“Many people were investing in Africa at the time and made large amounts of money. It was a no-brainer.”
“Is that what you did?”
“To some extent,” he whispered.
“So where does your quotation fit in where Daddy’s concerned?”
“Having chased his dreams, was your father happy?” His tone seemed to have hardened somewhat.
“I presume so, for most of the time I spent with him, at least.”
Dark eyebrows lifted.
“Do you doubt it? I’m told you were very close to him.” Coral hadn’t forgotten that there was much that still disturbed her about this man, and she was challenging him to answer her.
Rafe did not answer but rose to his feet, a brooding expression on his face while clearing the table for the next course. Coral decided to push him further, hoping to ruffle his feathers.
“You mean he can’t have been happy because in his search for true love he married a woman much younger than himself?” Coral said. “There’s nothing wrong with that, provided it’s the right woman.” There she went again — her tongue getting the best of her even with threatening undercurrents in the air. It must be the champagne.
“True love is the most cruel and dangerous fallacy of them all.” He was standing behind her at the trolley, but his tone was harsh, and she sensed that she had struck a raw nerve.
“Surely you don’t mean that?” She looked at him over her shoulder to see him coming back to the table.
“Terrine of tropical fruit in jellied Sauterne,” he announced.
Coral had the distinct impression that he was fighting some inner battle. Rafe clearly did not care to answer. Fair enough, she thought, leaving it at that. Anyway, having heard his opinion on love once before, she did not care for a repetition.
Taking her time, Coral savored the richly scented cold dessert. She wondered why he was being so evasive about the phrase engraved on the fountain. What prompted such cynical beliefs in a man who seemed to have such a sensitive nature? She would return to the subject another time.
“Here, taste this.” Rafe stretched out his hand, picked a ripe fig from the tree above their heads, and gave it to her. “It’s a delicious experience.”
“Thank you.” The fruit was still warm from the day’s sun. It was fragrant and luscious as she bit into the rich, juicy flesh. Rafe had sat back in his chair so his face was in the shadow, but she knew he was watching her through half-closed eyes. When he leaned forward, the fire from the candles flickered, throwing shadows on the planes of his face. She could see his eyes clearly now, and their steady focus was causing her insides to stir. There was romance in the still air; the rhythm of dripping water from the fountain behind him, the velvet sky studded with stars, the balmy perfumes of the night, all combined to accompany the endless song that had begun in her heart again as she watched him, enthralled.
He stretched out his hand again, this time to wipe away a minute drop of fig juice that lingered at the side of her mouth. So filled with emotion, overwhelmed, Coral’s eyes welled up with tears. He pulled back immediately, mistaking her reaction. “I’m sorry,” he whispered in a husky voice. “I couldn’t help myself — you’re so beautiful…irresistible.”
She wanted to tell him it was all right for him to touch her, that his attention was welcome, and he was just as irresistible. But she could not find the words, and even if she were the uninhibited type, she still feared he would think her forward.
The moment passed. Rafe seemed to regain his composure. “Coffee?” he asked, once again the perfect host.
She was trembling a bit with the cold. “Yes, please.” Perhaps the hot brew would warm her up.
They drank their coffee in silence, until Rafe glanced at his watch. “Ten o’clock — we must be going, or the show will start without us.” He smiled and helped her out of her chair. “Or maybe you’d like to refresh yourself upstairs first?”
Coral decided it would be better to wait until they got to the Golden Fish, so they made their way to Rafe’s black Alpha Romeo, and soon the car was speeding through the night in the direction of the nightclub.
For this occasion, the stage at the Golden Fish was set outside, perched on top of the cliff, the sea as its backdrop and a full stage with tables tucked around it in a crescent. Whenever there was a lull in the talk and laughter, the silence was filled by the singing of palm trees as the breeze blew through them and the breaking of waves against the rocks. The fierce landscape provided both ambiance and drama. Rafe, the artist, had done it again; he had let nature speak and, with a bit of lighting, had brought it all together, a triumph of natural artifice. Contradicting words, Coral thought as she formulated them in her mind, but there was no other way to describe the subtle yet powerful scene that took her breath away.
