by Andrea Barry
"But I'm on my way to Kenya. I'm visiting my aunt in a place called Keekoroti, outside of Nairobi," Patricia said.
"We know Keekoroti!" cried little Pierre. "We go there in our own plane! Uncle Armand is a pilot, and he takes us there," he continued proudly. "When I grow up he will teach me how to fly."
"You will love Keekoroti," said Marinette. "It is a beautiful estate. We have visited your aunt on several occasions. The children love her."
So it was true the Vincents were friends of Aunt Pat's! For some reason, this came as a surprise. Patricia had thought Armand was making it up when he told her so on the flight from New York. She had been certain he was simply trying to impress and confuse her.
Patricia finished her coffee, which had been served in a delicate cup of Italian faience, and returned her napkin to a silver ring beside her place setting.
"May we be excused?" the children asked, as a butler came in to clear away the dishes.
"Certainly," answered their mother. "And if you like, you can show Patricia the rest of the house. In the meantime…"—she turned to Patricia—"My brother and I will put our heads together and make plans for the rest of the day. Do you like walking, Patricia?"
"Oh, yes," Patricia answered with enthusiasm. She hoped to explore some of the vast grounds surrounding the villa.
"Then change into something comfortable," Marinette suggested. "And if you need anything, just ring."
Patricia liked every room the children showed her in the large, bright house. She noticed when she went back to her own room that a bouquet of carnations had been set on a table in front of the window.
How considerate the Vincents are of their guests, she thought.
She changed her clothes, and when she returned downstairs, dressed in beige jeans and a matching T-shirt edged in blue, she found Marinette, also in jeans, alone on the terrace.
"Armand had to catch up on some business," she explained. "He is a very hard-working man, but he will be back in time to take you to the Island of Birds."
Patricia hadn't pictured Armand as a working man and wondered what his work was, but didn't wish to appear nosy.
"What is the Island of Birds?" she asked.
"It is a special place where birds come to roost at sunset. Let it be a surprise…" Marinette said mysteriously. "Later, Armand plans to take you out to dinner at a nightclub in the Hotel Ivoire." She proceeded to describe the club in glowing terms. Patricia was sure she would enjoy the evening, as well as the afternoon.
"Right now, let's explore the gardens, shall we?" Marinette said pleasantly, leading the way.
Patricia found her excursion with Marinette not only interesting but enlightening. After walking through multicolored rose gardens and visiting a greenhouse filled with many varieties of orchids, the women continued on to a coffee plantation that perched on the side of the mountain. There they decided to descend and drive around so Patricia could see more of scenic Abidjan.
They skirted an airstrip where a white Lear jet stood in front of its own hangar. Patricia surmised it was the plane Armand flew.
As they drove over a tall bridge on the Ebrie Lagoon, Marinette pointed to a glass office building, explaining it was the Vincent Enterprises' corporate headquarters. "What had been started by grandpere as a small coffee business has become, over the years, a multifaceted, international corporation."
"Is that where Armand works?" Patricia asked.
"Yes, but his heart is not really in the running of the corporation, which is what he's been doing for the past few years."
"Oh, doesn't he like business?" Patricia gathered this would leave him little time for being a playboy.
"Well, it's not that. Armand wants to put all of his time and know-how into working on a charity foundation devoted to needy children. Armand is a philanthropist at heart, as was our father. You know, a business background is needed to administer philanthropic funds properly."
"Of course." Patricia agreed. "Is the foundation limited to Ivory Coast?"
"No, its programs include children all over the world."
"Really?" Patricia was greatly impressed because this was a cause near her heart.
"Armand really loves children," Marinette went on. "He is basically a family man. It's only that he seems to have given up any thought of having a family of his own, since my husband died. Oh, how I wish he'd get married!" Marinette exclaimed, then added, "but, you know— he's so hard to please. Every time I bring up the subject, he simply tells me he hasn't met the right woman as yet. I wonder if he ever will…"
"Perhaps he's just not interested."
