by Anne Mather
His own office offered no more reassurance. His desk, cleared of all but his personal correspondence, looked bare and unnaturally tidy. The reports and papers that usually cluttered its leather surface had been passed to someone else to deal with, and the room seemed to emphasise the emptiness he felt. Damn it, he thought, if he could lay his hands on Virginia now he’d be tempted to wring her neck.
The phone rang as he was standing by his desk, his clenched fists balled against the wood. The sound was doubly startling in the quiet room, and he pounced on the receiver, his stomach muscles clenching. Could this possibly be Virginia? Had his rage against her somehow brought her to the phone?
It was his father, and Alex sank down into the soft leather chair that abutted his desk as Vittorio Conti’s harsh tones rang in his ears.
‘Alex? E tu?’
‘Si, Papa.’
Alex answered in the tongue his father always used on the telephone. It was Vittorio Conti’s belief that one never knew who might be listening in to one’s call, and in a country where English was the common language there were obviously fewer people who understood Italian. That was why he insisted that his son be as fluent in that language as he was in his own, and why Alex didn’t hesitate before responding in the same way.
Now Vittorio continued, ‘I tried the house first, but Mama Lu said you still hadn’t arrived from the airport. I guessed you must have called in to speak to Grant. Is there still no news of their whereabouts?’
‘No.’ Alex was abrupt, but he couldn’t help it. The bitter disappointment he had felt upon first hearing his father’s voice and not Virginia’s still gripped him, and it was with the utmost effort that he relayed a résumé of Morales’s report to Vittorio.
‘San Diego, eh?’ His father repeated the name with a comparable note of frustration in his voice. ‘What in hell does she think she’s doing? She must know that sooner or later we’ll catch up with her.’
‘I don’t think Virginia does think. At least, not with her brain,’ said Alex wearily. ‘She just acts; on instinct, mostly. She wants something, and she goes after it. She doesn’t care who she hurts in the process.’
‘But to take Maria—’
‘Look, Papa, I’d really rather not prolong this discussion, if you don’t mind. I’m bone-tired, and I’d really like to get home. I’ll phone you and Mom later, if there’s any news. OK?’
‘OK.’ The old man seemed to sense that his son was nearing the end of his tether, and he backed off. ‘I’ll expect to hear from you later, then.’
‘Yes, later,’ said Alex gratefully. ‘Ciao, Papa. And—thanks for calling.’
Outside again, Alex breathed in deeply the cooling air of late afternoon. As the sun sank in the sky, the city streets became cool canyons of shade, and, in spite of his internal turmoil, Alex couldn’t prevent the sense of relief he felt to be back on the island. Increasingly hectic though Honolulu was becoming, it was his home, and he loved it.
Carlo didn’t do him the injustice of bothering to ask if he had learned anything new. He knew that if Alex had heard anything he would have told him, and he remained silent as his employer drove north along Kapahulu Avenue. The roads around the capital were busy with a mixture of tourists and home-going commuters, but, once beyond the city’s limits, Alex could relax. The powerful Mercedes would have eaten up the miles, but he kept it within the speed-limit. He was in no real hurry to reach home, whatever he had told his father.
He took the main highway across the southern flank of the island, and then drove north again along the coast road. The scenery here was spectacular, but although Alex saw the long golden stretches of sand, with the pale aquamarine water creaming on the shoreline, he was in no mood to appreciate them. He was remembering his daughter’s fear of her mother’s moods, and that without Mama Lu to intercede on her behalf she was vulnerable.
The Conti estate lay just beyond the Waiahole Valley, where orchids and anthurium blossoms grew in such profusion. It was a farming area, with fruit orchards and quiet meadows grazed by handsome horses, defying the hand of the developer. But Alex’s home was on the seaward side of the road, and the curving track that led from Kamehameha Highway resisted any efforts to infiltrate his privacy. Besides, at the gates to the estate he employed a very efficient security staff to ensure that no unwelcome visitor got in. The pity of it was, he thought now, that they had had no jurisdiction to prevent anyone from getting out.
