Paradise Found

by Dorothy Vernon

  It was good to stamp her frustration out on the ground. She realized that she had taken an erratic course, but when she finally looked down from her vantage point above the treetops to a vista that varied from wild to cultivated to luxurious, and all of it beautiful, she knew that the experience far outweighed the odd blister and aching muscle. To get a wider view of the coastline, which was crammed with resorts and campgrounds wherever the smallest beach existed, she would need to attain considerably more height. Even if time had permitted that, her legs weren’t up to it.

  She found a shady spot to sit and eat her picnic lunch, which consisted of chicken, cheese, rolls, and fruit, and which she washed down with a bottle of mineral water. She remained there for quite some time, thinking, not about her decision, she’d made that, just wondering how she could cope. Matt was poison, yet she was drawn to him. How could she keep his hands off her when she yearned for his touch?

  The sizzling gold of the sun was a softer shade of liquid honey that slanted obliquely over the countryside as she made her way back, her footsteps dragging with an odd reluctance.

  As she proceeded up the drive to Les Charmettes she almost tripped over Matt, literally. Her view of him was at first limited to two denim clad legs protruding from beneath Hannah’s car. She didn’t want him to see her, she couldn’t have borne another confrontation at that moment, so she moved with stealth. Her step was quieter than the leaves whispering in the trees with the wind that had risen and that plucked mischievously at the hem of her dress.

  Whether he’d finished his task or just somehow sensed her presence, she had no way of knowing, but suddenly he came out from beneath the car, causing her heart to race with a peculiar rhythm at the sight of his muscled chest and brawny shoulders. A moment’s contemplation would have told her that of course he would have removed his shirt to save it from getting greased up, but all that rippling vitality, coming so unexpectedly, was almost too much to take. She had known that he wasn’t a sitting-behind-the-desk kind of boss and he needed to be powerfully built to handle the heavy juggernauts he drove, but knowing and seeing were different matters entirely.

  By the time she regained her breath he had wormed his way out and was sitting cross-legged, looking up at her. He looked hot and oily, but a happy smile of accomplishment was on his face as he said, ‘Hi!’

  ‘Hi!’ The wind was having another go at her skirt, and she tried to anchor it without seeming to be doing so. She wished he’d get up. The level of his view was rather off-putting.

  He remained complacently where he was. ‘That should do it. Had a good day?’

  ‘Yes.’ Nodding her head toward the car, she said, ‘Seems apparent that you have, too.’

  ‘I’m satisfied. I’ve got some work to do tomorrow. But I just may have it licked.’

  He scooped up a rag to wipe his face, which looked even dirtier than his hands, if that were possible, then finally levered himself to his feet.

  He was still grinning like a Cheshire cat about something. Could it be because of the satisfaction of a job well done, or something else? She was betting heavily on the something else. And she didn’t think the amount of leg he’d seen, or her embarrassment in showing it, merited such amusement.

  She wasn’t kept in suspense for long. No longer than it took to walk past Matt, through the arch and into the garden. She stopped. The place that Tony had said he would save for her was very decoratively occupied and that some of it wasn’t because of a tiny stirring of jealousy. No, she was being too hard on herself. And yet . . . She had always thought that she had a reasonably nice figure, slender but quite curvy, but the full richness of this girl’s breasts made hers look like nothing. The curve of her hips was only a mite less impressive than the length and lusciousness of her legs. It came to Zoe that she was looking at the girl as a man would, figure before face, and with a sinking feeling she knew that this was because she wanted to see her through Matt’s and Tony’s eyes.

  Zoe’s breath caught again on viewing the girl’s face. Her loveliness was something impossible to describe without using hackneyed metaphors. Her face was angelic, her skin perfectly smooth, its color confirming what had already been deduced from her body, that she was a sunseeker. She had a full and deeply sensuous mouth, gray eyes, thickly and darkly lashed, and silky ebony hair, and she was exuding a heavy perfume that seemed to be an intrinsic part of her. In a way she seemed old for one so young, because Zoe gauged her to be younger than herself. Somewhere between nineteen and twenty-one. The rose—no, she was too exotic a being to be likened to a rose—the flower, whatever it was, had lost its dew.

