Caribbean Cocktail

by Jane Corrie

  Caribbean Cocktail - Jane Corrie

  ’’Cassy didn't fit the role she was cast in!’’

  Cassy dutifully traveled to the Bahamas at her uncle's request to persuade his errant daughter, Sylvia, to come home. Still, her mission might-have been pleasant if only Sylvia hadn't told Justin Pride that Cassy was a home wrecker preparing to marry an older man for his money. It was a prank, and shouldn't have mattered at all! But strangely enough, it did. Even if Justin, the handsomest man she'd ever met, was only a penniless nobody, Cassy cared what he thought of her!

  Printed in U.S.A.

  OTHER Harlequin Romance by JANE CORRIE

  1956—THE IMPOSSIBLE BOSS 2020—RAINBOW FOR MEGAN 2038—SINCLAIR TERRITORY 2053—GREEN PADDOCKS 2072—THE BAHAMIAN PIRATE 2087—DANGEROUS ALLIANCE 2098—RIMMER'S WAY 2159--RAFFERTY'S LEGACY 2167—PATTERSON'S ISLAND 2194—THE TEXAN RANCHER 2209—PEACOCK'S WALK 2257—THE ISLAND BRIDE

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  Original hardcover edition published in 1978 by Mills & Boon Limited

  ISBN 0-373-02285-9

  Harlequin edition published September 1979

  Copyright © 1978 by Jane Corrie.

  Philippine copyright 1979. Australian copyright 1979.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher.

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

  CHAPTER ONE

  `WE'RE relying on you.'

  Cassy Aden looked at her uncle after this terse statement. It wasn't the first time they had 'relied' on her, she thought with a wave of dislike as her blue eyes rested on his short portly frame, plump face and small darting eyes, with the well veined nose that spoke of indulgence at the bar. She had never liked him, but couldn't ever remember disliking him quite as much as she did at that moment.

  His complete assurance that she would do exactly what he wanted her to do heightened her distaste of the man, and if it wasn't for the fact that she had reasons of her own for complying with the request that she set off to the Caribbean to find and bring back his daughter Sylvia, who had gone out to the sunlit Bahamas ostensibly for a holiday but had since refused to return home, she might very well have dug her heels in and refused.

  `Picked up some beachcomber, I'll be bound,' had been her uncle's bald comment on receipt of the letter from Sylvia that had stated her intentions. 'She won't get a penny out of me until she comes home,' he had added furiously, and glared at Cassy. 'And you can tell her that. She'll listen to you.'

  That much at least was true, thought Cassy, for Sylvia and Cassy were very close, and whatever the reason was that Sylvia had decided to stay put, it had

  to be a strong one for her not to have written and put Cassy into the picture. All in all, it did rather look as if Uncle George had put his finger on the answer, and that meant that the task allotted her would not be an easy one, in spite of the glamorous setting she would shortly be heading for.

  The girls were both in their early twenties. Sylvia was six months older than Cassy, and at twenty-two, should have had enough acumen to be able to make up her own mind on such matters, and no amount of persuasion on Cassy's part would serve to steer her from her course. The only thing she could do, Cassy told herself hopefully, was to have a look at the man concerned, and if her uncle was right, and if he was entirely unsuitable, then try and do something about it—but what, Cassy had no idea.

  However, she had plenty of ideas on another subject and was about to voice them. 'Very well, Uncle,' she replied steadily, 'I'll go on one condition, and that is that you will agree to arrange for me to take over May-den Kennels. You always said you would start me up in business when I was ready. I've been ready for two years now, and it is my money. I'm not asking you to back me in the venture.'

  On seeing his quick frown, she hastened on, 'Mrs Peel is going to retire in a few months' time, and I want to be the first to make an offer. She knows I'm interested, and I'm sure she'll give me the first chance of taking over, but the money must be there.'

  It was obvious that her uncle was not at all keen on the proposal, for the simple reason that Cassy had made herself indispensable to the Mellar family. It was Cassy who organised the dinner parties that were given

  to various members on the board of directors of the vast transport company owned by her uncle. It was also Cassy who smoothed over the numerous tiffs that sprung up between Sylvia and her stepmother, and as there had been no love lost between them, Cassy had to be the one to make the trip out to bring the truant home.

  Mrs Mellar was ten years older than Cassy, but acted as if she were the same age, and simply refused to take over any of the responsibilities incurred as the wife of a successful business man. She loved the dinner parties and numerous cocktail parties that were thrown with depressing regularity as a get-together with the staff, and where she would receive the due homage from the younger and more ambitious members of staff. Not that she would ever step out of line, she was much too aware of her status to ever put her future in jeopardy. Cassy might not care a great deal about her uncle, but in spite of his blunderbuss way of getting what he wanted, and not caring one whit about the method chosen to gain his objective, he had old-fashioned ideas on marriage, and had taken a long time to replace his first wife, Sylvia's mother, who had died twenty years ago. Christine Mellar, the new owner of the title, was well aware of this, and being an astute woman had no intention of giving him any cause to regret the marriage.

