She tried to doze, but every time she felt herself sinking into sleep some new disturbing thought would flash through her mind, and finally she gave up altogether.
On top of everything else, she thought, that damned man has succeeded in throwing my sleeping pattern out of joint. If I develop insomnia I’ll damn well charge the sleeping tablets to his account.
Poor Jane, she thought sympathetically, at least he only invades my thoughts because I dislike him. Imagine how awful to be infatuated with him, to be haunted by his image, like something tauntingly close and yet inaccessible. Despite the madness of her response to him on the beach, it at least had the saving grace of only being a hiccup in her self-control, and one which would not recur.
At three o’clock she got dressed, putting on a pair of green culottes and a tan sleeveless shirt. He was waiting for her in the foyer, staring outside, half turned away, and she took the opportunity to look at him with unashamed openness.
His strong hands were thrust into the pockets of his shorts, and even thinking himself unobserved he still had something watchful and alert about him. What was going on in that mind of his? He had obviously just had a shower. His hair was still damp and was combed away from his face, emphasising the hard, ruthless stamp of his features.
He turned suddenly, catching her observation, and his expression changed to one of amusement.
Beth pursed her lips and walked towards him.
‘Where’s Jane?’ she asked, looking around for the other girl.
‘She’s not coming,’ Marcos responded flatly, ‘something about a headache.’
‘A headache?’ Beth looked at him, dismay clouding her face. Simple arithmetic meant that that left only the two of them on this marvellous sightseeing tour. ‘Couldn’t she have taken a couple of aspirin? Doesn’t she know that the fresh air will do her good?’ Doesn’t she know that she just can’t leave me stranded like this? Her prickly nature might be irritating, but it was nothing compared to what Marcos aroused in her.
He shrugged indolently. ‘It appears not. Why are you so concerned? I didn’t sense that there was a great deal of love lost between the two of you.’
He began walking out of the foyer towards the car and Beth followed helplessly, half running to keep up with him.
Once outside the confines of the hotel, with its central air-conditioning system, the heat wrapped around her lovingly. There was enough of a breeze to temper the warmth and she tossed her hair back.
‘Perhaps she’s feeling a bit better,’ she offered hopefully, as he unlocked her car door.
‘Perhaps,’ Marcos replied drily, ‘you’re scared of being alone with me.’
Beth jumped into the car and slammed the door behind her.
‘Well?’ he prompted softly as the car throbbed into life. ‘Have I hit the nail on the head?’
‘Certainly not!’ she denied hotly, but as he drove out he was whistling, as though the thought was affording him a great deal of amusement.
‘So tell me something about yourself,’ he said, driving fairly slowly over the bumpy road. He shot her a swift glance and grinned.
‘You’re in a sparkling mood,’ Beth muttered.
‘I guess I am. Things are going well with the project.’
‘They are?’ She relaxed a bit as curiosity got the better of her. That, and the fact that Marcos Adrino could be disarmingly charming at times. ‘Did you look around the site?’
‘I did, and it’s just what I had in mind. Close to the sea, but without any other hotels nudging it from the sides. And an untamed, lush backdrop that looks as though it’s stepped straight out of a postcard.’
‘The sort of place that encourages people to lose track of time? Beth volunteered, her mind captivated by the image.
Marcos darted her another appraising look. ‘Precisely. You have a knack with words, has anyone ever told you that?’
Beth laughed. ‘No one that I can remember offhand.’
They were driving through dense landscape now, a carpet of banana trees, their wide leaves dancing in the breeze. Marcos pointed out a turning to Marigot Bay and Hurricane Hole, a smooth sheet of water where yachts bobbed gracefully on the currents.
Beth watched, fascinated, listening to his descriptions and immersed in the splendid scenery. It was like driving through a rain forest. She had never before seen such an abundance of flora and fauna, and then suddenly the view became dominated by the startling sight of the Pitons, twin peaks, soaring proudly upwards.
She gasped in pleasure.
‘Stunning, isn’t it?’ Marcos said, appreciating her response. ‘You should see them from the sea. Quite amazing. The sort of unforgettable sight that lives in your imagination long after you’ve left the island.’
‘You sound quite poetic,’ she teased.
‘It’s easy to be poetic about nature,’ Marcos said semi-seriously, ‘it’s only slightly more difficult when you try to apply it to the human race.’
Beth looked at him, startled. ‘Surely you don’t believe that!’
‘When you live in the concrete jungle, you see enough deception to jaundice any finer emotions you might have for the rest of your life.’
He began talking about where they were going, down towards Soufrière, the small town that lent its name to the Soufrière volcano, and Beth was relieved that the subject had been changed.
Any talk of deception was a bit too close to the bone for her liking. She suddenly pictured how Marcos would react to the deception being perpetrated on his own doorstep, and she felt her blood run cold.
He would not be amused. He certainly would not wave it aside as a childish prank. She found that she was perspiring slightly, and focused her attention on the scenery, losing herself temporarily in it.
The Soufrière volcano, Marcos assured her, had not seen activity since the eighteenth century.
‘Oh, good,’ Beth said with a grin, ‘it’s nice to know that we’re not being suicidal in coming here.’
