The Forgotten Sea

by Beverley Harper

  ‘You tell us, Kathleen,’ Connor teased.

  ‘Yes I will.’ She waited while Connor and Holly scrambled up. ‘But you should be warned. If anyone’s a match for Raoul, it’s Madame Liang. They have an interesting conflict of interests. Don’t get caught in the middle. Come, Holly. I’ll show you the well, then I must be on my way.’

  After she’d left them, Holly and Connor took their time. Both were reluctant to go. The site of William Maguire’s house had a serenity that was hard to leave.

  But something was bothering Holly. Kathleen’s early years put Holly’s own anguish into a completely different perspective. She needed to say it. ‘A failed marriage is peanuts compared to Kathleen’s story.’

  Connor glanced at her. ‘So are two.’

  ‘Did you blame yourself?’ She held up the tape recorder. ‘It’s off.’

  ‘For a while.’

  ‘How did you get around it?’

  ‘You move on, Holly. Eventually.’

  ‘Eventually,’ she said softly. ‘God, will it ever come?’

  He went to touch her arm, stopped himself and turned to look over the lagoon. ‘Try telling yourself you’re better off without him,’ he said finally.

  ‘I do. Constantly. It doesn’t work.’

  ‘Still love him?’

  She went to say no, but drew in a mouthful of air and really thought about it. Yes, it had been love. She’d trusted Dennis with her happiness. The first weeks after moving out had been desperately unhappy. It had been so tempting to give in to his pleading and return to him. But then, as one after another of her friends told of his unfaithfulness, deceit moulded love into anger and beyond. The Dennis she had once loved appeared in a new light. She did not love him, she didn’t even like him. ‘No.’ Holly had no idea how surprised she sounded.

  A small grin touched his lips. ‘Come on, Holly Jones. Time to go.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Today’s Friday. We’ve got Raoul’s on Sunday. You don’t accept an invitation in this country without taking a small gift. Let’s grab some lunch at that place we passed near Lion Mountain then head back to Grand Baie and see what we can find.’ He held out his hand.

  With a slight hesitation, Holly took it. She told herself it was because of the uneven ground.

  They agreed that a bottle of good French wine and imported chocolates would make the ideal gift for the Dulacs. Connor knew just the place to get them. After a quick lunch they headed north to Grand Baie. When Connor turned into the Merville Hotel it was almost four thirty. He simply said, ‘Keep the presents in your fridge. I’ll pick you up around eleven on Sunday.’

  Which left Holly Friday evening and all of Saturday to get some work done. She transcribed the tape from that morning and worked the Creole information into her draft article about Mauritius. As a separate exercise she wrote up all she knew about Justin Parker and his search for dodo eggs. For some reason Holly avoided her taped conversations with Connor. The diary and other notes provided references for some inspired writing about the life and times of William Maguire. And the Merville’s craft shop had a book about a number of the island’s more colourful characters, including the pirate king, Robert Surcouf. Holly worked a few of his antics into the story as well.

  By Saturday afternoon she was well and truly fed up with her own company. Holly checked her e-mail. No messages. Despite a few misgivings, she dialled room twenty-four to see if Justin wanted to join her in a swim. There was no reply. Deciding to leave a message at reception, she was totally unprepared for the fact that Justin had checked out that morning. She was turning away from the desk when a clerk called her name.

  ‘A fax has just come through for you,’ he said. ‘Would you like it delivered to your room?’

  ‘No thanks. I’ll take it with me.’ She glanced at the top of the page. It was on Out of Focus letterhead. Folding the sheet in half, Holly made her way down towards the water.

  The weather, since her arrival, had been as near to perfect as any climate could be. Today looked to be the same, barring a slight breeze. However, as Holly quickly discovered, there was just enough chill in it to make the beach unpleasant. She changed her mind, returned to a more sheltered spot near the swimming pool and ordered a glass of wine.

