Paradise Found

by Nancy Loyan

  “So, you are to view more property?” her mother asked with a biting tone.

  “Yes, there’s some land that interests me.”

  “One island is not enough for you?” Her mother stood firm, hands planted on her ample hips. She was as short and wide as her daughter was tall and lanky, her calico dress as loose as her daughter’s shorts and camp shirt were tight.

  Victoria rolled her eyes. Would her mother ever realize that there was more to a woman’s life than men and babies? Some women had careers and ambition.

  “Are you meeting Mr. Wells on Praslin as well?”

  Victoria stared at her mother in stunned silence.

  “Well, you did have lunch with him at the Shangri La the other day.”

  “One lunch, that’s all. Nothing more.” She met her mother’s steadfast, all-knowing gaze. “And how did you find out?”

  Her mother chuckled. “On an island, news hasn’t far to travel. I have friends at other Beau Vallon resorts who keep me informed.”

  “For their information and yours, helicopter pilots are not my type.”

  “He told you he is only a pilot?” Her mother’s brows arched and a smirk appeared on her face.

  “And that he owns the company.”

  Her mother kept staring at her.

  “What?”

  “Victoria, you are buying island property to develop, yes?”

  “Possibly. So what?”

  “You and Mr. Wells have more in common than you realize.”

  She stared at her mother, wondering what secrets her mother harbored and wasn’t revealing. “Excuse me? What are you driving at?”

  “You will find out.”

  The taxi arrived, honking its horn. There wasn’t time for confrontations or explanations from her mother.

  “We’ll discuss this when I get back,” Victoria said, grabbing her bag. All she needed was more kankan, island gossip.

  Victoria held special feelings for the island of Praslin. British General Charles Gordon deemed Praslin’s Vallee de Mai rainforest as the location of the original Garden of Eden. The island, subject to forest fires with large tracts of denuded red earth, was still mostly lush and green with a breathtaking natural harbor surrounded by crystal clear water. It was a land of opportunity.

  Victoria rented a taxi for the short ride from the airstrip to Grande Anse, hugging the shoreline of silver sand beaches and the azure Indian Ocean. She was deposited at a quaint guesthouse along the bay at Grand Anse. The quiet location would allow her time alone to think between negotiating the land deal and conducting research.

  After settling in her room with lanai overlooking the ocean, Victoria grabbed her tote and purse and headed out toward the beach. Once in the sand, she removed her sandals and stowed them in her tote. Raising her dark sunglasses for a clearer view, she surveyed the stretch of powdery sand. If she followed the shore a half-mile or so, she would be at the beachfront of the elegant Garden of Eden resort, another of Eden Resorts, LLC prized Seychelles properties. Formidable competition.

  As she strolled on the edge of the surf, the squishy sand and warm ocean waves, she thought of how she had missed the beauty of the Indian Ocean. The water went from

  turquoise in the shallows to sapphire blue in the depths. The temperature was constant, like bath water and the rolling waves lulling. There was tranquility in the Seychelles, found no place else on earth. Outside of the hurricane and cyclone belt, the Islands were protected from storms and even in monsoon season, the weather went from wet to sunny in moments and the temperature was always humid and hot.

  She looked about the beach feeling out of place in madras shorts and camp shirt. European women sunned and swam topless, without concern for size, sagging or shape. The men donned tiny Speedos with equal ease. She could spot an American tourist in an instant. American women kept their tops and were more covered up and concerned about appearances. Victoria laughed. The cultural differences in people always amazed her. Sometimes even upset her. The Seychelles, though, had been renowned for harmony. The place where everyone fit in.

