by Anne Mather
Camilla’s lips parted. She had the feeling she was getting into matters that didn’t concern her. But it seemed that Mama Lu had no great love for the Blaisdells, and that was reassuring.
‘What time would you like lunch?’ the housekeeper asked now, and Camilla was relieved at the change of topic.
‘Um…when…whenever it’s convenient,’ she murmured, lifting her shoulders. ‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble—’
‘It’s no trouble.’ Mama Lu started towards the door, and then turned back. ‘You staying for a while?’
‘I…don’t know.’ Camilla didn’t have an answer for her. ‘For a couple of days, maybe.’
‘You looking for Virginia, too?’
‘You could say that.’ Camilla shrugged. ‘As I told you yesterday, I thought she’d be here.’
‘Mmm.’ Mama Lu absorbed this. ‘Well, Alex will find her, if anyone can.’
‘You think so?’
‘I think so,’ Mama Lu conceded. ‘He wants that little girl back.’
‘Little girl?’ Camilla frowned. ‘Oh—you mean…Maria.’
‘That’s what I said,’ agreed the housekeeper, waddling out of the room. ‘She made a mistake, taking the little one with her. Alex won’t rest until he finds her, and then…’
But the rest of her sentence was made inaudible by the fact that she was too far away for Camilla to hear her, and she was left with the undoubted belief that Virginia had made a bad enemy.
CHAPTER FIVE
ALEX was not alone when Camilla joined him for supper that evening.
She had spent the afternoon surreptitiously familiarising herself with the layout of the house, and when Mama Lu came to inform her that she was expected to join her host in the library at eight o’clock she had no difficulty in locating her destination. It was one of the rooms on the main floor whose windows overlooked the lawns at the side of the house, and she had already admired his collection of books.
She had discovered that, contrary to her belief, Alex and Virginia did not occupy the master suite of rooms. At lunch she had explained to Mama Lu how she had lost herself that morning, and, when she’d mentioned having seen Alex, the housekeeper had told her that the doors she had seen led into the south wing. Apparently Alex’s father had had the wing added to the house when his son and Virginia got married, and although his parents no longer lived here the younger Contis still occupied their original apartments.
‘I dare say Virginia would have preferred to move into the main apartments,’ Mama Lu had conceded, as she’d served her guest crayfish salad and a lemon sorbet in the coolness of the dining-room, and once again Camilla had been left with the distinct impression that her friend had not endeared herself to the servants.
After lunch it was fairly easy to explore her surroundings. No one was around to disturb her wanderings, and she soon determined how to find her own room, and with that developed a passing recognition for the various halls and corridors. Once she had a point of contact she drew a mental picture of where she was in relation to the principal apartments, and for the time being that was enough.
She would have liked to have explored outside, but she decided that that would have to wait until another day—if she was still here. The sight of what looked like a stable block, half hidden among the trees, was intriguing, and there were horses grazing in a paddock that were visible from the windows of the parlour. But for now she decided not to overstep her welcome. Besides, there were security men in the grounds, and she had no wish to tangle with them again.
She was considering if she might be excused from joining her host for the evening meal when Mama Lu came to give her his message. Camilla had heard the sound of a car as she had sat on her balcony, enjoying the subtle shades that the setting sun painted on the eastern sky, and, although she had had no reason to feel so, a shiver of anticipation had rippled along her spine. If Grant Blaisdell aroused feelings of negativity inside her, his cousin did just the opposite, and it was disturbing to feel this awareness of a man who was not only married to her friend, but out of her league altogether. That was why she was hoping she might avoid another tête-à-tête with him. It wouldn’t do for her to get involved, however singular that involvement might be.
But, receiving his invitation from the housekeeper, she knew she couldn’t refuse to join him. After all, this was his house, and she was only here because he was allowing her to be so. The very idea of declining to have any contact with him was simply not feasible. And besides, she was curious to know if he had learned anything during the day.