Rafe walked her to their table. His palm skimmed lightly over her bare back, sensuous and questing, holding her close. They brushed against each other as they moved, and Coral noticed the tensing of his muscles every time their bodies came into contact. She had vacillated between a feeling of excitement and vulnerability for a fair part of the evening, and now his closeness was torture, a delicious sort of aching torture, but torture nevertheless.
Rafe smiled. “What d’you think?” he asked as they reached the table.
“It’s fabulous, breathtaking, awesome.” Coral’s eyes were shining. The scenery seemed to fit the amazing aura of her escort. Was she falling for this man? At no cost must she betray her feelings. But how could she allow herself to fall for a man who, by all accounts, had taken advantage of her father for his own ends — and possibly wanted to do the same to her? She was sure he wanted to take her to bed — it was written all over him — but one-night stands were not her style. Stupid girl! He was rich, successful, intelligent, and charismatic. What more did she want? Some women would kill for the attention of half the man he was. And besides, there was something that didn’t add up about his so-called scandalous reputation. Still, Coral concluded, it would be emotional suicide to get involved with him.
“Not bad, eh? Not bad at all.” His grin contained a bit of self-congratulation. “What will you drink? Champagne? You may prefer something else. Cointreau? Grand Marnier? Crème de menthe?” He fell into the role of perfect host once again.
Already floating from the alcohol served at dinner, Coral knew she should avoid more spirits but nevertheless heard herself say, “Oh, a sundowner, thank you!” She really needed it to help her remain sane. All her senses were acutely attuned to Rafe’s presence. He was sitting so close that she caught faint whiffs of that delicious aftershave that was becoming familiar.
Rafe signaled to a waiter and ordered their drinks. “The show will be starting soon. I’ll have them bring the drinks now so we won’t be disturbed.”
“I think I might use the cloakroom,” she said. “Tidy myself up a little.”
“I’ll show you the way.”
So off they went again. This time he took her arm in a swift movement, and in doing so, the back of his hand pressed against the curve of her breast. Startled, they looked at one another, brown velvet gazing into deep blue. For an instant, they were the only two people in the world. But this was neither the time nor the place for such displays, even though her heart raced — or was it his she could feel pounding so wildly? Rafe was the first to pull back. For a moment, he looked confused; then he seemed to regain his composure and swept her through the tables that were now filled with guests.
By contrast, the cloakroom was empty save for the African assistant whose polite offer of help was declined. The only help Coral needed at the moment was a cold shower to sober her up and get her through the evening without making a spectacle of herself. She refreshed her face with tap water and took a minute to touch up her makeup; her eyes seemed over-bright, her cheeks a little flushed. The cocktail had left her throat feeling parched, though, so before returning to the table, she slipped over to the bar and asked for a glass of cold water. While
waiting to be served, she heard a familiar voice, but she couldn’t see where it came from.
“You’ve never been privy to my personal life.”
“And in the seven years I’ve known you, you’ve never acted as you have lately.” The woman sounded defensive.
“Where I go, what I do, who I see is no concern of yours — and I’d be grateful if in the future you didn’t pry,” he retorted.
“I’ve noticed the way you look at her — she’s just a girl, for heaven’s sake.”
“Get a grip on your imagination, woman.”
“And you get a grip on your hormones,” the woman spat.
A curtain next to the bar suddenly parted, and Rafe stormed past Coral without seeing her, towering over tables and guests as he darted toward the back of the club where the double doors led back out onto the terrace and the open-air stage. Wondering what that was all about, and feeling indignant that yet again she was being discussed by one of Rafe’s mistresses, Coral drank her glass of water. On top of that, she resented being branded a girl; she was a woman, and recalling the way Rafe’s eyes gazed at her when she was around, he definitely made her feel every bit a woman. That thought induced Coral to hurry back to their table.