  Shortly, she had reached the Garden of Eden. Like most resorts, guests sunned themselves on chaises, frolicked in the waves, windsurfed and a few were high above the beach paragliding. Down the beach, in a restricted area, were private thatched guest cottages. The main resort building with its natural pink granite façade and octagonal design, loomed overhead with three stories of tiered teak decks. The massive lower deck featured an infinity-edge pool and whirlpool. The second deck appeared to be an offshoot of the lobby with deck chairs and tables while the top deck featured dining tables clothed in white linen. Varieties of potted palm trees were scattered about the decks amidst pots of orchids, hibiscus and canna. Their sweet scent wafted in the breeze and Victoria inhaled nature’s perfume. The resort had an aura of Eden and she took mental notes.

  Slipping on her sandals, she headed up the teak stairs on to the first deck, observing the tourists lounging about the pool area. They wore enough gold and diamonds to furnish an upscale jewelry store. Definitely the sort of clientele she’d want to attract if she owned a resort. The scent of money continued inside at the casino. Black jack, roulette, craps and poker were played along with the cha-ching of slot machines, another big money maker for a resort. The adjoining bar with its palm frond overhead fans, carved mahogany bar and colorful silk fabrics was bustling with chattering, laughing tourists. A private club room was air conditioned for those seeking a respite from the island heat. More mental notes.

  Taking an elevator to the second level, Victoria entered the open lobby which was decorated in rattan upholstered in antique silk sari cloth, draped with mosquito netting, colorful loomed rugs scattered on the wide plank teak floors. Brass lamps and accessories provided accent. A hostess with a gardenia clipped behind an ear carried a tray of mango juice, offering a complimentary drink to every guest. Victoria took a crystal glass and thanked the island girl. A nice touch, she thought.

  She strolled the lobby, perused the gift shop with its toiletries and trinkets and walked out onto the deck, overlooking the pool and ocean below. Even she would have a hard time topping this place. The Garden of Eden was the ultimate resort. She sighed. Maybe she was crazy to dare to dream.

  “Mademoiselle Montcherry, what a pleasant surprise to find you here.”

  Victoria cringed at the rich baritone and the shock of hearing it in a place she least expected. She turned to face Daemon Wells, standing in fine black linen slacks and white silk shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbow and collar undone low enough to reveal enough chest to appear casually sexy. Hadn’t the man reeked enough of masculinity without having to accentuate it?

  “Mr. Wells,” she stammered. What the hell is he doing here?

  “What brings you to Praslin?” he asked, his gaze slow and steady.

  “I was going to ask you the same question.”

  “I have business dealings here,” he said.

  “So have I.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Another land development deal I presume?”

  “Mr. Wells, I …”

  He grinned. “I know, it’s none of my business. So, what do you think of the Garden of Eden? Quite a place isn’t it? You could learn a lot here.”

  The man presumed too much.

  “You look a bit tired and flustered. Perhaps I can interest you in a drink?” he asked.

  “It seems we’ve already gone this route,” she said, thinking of their last drink and lunch.

  “I could ask you to bed, that’s a route we have yet to take.” He winked.

  The way he said it with a confident smirk on his face made her burn up inside, but the parts burning were totally unexpected and uncomfortable.

  “If I took you up on your offer, you’d be the one in for a surprise,” she replied in a flippant yet sultry tone.

  He chuckled. “I can only imagine.”

  “You’ll just have to keep imagining. Are you always so sure of yourself?” I
f she had any sense at all she wouldn’t keep talking to him. She would be leaving … now. Yet, she couldn’t. The man intrigued her too much. Too much for her own good.

  “Life is too short, Victoria, for wasting time. I prefer to cut to the chase.”

  Her pulse was racing and she had to draw a deep breath for composure. “I really need to be leaving.”

  As she turned, he touched her arm, “Don’t go. Can’t you stay for one drink?”

  She met his hypnotizing gaze.

  “I’d like to talk,” he added.

  “What do we have to talk about?”

  “Join me for a drink and let’s see where it takes us.”

  She rubbed her arm, trying to erase his electric touch and the tingle it sent down her spine. Her mother’s words about her having more in common with Daemon than she thought entered her mind. Maybe he would provide the answers.