He laughed and together they looked at the sunken crater in silence, a dead grey pool that seemed curiously lifeless amid the fertile growth.
‘Back north?’ he asked, and she nodded, surprised at the length of time that had elapsed. And not a moment’s discomfort with him. When they hadn’t been absorbed in the panoramic view, they had amicably chatted about any and everything. He had a dry sense of humour and appeared to be able to talk on any subject with ease. He seemed to know as much about music and the theatre as he did about the financial market and the economy.
‘You never answered my original question,’ he reminded her, as they retraced their tracks in the car, only now driving with dusk fast on their heels, instead of in blistering sunshine.
‘What original question?’ Beth asked, puzzled.
‘The one about yourself.’
‘Oh, that one. Not much to answer. I have a sister, a mother, a stepfather and no pets.’
He grinned, and the twilight lent his face a magnetic sensuality. Beth slapped down her reaction and told herself that, however pleasant he could be, he was still dangerous. It wouldn’t do to let that slip her mind even for a moment.
‘Sounds about right,’ he murmured, driving more carefully now as the light faded.
‘You have a sister, a mother, a stepfather and no pets as well?’ she asked with interest, just in case he began quizzing her on Laura.
‘No,’ Marcos said evenly, the humour no longer apparent in his voice. ‘I have none of those. My mother died when I was three and my father followed suit ten years later. He died bankrupt.’
‘I’m sorry.’ And she was, instinctively so. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but that was impossible. She twined her fingers together uselessly on her lap.
‘Are you? So am I. I watched my father die, and I can tell you that bankruptcy is not very dignified. It’s degrading and it’s pathetic, especially to a man as fiercely proud as my father was.’ He could not conceal his bitterness, and, as though disliking the tu
rn in the conversation, abruptly switched the topic.
But his remarks, surely unintentional, had shown Beth a side to him that she would never have known existed. Not, she admitted, that she had given a great deal of thought to his parents and whether they were still alive, or what they did for a living.
Was that why he had had the ruthless drive to make himself a fortune? Children, she knew, often felt the compulsion to avoid the errors of their parents. She had been lucky. Her parents had had a warm and happy marriage, and she and Laura had grown up with the comforting thought that nothing was impossible.
Maybe she thought wryly, that was why she was in this situation now.
He was talking to her about a party being given the next evening, their last evening on the island.
‘A few of the local people and members of staff who have been helping with this project.’
‘Where?’ Beth asked.
‘One of the bars in the hotel. We’ve rented it for the night. Should be right up your alley.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Don’t you like dancing?’
‘Oh.’ Beth blushed. She had assumed the worst behind his statement. ‘I suppose so, yes. Though I haven’t done any of that for quite a while.’
‘Now isn’t that curious?’ Marcos said, as the car slotted neatly into one of the vacant spaces in the hotel car park. He switched off the engine and stared at her. ‘From what I gathered, you did a lot of that with Ryan.’
Beth floundered for words, finally managing to say stiltedly, ‘Yes of course. I guess I thought you were referring to the singles scene.’
Didn’t that just go to prove it? she thought, angry with herself. It was too damned easy to let her guard fall when Marcos turned on the charm. When he was snarling, she made sure that all her defences were properly in place, but when he smiled she forgot all about her sense of caution, and that was a sure way to court disaster.
And he had smiled too much this afternoon for her own good. She realised that she had found herself liking him. Liking him! The thought made her suddenly uneasy, and she snapped open her door, frantic now to escape his presence.
‘I’m out tonight,’ he said, catching up with her easily. ‘But do you fancy a drink now?’
‘No,’ she replied sharply, ‘I mean, no, thank you. I…I think I’ll pop in and make sure that Jane’s all right.’
‘Of course,’ Marcos drawled laconically, sensing her change of mood. ‘I forgot that Jane’s welfare is close to your heart.’
He looked down at her, his hair tousled from the drive, and she felt a pulse begin to beat steadily in her temple.
She felt… What did she feel? My God, I want him to touch me. The yearning was so powerful that she wanted to faint from it.
She spun around on her heels and without a backward glance dashed towards the sanctuary of her bedroom, only releasing a long breath once she was inside.
As an afterthought, she dialled through to Jane’s room and a drowsy voice answered.
‘I just wanted to find out how you were feeling,’ Beth said. She couldn’t say why she was bothering to be a good Samaritan, when the girl had had nothing pleasant to say to her from day one.
‘Much better, thank you.’ Jane’s voice sank a few degrees cooler as soon as she recognised the person at the other end, and Beth sighed. ‘How was your afternoon with Marcos?’
‘St Lucia is beautiful,’ she replied, skirting around the question. ‘We drove south towards Soufrière and then came back. It’s a great place to build a hotel.’
‘I don’t suppose either of you even missed my company.’ Jane’s voice was sullen and short-tempered and Beth could well imagine the downturned mouth.
‘More than you think,’ she answered honestly. Face it, if Jane had been there, she would not be going through this turmoil because she would still have been cocooned in her convenient line of thinking that Marcos was an arrogant bastard.
‘Oh, yes,’ Jane taunted down the line, ‘like a hole in the head.’