A lush jungle of palms and wild hibiscus formed a natural barrier between the private road that led to the estate, and the manicured lawns beyond. Alex noticed that the white flowers had come into bloom in his absence; combined with the more familiar red blossoms of the hibiscus the effect was startling. Like blood on white linen, he reflected fancifully, and then dragged his thoughts from the precipice where they were heading. Virginia wasn’t going to defeat him, he told himself grimly. But the knife turned just the same.
Kumaru, his house—the house that had once belonged to his father, but which Alex’s parents had moved out of when Vittorio had retired—stood on a rise, with the ocean at its back. It had been Alex’s home for as long as he could remember; firstly as a much-loved only child, and then later, after his marriage to Virginia, they had occupied the self-contained wing that his father had had built on to the main building. Alex suspected that his mother and father had not originally intended to move out of their home. But circumstances had changed their minds. Although they had never criticised Virginia in his presence, it had become increasingly obvious that the two households could not exist side by side. Virginia had made no secret of her dislike of his parents, and, although they loved their only grandchild, when Vittorio had given up his active role in the corporation they had moved into a smaller house, nearer the city.
The house itself was a long, sprawling, ranch-style dwelling, with most of the rooms on the ground floor. But, as the house was built on sloping land, a lowerground floor gave space for what had used to be his mother’s garden room, a sauna and gymnasium where Alex expunged much of his frustration, and a play-room for Maria. Mama Lu’s quarters were there, too, next to the play-room. The old Hawaiian woman, who had been first his nurse and was now Maria’s, also acted as unpaid housekeeper, for Virginia had never been interested in looking after her family. It was all ‘too boring’: her words, not his. Besides, why should she bother about such things, when that ‘stupid old woman’ was perfectly willing to do it?
Things had changed a lot since the days when his mother had taken a pride in supervising the running of her home, Alex thought now, bringing the car to a halt on the pebbled forecourt. Although she had been a haole, or a newcomer to the island, having been brought up in New England and coming to the island for the first time when she married Vittorio, Sonya Conti came of good middle-European stock. In consequence, she had never been prepared to leave her household in the hands of servants. She had been there, ever vigilant, caring for her home and her family, creating the comfortable ambience her husband had needed after a day at the office.
Not so Virginia. Alex had invariably been greeted by some complaint about himself, or Maria, or one of the servants, and her ever-present craving for excitement had soured the whole atmosphere of the house. Indeed, were it not for the fact that she had taken with her the one person Alex loved more than anyone else in the world, he might have welcomed her disappearance. Though, he conceded wearily, knowing what he did about her mental condition, he doubted he could have abandoned his responsibilities completely. Family ties were too strong, and his upbringing had been such that he would not, in all conscience, have left her to her fate.
Now he thrust open his door to get out, but before he could pull his jacket from the back seat a small baldheaded man came rushing out of the house. Dressed in baggy black trousers and a dark green mandarin jacket, his olive-skinned face alight with animation, he came crunching across the pebbled drive towards the car. It was Wong Lee, Alex’s steward and Mama Lu’s husband, and Alex felt his
stomach tighten at the probable cause for his excitement.
‘Padrone!’ he exclaimed, skidding to a halt beside the car. ‘Padrone, you have a visitor.’
Alex endeavoured to control his quickening heartbeat. ‘A visitor?’ he echoed, as Carlo, too, got out of the automobile. ‘What kind of a visitor?’
‘What kind of a visitor?’ Wong Lee’s eyes registered his confusion. ‘What kind of visitor were you expecting?’
‘The padrone was not expecting a visitor,’ snapped Carlo shortly, his superiority of service giving the edge of impatience to his voice. ‘What the padrone means is—is his visitor on business, or pleasure?’
