by Maggie Brown
“I have a housekeeper coming on the next flight. We’ll eat at home for the time being until I regain my strength. What about the supplies I ordered?”
“The house is stocked with the groceries. Fresh fish is available daily, as well as lobsters, bugs, and prawns. There’s an electric buggy in the garage for transportation.” They moved on through an avenue of coconut palms and eventually stopped in the driveway of a house on the side of the hill. “This is yours. It hasn’t been used for a while. Nigel’s family only comes once a year, usually at Easter, and he rarely lets it out at other times. We maintain the lawn for him, and we’ve prepared the house for your stay. I’m sure you’ll be most comfortable and it does have the prime view of the ocean.”
Eleanor studied it appreciatively. It was a modern compact house with a balcony on the second floor, set into the trees to blend in with the environment. A vibrant garden of tropical plants and a lush green lawn surrounded the entrance. It looked snug and inviting.
She took the key from Deirdre with a smile. “I’ll call in tomorrow. Could you give another one to my employee when she arrives, please? Her name is Sophie Ryan, and she’s coming in on the next flight. I’ll retire as soon as I’ve eaten.”
“No problem. Dial nine on your phone if you require anything during the night.”
Eleanor was pleased to find the inside as charming. The wall and floors were polished wood. The lounge room was decorated with spectacular photographs of the island and the long glass window gave a magnificent view out to sea.
Oh my, I could get used to this.
She glanced at her watch—just after three in the afternoon—ten p.m. in LA. A night owl, her mother would be still up. She pulled out her phone before she remembered there was no mobile coverage. After popping it in a kitchen drawer for the duration, she picked up the landline on the wall near the kitchen.
Her mother answered after the usual pause for overseas calls. “Frances Godwin speaking.”
“Hi, Mum. I’m on the island and it’s beautiful.”
“Good dear. Did you have a smooth trip?”
“Not too bad. The helicopter ride was fun.”
“What do you think of Ms. Ryan?”
“I haven’t met her yet. She’s coming over on a later flight. Why?”
“Just curious. Being over here, I couldn’t interview her personally.”
Eleanor’s nose twitched. “She’s not like a hundred years old is she?”
“No…no.”
“So what are you hiding?”
“Nothing. She seemed very suitable for the position.”
“I’ll kill you if she’s a crabby bossy boots. I’m here on a vacation.”
Frances laughed. “I’m sure she’ll be very pleasant.”
“Okay. I’ll ring you tomorrow when I’m settled in. Bye for now.”
Eleanor chuckled fondly as she replaced the receiver. Frances Godwin was anything but an average mother. A product of the seventies’ flower-power generation, she had spent her young adult years as an avant-garde artist and a rabid advocator for non-establishment causes. Finding herself pregnant at thirty-five, she had embraced the role of mother with the same enthusiasm as everything else in her life, much to the bemusement of Errol, her staid bean-counting husband. While Eleanor was here in Australia, they were taking a holiday house-sitting her home in LA, which was convenient for both parties. Her mother would be too full-on for Eleanor in her present delicate state.
When the doorbell rang, she found Len on the threshold with her luggage. No stranger to travel, she efficiently packed away her clothes before moving on to the shower. At the mirror in the bathroom, she peered at her reflection. She was sorry she bothered. With no makeup, her face looked pinched. Tiny lines had gathered around her mouth and there were noticeable bags under her eyes that seemed bruised. Not that she was ever overly conscious of her looks, but she was pleased to be out of the public eye while she recuperated. Fans demanded perfection of their box office stars.
After setting the alarm for six p.m. for a couple of hours’ sleep, she sank down on the bed, exhausted.
As persistent beeps echoed from her bedside table, Eleanor opened her eyes grudgingly. Disoriented, it took her some seconds to get her bearings. The wave of happiness that came as she recalled the picture-perfect island was short-lived as the tiredness returned. She shrugged off the cloak of depression and walked out onto the balcony. With elbows on the railing, she leaned over the railing, her chin on her hands. The sky was turning from a salmon pink to a deep red as the sun sank low on the horizon. A reflection from the sunset shone on the ocean as if an artist had splashed it with a vivid wash of watercolour. A warm gust of wind brought the smell of salt and eucalyptus, and best of all, a sense of peace.
