A Secret, a Safari, a Second Chance

by Liz Fielding

  They paused while lunch was served and then Kit asked, ‘What is likely to be raised at the meeting? It seems to be little more of an annual formality, but are you aware of any problems that might come up?’

  ‘The relationship between the trust and Merchant is not something I’m involved in,’ he said. ‘Peter Ngei is the man you need to talk to. He’ll be bringing Miss Bliss back to the lodge this evening. I’ll send a message to ask if he can spare you some time then.’

  Later, having checked the time difference to make sure that the Nantucket office would be open, he called to update Brad on the delay. Not that it would bother him. His sister answered.

  ‘Hi, Kit, how was the flight?’

  ‘Long. How’s Dad?’

  ‘Getting grouchier with every passing day, which I take to be a good sign. How’s Africa?’

  ‘So far I’ve had a face-to-face with a giraffe, a monkey stole an orange from my fruit bowl and the meeting with the trust is delayed because the main player is in hospital.’

  ‘What can I say? Sit back and enjoy the view.’

  ‘I have it covered. I do have a preliminary meeting with the guy who actually runs the Nymba Trust this evening. Can Brad spare a moment? If he’s not too busy polishing my trophies.’

  ‘He’s not too busy with anything. He’s taken Lucy over to the boathouse.’

  ‘The boathouse? We are talking about Brad Merchant?’

  ‘You asked us to look after her, so he took her to a Chamber of Commerce dinner last night.’

  ‘Poor woman. I hope the food was good.’

  ‘It’s only around you that he’s a grouch, Kit. Most of the time he’s quite likeable. For a brother,’ she added, pointedly. ‘Anyway, they must have done more than eat because this morning, he was all about her starting a sailing class for the younger kids.’

  ‘I’m speechless.’

  ‘Always the perfect response.’

  ‘Come on, Laura, we both know that Brad hasn’t been near the boathouse since London,’ he said.

  ‘It’s difficult having to live with always being second best, Kit. His way of handling it was not to compete. He turned to the business because it was something you didn’t care about.’

  And now he was back getting in his brother’s way.

  ‘He loved sailing, Laura. I should have been a better brother, been there when he needed me, when you both needed me.’

  When Matt had needed him.

  ‘You can’t change the past, Kit. You have to live with it and move on. Have you called Lucy?’ she asked.

  ‘I called her when I had a layover in London and texted her when I arrived. I’ll call her now.’

  ‘Don’t trouble yourself. Brad is doing a good job.’

  ‘Brad... She’s fragile, Laura. If Brad is making a play for her because he thinks it will hurt me...’

  ‘You’ll probably be surprised to hear this, Kit, but it’s not all about you. Life doesn’t stop when you’re not around. Quite the contrary.’

  ‘Laura—’

  ‘How’s our auction winner?’ she said, abruptly changing the subject. ‘Have you met her?’

  His sister didn’t give off the same hostile vibes as his brother, but she had blamed him for not being there when he was needed. He’d let them both down, but their feelings had been lost in the row with his father...

  ‘Eve? Yes, I bumped into her at some unearthly hour this morning when she was going on a canoe trip.’

  ‘Did she have a good time?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Maybe you’d better brush up on that diplomacy you were telling us about. I’ll ask Brad to call you,’ she said and cut the connection.

  He stared at the phone in his hand for a long moment. It wasn’t just with his father that he needed to build bridges. He was in need of a major construction programme.

  He called his mother, who was kinder and reassured him that his father was ‘progressing’. His call to Lucy went to voicemail—all he could do was leave a message to let her know that he was thinking of her. That she was loved.

  * * *

  ‘Thank you so much for a lovely day, Peter,’ Eve said. ‘It was a joy to meet everyone and catch up with all the news.’

  The canoe had been ferried back to the lodge earlier and she had expected him to turn around after dropping her off but, having helped her down from the four-by-four, he escorted her into the lodge.