"Oh, no, I'm sure that's not it, Patricia. I guess, underneath it all, Armand is very romantic. He tells me that when he meets the right woman, he'll fall in love instantly; he'll know it right away. Of course, he's not an easy man to please, temperamental and fiery. He'll need someone who is understanding."
It was plain to see that Marinette considered her brother a very serious man—a man with high ideals.
"Did you girls have a good time?" Armand greeted them.
He had changed from a suit to a pair of tight, faded blue-jeans that outlined his sinewy legs. A white knit shirt clung to his broad, muscular chest. Black curls peeked out from the shirt's V opening.
He gave Patricia an appraising glance, nodding approvingly as his eyes slid over the beige top that hugged her firm breasts. Her jeans fitted tightly around her slim form. She had let her hair down and it hung loosely all the way to her shoulders.
"You look as though you belong here, Patrice," Armand said extending his hand. He led her down stone steps that cut through a part of the gardens she had not yet seen, to an inlet on the lagoon. Here a large cabin cruiser and a small speed boat were docked.
"Bon apres-midi, Monsieur le Comte," a white-clad boatman greeted Armand. "Do you wish to take the speedboat?"
"Yes, Louis. We shall be going to l'Isle des Oiseaux."
Armand helped Patricia on board and started the powerful engine.
"I shall handle the boat myself," he said to the boatman who was getting a cushion for Patricia.
Steering with his right hand, he put his other arm lightly around Patricia's waist. To her surprise she found his touch pleasant and exciting and she let her body rest against his as they glided over the azure waters. "Your hair is one of your most beautiful features, Patrice," Armand whispered. "It has a life of its own. Just now it is like the sun itself, each strand a red-golden ray."
Patricia could feel the touch of his lips on her hair.
"The tropical sun and the wind become you, petite tigresse."
A sudden lurch of the boat pushed her even closer to him. She could almost taste the salt on his skin as the spray rose around them.
"You are so lovely, Patrice." It was as though the very wind spoke the tender words.
"Thank you," was all she managed to say, thinking that he too looked beautiful, his shining black hair falling over his high forehead, his chiseled face aglow with the radiance of the sun.
An exciting warmth emanating from his body ignited dangerous sparks within her, reaching her inner being. She could move away from him, she knew—but why? She was safe here on the boat. The boatman sat only a few feet behind them. She was sure Armand would not dare do anything unseemly here.
She let herself succumb to the languorous feeling of well-being, breathing in the salty fragrance of Armand's body. She could feel the softness of the hair that grew on his chest, through the thin shirt he wore. She enjoyed the feel of his hard, male body next to hers. She was aglow with a strange excitement that made her giddy.
Armand turned his head and looked straight into Patricia's eyes, his right hand remaining in total control of the speeding craft. His eyes were more violet than ever, reflecting the bright African sun. His lips were wet and shining as he tossed his black curly hair like a beautiful wild animal.
"You are the kind of woman a man cannot seduce with words and empty compliments. You're not a wom
an to be taken lightly. You are meant to be loved, Patrice."
It was incredible how excited his words made her feel.
"The only way to possess you, truly possess you, Patrice, would be in marriage."
His lips moved again over her hair and suddenly Patricia wanted to find out what his lips would be like upon her own. In an uncontrollable movement, spurred by some force she had no control of, she slowly raised her mouth to him, closing her eyes.
"We're almost here," she heard him say. She realized he had turned away and was motioning the boatman to come forward and take over the controls of the boat.
"Look," he said, pointing ahead. "This is where we are going to land."
A lush, bright green, uninhabited islet rose in the midst of the shining lagoon. Covered with tall trees, it looked unreal in the yellow and orange rays of the setting sun.
"It seems an enchanted island," Patricia said. She was glad Armand hadn't been aware of her sudden desire to kiss him.
Whatever came over me? she chided herself. It must be the romantic sea air. But she knew it wasn't the sea… It was Armand.
