by Anne Mather
‘And?’ Jordan dug her heels into the mare’s sides and urged the docile animal forward, threading her way between the trees to the beach. ‘And what?’ she called back over her shoulder, and Neil came cantering after her.
‘What did he say?’ he asked, keeping pace with her. ‘Was he civil?’
‘Oh—yes.’ Jordan was glad of the exertion to account for the sudden colour in her cheeks. ‘Of course.’
‘Why of course? I thought you didn’t exactly part on the best of terms?’
‘That was ten years ago, Neil,’ Jordan protested quickly.
‘So you’ll come to the barbecue with me?’
Jordan sighed, cornered. ‘If you really want me to.’
‘I really want you to,’ he averred, reaching across to cover her hand where it lay on her thigh. ‘I’ll tell Cilla. She’ll be delighted.’
Jordan suspected this was true. Cilla Hammond’s social gatherings were not known for their excitement, but with the possibility of Rhys Williams being in attendance, and Jordan roped in, too, she could look forward to an interesting evening at least.
For her part, Jordan suffered a variety of reactions, the most frequent being the conviction that she should have found some excuse to refuse. If Rhys did turn up, it would all be horribly embarrassing, and she would feel like a specimen under a microscope, providing entertainment for the other guests present. But after what she had said, she could hardly broach the subject with Neil, and eventually she gave up the idea of bunking and put her mind to the question of what she was going to wear.
For a beach barbecue, formal clothes were obviously out, and the choice seemed to lie between trousers and a shirt or a skirt and tank top. Neil had also suggested she wear her bathing suit under whatever garment she decided upon, but as she had no intention of exposing herself in front of Rhys, Jordan intended to ignore this particular piece of advice.
Karen, however, had her own opinion. ‘You can’t wear those slacks and that shirt for a party!’ she exclaimed, coming into her sister’s bedroom as Jordan was getting ready for her date. ‘At least wear something feminine, Jordan! Don’t put yourself down! Show him what he’s lost!’
Jordan heaved a sigh. ‘I suppose you mean Rhys Williams,’ she exclaimed, pausing in the process of buttoning up her shirt, and Karen nodded.
‘Who else? I wouldn’t let him see me looking like a drag. I’d make him so jealous of Neil, he’d want to knock his teeth in!’
Jordan uttered a nervous laugh. ‘You’re crazy.’
‘No. Only human,’ responded Karen drily. ‘Are you really going like that? Or are you going to shock the lot of them?’
Jordan shook her head. ‘How could I shock anyone?’
‘How could you——’ Karen broke off impatiently. ‘Jordan, don’t be silly. You know you’re good to look at. Okay, you’re slim, but that’s fashionable these days. If you stopped living on your nerves so much, perhaps you’d even gain some weight. In any case, you’ve got it where it matters. You’ve always had nice breasts.’
‘Karen!’
‘Well, it’s true.’ Karen looked down at her own small bosom resignedly. ‘I’ve always envied you. But as long as I can remember you’ve made no effort to take advantage of your appearance.’
Jordan bent her head. ‘No, well——’
‘I know, I know,’ Karen swiftly placated her. ‘You’ve always been too busy. But tonight—now—take my advice and wear something else. And let me do your hair for once.’
Jordan hesitated. ‘What else could I wear? The dresses I have are either too formal or too old. I could wear the skirt and blouse I wore to dine at Neil’s a couple of weeks ago, but I thought a change was in order.’
‘It is.’ Karen whirled about. ‘Wait here, I won’t be a minute.’
When she came back, she was carrying a white cotton voile smock and a black suede belt that fastened with cords. ‘There you are,’ she said, tossing the smock on to the bed. ‘Try that on. I haven’t worn it yet, and it should suit you.’
Jordan hesitated. ‘You mean—wear it with these trousers?’ she ventured, looking down at her white slacks, but Karen quickly shook her head.
‘Try it on,’ she suggested, helping Jordan to unfasten her shirt and pants. ‘Hurry up, or we won’t have time to do your hair. And you’re not going out with it looking like that.’
‘What’s wrong with my hair?’ exclaimed Jordan, observing the coiled rope at her nape without satisfaction. ‘You know, perhaps I should have it cut. It would be so much easier to manage if it was short.’