  Tony struggled up from his reclining position. It wasn’t until he awkwardly moved his arm that it crossed Zoe’s mind to wonder if he had been holding the girl’s hand until she herself came into view. Or was the abashed look on his face because of the proximity of the two loungers—Zoe’s, which the beauty had annexed, had been placed cozily close, and she hadn’t bothered to push it away to create a distance between them.

  Matt was still behind her, but she could feel his eyes boring into the back of her neck as he performed the necessary introduction.

  ‘Zoe, this is Camille. Camille is the granddaughter of André Dupont, you may recall. Camille, meet Zoe, Tony’s fiancée and our house guest.’

  Camille made a token gesture of inclining her chin. Obviously the friendly French greeting of a kiss on each cheek was not the order of the day, at least not where Zoe was concerned. Camille might well have been less inhibited with Matt and Tony. Zoe made a similar acknowledgment, and sank gratefully back onto the lounger Matt had drawn up for her. She was mesmerized by Camille’s eyes. Not for their indisputable beauty but for one other indisputable fact. Zoe looked into them and knew that her first assessment had been right. Camille’s years might pronounce her to be a girl, but she was a woman. Her innocence had gone. Who had taken that look which says a girl is untouched and replaced it with worldly knowledge? Zoe wondered.

  ‘Are you enjoying your visit here, Miss . . . ? I’m sorry, but Matt did not say what your last name was,’ Camille apologized.

  ‘It’s Fortune, but please call me Zoe, unless you would prefer me to call you Mademoiselle Dupont?’

  ‘No, Camille, please.’

  ‘I’m enjoying my visit very much, Camille. But who wouldn’t be happy in these beautiful surroundings? Let me congratulate you on your excellent English.’ It was better than excellent, it was fascinating when spoken with that intriguing French accent. Fascinating, and very sexy.

  ‘I live and work in your country. I, too, am here for a visit.’

  ‘Of course, I’m forgetting,’ Zoe said, though she had forgotten no such thing. Hadn’t Camille traveled down with Matt in the cab of his truck? She wasn’t likely to forget that.

  Matt took a clean handkerchief from his pocket, carefully shook it out, and placed it on the edge of Zoe’s chair to protect it from his grimy jeans, then he perched there. Had he done that to be near her or because that angle gave him a better view of the delectable Camille?

  Because Matt was in a much worse state than she was, Zoe hadn’t felt disheveled when talking to him. But now, in the presence of Mademoiselle Cool and Composed, she felt decidedly grubby. She was hot and weary, her flat-heeled sandals carried the white dust of the path she’d followed, and she yearned to sink her aching limbs into a reviving bath before they seized up. Not to mention the fact that her hair had been blown to kingdom come by the wind. Perhaps it was as well that neither Matt nor Tony was looking at her, because she couldn’t bear the comparison.

  They chatted for a while about this and that. Then Camille stretched with catlike grace, but not, Zoe felt, because she needed to stretch, but because the action showed off her stunning figure. ‘I could sit here forever,’ she said. ‘It’s so pleasant. But I must drag myself away.’

  ‘Won’t you stay for dinner?’ Matt invited.

  She pulled a face at him. ‘Chéri, if only I could. Papa is having gue
sts. It is a masculine affair. A reunion. He asked me explicitly to be there to welcome them. I shall be terribly bored, but I cannot do anything about it. Now’—her worldly eyes darted mischievously from Matt to Tony—‘which of you gallant gentlemen is going to walk me home?’

  As Tony shrugged and looked helplessly at his leg, Matt rose obligingly. ‘Give me a few moments to wash and put a shirt on.’

  Camille used the time to slip into the sundress which she had discarded and flung over the back of her chair. It was a bright poppy red. Respectably dressed, but looking every bit as alluring, she said, ‘I’ll go say goodbye to your grandmother, Tony. Goodbye for now, Zoe. I hope we meet again very soon.’

  ‘I hope so, too,’ Zoe responded. The lie sounded hollow even to herself.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Soon after that Zoe excused herself to take her long awaited soak and change for dinner. There was no sign of either Matt or Camille, she observed on entering the house, but Hannah smiled a welcome at her.