Rafe was talking to some guests a little farther away from their table on the terrace. Coral sat down, glad of the cool air on her face after the smoky atmosphere of the room inside, and looked out at the ocean glistening under a full moon. Tonight the waves whipping against the distant rocks seemed savage and relentless. Coral shivered. She much preferred the sea when it was in a benevolent frame of mind. Rafe’s hard voice from earlier on drifted into her mind, and she wondered at the man coming toward her now, all smiles and charm. Who was he really? And what did he want with her? Did she care about his motives? It felt so wonderful when she was around him.
The lights were dimming. Rafe took his place next to Coral. “This show is quite something; they have just started to tour outside French Guinea,” he whispered, his eyes twinkling. “I saw them once, some time ago when I was there. I hope you enjoy it.”
Silence descended. Coral’s attention shifted, and the spectacle began.
The overture was dramatic, evoking the crack of thunder and torrential rain; stage lighting gradually turned from red to gold, conjuring the breaking of daylight. Two sculptural figures became outlined against flashes of lightning: a man and a woman, naked except for a most exiguous loincloth, like the first humans at the dawn of time — alive but not yet awake.
The music built to a crescendo together with the humming of the chorus, and the dance opened. As the sun began to rise, the man reached out to the woman, and they clasped hands. He cradled her, and languidly they lifted themselves up to their feet, their bodies brushing, their eyes lost in each other’s. Sensuously, deliberately, they danced, moving as though they were one, their body language smooth as their limbs carefully unfolded. They twirled and rocked, intertwined and separated, nearly leaning onto one another but barely touching, their movements sometimes tender, sometimes almost violent. The man’s erotic movements against his partner were at first tentatively inviting, then inciting, before becoming more and more demanding and forceful. The woman was hesitant and shy to start off with, then increasingly yielding as his caresses seemed to excite her. As she watched, Coral felt contrasting emotions ignite in her as the furious energy of the dance alternated with sudden scenes of silence.
Finally, clasped together, making full contact for the first time, the couple swayed and spun around the stage in a flowing wave motion to the provocative rhythm of the music. As the frenzy reached its paroxysm, the orchestra’s fury intensified and stopped. Moments passed while the dancers held tight to each other, as though their bodies were melting together. The expression on their features as they lifted their faces to the sky was one of unimaginable joy. The show had come to an end. The dancers, still panting, their bodies glistening with sweat, took their final bow from an audience who were stamping, shouting, and throwing flowers at them in appreciation of such masterful art.
As the lights came on, Coral was still feeling goose bumps rise on her skin. It had been a captivating story of man and woman — the eternal combat between the two sexes — an unflinching tale of lust and love vibrating with uninhibited passion and primitive eroticism. With talent and finesse, the dancers had transformed what could have been sleazy into a masterpiece of art and sensuality.
Coral had thoroughly enjoyed herself and been deeply moved. She turned to Rafe. His eyes, watching her, were more intense and compelling than ever. During the show, she had felt his stare fixed on her, but she had guessed what he was thinking and had deliberately kept her own attention focused on the stage. Why had he asked her to this show? Was it just because he sincerely thought she would appreciate the magic and the beauty of such a chef d’oeuvre? Or was there an ulterior motive behind his invitation?
Rafe smiled at her. “How did you like it? What did you think of it?”
He was very close, helping her get out from behind the table with his arm encircling her waist — such a normal and chivalrous gesture but one that nevertheless made her skin prickle. Not for the first time she asked herself why Rafe had such an effect on her. Why was she now longing for him to tighten his hold around her so she could feel his powerful frame against her? It was becoming embarrassing, not only because she felt at a disadvantage, but because she was sure that he was aware of her confusion.
“I loved it, thank you.” Coral lifted her head, meeting his ardent gaze. “It was very…”
“Provocative?” he asked as they walked toward the car-park.
“Yes, yes, that’s a good word,” she said, laughing at his attempts to tease her.
“A dance of seduction and pleasure, no?”
“No,” she answered quietly, “I would call it a dance of desire and love.”