‘Forget it,’ said Karen, picking up the smock and slipping it over her sister’s head. ‘There, it’s long enough. I thought it would be. Here, tie the belt and let me look at you.’
Jordan caught her breath as she saw her reflection in the wardrobe mirror. The loose voile smock reached scarcely to her knees, and when she tied the belt about her waist, it lifted it a further inch at least. In addition to which, although the sleeves were elbow length and full, the neckline dipped alarmingly, and there were no convenient buttons to hide the dusky hollow just visible between her breasts.
‘I can’t wear this!’ she exclaimed, staring at her image helplessly, but Karen was fervently enthusiastic.
‘Of course you can,’ she declared, surveying her sister’s slim brown legs, now attractively exposed, with approval. ‘You look great, Jordan, honestly. With your tan, it looks fantastic! Forget about Rhys Williams. Neil will have a fit!’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ sighed Jordan worriedly, but it wasn’t completely true. Her mind persisted in picturing Rhys’s reactions when he saw her in something so revealing, and although she wanted to dismiss it, the temptation to shock him was there.
‘Oh, Jordan, stop looking so doubtful!’ Karen put her hands on her hips and surveyed the other girl critically. ‘You really do look smashing. And you can wear your bikini underneath without feeling far too hot.’
Jordan sighed. ‘I wasn’t going to wear a bikini.’
‘Why not? It’s a beach party, isn’t it?’
‘Well, yes——’
‘There you are, then. Didn’t Neil suggest it? After all that sand, you’ll be glad of a swim, believe me. And you’ll feel out of it if you can’t participate.’
Jordan caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘It’s awfully short.’
‘It’s fashionable,’ said Karen again. ‘Honestly, love, you’ll knock them dead! They’ve grown so used to seeing you looking like a woman twice your age, they’ll hardly recognise you.’
Thirty minutes later, Jordan realised the truth of Karen’s statement when Neil failed to recognise her as she crossed the lobby. He was in his usual place, propped against the reception desk talking to Raoul, and he scarcely paid any attention to the slim young woman, dressed in white, who came across the sun-warmed tiles on high heels. With her hair unbound for once, and simply secured at her nape with a leather thong, she didn’t look much like the Jordan he was used to seeing, and when the several gold bracelets she was wearing on her wrist rattled on the desk beside him, he turned with some impatience to meet her troubled gaze.
‘My God, Jordan!’ he exclaimed, his astonishment seeming to confirm her worst fears. But then, to confound her suspicions, he added: ‘You look terrific! What happened to you?’
‘You really think I look all right?’ she asked, aware that Raoul was staring at her too with a mixture of admiration and disbelief, and Neil nodded.
‘You—well, you always look good to me, Jordan, you know that,’ he said, belatedly qualifying his reaction. ‘But tonight you’re something special. Really, you look beautiful!’
Jordan coloured. ‘You’re sure this short skirt is quite decent?’
‘Hey, you’ve got good legs, why not show them?’ Neil declared firmly. ‘Come on, let’s go. I can’t wait to see Cilla’s face when she sees you. And Martina, too. I hear she’s home for a holiday.’
Martina Hammond was Cilla’s d
aughter, and briefly Jordan’s heart sank. She and Martina had never been the best of friends, and although they were much of an age, they had little in common. Martina had gone to college in the United States, and after several minor setbacks had succeeded in wedding one of the most eligible Senators in the country. The fact that the marriage had foundered after only two years was not considered a failure on Martina’s part. On the contrary, she used the contacts she had made to make a very satisfactory career for herself in television, and these days she could be seen as anchor-person on a west coast news programme. No doubt, the fact that Rhys Williams was staying on Eleutha at the moment had attracted her back to the island, thought Jordan cynically. If Martina succeeded in filming an interview with Rhys, who these days avoided that kind of publicity, she would certainly be applauded by her sponsors.
The drive to the Hammonds’ home took a little over twenty minutes. Like Rhys’s house, it was situated on the east side of the island, and below the sprawling colonial-style dwelling, which had been on this spot in one form or another since the eighteenth century, a small, private cove was sheltered by palms and flowering casuarinas. The Hammond family had lived on the island for over two hundred years, although these days Paul Hammond could not rely on the traditional crops of pineapple and sugar cane to sustain his wealth. Like his daughter, he spent much time in the United States, only coming back for prolonged visits when the weather there defeated him.