‘Thank you, Carlo, I can handle this,’ Alex inserted swiftly, sensing the potential for conflict and in no mood to encourage it. The fact that Mama Lu was still apt to spread her favours rather freely sometimes created other problems, and, although both Carlo and Wong Lee were in their sixties, sexual rivalry knew no age limit. ‘Who is the visitor, Lee?’ His palms felt damp. ‘Is it someone from the mainland?’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Wong Lee, giving Carlo Ventura a triumphant look. ‘She says she’s Mrs Ginia’s cousin. She says Mrs Ginia invited her to come visit.’
Alex’s brows descended. ‘Virginia’s cousin?’ he echoed disbelievingly, and then, before either Wong Lee or Carlo could make any further comment, he tossed his jacket over one shoulder and strode towards the house. Virginia’s cousin, he brooded as he mounted the two shallow steps that led up to the veranda. He couldn’t remember Virginia ever mentioning any female cousin, and he was pretty sure he hadn’t met her at the wedding. The marriage, which had taken place in London, had been a fairly large affair, it was true, and it was possible that there had been cousins of Virginia’s there that he had never been introduced to. But, as far as he knew, Virginia’s mother had been an only child—much the same as Virginia, he reflected now, with similar characteristics—and her father had supposedly died in the dim and distant past. Indeed, so far as Virginia’s relatives had been concerned, they had been rather thin on the ground, and the majority of the guests had been friends and acquaintances, and his own rather large circle of relations.
So, who was this woman? he wondered grimly, tossing his jacket on to a polished Japanese chest in the hall, and raising questioning eyebrows at Mama Lu, who had heard the car and was making her own, less energetic way to greet him. At something approaching two hundred and fifty pounds in weight, the elderly Polynesian woman was not disposed to hurry anywhere, and Alex had sometimes wondered at her apparent irresistibility to both Carlo and her husband. In Alex’s estimation, she could have crushed either of them between her massive thighs, but evidently he was not privy to her undoubted sexual attractions.
Now, however, he was not in the mood to consider such anomalies, and when she opened her mouth to say, ‘There’s a lady waiting to see you,’ Alex cut her off unceremoniously.
‘I know,’ he said, breathing deeply. ‘Who is she, and where is she?’
‘Well…she says she’s your wife’s cousin,’ murmured Mama Lu, glancing towards the louvred doors that led into the parlour. ‘I put her in there.’
‘Thanks.’
Although Alex knew that the old woman would have liked to accompany him into the parlour, his tone was dismissing, and Mama Lu knew it. But as she turned away Alex saw her reddened eyes, and, realising she was as upset over what had happened as he was, he made a rueful gesture.
‘I’ll let you know why she’s here as soon as I find out,’ he promised, and Mama Lu’s fat cheeks wobbled a little as she summoned up a tearful smile.
‘Shall I make some tea?’ she suggested, and, although tea was the last thing Alex needed, he nodded.
‘Yes,’ he said, guessing she needed something to do. ‘That’s a good idea.’
Mama Lu inclined her head, and ambled away towards the kitchen as Alex took hold of the handles of the doors. Then, forcing away the uneasy feeling of impending disaster, he slid the doors aside.
The young woman who was waiting for him was standing by the windows. Which meant she had probably observed his arrival, he thought grimly, giving her plenty of time to prepare for this meeting while he was still on edge at learning of her presence in his house. Was that why she appeared so calm and composed now, when only hours before she had been the one who had lost her temper? he wondered warily. For it was the woman from the airport, Alex saw instantly. The redhead who had been having the argument with the girl at the car rentals desk. The woman who had attracted his unwilling attention long before he had known who she was—or who she claimed to be.
CHAPTER TWO
ALEX was nothing like her expectations. From Virginia’s description, Camilla had imagined a man in late middle-age, with a balding pate, and a paunch. A man who was mean and cruel, more concerned with making money and running his business empire than with taking care of his young wife. He had married her because he’d needed a wife to provide him with an heir, Virginia had written, and after making her pregnant he had eschewed his responsibilities. Consequently, she was left alone and neglected on this isolated country estate, desperate for company, desperate for a friend.
