by Janet Tanner
Lilli. After what had happened he had not expected her to return to Madrepora even again, yet now he realised he should have known that if anything could bring her back it was Otto’s illness. Lilli adored her father, worshipped him almost. No disillusion, no heartbreak, could change that. They must have let her know that Otto was dying and she had come back to make her peace with him before it was too late.
Jorge’s smile broadened. Somewhere on the periphery of his thoughts he could hear Garcia still burbling on, becoming increasingly garrulous as the planter’s punch loosened his tongue, but it had ceased to annoy him much now, a mere pinprick of inconvenience no more or less irritating than the flies buzzing against the hot windowpane.
Lilli was back and the game would recommence. Magdalene had been his and Lilli had been his – and she would be again. Jorge felt the stirring of excitement, the rush of adrenaline in his veins and the first tiny trickle of sweat at the nape of his neck. He moistened his lips, dry from the planter’s punch, and followed Lilli’s progress across the airstrip towards the waiting car, unaware that he was watching her.
Lilli was back – and he wanted her as much as ever, wanted her with a hunger as sharp as his hunger for all the good things of life, no – sharper. Lilli could not be bought as he bought them, she had to be won, and that made the prize all the richer. But it would not deter him. If anything it only made him the more determined.
Jorge wanted Lilli more than he wanted anything. And Jorge was a man who always got what he wanted.
Chapter Twenty One
THE VILLA WAS sleeping in the somnolent heat of the late afternoon. The sun might be dropping now, a ball of fire, into the sea, but the residue remained, radiating in waves from the white stone pathway and imprisoning the perfume of the bougainvillaea and frangipani that lined it on either side.
Lilli felt it burning through the soles of her shoes and longed to exchange them for a pair of rubber-soled flipflops, longed, too, to get out of the cool-wool trousers and into a loose cotton sundress. But the discomfort her unsuitable attire was causing her was nothing compared to the tightness in her throat, the hammering of her heart. She was home and in a few moments she would see her father. It was what she wanted more than anything, her whole reason for being here, and yet now that the meeting was imminent she shrank from it. The circumstances of their parting were very immediate now, the awkwardness exacerbated by the years of estrangement. But it was not only that which made her dread seeing him. It was knowing that very soon she would be face to face with the reality of his illness, seeing with her own eyes, rather than with her imagination, the ravages it had inflicted on him. Then perhaps there would be no room left for even the smallest, nugget of hope, nothing but the need to accept somehow the finality of the situation and the knowledge that inevitably she was about to lose him forever.
The local boy carrying her suitcase was a step or two behind her. Lilli glanced around at him, at the grinning dark-skinned face growing serious as he approached the villa, which somehow seemed to project the aura of impending death into the brightness of the afternoon like a deep invisible shadow, and took a hold on herself. She must not let him see she was afraid. She was Lilli Brandt, daughter of a former officer of the German army, granddaughter of Vicente Cordoba, who had been a politician and landowner. In her blood was mixed the aristocratic heritage of two civilisations. She owed it to them to hide her weakness. She owed it to herself.
She walked up the shallow steps and pushed the door, which stood ajar, fully open.
‘Hello!’ she called. ‘I’m here!’
Her voice, firm and level, hung in the air like the heat of the day. And then, suddenly, the beaded curtain which led to the kitchen was brushed aside and Patsy was there, arms outstretched, a smile of welcome which wavered between laughter and tears enveloping her mobile brown face.
‘Miss Lilli! Oh, Miss Lilli! Praise the Lord – it’s you!’
‘Patsy!’ Lilli hugged her, feeling the ample breasts squash like overripe melons against her own firm body, smelling the indefinable scent of warm brown flesh that whisked her senses back across the years to childhood. ‘It’s so good to see you!’
‘And you, Miss Lilli! Oh, I’se so glad, so glad!’
The tears had begun to flow now, roiling down Patsy’s face as she held Lilli tightly.
‘Lilli.’ The voice with the faint German accent was brisk and slightly disapproving. ‘So, you’ve arrived safely.’