  Had Christine been the slightly nervous, terrified of making a mistake, type of person she claimed to be whenever it was time to work out the placings at a dinner table, or even make out the menus, Cassy would not have minded so much, but it was sheer laziness that prompted her firm refusal to carry out the duty that

  should by rights be hers. Her complimentary, `Cassy will see to that, dear; she does it so well,' went unopposed by her uncle, firstly, because she was right, and secondly because her uncle took great pride in his dinner parties, that were a byword in the upper social bracket to which they belonged.

  Apart from Christine's laziness, Cassy had nothing else to complain of, and if she had been the possessive type that took pride in running the household of a large country house, she would have been well pleased with this state of affairs, for everything went on as before the marriage, only now there was one more to cater for. Cassy, however, was not at all keen on carrying on as before. When she had first heard of the forthcoming marriage from an indignant Sylvia, she had started planning her future, a future that did not encompass running the Mellar household for the rest of her life. For her, the marriage meant freedom, and a chance to do what she had always wanted to do, run a boarding kennels.

  `I'm surprised at you,' blustered her uncle. 'Talking of conditions at a time like this ! If I'd the time I'd go myself. As it is, I can't. I shouldn't have thought it was all that much of a chore. You'll be seeing a bit of the world,' he shrugged his thick shoulders.
'Might even stay for a few days, once you've got Sylvia to see a bit of sense, eh?'

  Cassy would have liked to say, 'Thank you, sir, very kind of you. Are you sure I can be spared?' but instead, she gave an abrupt nod and stuck to her guns. She would never get a chance like this again, and her uncle had to see that she had a right to live her own life. Whatever she owed the Mellar family for giving

  her a home at the tender age of ten when her parents had been killed in a plane crash, she had more than doubly repaid. Had she not been of an age to provide her uncle's daughter Sylvia with companionship, it was highly doubtful whether the gesture would have been made at all, for Cassy was only related to the Mellar family by her mother's second marriage, and was not a blood relation.

  It was through this second marriage that she was able to make a stand for her independence, for she had been left well provided for in the form of shares in International Trucking, her uncle's thriving transport business, but without the sale of those shares she was unable to raise the money necessary to buy the business she had set her heart on.

  `Will you see Mrs Peel and arrange for me to take over?' she asked persistently, showing him that she was not going to be put off. 'I shall be away for a week, or a fortnight, won't I? and by the time I return someone else could have made an offer and been accepted. I do know she wants to sell as soon as possible.'

  Her clear blue eyes met her uncle's irritated glance; she had him in a cleft stick, and he knew it. 'Oh, very well, then,' he said grudgingly, 'but I hope you know what you're doing. It's not just a question of taking dogs in and collecting boarding fees. There's feeding, and cleaning out, staying up at all hours for collection. I suppose you've taken all that into account, eh?' he barked at her.

  Cassy nodded complacently; he knew very well that she knew what she was about. If it hadn't been for Cassy's help Mayden Kennels would have collapsed long ago through lack of manual assistance, particu-

  larly through the holiday season when the boarding pens were full to overflowing. Mrs Peel had often gratefully remarked on this fact to her uncle, but it did not suit his purpose to remember any of that at this time, or the numerous occasions when Cassy would rise at the unfashionable hour of six each morning and slip through to the neighbouring premises where the kennels were to be found.

  To hear her uncle talk, Cassy thought indignantly, she was indulging in a world of fantasy, and had no idea of the work such an undertaking entailed, but she did know. She had had plenty of time to witness every aspect of such a business, since she had been a regular visitor from the first day she had arrived at her uncle's home all those years ago, and had wandered into the neighbouring property and discovered the kennels. The enthralled Cassy had since made it her business to give what assistance she could, and as she was a sensible child she had been allowed to fetch and carry water to the pens and collect the feeding bowls of the doggy inmates. When she was older she learned how to groom the animals, and was allowed to give them exercise in the spacious grounds of the kennels, thus relieving the harassed kennelmaids of at least one chore. Yes, she knew what she was about all right, but her uncle would never admit it, not while there was a chance of getting her to change her mind and continue to run his household with the smooth efficiency of a born organiser such as Cassy was.

  'Well, you'd better pack your things. I'm arranging for you to take the next available flight out. Pity you didn't go with her,' he mumbled. `I'll have a word with Marchant when he gets back,' he added ominously.

  `Said he'd keep an eye on her, didn't he?'