However, deciding what to wear was another matter. Bearing in mind that she had bought her ticket for Hawaii at a moment’s notice, she had had little time to update her wardrobe. Indeed, the clothes she had brought with her had all been acquired for other holidays, when informality had been the key.
Nevertheless, after some consideration she realised it would probably be unwise to dress up for the occasion. Better to dress down than to risk having her host think she was making some kind of play for his attention. That was the last thing she wanted to do, particularly in the present circumstances.
A jade-green chiffon blouse, teamed with black culottes that were cut off in mid-calf, seemed an innocuous combination. They were sufficiently smart without being excessively formal, and if she liked the way the feminine collar of the blouse contrasted with her coil of red hair that was just an incidental bonus. She had washed her hair again and smothered it with conditioner, so that now it looked fairly secure in its knot with only a few wisps of silk brushing her cheeks. Dull gold rings gave a touch of sophistication to her ears, but otherwise she wore no jewellery.
The heels of her shoes made an intermittent sound as she stepped from the rugs that were spread along the corridors to the polished floors between. It was an annoying adjunct to the accelerated beat of her heart, and she tried to apply herself to the deep-breathing exercises she normally practised before going into court. The witness for the defence, she thought ruefully. She had never realised how daunting that could be.
The doors to the library were open, and she heard the voices, though not what they were saying, before she reached her destination. Although her heart lifted at the possibility that Virginia might be back, she didn’t think the voices were familiar, and when she halted in the doorway her suppositions were confirmed. The man and woman who were standing on either side of Alex Conti were strangers to her, but although she hadn’t seen them before she thought she could guess who they must be. The man was so like Alex—but older—that he had to be his father; and, although the woman was smaller, and less obviously related, her eyes mirrored those of her son.
Alex saw her first. His guests were looking at him as she appeared in the doorway, but he wasn’t looking at either of them. His head was bent as he appeared to be listening to what his father was saying, but Camilla had the feeling his attention was distracted. His expression was curiously blank, and only when his eyes met Camilla’s did his face reveal any animation. Immediately there was a darkening of emotion between his narrowed lids, and a deepening of the lines around his mouth.
She was not the only one to notice his changing expression however. Although his father still went on speaking, his mother was obviously more attuned to her son’s feelings. Her head turned almost simultaneously, and it was her half-impatient, ‘Vito!’ that brought an end to their conversation.
Camilla, who had thought she was beyond the stage of blushing, now found it incredibly difficult to control the blood that rushed to the surface of her skin. With all three of them looking at her with varying degrees of curiosity, it wasn’t easy to step into the room as if she had a right to be there. She didn’t have that right. More and more she was convinced of it. Whatever Virginia’s reasons for inviting her here, they were no longer valid.
‘It’s…Camilla, isn’t it?’ The woman standing beside Alex came forward to break the awkward silence that had fallen. She offered her hand in a friendly fashion.
‘I’m Sonya Conti, Alex’s mother. I don’t believe we’ve ever met.’
‘How do you do?’ Camilla shook the other woman’s hand with some relief. ‘No. We’ve never met. I’m afraid I was away when…when Virginia and…your son got married.’
Sonya nodded, studying Camilla closely, but not in a hostile way. She appeared to accept what Camilla had told her, and the smile that lifted her lips was reassuring.
‘So Alex told us,’ she said, glancing round at her son and her husband. ‘This is Alex’s father, of course. Vito, come and say hello to Camilla.’
Vito Conti’s hair was grey, and he had more flesh about his face and body than Alex had, but otherwise he was very like his son. Or, Camilla amended ruefully, she should say that Alex was like his father. Certainly, the family resemblance was a striking one.
He came now to take Camilla’s hand, his expression less forgiving than his wife’s. Evidently Alex’s father was not prepared to take everything at face value, and although his greeting was polite it lacked warmth.
‘Alex says you and Virginia went to school together,’ he remarked, pushing his hands into the jacket pockets of the cream silk suit he was wearing. ‘Where exactly was that?’
‘Vito…’
His wife sounded horrified at the baldness of the question, but Camilla thought she could understand his reasoning. ‘Queen Catherine’s,’ she answered at once, realising that any hesitation on her part could be misinterpreted. ‘In Hertfordshire.’