She took a moment longer to appreciate the view. The scene was sublime after the frenetic pace of LA, but it was the quiet that she noticed most of all. No traffic, no voices—nothing, except for the sound of birdcalls and the slight rustling of the leaves in the breeze. It was Eden.
She went downstairs at the sound of the doorbell. Her meal had arrived. Gratefully she took the tray, and after finishing every crumb of the superb fish, scribbled out a note for Sophie Ryan before retiring for the night.
As she dropped off to sleep, she was vaguely aware of the sound of a helicopter in the distance.
Chapter Five
Sophie kept on her sunglasses, pulled the baseball cap low over her forehead and walked through the glass doors of the airport terminal. After the automated check-in spat out her boarding pass and bag stickers, she deposited the suitcases onto the conveyor belt and proceeded through security. She picked up the pace, conscious her flight was due to leave shortly.
When she arrived at the rows of seats occupied by the waiting passengers at gate five, she glanced furtively around for Eleanor Godwin. The star was nowhere in sight. Though it only delayed the inevitable, still Sophie was relieved. She wasn’t in the mood for a confrontation in her present state. Later she should be more composed.
When the intercom blared out their boarding call a moment later, she shuffled with bowed head into the line of people. Entering by the rear steps, she saw the flight was nearly full. No one looked up as she made her way up the aisle to the fourth row of seats. Most were busy flicking fingers on phones, or making a last-minute call. As soon as slipped into her window seat and clipped on her seat belt, her eyes began to droop. In the middle of the safety briefing, she drifted off to sleep.
It seemed only a few seconds before her eyes blinked open at sound of the flight attendant’s voice. “Ma’am. Ma’am. Wake up.”
“Wha…what’s the matter,” she mumbled.
“It’s time to disembark.”
Sophie jerked upright and glanced around the cabin. Damn. She was the only passenger left on the plane. With a murmur of apology, she hurried out the door. Tired, hungry, and frazzled, she looked around for someone to report to inside the terminal. Eleanor was not there. From the snippets of conversation she caught around her, it seemed the actor had been taken away as soon she had entered the building. When no one approached Sophie, she collected her bags from the carousel and stood forlornly to the side while, one by one, the other passengers vanished out the door.
After ten minutes, she looked anxiously around. Had she been forgotten? To her relief, a large man in a suit appeared at the bag depot, his gaze sharpening when he caught her eye. “Ms. Ryan?”
Sophie nodded. “That’s me.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you. Ms. Godwin has already flown out—we’ve put you on the next flight. It leaves in three hours.”
With a resigned slump of her shoulders, she watched him signal a porter to take her suitcases before she wandered over to the café for a meal. Though she cursed the long wait, she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of relief. Her unenviable meeting with Eleanor Godwin was again postponed—with any luck, the woman might be in bed by the time she arrived.
There was
no doubt in Sophie’s mind that even if she hadn’t seen the photo on Facebook, Eleanor was sure to remember her at the bar. In the morning, she would be in a better frame of mind, and body, to meet the star. And she would have to put her best foot forward. Owen would be furious if she was fired on the first day.
By the time an attendant arrived to take her on the next leg of her journey, Sophie was fighting to keep her eyes open. Her fatigue vanished when they drove round to the hangars on the far side of the airport and she caught sight of the helicopter on the tarmac. Her stomach gave a sickening lurch. Being contained in a tube with rotor blades was not a happy experience in her book. Why hadn’t she been told? She had presumed it would have been a light plane or a boat.
Sensing her reluctance, the pilot, who had been standing beside the step, came forward with a reassuring smile. “If you’d like to board, Ms. Ryan, we can be off.”