The boat came to a stop and Armand jumped onto a spit of sand that edged the islet. He extended his hand to help Patricia out and lead her into the mysterious, lush greenery of the island.
"Where are you taking me, Armand?" she said, pretending fright.
"Just you wait and see." He laughed.
Trees with thick trunks and delicate leaves were all around them, forming lacy canopies above their heads. On the soft forest floor, flowers of curious beauty raised their faintly tinted heads as they walked.
Soon they came to a small clearing. Armand put a finger to his lips, motioning Patricia to sit beside him on a fallen log. She could hear a whirring in the air, and suddenly in the open patch of sky above them there was a kaleidoscopic movement of bright colors as a thousand wings shone in the setting sun. Masses of tropical birds began descending on the trees around them, filling the air with whistles, cooings, and chirpings.
Armand held Patricia's hand tightly, as though to share, in every possible way, the spectacle of nature they were a part of in this enchanted forest.
"These are toucans, doves, pelicans, and many more," Armand whispered. His lips were against Patricia's ear, and his very breath seemed to enter the core of her being. "They come from all over the lagoon to spend each night here on l'Isle des Oiseaux."
Patricia was filled with wonder, listening to the enchanting sounds of the magnificent, tropical birds; strange melodies she had never heard before. It was like being a guest in nature's own secret garden. She remained quiet as Armand was, happy to just be with him.
Shadows crept over Armand's features. The colorful flurries of wings turned to grays as night began to descend. Patricia could hardly see his face in the descending darkness.
His arm was around her and she rested her head on his shoulder.
"You are very sensitive to the beauties of nature, Patrice, aren't you?" Armand was the first to break the silence, as the song of the birds grew fainter with the approach of night.
"So are you, Armand," she said pensively.
He lowered his face to hers and his lips touched her forehead, descending slowly to her cheek, and then, ever so lightly, moved to her lips. It was almost as if one of the flying birds had touched her lips with its delicate wing.
Patricia felt as though she were floating; her hand sought the back of his neck.
Suddenly his arms became steel around her waist, his mouth hot and demanding, forcing her own to open.
"Don't, don't." She moaned, speaking more to her own body, which was more than ready to respond to his demands and succumb to the dictates of her growing desire, than to Armand. She pressed her palms against his chest, trying to break the close embrace, her mouth struggling to move away from his.
He let out a low laugh and let her go instantly.
"No need to fight me, petite tigresse." His voice was steady. "You require a great deal of patience, don't you?"
Patricia was confused. She hadn't expected him to give up so easily.
"I thought you wanted this as much as I," he said. "Are you afraid of your own passion?"
He helped her to rise. Then, slowly he led her out of the tropical forest, to the edge of the tiny island where their boat waited.
Neither of them spoke as they motored back on the shining waters that had become indigo. They remained silent as they walked up the hill, through the gardens fragrant with jasmine and roses, to the brightly lit house; both were under the spell of the beauty they had experienced.
"Thank you for a lovely excursion, Armand," Patricia said when they were inside the house. "I really enjoyed the Island of Birds."
"I'm glad, Patrice," Armand smiled. "And now I suggest you take a nap. You have a long evening ahead of you."
"Oh… ?"
"Dinner and dancing at Les Toits d'Abidjan, a supper club I think you will like. How does that sound?"
"Very nice! Until later then," she said, mounting the steps to her room, quite anxious for a rest—happy but exhausted.
Chapter Five
Patricia looked forward to her evening with Armand. As disturbing as he was, his aura was such that she found herself aglow with anticipation. They were to dine at Les Toits d'Abidjan. Marinette described the club as cosmopolitan enough so that you would think you were in Paris, and yet so exotic that you knew it was in Africa. The very name, "The Roofs of the City," sounded intriguing.
Patricia had taken a nap and woke full of energy. She surveyed the mirrored bathroom of her suite. It was as luxurious as her room. There were cosmetics and perfumes as well as bath oils on glass shelves next to the large marble tub. Thick colorful towels hung on porcelain hooks next to a terrycloth robe. There was even a hairdryer, so a guest could never be found wanting.