Lilli gave Patsy one last hug and turned to where Ingrid stood, implacable as ever.
‘Hello, Ingrid,’ She kissed her briefly on both cheeks with none of the warmth she had put into her greeting for Patsy, who still hovered, wiping the tears from her face with the corner of her apron.
‘Thank you, Patsy, that will be all,’ Ingrid said, dismissing her. And to the boy who stood uncertainly in the doorway: ‘Take Miss Lilli’s case upstairs, please, Cammy. You know which room.’
‘My old room?’ Lilli was suddenly horribly afraid that Ingrid might have made changes during her absence – she wouldn’t put it past her.
‘Of course,’ Ingrid replied briskly. ‘Well, Lilli, I expect you are dying for a shower and a change of clothes.’
‘I am – but not before I’ve seen Daddy. Where is he?’
‘He’s in the salon.’ Ingrid raised a cautionary hand to stop Lilli, who had already started in that direction. ‘ But I should warn you first – he really is very ill. Please don’t say or do anything to upset him.’
‘Of course not!’ Lilli replied sharply. ‘As if I would!’
‘It will be a shock …’
Lilli ignored her, brushing past and hurrying into the salon. Then, as she saw him, her step faltered momentarily. For all her apprehension she had thought she was ready for anything but nothing could have prepared her for the shocking, change in his appearance.
Otto was propped up by cushions in his recliner and fully dressed in a silk shirt of saxe blue and a pair of fawn linen slacks, but even sitting as he was his clothes hung on him and it seemed to Lilli that he had shrunk to a mere shadow of his former self. The once strong and handsome face was wasted and drawn with pain, his scar standing out livid and angry against the pallor of his skin.
Lilli froze with horror, then the love and concern were rushing in and she ran to him, throwing her arms around him and kissing his cheek, which felt cold beneath her lips.
‘Daddy-oh, Daddy!’
‘Lilli – liebchen!’ His voice broke.
For a few moments emotion overcame them, then Lilli dropped to the floor beside his chair, sitting back on her heds and holding his hands in hers.
‘You’re a fine one, Daddy!’
‘I know,’ he said ruefully. ‘I make a terrible patient. Ask Ingrid.’ He stretched out his hand to his wife, who had followed Lilli into the salon, but she hung back, respecting Lilli’s need for privacy with her father.
‘It hasn’t stopped you enjoying your drink, I see,’ Lilli said, nodding towards the glass at his elbow and trying to sound light-hearted.
‘No, I can still keep a drink down, thank God!’ He sighed. ‘ Oh Lilli, what have I come to? I always thought I’d die with my boots on. I never expected it to be like this.’
‘Don’t talk like that, Daddy. You’re not going to die!’
‘Oh yes I am, Lilli.’ He said it quite philosophically and she could not bring herself to argue. Any thoughts of trying to persuade him to take some treatment had fled from her mind; it was obvious at first glance that it was much too late for that.
‘So – did you have a good flight?’ he asked.
‘Fine – yes.’ It all seemed terribly inconsequential, but at least it covered the awkwardness.
‘How did you manage to get time off from your job at such short notice?’
‘I had some holiday leave due to me and I just told them I was taking it. Someone can cover for me. It’s not a problem.’
‘Good. Good. And the air taxi met you
in Barbados?’
‘Yes. A new pilot. He seemed nice.’
‘That’s all right then. I didn’t want you to …’ He broke off. There was so much he needed to say to her but it was too soon, and besides, he felt very tired.
‘Daddy,’ she said, reading his mind, ‘if you’re worried about Jorge, please don’t be. That was all over a long time ago. I’m older and wiser now.’
The shadows around his eyes darkened.
‘Does that make a difference?’
‘Yes,’ Lilli said firmly. ‘I was just a child then. I didn’t know … what I know now.’
‘Lilli.’ His fingers, almost clawlike now that so much flesh had dropped off them, fastened around her hand. ‘You still don’t know everything. We need to talk …’
The agitation in his voice alarmed Lilli. It also goaded Ingrid into action.