‘Hertfordshire?’ Vito Conti frowned. ‘Is that a place?’
‘It’s a county, Papa,’ put in Alex abruptly. ‘You know: they don’t have states, they have counties. Hertfordshire is near London.’
‘Is it?’ His father didn’t sound convinced. ‘But you must have left school some…ten years ago, no?’
‘Eleven actually,’ confirmed Camilla, her colour rising in spite of herself, and Alex expelled his breath on a heavy sigh.
‘Miss Richards doesn’t know where Virginia is, Papa,’ he said flatly, emptying the glass he had held cradled in his hand. He looked at her as he finished his drink, and inclined his head politely. ‘Can I get you something, Miss Richards? A Martini; or a cocktail, perhaps—?’
‘For goodness’ sake!’ Sonya intervened once again. ‘Why do you call her Miss Richards, Alex? She is…Virginia’s friend. Can’t you address her by her given name? I’m sure Camilla would prefer it.’
Camilla nodded. ‘I would.’ She moistened her lips. ‘And…I’d prefer a glass of white wine if you have one—um—Alex.’
It was a rash move, but at least it removed the fear of using his name unthinkingly. And, although one brow quirked a little, he didn’t object. Though how could he, she argued silently, with his mother championing her cause, and making an effort to be friendly?
With a glass of chilled Chablis in her hand, she felt a little less under siege. The wine was delicious, and it gave her something to do with her hands. It also gave her something to hide behind when eyes were turned in her direction—and a useful delaying tactic if a question was too personal.
‘And have you seen my daughter-in-law since you left school?’ Vito queried, letting it be known that he for one was not prepared to let the subject drop.
Camilla nodded. ‘Of course. We’ve…kept in touch.’ Or was that totally honest? Did two meetings and a wedding invitation constitute ‘keeping in touch’? She didn’t have the answer. But then, nor did he.
‘You wrote to one another?’
Vito was like a dog at a bone, and his son gave him an impatient look. ‘Does it matter?’ he demanded. ‘If Virginia kept in touch with one person or one thousand, would that give us any clue to her whereabouts? I’ve told you: Camilla…’ he said the name almost experimentally ‘…Camilla doesn’t know any more than we do. Give us all a break, will you? When Morales has some news he’ll let us know.’
His father looked as if he would have liked to argue, but his wife evidently endorsed her son’s statement, and he gave a resigned shrug of his shoulders. It was obvious that they both shared their son’s anxiety. They just had different ways of showing it.
‘Come,’ said Sonya, patting Camilla’s arm now, ‘let’s sit down and enjoy our aperitif.’ She led the way to where two padded velvet armchairs formed part of an intimate grouping. ‘You must tell us what you think of our island. Is this your first visit to Hawaii?’
Although Camilla would have preferred to stand, she was obliged to accept her hostess’s invitation. But she was intensely conscious of both Alex and his father watching their tête-à-tête and she guessed that, in her way, Sonya was every bit as inquisitive as her husband.
Still, for the moment she could speak frankly about her first impressions of Oahu. It was easier speaking of impersonal things, and she knew she went on too long in an effort to avoid further questions.
Behind her she was conscious of Alex pouring himself and his father another drink—Scotch, she thought, judging by the faint aroma of malt that drifted to her nostrils—and returning to prop his hips against the leather-topped desk that occupied the space beside the windows. Like his father, he was wearing a suit of some lightweight material, but the colour was dark, sombre, a fitting adjunct to the sombre cast of his features.
It was dark outside, but the curtains had not yet been drawn, and a moth came to beat its wings against the glass. In the lamplit room there should have been peace and tranquillity, but there wasn’t. They were all on edge, for various reasons, and although Camilla knew she should have sympathy with her friend she wondered how Virginia could justify what she had done.