  Cassy gave him an exasperated look; as he had chosen to forget her past experience in the kennels, so he had conveniently forgotten that she had wanted to go with Sylvia, but there had been two important dinner parties scheduled for that period, and she had been persuaded out of the trip on the vague promise that she go a little later in the year. On this one occasion this slight alteration in her plans had fitted in nicely with her own plans, although it had infuriated Sylvia who had been trying to get Cassy to take a holiday with her for several years. There had been the family holidays in the past, of course, when Sylvia's father would rent a villa on the Costa Brava for a month, but the whole period would be organised with precise detail on what they did each day as if there was no time to be wasted, even though they were on holiday. This was George Mellar's idea of enjoyment, and it was not until the girls were in their twenties that he agreed to allow them to make their own arrangements and choose their own holiday.

  The news of Mrs Peel's impending retirement, however, had caused Cassy to regret leaving at that particular time. Mrs Peel's health had not been too good for some time, but Cassy had not envisaged her sudden decision to sell up and move into the next county where she had her eye on a country cottage. As Cassy was anxious not to miss the chance of taking over the kennels, so Mrs Peel was anxious not to miss the chance of buying the cottage, and it was this fact that made for urgency all round.

  Cassy felt a surge of relief flow over her. She had stood her ground and won her case: Her uncle would

  not let her down; he might not like it, but he had given his word.

  One week later Cassy stepped off the plane and on to the sun-soaked earth of Nassau, carrying a light coat and the small piece of hand luggage that she had been allowed to take, along with two cases that she had now to claim in the baggage section of the airport.

  Her silk jersey suit that had seemed so appropriate to wear at home because of the still unsettled weather, even though it was the middle of June, now made her feel not only overdressed, but decidedly too hot for comfort, and she longed to get to the hotel she was heading for and have a refreshing cold shower.

  Her passport stamped and luggage collected, Cassy stepped out of the cool airline premises and hailed a taxi, giving the driver the destination stated on the top of Sylvia' s last letter home, although Cassy had a vague suspicion that she would not find her at the given address, and from then on things could become decidedly sticky, particularly for someone new to the area. However, as her uncle had often grudgingly conceded from time to time, Cassy was a sensible girl, and she had the added advantage of being able to put herself in Sylvia's position; she knew her a little too well to even entertain defeat.

  The named hotel would have been the one that she had been staying at, Cassy surmised, for she had a vague feeling that Sylvia had said as much during the planning of the holiday, but that had been a long time ago, and Cassy had been caught up in the affairs of the kennels since then, and everything else had taken second place in her thoughts.

  The cabby, a cheerful islander dressed in a bright

  blue and white checked shirt and jeans, had taken full note of Cassy's accent. 'You from England?' he queried, flashing her -a smile that highlighted his white teeth as he expertly manoeuvred the big car past the other taxis, either waiting to pick up passengers or depositing others for return flights. 'Sure is a long way,' he commented brightly on Cassy's affirming nod.

  Of this Cassy was well aware, for in spite of the fact that the watch on her wrist told her that it was early evening in Nassau, her drooping eyelids told her otherwise, since it was in fact past midnight in England, and it had been a very long trip.

  As it was now dusk, there was not a great deal that Cassy could see of the passing scenery as the taxi made its way out of the airport and towards her destination. Had she not been quite so tired she might have made an effort to take notice of her first impressions of the island paradise she had just set foot on, but she had to use all her will power to stay awake. She only knew she was desperately tired and longed for sleep.

  There were impressions, of course, of lighted areas, and a glimpse of a palm tree now and again, and of large white Colonial-type residences, but Cassy would have plenty of time to take in the scenery later. All she wanted now was to reach her destination.

  Her wish was granted much sooner than she had anticipated, for in what seemed an incredibly short period of time, the taxi was ente
ring a long drive bordered with flowering shrubs, and soon drawing up beside a huge white hotel complex.

  Judging by the activity inside and outside the hotel the cabby carried her cases into, followed by the sleepy Cassy, the place was doing a roaring business, and

  there was no shortage of guests. Cassy had her uncle to thank for his prompt action in booking her accommodation as soon as they had been informed of the flight cancellation that she had been waiting for, as that had been the only way she could have got to such a popular sunlit playground without having to book the trip months in advance.

  As soon as the date had been confirmed, her uncle had got things rolling his end, and booked her accommodation by cable. He had left nothing to chance; there was no stopping Uncle George once he had got the bit between his teeth, and going by the influx of guests now milling around the reception foyer, it did occur to Cassy that she might find herself occupying either a poky room on the top floor, or a bridal suite, for money had been no impediment. Cassy had been given the full amount allowed for the visit, and had no worries in that direction.

  However, a short while later, to her relief, Cassy found her earlier assumption wrong, and she was shown to a room on the second floor that came well up to the luxury standard the interior of the hotel had suggested. As the porter stacked her cases in the space provided just off the bedroom, Cassy noted that the unit was self-contained, for there was a bathroom tucked in behind the lobby of the room, and this pleased her, for she had a dread of wandering about in strange hotels looking for toilet facilities.

  She tipped the porter the same amount as she had given the cabby, and met with the same amount of appreciation that gave her a suspicion that she might have overdone the normal expected tip, but there was time enough to get that sort of thing worked out, and