want to know anything about her.

  How did she know Nathan Cross? Were they friends? What sort of personality did he have? Why was he here?

  She raised herself on her elbows and looked in the wardrobe mirror. What was she thinking about Nathan Cross for?

  Why should she care? If she had any sense at all she would stay far from him. It was safer for her to do so. Her evening swim would have to wait, especially if he was on the beach.

  She got up and peeped through the slightly opened patio door that had a clear view of the beach below. He was no longer out there.

  She breathed a sigh of relief. What was she worrying about? He might be staying at one of the hotels farther up the beach and had wandered down this way.

  She was working herself up over nothing and she might not see him again. She ignored the pang of regret that came with that thought and pulled on her swim shorts and tank top.

  By the time she was finished swimming, Ricky would be finished with his exercises, and she could serve dinner. And her world would just continue the same.

  Chapter Seven

  Nathan went back to the house when Madison and the striking housekeeper left the beach; they disappeared behind a gate in the high bougainvillea-covered wall.

  He turned to his place. He needed to see what sort of condition the house was in and he needed to air it out.

  Though he would have been quite happy to just stay outside all evening, there were more prosaic matters to think about, like food. The rental agency said they sent somebody to clean the house every two weeks so he was not expecting it to be in terrible shape, and it wasn't.

  The color scheme was fairly bland. Black and white tiles, white walls, mostly wicker furniture, with black and white cushions and accessories. The four bedrooms were also plain; the place ached for some color. He could see Paige's hand in the design. Paige had been colorblind and his father had not cared much for decorating and that kind of thing.

  Well, at least it was clean. He opened up the place to let in the breeze and the colors of the outdoors. The sunlight had gotten weaker as it slowly made its way toward the horizon.

  There was a nice spot on the upstairs balcony to photograph the sun's descent and he went for his camera, and that's when he saw her—the housekeeper, Lisa. She was floating in the water with her face tilted toward the sun. He got his telephoto lens and put her in focus. She was very pretty. Her eyes were closed and her eyelashes were wet and clumped together. The waning sunlight gave her a golden glow. She turned over in the water and started swimming for shore.

  When she got out she held her head up to the sky and inhaled. He took that picture. It was too perfect not to. She had on a t-shirt that highlighted her every curve, her generous breasts, her tiny waist and shorts that highlighted her flaring hips.

  She ran her fingers through her sopping-wet curly hair and then shook it to get out the water; he had to take that one too. The water droplets looked like little diamonds in the sunlight.

  He almost groaned in disappointment when she picked up her towel and wrapped it around her waist and then headed toward the high walls of the villa beside his. He had not been so fascinated with a photograph subject since...never. Maybe because he wasn't thinking of her as a subject...

  He had to meet her. This kind of attraction was not the type you ignore.

  He felt as if she was someone he could love. He had never felt this way in all his twenty-eight years.

  He worked with many beautiful ladies before but none of them had him so unsettled. He sat down hard on one of the patio chairs and then laughed out loud; he had a crush.

  Nathan Paul Cross had a crush. He was in the grips of the kind of emotion that made him want to write cheesy poetry about climbing mountains and swimming seas and other nonsense.

  He had never had a crush before. He had chosen his girlfriends in the past because they were friends. His last girlfriend, Kia, had also studied medicine. They had been lab partners and shared the same the cadaver. He had liked her earnestness and dedication.

  She had liked the fact that he had a photographic memory and didn't have to take notes, and he had grown to like her after nearly a year of exposure.

  But this girl, his crush, had him instantly eager to get to know her better. But when he met her, what then?

  According to Madison she was sleeping with her boss.

  He got up and stretched. His belly grumbled, reminding him that he had not eaten since breakfast.

  His phone rang at the same time and he fished it out of his pocket. It was Bevon Bedward, the agent responsible for the property.

  "Hey Bevon."

  "Hey," Bevon said jovially. "I trust that you arrived in Treasure Beach safely."

  "Yes. And found the house in one piece."

  "Good," Bevon said briskly. "Do you want to join me tonight for dinner at the Villa Ingles? It would be a very good introduction to the culinary delights of Treasure Beach."

  "Sure. Why not? How far away are we talking?" Nate's stomach grumbled again. "I am feeling pretty hungry."

  "An hour?" Bevon chuckled. "Trust me, this will be worth your while. This week the hotel has a promotional twenty-onecourse meal thing going on. I plan to go every night until it’s over."

  "Sounds like you love your food, man," Nate chuckled. He hung up after Bevon gave him directions to Villa Ingles. He could walk to the hotel.

  He decided to take a shower first.

  ****

  Lisa arrived home just when an angry-looking Ricky was walking back from the state-of-the-art gym that was at the back of the house.

  "Everything okay?" she asked.

  Ricky ran his fingers through his hair in a frustrated gesture. "No...yes... I guess. I have to get used to my new therapist."

  Lisa grinned. "She's too hard on you?"

  "She's too nosy," Ricky sniped and then looked sorrowful for it. "No, it's just that she asks too many questions, perfectly ordinary questions that I don't want to answer.”

