Honeymoon Island

by Marjorie Lewty

  He was greeted by one or two of the other diners as they were escorted to a table in a corner, and Lucie was conscious of the glances of the men and was glad she had taken some trouble with her appearance. She intended to hold her own in every way with Guy, and that included looking presentable on the very few occasions when she had to be in his company.

  'What do you fancy?' he asked, when the waiter had produced the large bill of fare. 'Fish? Fish? Or— er—possibly fish?'

  Wonders would never cease! He had actually made a joke—of sorts. Lucie remembered that fish was always the principal item in Cayman Island cuisine—and very delicious it was, too. 'I couldn't ask for anything I'd like better than lobster,' she said. 'And aren't you being a little unfair? There are other things on the menu.'

  'Possibly. But I'm very often unfair, as you'll find out when you know me better.' There was a glint in the dark-blue eyes that searched hers lazily.

  It was incredible, he was actually trying to flirt with her—now, of all times. How insensitive could you get? 'I doubt if I shall need to do more than accept your help for the moment, until my brother gets here,' she said coldly. 'So there'll hardly be time to get to know you better.'

  He rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. 'I wonder why you hate me so much, Lucie.' As the wine-waiter approached he added, 'Ah well, it will doubtless all be revealed in due course—when we know each other better,' he repeated with maddening complacency.

  Afterwards, Lucie remembered very little of the dinner they ate. She was keyed up and on her guard with Guy, who seemed to be in a very strange mood—one minute treating her to his own brand of humour—which was too ironic for her taste—and the next concentrating on his food with a withdrawn, stern expression. He had said they had things to discuss, and she waited for him to start the discussion.

  Before they had finished their coffee the dining-room had filled up and Guy was obviously impatient to be gone. 'We can't talk here,' he said. 'We'll go up to my room.' He glanced sideways at her as he signed the check. 'Don't be alarmed, Lucie, I'm not suggesting anything improper.' He made it sound as if she were some Victorian miss, she thought angrily. But wasn't that exactly how she had behaved that night in the garden in Paris, when she had pushed him into the rose-bed and run away? She glanced at the lean, dark face and the straight mouth. It would be madness to tangle with a man who packed such an alarming sexual punch. Better to leave that to the girls in his own league—of whom there were no doubt plenty.

  'I'm not in the least alarmed.' She lifted her chin as they went up the stairs, and she was fairly sure that he was smiling his hateful, ironic smile.

  His room was of moderate size and comfortably furnished in dark wood. 'I usually stay here when I come to the Caymans,' he said conversationally, drawing the red damask curtains. 'It's what you might call a family hotel—very friendly. Do sit down.' He pulled out a small basket-chair for her. 'Would you like anything more to drink? I have a small store here.' He slid open a door in the wall-fitment.

  'No, thank you,' Lucie said politely.

  'Well, I hope you don't mind if I do.' He poured himself a whisky and came and sat down on the other basket-chair, which looked much too small for him.

  He took a swig of whisky and set the glass down on the floor. 'Lucie—' he began, and stopped. 'I don't know how to tell you this.'

  The blood drained from her cheeks as an appalling thought struck her. 'James? Has something happened to James? Tell me—quickly—'

  He shook his head impatiently. 'No, nothing like that. I haven't heard from your brother yet,' he said, and Lucie slumped back in her chair, releasing her breath.

  When he spoke again he seemed to be choosing his words carefully. 'You know, perhaps, that your father was one of my bank's customers. Has been for some time. Over the years we've helped him with a considerable amount of finance.' He paused. 'Would I be right in thinking that you're not very well up in business matters?'

  'You'd be quite right. If it's something to do with business and it concerns me, please spell it out in words of one syllable.'

  'That's not easy, the situation is complicated. But to make it as simple as possible I'm afraid I must tell you that your father is—was—on the verge of bankruptcy. Things have been happening recently in his various companies that have made it impossible for the bank to go on advancing money to him any longer.'

  Lucie stared at him, her brow wrinkled. 'But—but he'd have put things right. He's been through difficult times before and he's always come out on top at the end.'