  ‘Christopher Merchant sent a message asking if I could spare him a few minutes,’ he explained. ‘He’s here for the Merchant annual meeting with the Nymba Trust.’

  Christopher... She had never heard him called that but, of course, he must have been named for his father.

  ‘That sounds serious.’

  Of course it was serious. Kit wouldn’t have flown out here in the middle of a family crisis to count the spoons. He had a lot more on his mind than a long-ago night spent with some girl who wouldn’t even tell him her name.

  Peter just smiled. ‘I’ll text you about the school project and the party, but you’re welcome at any time.’

  Peter kissed her cheeks, they exchanged a hug and, leaving him to his meeting, she headed across the lounge towards her suite.

  ‘Hello, Eve.’

  She jumped at the sound of Kit’s voice. He’d been sitting, half hidden in a corner, and as she turned the light from his laptop threw his face into shadows, giving him an almost sinister look.

  ‘I’m glad to see you’ve returned safely,’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘When you didn’t come back this morning, I was sure a croc must have got you.’

  Her morning disguise was gone. The zinc stripes had long since worn off her nose and cheekbones. She’d given her hairband to a child, her hat was in her hand and, with the sun dropping below the horizon, she’d propped her dark glasses on top of her head.

  He was now looking straight into her eyes and she felt naked.

  ‘Kit... As you see, I’m still in one piece.’

  ‘I was all set to send out a search party,’ he said, ‘but James told me that you were having lunch with friends in the village.’

  He’d actually checked?

  ‘It was a totally unexpected treat. Peter took me completely by surprise this morning.’

  ‘Peter?’

  Kit was regarding her through narrowed eyes and, feeling utterly exposed, she turned to introduce them. ‘Peter, may I introduce Kit Merchant? Kit, Peter Ngei.’ Then, using her hat as a fan to hide her face, she said, ‘If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll leave you to your meeting.’

  * * *

  Kit took a step after her. This morning Eve’s sunglasses had hidden her eyes. Green eyes, flecked with amber. Eyes that had haunted him for nearly four years.

  ‘Mr Merchant?’

  Red? Eve Bliss was Red? His boyishly slender Cinderella?

  Even as he thought it, doubt set in. Eve’s figure had a ripeness to it, her hair was the wrong colour. Could she be an older sister—?

  ‘Where is Christopher Merchant?’ Peter Ngei demanded.

  ‘I’m Christopher Merchant,’ he snapped, not looking around, but continuing to stare after Eve.

  ‘But not the one I was expecting to meet.’

  What?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, apologising for his lack of attention. ‘It was a long flight and my head feels as if it’s still somewhere over the Sahara. I’m Christopher Merchant III,’ he said, trying to put what he thought he’d seen out of his mind and focus on why he was here. ‘My father is recovering from a stroke. It’s going to take a while so I’m standing in for him. Everyone calls me Kit.’

  The man gave him a long thoughtful look, glanced in the direction that Eve had taken and then back at him.

  ‘I’m not everyone, Mr Merchant,’ he replied, pointedly ignoring his
outstretched hand.

  Not a great start. Peter Ngei already thought he was dealing with the second team and his moment of inattention hadn’t improved the situation.

  It didn’t help that, having seen the man hugging Eve, he wanted to punch him in the face.

  Eve had to be Red.

  You didn’t feel that kind of intensity about someone with whom you’d spent no more than five minutes. Even this morning, behind dark glasses, the sunblock, the hat, he’d felt the connection.

  He’d wrapped those wild curls around his fingers, looked into her eyes when the pupils were dilated with desire, knew that mouth and body intimately...

  The moment he’d first set eyes on her that night on the beach, even before her hand had come into his, he’d recognised a life-changing moment.

  He’d called her Red and she’d blazed into his life for one night, giving him everything and more. And then she’d vanished, not on the stroke of midnight, but just as effectively, leaving him with nothing but a toy elephant to prove that he hadn’t dreamed the whole thing.