As well as the books, which lined two of the walls from floor to ceiling, the room contained a collection of chess sets, some of them behind glass. There were also several items of artistic merit, including one or two sculptures, which even Camilla recognised as collector’s pieces, and an ancient map of the western world that Vasco de Gama would have found invaluable.
Yet, like the living-room Camilla had seen earlier, the room was first and foremost what it claimed to be: an attractive library cum study, with a pile of official-looking documents on the desk signifying someone’s efforts to work here. Like all the rooms in the house, it was meant to be used and enjoyed, not revered, though whether Virginia would have seen it that way Camilla couldn’t be sure. It was hard to be objective, but her memories of Virginia were of someone who wanted her share of the good things in life; who enjoyed spending money, and was prepared to marry anyone who could sustain that kind of lifestyle. But whether that lifestyle could be adjusted to include being a wife and mother was something else.
‘And you are not married?’ Sonya queried swiftly when she ran out of things to say, and Camilla shook her head.
‘No.’
‘So…you are a career woman.’ Sonya’s smile was enquiring, as well as sympathetic. ‘A model, perhaps?’
‘Oh, no.’ Camilla made a negative gesture, aware that their conversation was being monitored by Virginia’s husband and his father. ‘I—er—I’m a solicitor, actually.’
‘A solicitor?’ Vito left his son, and came to stand in front of her. ‘A lawyer? Virginia’s lawyer, perhaps, hmm?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ Camilla looked up at him frankly, and the old man lifted his shoulders.
‘But you could be.’
‘I don’t think so. I…well, I’m not allowed to practise in the United States. And besides, I don’t deal in—’
She broke off abruptly, realising she had been about to say ‘divorce’, and wishing she had never started this. They didn’t know she had any reason to assume that Virginia might want a divorce. And indeed, for all her claims against her husband, Virginia hadn’t mentioned divorce in her letter.
‘You don’t deal in—what, Miss Richards?’ Alex had taken up where his father had left off, and she looked up into his dark face with real discomfort. He had been defending her. Now he was gazing at her as if all his previous suspicions about her had suddenly been
confirmed. He drew a breath. ‘Blackmail, perhaps?’
‘Blackmail!’
‘Alex!’
Camilla and his mother spoke simultaneously, and Camilla’s astonishment was so genuine that no one could believe she had faked it. Least of all Alex, she realised weakly, as, with a gesture of apology at his mother’s indignation, he moved away.
But it had given her something to think about, something she had hitherto not considered. It seemed unbelievable, but Alex evidently thought Virginia’s actions were calculated. That she had taken his daughter away to gain some cardinal advantage.
The arrival of Wong Lee to announce that supper was ready was quite a relief. Not that Camilla believed she could escape questioning over the food. On the contrary, sitting at the table there would be no chance to avoid being scrutinised like a specimen on a pin. But it did mean that soon the meal would be over. And when it was she intended to excuse herself forthwith.
Mama Lu seemed to have put her own feelings aside in an effort to create an aura of normality, and the table in the dining-room reflected her diligence. Fine crystal and silver were reflected in the polished mahogany of its surface, and a centre-piece of mauve orchids and scarlet hibiscus was lit by a pair of candelabra that provided the only illumination. It was like a scene from a film, Camilla reflected, trying not to flinch away from Alex’s fingers as he held her chair for her. She hadn’t really believed people actually lived like this, but, from the way her host and his parents accepted the situation, it was obviously no novelty to them.
The food was equally superlative. Fresh pineapple, which Sonya told her grew in great profusion all over the island, was served with wafer-thin slices of smoked ham. This was followed by a creamy seafood fricassee, and to finish there was more of the delicious Columbian coffee, with fruit and cheese.
Everything was perfect, but Camilla noticed that no one really did justice to the food. She also noticed that Alex drank steadily throughout the meal, continually refilling his glass from the several bottles of chilled white Burgundy that Wong Lee provided. Yet he didn’t appear to suffer any effects from the alcohol, and for once he didn’t respond to the reproving looks his mother kept sending in his direction. Only his eyes revealed any emotion, and that a guarded impatience, occasionally pointed towards herself.