  ‘I’m glad you got back from your walk in time to meet Camille. What do you think of her? Don’t you find her a delightful child?’

  ‘Child?’ Zoe queried, irony in her voice.

  ‘Ah—yes! French girls mature more quickly, but Camille is only nineteen.’

  ‘I thought she might be, although I would have taken her for older.’

  ‘Was she flirting too outrageously with Tony? Is that why you’re on edge? Little French girls flutter their eyelashes from the crib. They practice on their papas, but they quickly realize what it’s all about and transfer their attention to the nearest unrelated male. Both Matt and Tony were suitable candidates, since they spent long vacations with me. It’s almost a way of life for Camille to flaunt herself before them. It is naughty, I admit, but then, Camille has always been inclined to be a little naughty. She has been spoiled. André worships her and has never been able to say non where she is concerned. But I assure you that what she does means nothing. Satisfied?’

  ‘Yes. Thanks for explaining it to me,’ Zoe said, wondering if Hannah really believed her own propaganda.

  It was no coincidence that Zoe took special pains with her appearance that evening, selecting from her limited wardrobe a long, multicolored skirt with delicate silver thread running through it. Because of its many colors she could ring the changes with a variety of tops, but she discarded the black one she usually wore and chose a silver top with narrow straps. Even though she couldn’t hope to measure up to Camille, she looked stunning and she knew it, and additional confidence came from knowing that Camille wouldn’t be alongside for comparison.

  Because she had taken rather longer than normal, she had no time for her usual stroll in the garden. Although there was no sign yet of Hannah, Zoe knew that Matt and Tony were in the dining room because she could hear their voices. She halted as she realized that they weren’t involved in a normal conversation and withdrew her hand from the doorknob. Unless she was very much mistaken, they were in the middle of an angry discussion about something.

  She heard Tony say, ‘Can’t you get it into your head that she’s chosen me? You’re out of the running, Matt. Why are you trying to foul it up for me?’

  ‘Foul it up?’ Matt came back with in that horrible mocking drawl which she knew all too well. ‘I’ve been the last word in discretion. It would be truer to say that I’ve covered up for you. I don’t have to foul anything up for you, Tony. It seems to me that you’re more than capable of doing that all by yourself.’

  Then Tony responded, ‘One lousy lapse. That’s all it was. And you set me up for that. The pair of you used me to serve your own rotten ends. And I was stupid enough to fall.’

  ‘In more ways than one. Don’t be ridiculous, Tony. I’m quite certain that you didn’t have to be dragged, and that you enjoyed . . . falling,’ Matt returned.

  Zoe didn’t need Matt’s tone to tell her that he wasn’t referring to Tony’s falling down the stairs; breaking a leg was no fun. She didn’t wait to find out if Tony’s lapse was going to be explained, though not to her credit, because it was wrong to eavesdrop on a private conversation; what made her move away was the approach of footsteps coming from the opposite direction. Hannah? She was going to feel very sneaky if Hannah caught her listening. So she squashed her curiosity and beat a hasty retreat back up to her own room, waiting there for a full five minutes before coming down again.

  This time, to her intense relief, Hannah was also present. She smiled as she saw Zoe, the small, mystified frown on her forehead being quickly ironed out.

  Had Hannah walked in while the argument was still in process, or was she puzzled because of the atmosphere that still prevailed? Matt’s face was tight and coldly angry. Tony’s was sullen, his mouth petulant. Big as they were, it wouldn’t have surprised Zoe to see Hannah take hold of their heads and bang them together to drive some sense into them.

  ‘What can I get you?’ Matt barked out.

  He wasn’t looking at Zoe, he was staring at a point somewhere above her head, but as both Hannah and Tony had drinks, the inquiry could only have been directed at her.

  ‘A small sherry, please,’ she said.

  Tony was sitting on the sofa, his crutches leaning against the arm. ‘Sit here, darling,’ he said, patting the place by his side.