  His sister, a self-absorbed teen besotted with the boy she was with that night, hadn’t noticed her at the beach party, had no idea who she was or who she might have come with.

  He’d roamed the island on his bike, the elephant in his backpack, hoping to catch a glimpse of flame-red hair until he’d left for France to prepare for the round-the-world yacht race.

  ‘Mr Ngei. I didn’t realise you’d arrived.’ James emerged from the office in a flurry of concern. ‘I see you have already met Mr Merchant. Shall we go through to the office? Kit?’ he prompted.

  Kit dragged his mind out of the past. He was here to represent his family and, so far, wasn’t doing a great job.

  * * *

  Eve showered, washing off the dust of the day, wrapped herself in a towelling robe and took her laptop out to the deck. She talked to Hannah about her day, checked in with Martha to make sure she was coping with the cat and then found herself typing Kit’s name into the search engine.

  There were dozens of pictures of him at the helm of terrifying yachts, with trophies, with girls, but the most recent were of him at the funeral of his friend Matt Grainger. In all of them, he was with Lucy, his arm around her, supporting her. In one she had turned to sob into his shoulder and he was holding her as if he would never let her go...

  She closed the laptop, put it down. While she’d been surfing, the sky had darkened to black, the stars had turned on their light show and the moon was rising, huge and white, silvering the landscape.

  Below her, along the river, frogs began their nightly chorus. There were discrete splashes and plops as hippos emerged, the cries of nightjars, rustles through the treetops as small night creatures hunted for insects. The slightly disturbing sound of an infant crying that was made by a bushbaby.

  All alien to anyone who lived in a city, or on an island off the east coast of the US, and yet, to her, so familiar...

  There was a gentle tap on the gate to her suite and for a moment her heart stopped.

  She couldn’t be certain that Kit had recognised her, but there had been a reaction in that moment when, stripped of her mask, she had come face-to-face with him. Not so much recognition as confusion.

  Peter’s presence, their meeting, meant that he hadn’t been able to do anything, say anything, ask the question, but she had been sitting in the African night, waiting for him to come.

  Or not. She hadn’t claimed a previous acquaintance and he had Lucy in his life now. Maybe he’d just leave it.

  But if he did come?

  She’d been sitting in the dark imagining what he’d say to her. What she’d say to him if he came, if he called her Red.

  Just dismiss that night as a bit of fun, nothing to fuss about? He hadn’t recognised her, and she hadn’t wanted to embarrass him. Cue a few awkward moments, careful avoidance of one another until he left in a day or two. But then they’d both be in Nantucket, living in the same small town. They couldn’t avoid one another for ever and it wasn’t just her. One look at Hannah and he’d know...

  Kit Merchant was Hannah’s father. Hannah had a right to know who she was. Kit had the right to know that he had a daughter, to decide if he wanted to be a father.

  It might be easier for her if he said thanks, but no thanks. Her father had never been interested in her or his grandchild. But it was Kit’s choice to make, not hers.

  ‘Memsahib?’

  Her body sagged. It wasn’t Kit at her gate. It was Michael.

  ‘You missed dinner, Miss Eve. We wondered if you were too tired to come down. Or not feeling well. Is there something I can bring you?’

  ‘I’m perfectly well, Michael. I had a rather large lunch at the village but thank you for your concern.’

  ‘It is a long time until morning. I could bring something to put in your fridge in case you become hungry in the night?’

  ‘Nothing to eat, but perhaps some tea?’ she suggested. ‘Camomile?’

  ‘Shall I light the lamps for you?’

  She shook her head. ‘We never see this kind of dark in London, Michael. Never see stars so thick and bright.’ So close that you could almost touch them.

  * * *

  Kit tapped on the gate that led to Eve’s suite and, at her invitation to come in, crossed the deck and placed the tray on the table beside her.