And, of course, all that could be true, she conceded now, steeling herself to meet his dark-eyed gaze without flinching. Just because he was younger than she had expected, and infinitely better looking, was no reason to doubt that his character was every bit as black as Virginia had painted it. The trouble was, it seemed that Virginia wasn’t here, and now Camilla felt like the protagonist and not the defender.
‘You’re…Virginia’s cousin?’ he enquired politely, and Camilla, who had told the lie in order to get beyond the gates of the estate, felt a faint trace of colour invade her pale cheeks.
‘Not—not exactly,’ she admitted, wishing Virginia had not chosen today of all days to absent herself from the estate.
‘Not exactly?’ Alessandro Conti’s dark brows ascended towards the dark swathe of hair that dipped on to his forehead. ‘Either you are, or you aren’t. Don’t you know?’
‘My name is Camilla Richards—’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’ His drawl, which had echoes of the west coast of America in its depth and resonance, was attractive, but she refused to be diverted. ‘Um…Virginia…and I went to school together. We’ve known one another for…for over fifteen years.’
Alessandro Conti’s expression didn’t alter. It was still cold, and watchful, and infinitely suspicious. It made Camilla feel as if she had done something unforgivable by coming here, and she began to believe that Virginia had not been exaggerating.
‘So—you’re not my wife’s cousin,’ he said at last, and Camilla reluctantly shook her head. ‘Then do you mind telling me what the hell you are doing here?’
Camilla swallowed. ‘Well, really—’
‘Well, really—what? Did Virginia send you here, is that it? Did she tell you to get in here by whatever means you could? What does she want? Are you her messenger? Because if so I should tell you, Miss Richards—’
‘No!’ Camilla broke into his angry tirade with a denial that fairly trembled off her tongue. ‘No, of course Virginia didn’t send me here! I don’t know what you’re talking about. Virginia invited me to come. I’m her guest. And…and when your…your bloodhound at the gate refused to allow me to come in I said I was Virginia’s cousin, because it seemed the only thing to do!’
Alessandro Conti’s eyes narrowed. ‘D’you want to run that by me again? You say—Virginia invited you here?’
‘Of course.’ Camilla held up her head proudly, becoming aware, as she did so, that the knot she had secured so confidently in the hotel in Los Angeles that morning, was rapidly loosening, and fiery strands were beginning to tumble about her nape. ‘We…we went to school together, as I said, and when she wrote and told me—’
‘Told you what?’
‘That…that…’ Camilla faltered. She could hardly tell him exactly what Virginia had said, but at
the same time she had to give some reason for her precipitous arrival from London. ‘She—er—she said why didn’t I take a holiday in Hawaii? That…that it would be fun to…to talk over old times. I…I naturally thought you knew about it.’
‘Me?’
Alessandro Conti pointed towards his chest, and Camilla couldn’t help noticing the shadow of hair and skin beneath the fine material of his shirt. The shirt was made of silk, she thought, and it encased a broad chest and muscled biceps, the cuffs rolled back to reveal hair-covered wrists. Like the dark trousers that covered his legs, and moulded the undeniable evidence of his sex, it had obviously been made by an expert hand, and in one aspect at least, she guessed, Virginia had not been mistaken: her husband was obviously a wealthy man.
‘Me?’ he said again now, shaking his head. ‘You thought Virginia would have discussed it with me?’
Camilla licked her dry lips. ‘Yes.’
‘Then you obviously don’t know your…friend… very well,’ he declared harshly. ‘Exactly when was this invitation issued? And what do you propose to do now?’
Camilla frowned. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I said—’
‘I know what you said.’ Nervousness had made her defensive. ‘Are…are you implying that I can’t stay here?’
The look he gave her was incomprehensible. ‘You expect to stay? Now? In the present circumstances?’
Camilla gave a helpless little shrug. ‘What circumstances?’
‘The fact that Virginia’s not here,’ declared Alessandro Conti impatiently. ‘I understood someone had told you that.’
‘Well—yes.’ Camilla was confused. ‘But…she’ll be back, won’t she?’