  The fax was from Audrey Hammond, Quinn’s secretary. Scanning through quickly, Holly noted with approval that Mrs Hammond had been reasonably thorough and stunningly obtuse. Starting with an explanation that she’d tried to e-mail but failed to get through, the message read, should anyone glance at it, like confirmation of an assignment. But, hidden among a superfluity of verbiage, sometimes so well disguised that Holly had to look twice to find it, was the information she had asked for plus a little bit extra for good measure: Justin’s birth date, schooling details, parents’ names, current and previous addresses, university qualifications, employers, driving licence and even his national health number. The man was a biologist, as he’d claimed, working for a small, privately owned laboratory in Oxford – hence his reference to that part of the world. There was no connection to the university. He had a sister two years older than him, married, with three children. His father was an industrial chemist. His mother a librarian. There was just one piece of intelligence that the industrious Audrey Hammond had been unable to conceal, although she did manage to make it read like a reference to Holly’s current assignment. Justin Parker’s mother had been a Maguire. ‘Interesting,’ Holly murmured. ‘Very interesting.’

  ‘Miss Jones? Call for you.’ The waiter handed her a telephone.

  She took the instrument, still reading the fax. ‘Holly Jones.’

  ‘Hi, it’s me.’

  ‘Telepathy,’ she said, immediately recognising Connor’s voice. ‘Has to be.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I was just thinking about you.’

  ‘That I’m a lovable, huggable kind of guy?’

  Holly grinned. ‘I’ve got news for you.’

  ‘I’ve got some for you too.’

  ‘I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.’

  ‘Ladies first.’

  ‘Okay. What do you make of this? Justin Parker’s mother was a Maguire. Is that a coincidence or is that a coincidence?’

  His voice was dry. ‘Certainly sounds like a coincidence to me.’

  ‘Maguire!’

  ‘Okay, okay. It’s interesting.’

  ‘That’s not all.’

  ‘You have been busy!’

  ‘Not really. It’s just that Justin Parker checked out of the hotel this morning and left no forwarding address.’

  ‘There I can help you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘My news is that Justin Parker checked out of the hotel this morning.’

  It was Holly’s turn to be dry. ‘Thanks, Maguire.’

  He laughed. ‘But I know his forwarding address. My spies tell me he caught a plane for Rodrigues.’

  ‘Just how long is your corporate arm, Maguire?’

  ‘Long enough.’

  ‘And strong enough by the sounds.’

  ‘I’m going to Rodrigues on Monday. Will you come?’

  ‘Already said yes if I recall.’

  There was silence for a few moments. ‘What are you doing right now?’

  ‘Sitting near the pool drinking wine.’

  ‘Fancy some company?’

  She found she did. ‘Yes please.’

  ‘I’ll be right over.’

  He walked across the terrace towards her. Holly had the fleeting thought that nature had taken the best from Pierce Brosnan, Mark Philippoussis and Mel Gibson and bestowed it on Connor Maguire. The combination was a knockout. Not a woman in the place was satisfied with only a single look, they all came back for seconds. Some even indulged in a third look and at least two didn’t bother to disguise what amounted to outright lust. His searching eyes found her. He gave a quick wave and made his way to her table.

  Settle, settle, Holly thought. This is not like you
.

  ‘Hi.’ He dropped into a chair, completely oblivious of an almost audible increase in heavy breathing around them that Holly fancied she could hear, even if he couldn’t.

  ‘Hi,’ she said weakly.

  Connor ordered a beer for himself and another glass of wine for her. ‘Did you get your work finished?’

  ‘Most of it.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘How about you?’

  ‘Me?’ His fingers drummed on the table. ‘I’ve been a bit bored actually. Do you know, this is the first time I’ve seen you without your protective coating.’

  Holly was wearing a plain black one-piece swimsuit, over which a flimsy short-sleeved shirt of the same colour fell halfway down her thighs. An equally thin sarong was tied around her waist. She’d left the blouse unbuttoned and it did nothing to hide the fact that her body, though small, was taut, well-toned and curved in all the right places. His words had the effect of making her feel as though she’d just woken from a trance to find herself completely naked. She plucked nervously at the edges of her shirt.

  ‘Stop it, Holly,’ he said gently. ‘What are you trying to hide?’