After Rafe ensured she was comfortably seated in the Alpha-Romeo, he walked around the car. Although she could not see his face, somehow Coral knew that he was brooding. He drove in focused silence, his jaw tight and a minute vein throbbing at his temple. Yes indeed, he was brooding.
She looked at his powerful hands on the steering wheel. They were beautiful hands, with elongated fingers and wide palms — those same palms that had held her only a few minutes ago had also expertly fondled and caressed numerous women. The image of Cybil, on the beach, lying next to him in her skimpy bikini, and of Morgana, dancing for him at the nightclub and probably in more intimate settings too, came unbidden to her mind. No doubt he had made love to them, and for a split second she envied her stepmother and the oriental dancer.
Coral was jerked out of her reverie as the car drew to a halt in the drive of Whispering Palms. She turned to him, laying a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Rafe. It’s been a fabulous evening.”
“My pleasure. I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he said quietly. When he took her hand to help her from the car, his fingers were trembling. There was a heart-stopping pause while they looked at each other silently. Is he going to kiss me? Rafe didn’t budge, still watching her, his dark eyes full of innuendo. Surely he did not think that she would make the first move? Coral was on the verge of taking her leave when he gave her one of his enigmatic smiles. “Would you like to come up for a quick nightcap?”
Was she so transparent? Why had Rafe asked her to that show? Had he known that on that evening Sandy and her friends would be unavailable? There were a thousand questions, all shouting that it would be madness to accept this new invitation, that the whole thing had been part of a planned scenario: the cozy intimate dinner, the show afterward, and now…Now she could see. Yes, it was clear as daylight: all along he had had his own agenda. Unfortunately, she had drunk a lot, and her senses had been in turmoil all evening. The electricity she felt in the air between them was no figment of her imagination, but a red flag urged her to run to her car and get out of there as fast as she could.
The palm trees sang with the breeze — such a beautiful
sound. The surf was up tonight; its pounding in the distance echoed the thumping of her heart.
“Yes, that would be nice.” Her answer resonated in her ears, and for a moment she was surprised by her own reaction. What was she doing? Well, there was no time for her to get into Rafe’s ulterior motives now. She would worry about that later. After all, she was young and should be living her life. Here was a chance, in this most romantic of settings, with a man who was not only attractive but who also made her feel alive and wanted. She was going to enjoy every moment of it. Anyway, what harm was there in one drink? Heart searching and character analysis would have to wait.
The sky was immense above them with polka-dot stars that winked away at her as Rafe steered her toward the stairs and passed in front of her to lead the way up to the house. Coral felt vaguely uneasy, trembling inside. This behavior was so uncharacteristic of her. She had meant to turn down this unexpected extension to the evening. It wasn’t too late to change her mind, she was still on the shore, but as they reached the top of the stairs, the voice of reason whispered that soon it would be too late. No, there could be no retreat now; otherwise, he might lose interest and she would never see him again.
“We’re here,” Rafe said as he turned on the lights. Buster appeared in the doorway, wagging his tail in welcome.
The last time she had been inside Whispering Palms, the house had been in semi-darkness, and worry had distracted her from taking notice of the interior. Now, as Rafe guided her through the hall to a big living room, Coral saw that his furniture was luxurious, but like everything else about him, it was in perfect taste. The walls were a warm yellow with accents of pale gold and olive green, lending the room a pleasant and sophisticated feel. Wall sconces and table lamps provided dim lighting. Spears and shields patterned with the black, red, and white zigzags of some African tribe adorned one wall while the opposite one was laced from top to bottom with book-filled shelves. There was a bowl of orchids on a side table, and the wooden tray in the center of the coffee table was loaded with a mouth-watering pyramid of exotic fruit. The floor and sofas were dressed with fine leopard and cheetah skins. Expansive windows opened onto a large veranda shielded from the garden by trellises and a jungle of scented creepers. A couple of bamboo chairs and loungers provided a comfortable place to relax and dream away the days.
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