  His tone was so tender after Matt’s brusqueness that she almost tripped over her own feet to get there. Tony’s arm went straight round her shoulders, not in the casual way she was used to in front of others, but to draw her close up to his side. This move accomplished, his fingers drew caressing circles on her bare arm. Zoe’s eyes flashed an urgent message at him to stop; such an open display had to be as embarrassing for Hannah as it was for her.

  Hannah’s smile never altered. She was doing her utmost to paper over the dissent by making light conversation. As well as being a self-confessed lover of the sound of her own voice, Hannah was also a great mediator, but not even her influence could bring things back to normal. Zoe greatly appreciated Hannah’s loquacious tongue, which left her unable to get a word in. The tension had destroyed her own power of speech. It was a blessing that her ‘yes’ and ‘no,’ ‘really,’ and ‘I agree,’ sufficed. A break in Hannah’s chatter didn’t occur until Yvette came to announce that dinner was served, but she was certain that she observed relief on the older woman’s chiseled features.

  It was easier at the dinner table because everyone was occupied in eating. Zoe wasn’t conscious of what she ate; it was undoubtedly superb, but it tasted like sawdust in her mouth. Even though Hannah was English, she ran her home on French lines, and the French were proud of the quality of their cuisine and revered their food. Eating was taken seriously; important as conversation was at a French table, it wasn’t uncommon for it to be slotted into second place, so Zoe’s staccato attempts to help Hannah out passed muster.

  What exactly had Matt and Tony been quarreling over? The fact that Tony had told Matt that ‘she’ had chosen him, and that Matt was out of the running, must mean that the angry exchange had been over Zoe herself. But what had Tony meant when he accused Matt of trying to foul it up for him? And what lapse was Tony guilty of?

  At last the interminable meal, with its many courses, was over. Now just the ritual of taking coffee in the salon had to be observed. Hannah went ahead to alert Yvette to bring the tray in. Zoe scraped her chair back and went to retrieve Tony’s crutches.

  ‘Just bring one, darling. I can manage with that and your support.’ As he gave the instruction Tony’s eyes glided over to Matt.

  Zoe didn’t like the feeling that a contest was being waged. Or was she being unduly suspicious? Tony had been partaking heavily of the wine; perhaps he didn’t feel capable of moving under his own steam. In any case, until she figured out what was going on, she decided that it was safer not to oppose him. She seemed to be in the middle of a combustible situation where the wrong move could detonate an ugly explosion.

  She handed one crutch to Tony and stood helplessl
y by as he got to his feet and slid his arm possessively round her waist. Was Tony showing extra affection toward her because he thought she might be jealous at coming back and finding him with Camille? Was this his way of telling her that there was nothing in it and at the same time reaffirming his love for her? It would be nice to think it was something as simple as that. But it came too soon on the heels of her confession about knowing Matt for her liking. She couldn’t help but wonder if Tony was gloating. Was this distasteful display designed to rub it in that she belonged to him? Whatever the reason, the walk into the salon was an act of ownership that made her blood boil.

  Matt followed with the other crutch. She cast a swift backward glance and saw that he looked as if it wouldn’t take much for him to hit Tony over the head with it.

  When they reached the sofa she tried to free herself from Tony’s hold, but his temporary disability hadn’t robbed him of his strength and she was pulled down, the hand that accomplished this grazing her breast as it journeyed to secure her waist. She shot him a killing look, but she couldn’t read a thing in his drink-glazed eyes. It was possible that he hadn’t done it deliberately, she supposed.

  She didn’t know why, but it came to her most uncannily that the contest wasn’t over her at all. She got the feeling that Tony was using her to score over Matt for something that had nothing to do with the present situation. Matt was a natural target for petty jealousy and grievances. But the people who begrudged him the position he’d carved out for himself were the kind she had no time for—the grumblers who wanted the wealth and the power but who weren’t prepared to work hard to get it. Surely she couldn’t suspect Tony of being like that? She’d be thinking next that Tony had known of her old friendship with Matt from the very beginning and that he’d made a deliberate play for her to get back at Matt, which was crazy. There was no sense in that thought because Matt hadn’t loved and lost her. He had dropped her. Tony wouldn’t have been able to know that the old interest would be revived. In trying to reason things out, she was getting more and more muddled.