‘But not now, Otto,’ she said, ‘Lilli needs a bath and the chance to change into something cooler, and you need to rest.’
‘For heaven’s sake, woman, I do nothing but rest! It doesn’t do me any good.’
‘You’ve already overextended yourself today,’ Ingrid said firmly, refusing to rise to his bait. ‘You’ve been worrying yourself about Lilli – don’t deny it, because I know you have. Well, she’s here now, safe and sound. No plane crashes, no hijackers, no delays and no Jorge. You can have another drink and relax. There will be plenty of time tomorrow for all the heart-to-hearts you have in mind.’
‘Ingrid is right, Daddy.’ Lilli kissed his hands and released them, standing up. ‘I’m here for two weeks at least and if necessary I shall stay longer. So you see, we have all the time in the world.’
Even as she said it she knew it was not the truth. Their time together might be very limited indeed. But another day could hardly make that much difference.
‘I’ll see you at dinner – before, if I’m ready and you’re not resting. Dinner is still at eight, is it?’
‘Of course. Nothing changes here.’ But the overtones in his voice told Lilli that he was not only referring to the time of the evening meal.
She smiled at him, hiding all her emotions behind a carefully contrived mask of normality.
‘Just take care of yourself. No wild parties whilst you’re out of my sight!’
Otto returned her smile wearily. Every little movement had become such an enormous effort.
‘I give you my word on that, liebchen.’
When Garcia had left, returning to his launch which was moored in the marina, Jorge crossed the airstrip to the hut that housed Air Perpetua. He had hoped the new pilot might still be there, but he had already left. Manuel, however, was in the office, leafing through papers. He looked up, grinning, as Jorge entered.
‘Everything going smoothly?’ Jorge asked abruptly.
‘ ’Y-up. No problems.’
‘Good.’ Jorge picked up a form, glanced at it, put it down again. ‘The new pilot did the taxi run, I see.’
‘ ’Y-up.’ Manuel’s grin broadened. He knew who the passenger had been and what it meant to Jorge, but he made no comment. What Jorge got up to with the old man’s daughter, or anyone else for that matter, was no concern of his, though it amused him sometimes to watch Jorge’s womanising in the way it might have amused any voyeur, and he admired – and envied – his many conquests. Jorge still had a way with the ladies that Manuel could not possibly hope to emulate, although he was ten years his junior. Jorge played them like a big-game hunter going in for the kill and they stood no more chance with him than a lame lion caught in the sights of a high-powered rifle. Well, good luck to him!
‘How’s the new pilot been?’ Jorge asked. ‘Any more peculiar questions?’
‘Nope. But then I haven’t seen him much today. He was flying the old man’s daughter and I …’
‘Yes,’ Jorge said, cutting him off. ‘I know what you were doing. Just keep an eye on him for me, would you, Manuel? Let me know at once if you think there’s anything I ought to know.’
‘ ’Y-up. Will do.’
‘I’m off now. I’ve wasted enough time today with that fool Garcia. I’m going home.’
But he wasn’t going home – or at least, if he did, he had no intention of staying there. He was going to pay a visit to the villa and renew his acquaintance with Lilli. And both he and Manuel, who missed practically nothing, knew it.
‘Otto – do you have to tell her everything about the Sanchez family and your business dealings?’ Ingrid asked.
Lilli had gone upstairs and Ingrid could hear the grumblings in the somewhat unpredictable plumbing that indicated she was showering or taking a bath.
Otto shifted his tired gaze to her face and she winced at his obvious exhaustion.
‘Yes, Ingrid, I believe I do. I don’t want her finding out when I’m gone and no longer able to explain. And besides, it’s best she knows for her own safety. Lilli is headstrong and you know what Jorge and the others are like if they think they are threatened. She has to know they’ll stop at nothing …’
Ingrid nodded, resigned. Perhaps he was right. And at least it might mean that when Lilli left Madrepora next time she would never return again. Ingrid hoped with all her heart that it may be so – and not only for the reasons Otto had in mind. Seeing Lilli again had been every bit as bad as she had feared it would be. Lilli – so frighteningly like Magdalene – had reminded her once again too sharply for comfort of the woman who had stolen the best years of Otto’s life from her.