  "Isn't it important for her to know certain things before she helps you to work out? Or whatever?" Lisa scratched her arms; the salt on her skin was beginning to sting.

  "No. She has my case file." Ricky frowned. "She is more interested in other things that do not concern her."

  Ricky walked closer to her and then stopped. He cracked his knuckles one by one and then looked at her intently. "I have something to tell you, Lisa."

  "What?" Lisa disliked the way he was looking at her. Like he was about to say something that she didn't want to hear and was wondering how she was going to take it. She tensed up.

  Ricky was a pretty cool guy. She hoped he wasn't going to be like Quame and change the status quo between them. She liked Ricky; who wouldn't? He was a great guy, but after her initial admiration of him, she hadn't gotten a vibe. Maybe it was Francine's warning or the fact that Ricky acted like he was asexual.

  "You, ah, how should I put this?" Ricky sighed. "I'll just come out and say it."

  Lisa inhaled shakily.

  "You can't cook," Ricky whispered roughly. "Well, it's not that you can't; it's just that you probably need some lessons or something. Your stuff is either too sal
ty or too fresh or too burnt or too underdone. I looked into the pot before heading to the gym and I must say, I can't pretend to eat that black-looking chicken. I am not taking anymore Tums tonight."

  Lisa exhaled in relief and then giggled. "I am so sorry, I swear I try. My grandmother hated me interfering when she was in the kitchen. What I know I learnt from afar."

  "Thank God you are taking it so well." Ricky ran his fingers through his hair. "I have been wondering how to tell you since the first dinner you made and well, Quame tried to help out."

  "That's why he was in the kitchen so regularly?" Lisa whispered.

  "Yes," Ricky looked at her sheepishly. "Maybe that's why he got to like you so much too. Close proximity and all of that."

  "Yes." Lisa nodded. "Maybe."

  "Well, don't look so downcast." Ricky picked a leaf from her shoulder and blew it away. "Cheer up. From now on I am having both breakfast and dinner sent over from the hotel. You are completely absolved of all cooking duties."

  "But what am I going to do?" Lisa widened her eyes in consternation. "You are not getting rid of me, are you?"

  "No. Of course not." Ricky grimaced. "You are here to stay until Francine gets her precious contract. Well, there is always cleaning, if we are going to continue the pretense that you are a housekeeper."

  "But you have a lady coming over twice per week who cleans! After she is done waxing and polishing I have nothing to do!"

  "Oh yes, there is that." Ricky nodded. "Tell you what, Villa Ingles always has some training program going on. You can check the notice board tonight. Just tell me what you want to do and I'll pay for it. You are such an innocent, Lisa. You could have shaken Francine for quite a bit of money from what you know but instead you are here, actually trying to be a housekeeper."

  Ricky gave her a half smile. "Take it from a former blackmailing monster who got his kicks from making people miserable, you are letting my mother off the hook. She wants to be on your hook; take advantage of all you can now. Don't be such an innocent and start looking out for your own interest."

  He looked behind and saw Madison closing the doors of the gym.

  "Say Madison, would you like to come to dinner with Lisa and me tonight? We are going to Villa Ingles."

  "We are?" Lisa muttered. She didn't feel like hanging out with Madison. Earlier she had scowled at her as if she hated her just because she was relaying a message--or was it because she had been talking to Nathan Cross and didn't want to be interrupted?

  Whatever, she was beginning to think Madison was going to be trouble.

  "Yes, we are." Ricky looked at her sternly. "You shouldn't have a problem with this one. She's a girl and looks pretty harmless."

  "Quame looked pretty harmless as well," Lisa muttered under her breath. "Two weeks later he was telling me through the door about the things he would do to me!"

  Ricky gave a low chuckle. "It's the opening night of the twenty-one course experiment the chef has going on. We owe it to him to at least stay for a couple of courses or until we are stuffed."

  "Sure, dinner sounds like fun." Madison walked within whispering distance, adjusting the sports bag slung over her shoulder.

  "In an hour," Ricky said to the two ladies. "I may answer some of your questions then about how I was injured and all of that. Sorry for snapping at you earlier. My accident will remain a sore topic for me, especially since I am at the scene of the crime, so to speak."

  "That's okay, sir," Madison said. "Maybe I shouldn't have pried."

  "In an hour." Ricky pointed at Lisa, ignoring the apology in Madison's voice.

  Madison looked at Lisa when Ricky went into the house. "Do you two eat out often?"

  "Nope." Lisa shook her head. "There is a special thing going on over at the hotel and I just found out Ricky hates my cooking."

  "What's wrong with your cooking?" Madison asked, taking off her bag and adjusting it from one arm to the other.

  "It sucks." Lisa shook her head. "Thank God, you don't have to eat it. Ricky is arranging for food to be sent over from the hotel from now on."

  "So, erm, what do you do in the days here?" Madison asked, raising an eyebrow. "If you don't mind my asking. I am going to be working with Ricky for roughly two hours per day and then the rest of the time is mine to do with as I please. Do you have any suggestions?"