She quashed down the urge to flee as she climbed stiffly into the machine. A woman dressed casually in blue cargo pants and a white tank top, was seated inside. Sophie flopped down into the seat beside her, then pressed her hands firmly on her knees to stop the tremble in her legs. A ghost of a grin curled at the corner of the woman’s mouth as she glanced at the jittery feet. “Don’t worry. I’ve made the trip oodles of times and we haven’t crashed yet.”
“Now that’s a consolation,” said Sophie dryly as she pulled the seat belt on as tightly as she could.
The woman thrust her hand out. “Lisa Parsons, the assistant chef on Eurydice.”
“Sophie Ryan.”
“On holidays?”
“Not really. I work for Eleanor Godwin.”
“You lucky dog. She’s gorgeous. How long are you staying?” asked Lisa.
“Two months.”
“Well, it’s great to have someone young on the island for that length of time. Most guests are middle-aged or older. ”
Sophie was in no doubt that was true. Only a certain type of person would come to the island—the wealthy to relax from stress or someone like Eleanor who needed a break from the paparazzi. Not many Gen Y fitted into that bracket. “You’d have a quota of youngish staff though, wouldn’t you? How many employees on the island?” she asked.
“Twelve, apart from Deirdre and Len Shaw, the managers. They’re very selective whom they employ. No backpackers or itinerants. It’s a place for the rich and famous, and as most guests come for a quiet holiday without the intrusion of the press, discretion is essential.” She grinned. “The wages are brilliant, so most of the staff have been there for years.”
Sophie found herself liking Lisa despite her rather abrupt manner. She imagined what you saw was what you got with her. She looked to be in her late twenties, with a solid athletic body, short curly sun-bleached hair and a friendly moon-shaped face. As Lisa gave a running commentary of the islands they passed over, Sophie kept her eyes glued nervously on the floor. After a while, she found that if she kept them shut, the mesmerizing sound of the spinning blades dampened her fears.
When Lisa exclaimed, “There’s Eurydice,” a sense of well-being swept through her. Soon she’d be on terra firma. She now dared to peek out the window. The sun had all but dipped behind the horizon and the sky was dyed red. The ocean had turned a dove grey edged with crimson. Daylight still lingered in the air, but it was failing rapidly as they flew over the beach to the landing pad. Sophie began to feel the stirrings of excitement—the setting was awesome.
A tall man, with skin tanned to the colour of light tea, was waiting beside the landing area. Lisa introduced him as Len Shaw, the manager of the island. After they off-loaded the food supplies in the kitchen, Sophie was treated to a bowl of spaghetti bolognaise before Len moved her on to the villa. At the end of the beach, he continued up a hill to halt halfway at a white-pebbled courtyard. Sophie squinted into the shadows for a view of her future home, but only the grey outline of the house was visible amongst the trees. No light came from inside. With the key in hand, she waved good-bye to Len before climbing the four steps to the landing.
Immediately, a sensor light flooded the area with a bright glow. Tentatively, she pushed open the door and walked over the threshold. Eleanor was nowhere in sight in the downstairs living area. As Sophie wandered through, she spied a note with her name written on the outside sheet, propped up on the dining table.
Dear Ms. Ryan,
I’m sorry I didn’t stay up to greet you. Your bedroom suite is the one at the end of the ground floor. I’m sure you’ll be comfortable there. Bring a breakfast tray, an egg dish preferably, to my room at 8:00 in the morning, please. It’s the second one on the left at the top of the stairs. If I’m asleep, please wake me up. I’m looking forward to meeting you tomorrow.
Eleanor Godwin
Sophie relaxed. It simplified things that she could settle in without any pressure. Yet conversely, she couldn’t help feeling a touch of hurt. Even though this was what she had wanted, she felt she had been arbitrarily dismissed. Illogical, for she actually was an employee, but it still stung. If she were a guest, Eleanor would no doubt have stayed up to greet her. She shrugged off the ill feeling to inspect the house, though thinking being at someone’s beck and call may be harder to take than she had initially thought. As a reporter she more or less worked autonomously.
The house was swanky, the décor tasteful, with a modern kitchen and a spacious combined lounge-dining room. Through the huge plate glass window, the view of the ocean was spectacular. Moonbeams danced on the water and stars twinkled in the clear sky—she couldn’t wait to see it in daylight. After one last look around, she headed to her living quarters.