  “Okay, one drink.”

  They were seated on the top deck at a table clothed in white linen overlooking the aquamarine pool with its cascading man-made waterfalls and the glistening golden beach and ocean with its undulating waves below. A crystal vase of sensuous red anthurium was set on the table alongside a small hurricane glass enclosed taper. Victoria noted that the tableware was sterling and the glasses Baccarat. No expense had been spared.

  A waiter appeared in a red waistcoat and white slacks.

  “A Seybrew?” Daemon asked, turning to Victoria.

  “No, a Chardonnay,” she replied.

  “A scotch and soda,” Daemon ordered.

  “Oui, Monsieur Wells,” the waiter said before leaving.

  Victoria folded her hands on the tabletop. “My oh my, does everyone on all the islands know you?”

  He winked. “I do have a bit of a reputation.”

  “So I’ve surmised.” She had to smile.

  “Soon, you will have a reputation, too.”

  “Only if I keep being seen with you,” she said. “We have to stop meeting like this, Monsieur Wells.”

  “Meeting me is one problem, I’ll agree, but buying up Seychelles land at cut-rate prices is quite another.” His tone was as serious as his sudden change in demeanor. “Land

  banking can only mean one thing, more development. More development is not in the best interest of this island chain.”

  “How would you know? You’re not a native. I am.”

  He scoffed. “A worldly native who left years ago, only to return with a personal agenda.”

  “That’s my business.”

  “When it affects the Islands it’s everyone’s business. Why don’t you make an appointment to meet with our president? He has an open door policy. President Michel will set you straight as to Island priorities.”

  “He won’t be president forever and priorities will change. This is a new millennium. You can’t halt progress.”

  “You’ve lived in the States far too long.”

  Their drinks arrived and Victoria saw Daemon polish off his scotch quickly enough to order another while the waiter stood nearby. She sipped her Chardonnay, savoring the mellow liquid since she hadn’t had wine since the ten-hour flight over from Paris two weeks earlier.

  A dignified middle-aged man with graying hair and a handlebar moustache approached their table. He was dapper in a tan linen suit with an orchid in his lapel, matching linen shirt and a bow tie of colorful Indian madras.

  “I say, Mr. Wells,” the man began in a British- accented voice, “Your father has outdone himself and the firm’s reputation with such an aristocratic resort. Tell

  him I will give the Garden of Eden a five-star rating in the next volume of my travel guide to the Islands. I have also spoken to the travel reviewer for the Times and he is to rate it high as well. My boy, your family has done wonders with Eden Resorts.”

  Victoria choked on her wine. What the hell had Daemon Wells to do with Eden Resorts? She stared at Daemon who sat very still and quiet, almost embarrassed by the accolades.

  “Thank you, Mr. Finch,” Daemon replied. “I am honored by your words and equally honored by your being a guest.”

  “Keep up the good work,” the man said, tapping his cane, before leaving.

  Victoria watched the man exit and turned to Daemon, “What was that all about?”

  “My business,” Daemon answered and smiled, leaning into the table. “Okay, I’ll admit my family has a vested interest in island development. My father owns Eden Resorts.”

  “And you?”

  “I own Paradise Helicopters. I don’t agree with my father’s operation of resorts in such an ecologically fragile part of the world. My goal is to have less island development and more conservation. I love the Seychelles Islands and respect the leadership’s stance on nature conservancy.”

  “As in limiting competition?” She took a sip of wine.

  “Eden has competition, Miss Montcherry. I object to land banking with the hopes of changing government policy for unrestrained growth. The Seychelles must not go the way of the Caribbean, Tahiti or Hawaii.”

  “You don’t want someone else doing just that!” Victoria rose, her stance and gaze unwavering. “I should have known you’d have some modus operandi. You take me to lunch, buy me a drink and think you can charm me into backing off from buying prime land, land I’m sure you and your father would love to have.” She was shaking with sudden anger. “As a native I have connections you can only dream of and it’s driving you crazy. Development of Eden Resorts is limited while the sky’s the limit for me.”