Tonight there were several cars parked in the drive leading to the house, and Jordan recognised most of them. There were still a number of families living on the island, and her father had always maintained that so long as they kept a nucleus of wealthy settlers, Eleutha would not suffer the commercialisation of some of the other islands. He was probably right, she reflected. She and Neil were the outsiders here, in that they made their living from tourism. But in her experience it was not tourists who spoiled their natural resources. It was the speculators who moved in and invested money in huge leisure complexes, instead of allowing the local economy to develop at its own pace.
Neil parked his car in a vacant space, and he and Jordan walked the length of the drive to where a string of coloured lights illuminated the terrace. Jordan looked rather anxiously for the familiar jeep, but it was not in evidence, and she breathed a little more easily as they reached the throng of guests already gathered around the swimming pool. Down on the beach, fires had been lighted, and the appetising aroma of steaks grilling over charcoal drifted irresistably on the breeze. But the Hammonds’ guests were presently employed in the interesting business of renewing acquaintances, and Jordan and Neil were swiftly gathered into their midst.
‘How—charming you look, Jordan,’ Cilla Hammond declared, with deliberate hesitation. In a loose-fitting caftan of embroidered silk, Cilla herself looked rather overdressed, and Jordan withstood the inevitable comparison easily, refusing to be perturbed.
‘You look ravishing, my dear,’ Paul Hammond assured her warmly, bestowing an affectionate kiss on each cheek. ‘Take no notice of Cilla. She’s only jealous. She doesn’t care for fluffy ducklings who suddenly turn out to be swans.’
‘Is that what I am, Paul?’ Jordan countered smilingly, and he looked to Neil for confirmation.
‘Wouldn’t you say so, old man?’ he exclaimed. ‘I always knew that some day she’d come out of her shell.’
‘I think you’re mixing your metaphors, Paul,’ responded Neil, with a chuckle. ‘You must have been sampling this punch before we arrived!’
‘Well, what’s the use of making the damn stuff if you can’t enjoy it,’ responded Paul vehemently. ‘What do you think of it, Jordan? Here, have another glass.’
‘Do you want to make me drunk?’ protested Jordan, laughing in spite of herself. It was good to relax, and the realisation that Rhys was not here had done wonders for her confidence. ‘I haven’t finished this one yet.’
Paul grunted and moved away to attend to his other guests, and Neil bent his head to hers. ‘Here comes Martina,’ he murmured, nodding towards the house, and Jordan turned her head to see the Hammonds’ daughter making her way in their direction.
In transparent harem pants and a matching silvery tunic, the other girl looked svelte and sophisticated, and Jordan’s composure faltered. Martina looked every inch the successful woman she was, and her smile wavered only slightly when she glimpsed Jordan’s slim brown figure.
‘I knew you’d come, Jordan,’ she exclaimed, hugging the other girl with what Jordan herself felt to be rather doubtful sincerity. ‘Neil.’ She nodded to Jordan’s companion. ‘As soon as Mummy told me she was inviting Rhys Williams, I felt convinced you wouldn’t let us down. I mean,’ she paused to let her words sink in, ‘that affair between you two is old history now, isn’t it? It’s so much more civilised to be able to put the past behind you.’
Jordan had stiffened, and as if sensing her reaction, Neil put a reassuring arm about her waist. ‘Williams is here?’ he asked casually, and Martina smiled.
‘Of course. He and I went swimming earlier. He’s upstairs now, getting changed. Haven’t you seen Lucy? His daughter, you know? She’s about here somewhere, though I’m not sure where.’
Having delivered her bombshell, Martina drifted off to speak to her mother, and Neil looked down at Jordan with unconcealed impatience. ‘She really enjoyed that, didn’t she?’ he muttered, touching Jordan’s cheek. ‘Trust Martina to make the most of her opportunities! She probably sees Williams as a possible candidate for her next in-depth special.’