  'Not this time, I'm afraid.'

  'What does it mean?' she asked, white-faced.

  'It means that all his companies will have to be wound up—go out of business.'

  'All of them?' she whispered, and she thought: What about James—and Angela—and the girls?

  'All of them.'

  Lucie's hands curled themselves into tight balls. It was too much—on top of everything else. But she must get it clear. 'Does that—would that include the company my brother James manages in England, too?'

  'I'm afraid so.'

  'But it's not fair!' Her voice rose in desperation. 'James's company is doing well, he told me so only a few days ago.' She remembered James saying he needed more capital and that their father was being obstructive, but she didn't mention that to this man sitting there grim-faced, like a judge pronouncing sentence.

  He shrugged. 'Possibly. But it looks as if all your father's companies were, so to speak, mixed up together in a devil's brew. If one goes, they all go.'

  Lucie began to shake inside. 'There must be some way out,' she muttered. 'There must!' James mustn't be faced with this. 'Oh, isn't there something you could do?' She looked up pleadingly into the hard face of the man sitting opposite.

  He said slowly, 'There might be a way, if you cared to take it.'

  'Oh, please tell me.' She clasped her hands together. 'If you could help I'd be eternally grateful. James has worked so hard and built up the business, and he's such a—such a reliable person. And he's devoted to Angela, his wife, and they have two lovely little girls—'

  The words died away as she saw the look on his face. She wasn't making any impression—he wasn't the type to allow his actions to be influenced by any appeal to his feelings. Always supposing that he had any feelings about anything except money, she thought bitterly. He probably hadn't even heard her emotional appeal.

  But she was wrong, he had heard. 'You care a good deal about your brother and his family?'

  Her eyes flashed indignantly. 'Of course I care. They're my family!'

  He nodded. 'Then that might make my proposal more acceptable to you.'

  'W-what do you mean?'

  The probing, blue eyes under their fringe of dark lashes regarded her with an almost hypnotic gaze. 'I mean,' he said, 'that if I were involved with the rescue of your brother's company as a family matter then the situation would be entirely different. I could do all that would be necessary to keep your brother's company viable.'

  Lucie licked her dry lips. 'But I don't see—how could it be a family matter? You're not family.'

  'I would be. If you and I were married.'

  'Married?' She stared at him, glassy-eyed. 'But that's impossible! We hardly know each other and we're—we're not in love. Quite the reverse, in fact,' she added bitterly. 'You're not serious?'

  'Dead serious,' he said, and she saw that he was. The dazzling blue eyes held her own until she had to look away. Didn't he ever blink? she wondered dazedly.

  She drew in a deep breath and looked back, and he was still staring at her as if he were learning her face by heart. Heart? What was she thinking of? A man like Guy Devereux didn't deal in hearts, only in pounds and dollars.

  'Is there—could I have a drink, please?'

  'Of course.' He was on his feet immediately. 'Whisky—sherry—brandy ?'

  'I think,' she said weakly, 'that brandy is indicated. A small one, please.'

  He poured the drink, and as he handed
it to her his fingers brushed hers and it was like an electric charge passing along her arms and down through her body.

  He picked up his own glass and raised it towards her. 'I hope,' he said, without a glimmer of a smile, 'that we can toast our mutual pledge and understanding.'

  Lucie took a gulp of the brandy and waited while it Burned its way down her throat. Dutch courage, they called it, but any sort of courage would do at the moment. 'We certainly can't pledge anything,' she said, pleased that her voice sounded fairly steady. 'It's quite out of the question, as I said, and anyway, had you forgotten that I'm already engaged to be married?'

  'Not any more, I think,' Guy said smoothly.

  'Wh-what do you mean?' she stammered.

  'Merely that your fiancé—your ex-fiancé—was staying at this hotel last night and we had a drink together. He got quite confidential. Don't pretend to be heart-broken, Lucie, you weren't in love with him. I only had to look at the two of you together to see that.'

  She went hot with anger. 'You—you—' She couldn't think of anything bad enough to call him. She gripped the stem of her brandy glass and lifted her arm, but his hand closed over it before she could throw the brandy in his complacent face.