After a leisurely bath, Patricia washed and blow-dried her hair. She decided a simple mauve sheath would be her attire for the evening and she made herself comfortable in front of a tall antique cheval glass decorated in intricate boiserie, as she combed her hair into an upsweep. It was a procedure that took time, but the result would be worth it.
The hairdo completed, Patricia peered critically into the mirror and was happy to see the effect achieved. It gave her a look of sophisticated elegance that accentuated her long slender neck and showed off her high forehead to best advantage.
Then, never one to use a great deal of makeup, she applied a transparent powder over her face, foregoing rouge. A touch of eyeshadow and a shiny raspberry lipstick completed the job. In another half hour Patricia was dressed and ready to go.
"You look stunning, Patrice," Armand complimented her when she came down the stairs into the foyer where he stood waiting for her, wearing a tuxedo.
"So do you," Patricia reciprocated in kind, smiling. She noticed how his ruffled white shirt brought out the darkness of his hair and the glow of his tanned complexion. His aristocratic features were enhanced by the impeccable formal attire.
The same uniformed chauffeur who had brought Patricia and the family from the airport earlier in the day, drove the couple downtown.
"You needn't wait for us, Gaston." Armand dismissed the driver when they pulled up in front of the Hotel d'Ivoire. "Just leave the car in the garage downstairs for me."
The vast lobby of the skyscraper seemed a tower of Babel. Armand held Patricia's arm as he led her among groups of people who greeted him in many different languages. He answered as easily in French and English as in Italian and German.
Several other guests dressed in evening clothes joined them in the shining chrome elevator that sped to the thirty-eighth floor, where the doors slid open to reveal a large circular restaurant, glassed-in from floor to ceiling.
Patricia was aware of many admiring glances as she and Armand entered the restaurant. She soon realized the glances weren't for her alone, but for both of them. They obviously made a striking couple, complementing each other in looks. He, tall
and dark, his tuxedo fitting him like a second skin; she, slight, shorter, yet slim and graceful in a simple mauve silk sheath which followed the contours of her body, and ended at the hem with a flounce that moved with her every step. Accentuating her shapely legs were ankle-strapped black silk shoes supported by the tiniest of heels. She wore no jewelry except for a thin gold chain that hung loosely around her throat and matching earrings.
A red-coated maitre d'hotel approached them.
"How are you this evening, Monsieur le Comte?" he said to Armand. "I have your usual table by the window ready for you, sir."
It was obvious Armand was a frequent guest here, held in esteem by everyone. Several diners nodded their heads in friendly greetings as the maitre d'hotel led the couple to a table overlooking the city.
Exotic bright pillows were scattered on the velvety banquette just big enough for two. There was an instant sense of intimacy the moment Patricia sat down and felt Armand slide in next to her, his sinuous body almost touching hers, since there was nothing between them on the soft, plushy seat.
Patricia turned her gaze to the table in front of them, set in silver and crystal, a bouquet of scarlet carnations mixed with delicate sprigs of orchids in whites and purples as a centerpiece.
"Would you care for an aperitif?" Armand asked. "Never mind"—he smiled, continuing before Patricia could answer—"I remember… you prefer a fresh fruit juice, am I correct?"
"Yes, I do." Patricia was pleased. Except for the one glass of champagne she had shared with Armand on the airplane she had declined alcohol. It was nice of him to remember.
"A blond Dubonnet for me, please," Armand said to the waiter who had approached their table. "And for Mademoiselle please prepare a fresh fruit juice made from a macedoine de pamplemousse, orange, et papaya."
"I hope you don't mind, Patrice," he said, "I've taken the liberty of ordering a special dinner for us—dishes that will introduce you to our cuisine. Will you trust my choices?"
"Oh, yes, Armand." Patricia was enthusiastic. "I know I can trust you with the choice of food."