‘Hmm.’ Jordan tried to sound as if she agreed with him, but privately she had other ideas. A woman like Martina could not be unaware of Rhys’s other qualities, and her motives for informing Jordan of their relationship had not been simply to express a commercial interest. She found him attractive; most women did; and her reminder of their past association had been intended as a warning.
‘You’re not worried because he’s here, are you?’ Neil asked now, putting a hand at either side of her waist and turning her towards him.
‘No!’ Jordan’s response was a little too hasty, but Neil didn’t seem to notice.
‘Good,’ he murmured, lowering his cheek to her hair. ‘Let me handle Rhys Williams, if he starts annoying you.’
Jordan was grateful for Neil’s support, but she couldn’t help the unwilling thought that in any confrontation between them, he was likely to come off the loser. He might be as tall as Rhys, and broader, but he did not have Rhys’s athletic litheness, or the street-wise experience that eighteen years of fending for himself had afforded. He was a big man, but he was not tough, and Jordan wondered if he had any idea how ruthless Rhys could be.
As she thought of this, her fingers went automatically to her lips, seeking and finding the tender inner curve that still bore the scars of Rhys’s assault. Damn him, she thought frustratedly, why had he come here tonight, when in the past he had invariably refused all invitations? And as she pondered this enigma, she saw Lucy, seated sullenly in a corner of the verandah, watching her.
CHAPTER TEN
THE girl was alone, and judging by her expression, she was not enjoying herself at all. She had a glass of Coke balanced on the knee of her jeans, and when Jordan intercepted her brooding glance, she immediately bent her head to sip from the straw that protruded from it. But as soon as Jordan pretended to look away, Lucy’s head came up again, and although she had no reason to like the girl, she couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.
Excusing herself to Neil, who had been captured in conversation by the island doctor and his wife, Jordan crossed the tiles surrounding the pool, and mounted the steps to the verandah. ‘Hello, Lucy,’ she said, refusing to be deterred by the girl’s sulky demeanour, and Lucy was forced to answer her or ignore her altogether.
She was too young—and too unsure of herself in her present setting—to do the latter, and lifting a careless shoulder, she murmured: ‘Hi,’ in an offhand tone.
‘I didn’t know you were here,’
added Jordan, waving the glass of punch in her hand. ‘After a few more of these, nobody will know who’s here. Have you tasted the stuff? It’s lethal!’
Lucy pursed her lips. ‘I’ve got Coke,’ she said flatly, and Jordan had to think again.
‘Have you been swimming?’ she asked, broaching the only subject which she thought might bring some reaction from the girl, and Lucy looked up at her resentfully.
‘No.’
‘Oh!’ Jordan had already guessed this was the case. ‘Well, I expect you will later. Haven’t you been introduced to any of the other young people yet?’
‘I don’t want to meet any of the other young people,’ retorted Lucy shortly. ‘I told Daddy I’d rather stay with him, but——’
She broke off abruptly, and Jordan couldn’t help herself from prompting: ‘But—what?’
Lucy hunched her shoulders. ‘Nothing.’
Jordan sighed. ‘All right. So come and join us.’
‘No.’ Lucy hesitated a moment and then she gave an unwilling grimace. ‘I mean—no, thanks,’ she added grudgingly. ‘I’ll wait for Daddy.’
Jordan hesitated. ‘If you’re sure …’
Lucy looked up. ‘Thanks anyway,’ she appended. ‘You’re a lot nicer than I thought. Better than Miss Hammond anyway.’
Jordan’s lips parted. ‘Thanks!’
‘I mean it.’ Lucy sniffed. ‘She’s a vampire. I’ve seen women like her before. Daddy usually recognises the type, too, only tonight he wouldn’t listen to me.’
Noticing Neil was threading his way through the throng to reach her, Jordan realised with some regret that their conversation was about to be curtailed. ‘Are you sure you want to stay here——’ she began, only to suspend her speech abruptly when the screen door behind Lucy opened and Rhys himself emerged.
His timing was perfect, she thought irrelevantly, coinciding as it did with her escort’s arrival at the steps. Neil came up on to the verandah as Rhys closed the screen door behind him, and Jordan felt Neil’s hand upon her shoulder, like a blatant display of his possession.