‘Look,’ Beth said, her patience wearing thin, ‘I didn’t telephone you to argue.’
‘No, you telephoned me because you felt sorry for me.’
‘Yes. No! What I mean is…’
‘I know what you mean! Thanks for the concern, but no, thanks.’
There was the dead tone as the receiver was replaced and Beth scowled at it. Poor Laura. Little wonder that she had hoped that Jane had been eaten by her workload.
She knew that she had infinitely more patience than her sister, and when it came to Jane even her supply was wearing at the edges.
And it was non-existent in the case of Marcos. He could antagonise her beyond endurance. But, a little voice whispered, he can also make you laugh more than anyone else ever has. She ignored the little voice.
But she was extra-careful now. Throughout the following day, she kept a low profile, sheltering behind Jane, grateful for her presence even though it could be trying most of the time.
In the afternoon, they visited the marketplace in Castries, an enchanting scene, bustling with people and jammed with all sorts of things for sale, from straw hats and bags to vegetables.
Beth conveniently detached herself from Jane and Marcos, and strolled around it at leisure, buying a couple of souvenirs to take back for Laura.
By the time they were back in the hotel, she was exhausted from the sun and the walking. The heat, she found, sapped her energy and left her ready for bed at a surprisingly early hour.
Maybe, she thought optimistically, she could creep away from the party without anyone noticing and catch up on her sleep.
And if she couldn’t, then at least Roger was going to be there. She could relax with him and with any luck avoid Marcos completely. Because she had found, much to her annoyance, that her eyes still insisted on sneaking to observe him, even though her brain was firmly against any such temptation.
She dressed carefully for the party. Her sister’s choice in evening wear was as flamboyant as her choice in swimsuits. If only she had thought ahead, she would have brought some of her own modest clothes down from Cambridge, but she had brought only a few working clothes and her jeans and jumpers. How was she to know that within a few days of working there she would be asked to go to St Lucia?
The black jersey dress which she chose was flattering, but extrovertly so. It was cut off the shoulder, following the curve of her breasts lovingly, falling from her waist in rich folds to mid-calf.
She applied a minimum of make-up and brushed her hair until it gleamed. Then she waited until she was perfectly sure that everyone else had arrived.
She was not into making grand entrances, and she certainly didn’t intend to start now.
She knew, without conceit, that she was attractive, but she had always been more than happy to play it down, preferring to look cool and sensible rather than sexy. Her sister, with those long rippling locks and extravagant gestures, was sexy. And Beth had always chosen the other route.
She wondered whether it was because they were identical twins. Their mother had never dressed them in the same clothes, and they had been encouraged to assert their individuality from an early age.
She could remember, quite clearly, when they were only children, going to a birthday party with Laura. The hostess had exclaimed to her father how different they were, even though they looked exactly alike, feature for feature. Her father had pulled Beth on to his lap and laughed.
‘This one,’ he had said, tapping her nose affectionately, ‘is my practical, serious little baby. Quite different from her sister, but still two sides of the same coin.’
I miss my father, she thought. The previous day, when they had been sightseeing, during one of the comfortable lulls between them, Marcos had asked her about her parents, and she had found herself confiding in him, talking about her father, saying things that had surprised her. He had managed to stir up a nest of bittersweet memories inside her.
The man, she thought now, regarding her ref
lection sombrely, had a talent for drawing people out, hearing their confidences. The sign of the inveterate charmer. The man who listened was halfway to winning a woman’s heart.
It was just a good job that she was clever enough to spot the danger. Not that he had any interest in winning her heart. Oh, no. That sort of thing came naturally to him. He could bowl a woman over while remaining immune to the situation.
The room was already crowded by the time she finally made it down.
There were the local people, some four or five in total, who had also brought their other halves. One had brought his two teenage daughters who wore on their pretty olive-skinned faces a mixture of shyness and delight. Then there were the company members, including Roger. He spotted her immediately and waved, moving over to take her by her arm.
‘You might be late,’ he informed her wolfishly, ‘but you’re well worth the wait.’
Beth laughed, accepting the drink that he had brought over to her, her eyes involuntarily skirting around the room, settling briefly on Marcos until she felt that familiar quickening of her pulses. Then she looked away.
He was talking to two men, dominating the conversation, while Jane hovered on the sidelines, nodding vigorously to everything he said.
He had not even seen her enter the room, and for that she was grateful. Better to be ignored than confronted by him.
She began chatting to Roger, telling him about what she had seen of the island, genuinely envious when he told her that he would be there for at least another week.
‘Doing all the groundwork. The Prince of Darkness has no qualms about delegation, and actually I don’t mind, because I know that he could do it all himself if he had the time or really wanted to. That’s the difference between a good boss and a bad one. The bad ones give orders but half the time they don’t know what they’re talking about.’
‘Very philosophical.’ Beth grinned. ‘Sounds as if the Prince of Darkness has a fan club in you.’
Roger shrugged. ‘He’s bloody clever, and he’s fair. He’s had to work his way up from nothing, you know.’
‘I know.’
Roger looked at her in surprise. ‘You know? He told you?’
Charade of the Heart Page 8