  She bit her lip. She was skinny and her nose was too big. Her normal garb was just as he’d said, a protective coating. Dressed like this, she felt vulnerable, fresh out of sarcasm and very nervous. She couldn’t understand it. She’d gone to the beach with Justin Parker wearing a bikini for God’s sake! That hadn’t bothered her at all.

  A soft smile brought two dimples. Holly watched the mouth in the middle. It was so . . . kissable. She remembered the evening at Cap Malheureux, she remembered . . . and realised she’d been staring at him for the longest time. ‘Uh . . .’

  His already dark eyes went a shade darker.

  Something suddenly snapped. Connor Maguire had turned her on merely by walking towards her. But Holly Jones didn’t trust men. Ergo, she didn’t trust Connor Maguire. So why was she thinking words like ‘hunk’? Why was her body tingling and her stomach churning? What the hell was wrong with her heart that it had taken up residence in her throat? She didn’t trust men, she didn’t trust men, she didn’t . . . ‘This is my body, Maguire. I’ll dress it as I damn well please and I’d appreciate it if you’d stop feeling morally obliged to make comments.’

  She’d hurt his feelings, she could see it on his face. Oh God! Why did you say that? Think of something nice. ‘You didn’t answer my question.’

  ‘What question?’ His voice was a shade harder.

  ‘Did you get your work, whatever it is, finished?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Holly looked down at her hands. ‘I’m sorry. I had no right to react like that.’

  She heard him breathe in – a sigh of relief? Or was he trying to control his anger? He blew out again. ‘I don’t know what he did to you, Holly, but I’ll tell you this for free. Your husband is a fool.’

  ‘He’s no longer my husband.’ She spoke tightly. ‘Anyway, how do you know it’s not me? I might be hell on wheels to live with.’ She looked back up and her stare challenged him.

  His mouth twitched.

  ‘I could be.’ She defended her question.

  ‘Yes.’ Connor nodded, smiling again.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  He closed his eyes. When they opened, amusement shone in them. ‘Yes, you could be.’ He leaned towards her. ‘But somehow, Holly Jones, I don’t think you’re nearly as tough as you like to pretend.’

  He was back inside her personal space and she reacted in practised self-defence. ‘You know nothing about me, Maguire. We can play these stupid psychological games for as long as you like, but you’ll still know nothing about me. Don’t flatter yourself.’ She rose. ‘I’ve changed my mind about company. I don’t want any.’

  Connor rose to his feet in a single fluid movement. ‘Suit yourself.’ He turned and walked away, leaving her staring after him and feeling foolish. She could have sworn he was still amused.

  Holly returned to her room, picking up a newspaper on the way through reception. Frustration and anger jockeyed for position. Banging the door of her room did nothing to help matters. ‘Shit, shit, shit!’ she swore at the walls. ‘What the hell is wrong with me?’ Walls, being walls, had no answer. She flung herself down on the bed, then swore again when her ribs screamed objection. In a futile gesture, she ripped off her shirt and swimsuit, pulling on her now very rumpled khaki trousers and shirt.

  Feeling less vulnerable, Holly picked up the newspaper but she couldn’t concentrate or connect with the stories. Some government minister was promising action to control a quarter-of-a-million stray dogs inhabiting the island’s cane fields. An Indian national who had been arrested last week at Plaisance Airport trying to bring illegal drugs into the country had been charged. The body of a man missing for two weeks and found in scrub country near Kanaka Crater had finally been identified. Acting police surgeon, Francois Prost, stated that he had died of natural causes. A young girl who had been found dead on a beach somewhere in the south had been buried in Curepipe two days ago. The mystery surrounding the death had caused nation-wide interest and, as a mark of respect, the town of Curepipe had closed for business for two hours so that those who wished to attend the funeral had been able to do so. The girl’s family had expressed appreciation to the thousands of mourners who had attended. The police were treating the Corrine Vitry case as murder.