  'No need for hysteria,' he said with maddening calmness. 'I know you've been through a good deal in the last twenty-four hours, but losing your cool won't help.'

  'Cool!' She flung the word at him. 'How can I be cool when the world is erupting like a volcano all round me? And you, sitting there making extraordinary suggestions that—that make no sense at all and just make me more confused and—and worried and—' She bit her lip hard as tears stung behind her eyelids. 'And take your hand off me! She wriggled her arm out of his grasp and sank back in her chair, closing her eyes, shivering with strain and fatigue.

  His deep controlled voice came to her through a faint buzzing in her ears. 'I'm sorry, Lucie—believe me, I don't mean to hurt you. But we've got to talk sensibly and not let emotions run riot.'

  He dared to talk of emotions! She kept her eyes tightly closed and she was afraid she was going to pass out. But she had to humour him, to keep this incredible conversation going. He had it in his power to save James's company, and if there was anything she would do—short of his preposterous suggestion—then she must find out what it was.

  She drew in a deep breath. 'What have you in mind, then, if I accept your terms?' she would have liked to say 'blackmail', but she must avoid antagonising him if she possibly could.

  He seemed to relax slightly. He leaned back in his chair. 'If you were my wife it would make your brother's company my personal concern. If my fellow-directors agreed—and I'm pretty sure they would—we could work something out that would save the company and allow it to continue as at present. Your brother would be manager, as he is now, but the bank would own the company. Also, I think—hope—that it might be possible to avoid the whole matter going to the courts.'

  'The courts?' Lucie's eyes widened in disbelief. 'Are you trying to tell me that my father has been— been stealing?'

  'That isn't a word we use much in our line of business,' Guy said evenly. 'Your father was a clever man; he owned several companies, as I expect you know. There are rules and regulations in company law and I'm afraid he has recently been—how shall I put it?—bending the rules somewhat. I learnt from him when I came out here to see him that he's been under considerable financial strain to meet a divorce settlement, and probably because of that he appears to have been using company funds for his personal needs. Also transferring capital from one company to another in ways that are almost certainly illegal, although this has still to be sorted out by the lawyers.'

  While he had been speaking Lucie's whole body seemed to have been congealing into a block of ice. This was a nightmare, it couldn't be happening!

  But somehow her mind went on working automatically. 'And if I agree to your proposal you can—so to speak—hush things up?'

  He grimaced. 'It's not a sure thing, but I'd try my damnedest, and I believe I could. Certainly I could promise to extricate your brother's company. Possibly even the other companies could be saved in the long run.'

  'But if I don't agree?'

  He shrugged. 'Then I'm afraid matters would have to take their course. Unless I have some lever to use with my co-directors they wouldn't be interested. There would be a legal wrangle that might go on for years. Bankruptcies, redundancies, the name of Warren Martin a target for the press. They'd make a meal of it—"Millionaire escapes arrest. Warren Martin drowns in tax-haven".'

  'Oh, that's cruel!' Lucie winced as if he had stuck a sharp blade through her.

  'You have to face the truth,' he said implacably. 'And life can be very cruel.'

  'Yes,' she said dully, 'I'm beginning to find that out.' She looked into the hard, arrogant face. 'Why do you want to marry me?' she asked.

  For a second she thought he looked taken aback. But only for a second. Then he smiled faintly and the dark-blue eyes glittered between narrowed lids. 'I suppose you wouldn't believe me if I told you that I fell headlong in love with you that night in Paris, three years ago, and that I've been in love with you ever since?'

  'No,' she said icily, 'I wouldn't believe you.' How could any man joke about such a painful, heartbreaking situation?

  'Well then, let's see if I can put it more objectively. Marriage is something I've been considering recently. I'm thirty-four. When my father retired last year I became chairman of the bank and my life-style has inevitably changed somewhat.' His lip twisted. 'I have had to become, like it or not, a more solid citizen, with all that goes with that status. And that seems to include a beautiful and poised wife.' The blue eyes passed over her slowly, and she cringed inside. 'You seem to fit the bill, Lucie Martin.'