  Lisa shrugged. "Read, listen to music, watch television, spend most of your time swimming, hang out at local places…they have a few here, or you can take some classes over the hotel. That's what I am going to do, get productive with something that can help pass the time. I hope they have something I'll like. See ya. I have to go and get ready."

  Lisa headed to the door, not seeing the look of incredulity on Madison's face.

  ****

  Lisa had trouble finding anything appropriate to wear to the dinner; most of her clothes weren't very fancy. She headed for Francine's room. She had a walk-in closet filled with clothes that were still encased in plastic.

  She stopped herself. It wouldn't be right to just wear Francine's clothes like that. She headed to the end of the landing where Ricky's suite was and knocked on his door.

  He answered gruffly. "Who is it?"

  "Lisa."

  "Come in."

  She walked into his sitting room and paused. His center table was spread out with pictures, almost burying his laptop, and he was poring over them. He looked sad. He looked at her and she could swear his eyes were wet but he looked away again.

  "What is it, Lisa?"

  "I have nothing appropriate to wear to a dinner. I was wondering if I could get something from Francine's closet?"

  Ricky nodded. "Yeah, sure. Go wild. Take what you want."

  "Thanks." Lisa walked closer. "What are you looking at?"

  "My life." Ricky shrugged. "My parents. I had this idea that I could write a book about myself. The good, the bad and the ugly. So if my mind is wiped next time, at least I'll not have to struggle too hard to remember."

  "And you'd publish it?" Lisa asked incredulously.

  "No." Ricky shook his head. "Just maybe do some copies for myself."

  "I couldn't do that, nope." Lisa shook her head. "Some things I’d like to forget; that's why our brains are not wired to remember everything."

  "This your father?" Lisa took up a photo with a very large white man, grinning with a glass held up to the camera.

  "Yep. That's Costas Stravinsky. German billionaire. I was his only child."

  "Wow." Lisa whistled, "That means you really are rich."

  "Yeah." Ricky rubbed his face roughly. "Yay me. I have more money than I can spend. It's not all it's cut out to be, you know."

  "Speak for yourself, rich man. I know what I would do with money right now," Lisa snorted. She took up another picture.

  "That's Francine. She was gorgeous! I mean she still is, but wow at this; she was banging."

  Ricky grinned.

  "And the lady beside her, who is she?" Lisa pointed to a woman who resembled Francine a bit, especially around the eyes. She had a lighter skin tone though, and she was shorter. They were hugging each other tightly.

  "Oh, that's my aunt—was my aunt... Leandra. She died some years ago. I barely knew her; we were living in Germany at the time of her death. My mother was almost inconsolable when she died. She wouldn't leave the house for months. They even had her on medication for depression. Leandra was her only sibling—younger than her, headstrong. Francine was responsible for her when they were growing up and she was extremely strict. Leandra rebelled, didn't talk to Francine for years."

  Ricky whispered. "I remembered that." He looked at Lisa and smiled. "I remembered that!"

  Lisa nodded. "Cool."

  "You don't understand," Ricky sighed. "My memory has been coming back in patches. Sometimes random unconnected stuff. But this is major; it explains a lot why Francine was not as strict with me. She didn't want to lose me like she did Leandra!"

  "Mmm," Lisa murmured.

  "And
I haven't been remembering stuff from my childhood but I remember the house in Moscow. My dad would come by most evenings. He usually took us out for the weekends. We would tour Europe together."

  Lisa frowned. "Huh? Your dad didn't live with you?"

  "No, not all the time." Ricky shook his head. "He was already married; my mom was his mistress."

  "Tell me more." Lisa sat down across from him.

  "No." Ricky started packing up the pictures. "Well, probably next time."

  He glanced at the clock. "We have dinner, remember?"

  "Oh yes." Lisa stood up. "It will take me a while to find something of Francine's that actually fits."

  She headed to the door and when she opened it she saw Madison coming down the passageway. She looked at Lisa and then at the door and gave her a knowing half-smile.

  Lisa nodded to her and it was only when she was in the middle of taking down one more of Francine's designer pieces that the thought occurred to her that Madison might think that she had a thing with Ricky and that's why she was coming from his room.

  ****

  Villa Ingles was one of those places that Lisa had only seen in magazines. She was always filled with awe when she came to the place. This was her first time at the villa at night. The ambience was perfect.

  The main restaurant had a view of the sea and the boardwalk extended 50 meters into the water. It was lit up with lanterns, adding a romantic, mysterious quality to the evening. It made her happy that she had settled on one of Francine's halter-necked green dresses that felt flirty and fun and was probably the most expensive thing that she had ever worn. She had also found a closet full of shoes. She had been spoiled for choices. She had a matching strappy-heeled one on right now. Ricky had declared her absolutely lovely.

  He hadn't complimented Madison, maybe because she was in a lint-coated black dress. Lisa had offered her a lint roller but she had said no snappily.