Tahitian Wedding

‘Yes, I suppose I do,’ she replied.

His mouth set grimly and his gaze travelled down over her slender body.

‘Well, I won’t tell you what sort of decorating style I’d expect you to favour,’ he drawled. ‘I don’t suppose you’d have room to cart soft lighting and red satin sheets around in your little suitcase anyway.’

Claire caught her breath in a sob of rage and her eyes sparkled dangerously. Lunging forward, she tried to wrestle her bag out of his grip.

‘How dare you?’ she cried unsteadily. ‘Look, Alain, I should never have come here! It was ridiculous to think that you and I could be pleasant to each other for five minutes at a time. So, if you’ll just call me a taxi, I’ll take my unwelcome presence away.’

‘Don’t be such a melodramatic little fool!’ growled Alain. ‘You’ll go when I’m ready to take you, Claire, and not before. I promised Marie Rose that you and I would get along together until the wedding is over.’

‘Fine,’ seethed Claire, still trying to wrestle her bag from his grip. ‘I’ll see you again on the actual day of the wedding and I’ll even bare my teeth and smile at you. But in the meantime, give me my suitcase and let me go!’

‘When you’ve had a shower and breakfast and calmed down, I’ll let you go!’ thundered Alain. ‘But I won’t allow you to turn up at your home in such a state as this. Your father is a sick man and you’ll upset him!’

‘I am not in a state!’ cried Claire.

‘Yes, you are,’ contradicted Alain. ‘Your hands are shaking! Look at them.’

It was true. Claire looked down and saw that her slim, tanned fingers were gripped around the handle of the bag so tightly that they were trembling. Very slowly and deliberately, as if he were undoing a padlock, Alain prised them free. Then he patted Claire soothingly on the shoulder.

‘Now, go and have a shower,’ he advised, ‘while I order some breakfast for us. You can use the green bedroom through there. And just come back to the dining-room when you’re ready.’

Claire stared at him with blazing brown eyes.

‘I hate you,’ she breathed. ‘You’re the most overbearing, ruthless, patronising, hateful—’

‘Remember that,’ cut in Alain, ‘and the next week will pass very smoothly. I’ll see you in the dining-room in fifteen minutes, Claire.’

Left alone, Claire stalked into the bedroom, slammed the door and leaned against it, choking for breath.

‘Swine!’ she muttered. ‘Swine, swine, swine!’

But she could see quite clearly that staying in a rage would only serve to amuse Alain even further, so she knew she would have to regain control of herself. Taking a long gulp of air, she looked around her. The room was decorated in cool shades of blue and green and white and the curtains were drawn back, revealing a panoramic view of the ocean. In the far corner was a small sitting area with deep, cream leather armchairs and feathery potted palms, while nearby french doors led on to a private balcony. A queen-sized bed with a colourful floral cover dominated the centre of the room, but there were also spacious built-in wardrobes, a carved chest of drawers and a wall unit that held everything from a television set and video-recorder to a large aquarium filled with red and blue fish. Exploring further, Claire found a spacious bathroom and let out a low gasp of astonishment at its magnificence. It was faced with palest green marble and had gold fittings in the shower and bath. Yet what held her gaze longest was not the décor, but the view. Because of the house’s location high on the cliff-top, there was no problem of privacy. Consequently one wall had been lined with huge picture windows, overlooking the dazzling sapphire vista of the sea. Walking slowly towards them as if in a dream, Claire stared down at the beach of black, volcanic sand far below. Shading her eyes, she peered intently at the cluster of houses backing on to the foreshore and caught a glimpse of her parents’ modest bungalow between the coconut palms.

‘Oh, it’s so nice to be home!’ she murmured. ‘If only I didn’t have to deal with Alain, everything would be perfect.’

But she did have to deal with him. That was the whole problem. If only I hadn’t been such a fool six years ago, she thought passionately, he wouldn’t hate me like this! Still, there’s no way I can change the past, so I’ll just have to grit my teeth and get through this somehow…

Five minutes later she was rotating blissfully under the warm downpour of the shower. In spite of her tension, a ridiculous, bubbling happiness welled up inside her each time she remembered she was home. And when at last she reluctantly turned off the water, wrapped a gigantic white towel around her and padded into the bedroom, she did something entirely unexpected. Reaching down into her suitcase full of neatly folded clothes, she picked up a smart, tailored black and white dress and then hesitated. It was an outfit she had worn several times on reporting assignments and with the small pearl and gold stud earrings and the black pumps she knew it made her look cool and sophisticated and totally in control of life. Exactly the way she wanted to feel in order to deal with Alain Charpentier. Yet some strange nostalgia made her replace it in the bag and pick up something else instead. A dress she hadn’t worn for six years, but which she had never been able to throw away. A pareu, the national costume of Tahiti, in her favourite colours of scarlet and white.