  It crossed Holly’s mind that the funeral procession that held them up in Curepipe must have been the same one, but she was too absorbed in her own turmoil to feel anything more than a passing sympathy. Tossing the newspaper aside, Holly sat massaging her temples. Tears were threatening and she couldn’t decide whether to wallow in self-pity or fight them off. A soft tap at the door made her choose the latter. The last person in the world she expected to be standing there was Connor Maguire.

  ‘Oh!’

  He took in her change of clothes and the unshed tears. ‘Holly,’ he said quietly, ‘may I come in?’ He didn’t wait for a response, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

  She backed up.

  One hand reached out and gently tilted her chin.

  She had backed into the wall and had nowhere else to go.

  There was a softness in his eyes as he lowered his lips to hers. He kissed her very gently. With his lips still on hers he whispered, ‘It’s okay to feel, Holly.’

  A sob rose in her throat. She swallowed it.

  He went back to kissing her gently.

  Holly returned the pressure. Her head was spinning. The world had ceased to exist except for what was happening here and now. She could feel herself tremble.

  His hands were on her shoulders, drawing her closer. As his arms folded around her, he gathered her into his body. The kiss intensified.

  ‘Holly,’ Connor whispered when they drew apart.

  She shook her head. Not wildly, just a little shake of confusion, nerves, denial, concurrence, a yes and a no. ‘Go away.’

  He pulled her back. ‘No.’

  Her tears spilled over, but as he bent his head to her yet again she met him halfway, powerless to control the reaction. It was a very long kiss.

  They clung to each other. Connor brushed back stray hair from her forehead, his thumbs carefully wiping away the tears. ‘You have a little frown right here,’ he said softly, kissing between her eyes.

  A muscle ticked in her cheek. Holly sniffed as she stifled a single sob.

  ‘Do you want me to leave?’ He stood back slightly.

  Again, a tiny shake of her head. She was searching his eyes with her own, looking for reassurance. And it was there. With a shuddering breath, Holly clenched his shirt in her hands and pulled him towards her. This time, she kissed him.

  ‘Be sure,’ he whispered, when they drew apart.

  ‘I’m sure,’ she whispered back. There was no hesitation.

  He gathered her close. ‘If you change your mind now I could just about deal with it. But
now would be as good a time as any to say so.’

  Holly’s answer to that was to kiss him again.

  He groaned when they parted. ‘I don’t have any protection with me, do you?’

  ‘No.’

  They stared at each other, faces only inches apart.

  Connor closed his eyes, lowering his forehead against hers. ‘Oh shit.’

  Holly’s breath became a series of little huffs. Tension was leaving, departing with indecent haste as the ridiculousness of their situation hit her. She felt Connor shaking and realised he was laughing. She didn’t want to laugh. It was the last thing in the world she wanted to do, but couldn’t stop herself. They stood, holding each other and becoming mildly hysterical. What went through Holly’s mind at that moment was that a man who could laugh at a time like this was a man worth knowing.

  ‘The shops will be shut by now,’ Connor eventually managed. He buried his face in her neck. ‘I could just scream,’ he added, pseudo dramatic.

  So could Holly. ‘Don’t you have anything back where you’re staying?’

  ‘Afraid not. I’m a bit out of practice.’

  His admission surprised her. Someone as good-looking as Connor Maguire must be beating women off with a stick. She said as much.

  ‘I’m a man, Holly, not a sex machine. I like it to mean something,’ he mumbled against her skin, before raising his head and looking at her.

  A haunting memory briefly clouded her eyes and realisation dawned on Connor. ‘So that was it.’ He took both her hands in his. ‘Not all men are the same, Holly. Your husband must have hurt you badly but don’t condemn all of us. Give me a chance.’ Sitting on the bed, he pushed the newspaper aside and eased her down next to him.

  Holly leaned her head into his shoulder. ‘I’m scared.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘It makes me angry. Then I open my big mouth and say things I don’t mean.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And then I hate myself and get even angrier and then you turn up in my room and . . . I’m scared.’

  ‘You don’t have to be, Holly. I could never hurt you.’

  She sensed his sincerity. It was important, imperative that it be there. ‘I don’t want to half do this.’