  ‘Is the resort so short of staff that they have had to draft in management for room service?’ she asked, without turning around.

  The lack of surprise, almost as if she’d been expecting him, the slight, almost undetectable shake in her voice was enough to confirm what he already knew.

  Where to take it from here was something else.

  Every instinct was to reach out, take her hand, just say, ‘Hi, Red. I’ve been looking for you. I’ve missed you...’ but he’d had a lot of time to think about how it would go if he ever found her.

  To think about every second from the moment he’d seen her sitting on her own, the setting sun turning her hair into a fiery halo of curls.

  She hadn’t just distanced herself bodily from the party. She’d had the lost, slightly melancholy look of someone whose head was somewhere else and that would have taken him to her side even if she hadn’t been strikingly beautiful.

  In the cold light of day, faced with the reality of an empty cabin with not so much as a note with a phone number or pointed comment on his disappearance, the fact that she hadn’t told him her name, it had seemed unlikely that there was no one in her life.

  He’d kept his search low-key, afraid that what had happened between them had been a reaction to a row with a lover, partner, husband even and that, with daylight, she’d regretted her recklessness.

  Were they still together?

  She’d been at the auction, but it was obvious now that she’d avoided him so presumably had not been on her own.

  She was alone here, however, and not wearing a ring of any kind, but had still acted as if they had never met when she’d seen him this morning, and again this evening. Maybe her response to the fact that he hadn’t recognised her, but she could hardly blame him for that. She’d changed her hair colour and been covered up so completely that she could have been wearing a disguise.

  Until he knew more, he would be content to have finally found her, to have a second chance of getting to know her, and leave it to her to decide when—if—she chose to acknowledge the night they had spent together.

  ‘You have your eyes closed, Eve,’ he said, putting the tray down on the table beside her. ‘How did you know that I wasn’t Michael?’

  ‘He has a heavier footstep.’

  ‘Then the next question has to be how did you know it was me?’

  A little sigh escaped her. ‘You bring an unexpected scent of the sea to the hot African dust.’

  ‘The sea?’ And this tim
e it was his voice that was not quite steady. There was intimacy to scent. It involved touch, taste... For an age after they had made love, the scent of vanilla had clung to him. It had drawn him to bakeries. He had smelt it on his hands after the auction and he could smell it now. ‘The nearest ocean has to be five hundred miles east.’

  ‘Nearer seven hundred.’ She opened her eyes and looked up at him. ‘Maybe you have spent so much time being swept by saltwater spray that it has permeated your skin. Become a part of you.’

  Now, he thought, she was going to say it now, but when the silence continued, he said, ‘I waylaid Michael with your tray because I hoped you might spare me a little of your time.’

  She glanced at the table. ‘Really? Did you send him back for the pot of coffee? Not a good choice this late in the evening unless you’re planning to stay up all night in the hope of seeing a leopard.’

  ‘Is that likely?’

  ‘The game wardens bait a tree on the other side of the river. Sit quietly and you may be lucky.’

  There was the faint creak as, taking that as an invitation, he lowered himself into the cane armchair on the far side of the table.

  ‘Can I pour your tea?’ he asked.

  ‘Michael would have added a Miss Eve to that.’

  He began to relax.

  He’d once, desperate to please, taken a girl to see some historical chick flick. At one point a pair of illicit lovers had met at a masked ball, pretending not to know one another, hiding their flirtation in full sight as they had danced together. He’d been fifteen, bored out of his mind, but he finally got the point of that scene.

  Fifteen, he realised, knew nothing.

  ‘You expect me to play butler?’ he asked, managing to sound just a touch affronted.

  ‘You brought the tray, you’re about to pour the tea,’ she pointed out.

  The only light came from the soft glow of solar-powered lights around the edge of the deck, but the moon was full and huge, silvering her cheeks, creating a wild silhouette of curls that, in his head, was that extraordinary clear, bright red.