  “No, Victoria, you’ll soon find that there are more limitations than you realize and for good reason.” Daemon leaned back in his chair and took a sip of scotch and soda.

  The fire in her beautiful eyes would smolder once she began dealing with the Seychelles government. Not every country was interested in unrestrained growth and tourism. He knew that you should take only what you need. The beautiful blonde before him had a great deal to learn about her country. He could teach her.

  “You hypocrite!” She turned on her heels and stormed down the deck.

  After closing a land deal the next morning, Victoria left Praslin and flew back home to Mah’e. Still seething from her meeting with Daemon, she took a taxi to the government building in downtown Victoria. Dressed in a “power suit” of light gray pinstripes with a plain white blouse and gray pumps she was all business. She would show Daemon how a real resort developer conducted herself.

  As she strode into the offices, the office staff in their cotton sundresses and sandals giggled.

  “I’m Victoria Montcherry. I have an appointment with Monsieur Edmond,” Victoria said, approaching a cluttered wood desk.

  The woman seated behind the desk stared at her, motioning to a closed wood door beyond. Victoria approached the door and knocked.

  A voice from within called, “Entrer.”

  She entered the plain office with its whitewashed walls and simple wood furniture. Standing near a metal file cabinet was a tall man attired in Khaki slacks and a short-sleeved cotton shirt. As his eyes met hers, he squinted.

  “I haven’t seen a woman in a suit in years,” he said, grasping a stack of manila folders to his chest. “Who are you, a lawyer or something?”

  “Someone who wishes to discuss island development,” she said. The inhabitants of the island were more backward than she remembered.

  “Have a seat.” The man plopped the stack of folders on his already laden desk and sat is his wood swivel chair.

  Victoria took a wood seat across from him, his desk dividing them.

  “So you’re Bessye Montcherry’s daughter?” he asked with an ivory grin. “All grown up, dressed up and ready for business.”

  She didn’t like the tone of his voice. Just because women outnumbered men in the Islands and men could pick and choose, the men had an attitude of superiority and were proud of it. He was staring at her as if she were in the market for a male.

  “Ready to discuss zoning, building codes, and issues regardin
g island development. Particularly, the development of luxury resorts.”

  He sat back in his chair and chuckled. He reached under his desk and removed a thin volume. “Everything you need to know is in this book. I’m afraid it won’t be to your liking. From the number of prime plats of land you’ve purchased of late, I’m afraid only one may qualify as a viable site for a luxury resort.”

  “Only one?” She took the volume he handed her and set it on her lap.

  He nodded. “If you or anyone else were allowed to construct a resort on every piece of available land, this island would cease to exist as a paradise, no?”

  “I disagree. The Islands would still be paradise but the economy would be enhanced by the additional tourism revenue.”

  “Miss Montcherry.” He leaned forward on his desk and stacked his arms. “The Islands’ economy is built upon the tuna industry and spices. Tourism is secondary.”

  “For now. In the future, things will change. The Islands can’t live in the past forever.”

  “Read the book, Miss Montcherry, and you will learn this country’s policies. You are not the first to try to change them. Being a native does not provide you a golden key.”

  “I’ll do whatever it takes.” She stood, scooping up the book. “Good day.”

  That night Victoria lay in bed, unable to sleep. Funny, she had fallen asleep reading the government policy’s book but, after digesting the words, she couldn’t close her eyes. She had changed but the Islands hadn’t.

  Just like the bed she was in. The same bed she slept in as a child with its smooth headboard, lumpy mattress, and faded batik quilt. The fan pulsing overhead still squeaked. The blackness of the room was still disconcerting, as were the sounds of fluttering bats and hooting owls from the forest outside. For a moment she was a child again, frightened and alone.