  She fought down her humiliation and despair. 'Why not one of your girl-friends?—I'm sure you have plenty who would be delighted to fit the bill, as you call it. Why choose a girl who—who dislikes you as much as I do?'

  He smiled hatefully. 'A little dislike can be very alluring.' He paused, his eyes passing downwards to fix themselves on her soft breasts, rising and falling with barely-suppressed rage and despair under her thin cotton dress. 'I think we'd be very good together, Lucie. You might even fall in love with me in time.'

  She didn't try to keep the contempt out of her voice as she said, 'I could never fall in love with you. You represent everything that I loathe and detest. There, is that plain enough? Do you still want to marry me?'

  'Certainly,' he said.

  Lucie never knew how she managed to get through that horrible night. 'Think it over,' Guy Devereux had said when he drew the car up in front of the Maddoxes' villa. 'I'll be along to see you in the morning and you must give me your decision then. We can't hang about in a matter like this. I should think that your brother will be in touch some time tomorrow and we must get this settled before he arrives.' He switched off the engine and in the faint light from the inside of the villa she saw his mouth curve into that faint ironic smile that set her teeth on edge as he asked, 'I take it you won't want him to be aware of the great and noble sacrifice you're making on his behalf?'

  'If I decide to make it,' she said tonelessly. By then she had been too tired even to argue with him.

  'Oh, I think you will,' he said. 'And I'll do my best to make sure that it's not too much of a sacrifice. Anyway, sleep on it. Good night, Lucie.' He seemed to hesitate before he added, 'I'm sorry it's been such a rotten day for you.'

  She thought his tone had softened, but the last thing she wanted from him was pity. She needed to go on thinking of him as ruthless, hard, dominating, all the things she hated in a man.

  He moved towards her and she panicked. He was going to kiss her and it mustn't happen. 'Good night,' she muttered, turning her head away and fumbling with the door handle. As she stumbled out of the car and up the path to the villa she heard the sound of his soft, mocking laughter.

  The Maddoxes were catching the eight-fifteen flight to Mi
ami, and Lucie was only too glad to be up early to see them off. Dorothy kissed her with tears in her eyes. 'I hate leaving you, you poor dear, and I do hope your brother will get here soon. Steve will probably have to come back to—' she hesitated'— because of legal things. Evidence and so on, so he'll be able to tell me how you are.'

  Steve, that nice teddy-bear of a man, pressed her hand hard. 'I'll be seeing you,' he said. 'Look after yourself.'

  The taxi snorted away and they were gone.

  Carefully, concentrating on what she was doing, Lucie packed up her belongings and carried them to the villa next door. She set her travelling bag just inside the big living-room. She wouldn't unpack, because she didn't know where she would be sleeping tonight. If she agreed to Guy Devereux's cynical bargain would he expect—? No! she wouldn't let herself dwell on that. The idea of him as a lover sent waves of something like terror coursing through her body.

  Instead she would think of her father. She looked round the big, luxurious, impersonal room that had been his home. Had she ever really known him? Which was the real man—the glamorous, overwhelming father of her childhood, always with a big hug for her and a fabulous new doll? Or the angry, dictatorial bully she had fled from in Paris? Or the father she had found here when she came back to him—quieter, more subdued, more affectionate? Had he admitted to himself, she wondered, that he had finally failed, that he was—as Guy had said—on the verge of bankruptcy? No, not the great Warren Martin, not the shrewd, thrusting, resourceful man of business who moved millions of pounds about without turning a hair. He would never admit he was beaten, he would fight to the last ditch.

  Now he couldn't fight any longer. It was sad and somehow pathetic, as it inevitably was when a man who had always been a winner had, at last, to suffer defeat. But how comforting it was that he had sent for her, had wanted to make up their quarrel, had shown real affection for her. She was so very, very glad that she had decided to come.

  But now he had gone, and others had to deal with the wreck of his empire. Others would have to suffer, through no fault of their own. And that included James—unless—unless—