A knot of bitterness rose in Ingrid’s throat at the thought of it. All the long years of the war she had waited for him at home in Germany, praying for his safety. She had seen her own home destroyed by bombing, as well as his, and had told herself she must be brave. The houses were only bricks and mortar. As long as Otto was safe she could bear it. Each night she had slept with his engagement ring under her pillow as a talisman, longing for the day when at last the war would be over and he would return and put a ring on her finger which she would never need to take off again – the ring that would make her his wife.
But everything had gone wrong. Instead of emerging victorious, Germany had been humbled and Otto had not returned home in triumph but fled to South America. Even then she had waited impatiently for him to send for her, but the call had never come. Eventually the numbing news had reached her. Otto had met someone else – a Venezuelan girl, daughter of the man who had arranged his escape – and had fallen in love with her. Ingrid had been devastated. She couldn’t believe Otto could do this to her, not after all they had been to one another. The day she heard he had married she thought of killing herself. But then a heating anger had begun to take the place of grief and a fierce hatred burned in her for the woman who had stolen the man she loved. She might be young and beautiful, Ingrid had thought, she might have bewitched him, alone in an alien country, but that didn’t mean she would offer him lasting happiness. One day he would tire of her and when he did Ingrid would be waiting.
It had not worked out quite that way, of course. As the months became years Ingrid grew tired of her wasted life. She met a young doctor, and though to her he would never be Otto she decided to accept his offer of marriage. Ironically when she heard of Magdalene’s death she felt nothing more than a sense of regret for what might have been. She was happy enough with her marriage and if Otto was alone again, well, so what? He’d got his comeuppance.
It was almost ten years before she thought seriously about Otto again. Her husband had been killed in an accident on the autobahn and whilst packing to move to a smaller house she had found her engagement ring and, with a hint of nostalgia to add flavour, it had all come rushing back. Suddenly Ingrid was desperate to see Otto again, as if a single day more without him was too much after all the wasted years. She wrote to him and he replied, inviting her to Madrepora. She went, as full of hopes and dreams as she had been as a girl, and when she set eyes on him again she knew without a doubt that she had never stopped loving him.
They were married and In
grid had never gone home to Germany again. In the end all she had ever wanted was miraculously hers. There was only one thorn in her flesh, one person with the power to prick the bubble of her happiness. That someone was Lilli.
Lilli was the image of her mother, everyone said, and Ingrid felt sure that when Otto looked at her he saw Magdalene. Ingrid hated the way he spoiled Lilli, as if he was treating her to the love he could no longer lavish on Magdalene. And she was fiercely jealous not only of the closeness of their relationship but also of Lilli’s youth and vivacity which seemed to mock her own lost youth, a constant reminder of the woman who had stolen what should have been the best years of her life.
To her shame, because she knew the grief it caused Otto, she could only be glad when Lilli went away to New York. At last she had felt she had Otto to herself without the ghosts of the past. But those halcyon days had been all too brief. Cruel fate had intervened. Soon she would lose Otto again, finally. And now Lilli was back, throwing her beautiful shadow over what little time they had left together.
Ingrid went to Otto now, standing behind his chair and placing her hands proprietorially on his shoulders where the bones jutted through the soft silk of his shirt.
‘She’ll be all right,’ she said, comforting him with her lips and wishing that she could share Otto’s intense love for his daughter. ‘She is young and strong. It won’t happen again.’
‘I hope to God you are right,’ Otto said, and they both knew that they were not only speaking of Lilli’s involvement with Jorge but of other things, even harder to bear, that should by now be lost in the more distant past but which were too horrendous ever to die.
Guy de Savigny ate dinner alone – a simple meal of fish and mangos prepared for him by the maid. Then he piled the dishes in the sink, opened a fresh can of lager and took it out on to the veranda.
The moon had risen over the palm trees so big and bright that the night was almost as light as day and the still-hot air hummed with the music of a million mosquitoes and the rasp of crickets in the grass beneath the veranda.