She was pleased to find a very roomy self-contained unit. The lounge had two butter-soft leather lounge chairs arrayed in front of a good-sized TV, while a small desk sat in the corner, complete with a pen, paper, and photocopier. Pastel blue curtains decorated the large window and two seascape oils graced the walls. After a murmur of appreciation, she unpacked, showered, and set the alarm before falling into bed. As she drifted off, she thought how much she was going to enjoy living in this luxury.
* * *
At the beeps, Sophie opened her eyes and moaned. Not a morning person, she preferred to work after dark when there were no interruptions. It took a moment to realize where she was in the unfamiliar surroundings. When it sank in, she leapt out of bed. This was it. The day of reckoning.
As she rifled in her wardrobe for an outfit that was neither loud nor revealing, the initial panic subsided into simmering anxiety. She settled on her brown tailored slacks and the soft cream shirt, careful to do the buttons up to the neck. After applying only a touch of makeup, she brushed her hair and made her way down the hallway.
The state-of-the-art kitchen was a delightful surprise. Every appliance imaginable was at her fingertips: from the elaborate coffee machine to the hi-tech flex duo oven. She hummed with something akin to real happiness at the sight of the set of Japanese Ikasu knives slotted in a wooden block on the shelf. They were the best money could buy. She had been honest with Owen—she loved cooking. It was one of the joys of her life.
Luckily, the fridge and pantry were well stocked, for all her culinary skills were going to be needed this morning to nullify some of the debacle from the bar. She worked efficiently, and by eight o’clock, the breakfast was on the tray: a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, a small bowl of fruit, and eggs Benedict, poached to perfection atop a thick slice of ham on a toasted muffin. Over the hollandaise sauce that frothed off the golden yolks, she ground a dash of black pepper and sea salt. Finally, she made a pot of coffee, placing a hibiscus flower in the corner of the tray before she climbed the stairs.
Sophie rapped lightly on the closed door. When there was no answer, she gently pushed it open. Eleanor was asleep, spread out on the bed with her head nestled on an arm. Her silk top fell in delicate little folds over her breasts, the fabric thin enough to outline her nipples. Without makeup, and hair tousled, the film star looked younger and vulne
rable. And incredibly sexy. Sophie swallowed as heat rushed to her face, and to other parts of her body that she tried to ignore.
Embarrassed by her reaction, she said in a low voice, “Ms. Godwin. Breakfast is here.”
When only a murmur came in response, she put down the tray on the bedside table, leaned over and touched her shoulder lightly. “Ms. Godwin. It’s eight o’clock. I’ve brought you a breakfast tray.”
Eleanor’s eyes fluttered open. She blinked as if straining to focus, then her eyes widened. Without warning, she raised a hand and gently ran the fingertips down Sophie’s cheek. “Maria, darling,” she breathed huskily. “What are you doing here?”
Sophie’s jaw dropped open. “Huh?”
Chapter Six
The cobwebs in Eleanor’s mind cleared as she slowly lowered her hand. With an inward groan, she turned her head away, mortified. “Sorry about that,” she whispered. “You took me by surprise. You…you reminded me of someone.”
She shivered, realizing what she had done. She had touched her employee inappropriately. The woman probably thought she was mad. She swung her eyes back to find Sophie staring at her, mouth open. Eleanor searched her face. The resemblance to Maria, she could now see, was superficial: the hair was too short, the face not square enough or the cheeks as pronounced. And Sophie had a tiny gap between her two front teeth. But she couldn’t ignore that the golden skin tone, the big brown eyes and full pouty lips were a perfect match.
She was going to kill her mother.
As she examined her, Eleanor suddenly had the feeling that she had seen Sophie Ryan somewhere recently. She pulled her mind back out of the past to refocus on the present. Why did she look so familiar? Then it came. “You’re that drunken floozy at the bar in Brisbane. The one with that boorish man who made lewd remarks about me,” she blurted out.