Picking up the rectangular piece of cloth, Claire wound it round her body, tucking it high under her armpits, so that it concealed her breasts, but left her shoulders bare. Then, watching herself thoughtfully in the mirror, she pulled off her plastic shower cap and let her long brown hair tumble loose to her waist. A jolt of shock went through her as she saw her own reflection. The last time she had worn that dress, she had been squirming in Alain Charpentier’s grip, sobbing and pleading and babbling incoherent explanations as he ordered her to leave Tahiti. Wearing it now seemed like an act of defiance, a way of showing him that she could no longer be bullied. If he even remembered the dress, which was highly unlikely.

Alain’s sharp intake of breath as she entered the sitting-room five minutes later showed her that she was wrong on that score. His brows drew together in a scowl and she had no doubt at all that he was remembering the past just as vividly as she was. However, he made no mention of it as he rose to his feet and came towards her.

‘You look very attractive,’ he said.

‘Thank you,’ replied Claire warily.

‘Let me get you some juice,’ suggested Alain. ‘I’ve ordered breakfast from the hotel, but I don’t expect it for another five minutes or so. Now what would you like? Orange juice or a tropical medley?’

‘Tropical medley, please,’ said Claire.

His fingers brushed hers as he handed her the tall, frosted glass and she flinched. Colouring self-consciously, she took a hasty gulp of the chilled drink. It was delicious, thick with shreds of fresh pineapple and mango and full of crushed ice. Alain’s gaze did not leave hers as he set down the crystal jug on the coffeetable.

‘Well, sit down and tell me about yourself,’ he ordered abruptly. ‘How did you get into this television reporting in the first place? Was it your little brush with the film world in Tahiti that inspired you?’

Claire cast him a suspicious glance, but was not certain whether any malice lay behind his question. In any case, she decided that dignity was her best defence. Sitting back in her chair and toying with her glass, she adopted the cool, poised manner that had seen her through countless difficult interviews.

‘No, not at all,’ she replied. ‘It was pure chance really. After I left home, I went to stay with relatives in Sydney. As you probably know, my mother is originally Australian and she had always planned for me to spend a year in Australia when I finished school. Anyway my aunt managed to find me a job at a television station as a sort of Girl Friday. In the beginning I was only doing odd jobs, typing, making coffee, running messages, that sort of thing. But then I had a lucky break.’

‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘A famous French scientist from New Caledonia was visiting Sydney and we had a reporter who spoke French lined up to do a live interview with him. But as they were all coming down the stairs to the recording studio, the reporter slipped and broke his ankle. Of course, there was instant pandemonium. The poor chap was in dreadful pain and couldn’t possibly go on air, but the interview was due to start at any moment. I was the only other person around who spoke fluent French, so I offered to do it. Luckily the head of the studio was very impressed with the result.’

‘And so?’ prompted Alain.

Claire smiled.

‘And so nothing,’ she retorted with a shrug. ‘For the next few months, everything went on exactly as usual, but then one day the boss called me into his office. He said they were starting up a new programme about international scientific discoveries and they wanted a roving reporter who spoke a major language other than English. He offered me the job on a trial basis and naturally I jumped at the chance.’

‘And you enjoy it, do you?’ asked Alain, eyeing her searchingly.

Claire sighed.

‘I did at first,’ she agreed. ‘What twenty-year-old wouldn’t? Constantly jetting around the world, wearing lovely clothes, having somebody else do my hair and my make-up every day. Yes, it’s been fun! But it’s also a lot harder than it looks. Lately I’ve found the constant travel an absolute nightmare and I’m not alone in that. None of the other original team of reporters is still doing the job. The others all found it clashed too much with their family commitments and gave it up.’

‘But you didn’t have that problem?’ asked Alain with a touch of sarcasm.

‘No,’ replied Claire shortly. ‘As you say, I didn’t have that problem. All the same, I sometimes find myself at some ungodly hour of the morning waiting for a change of planes in Singapore airport and feeling dead on my feet. And I ask myself, “What on earth am I doing this for?”’

‘I know what you mean,’ agreed Alain, staring out of the window with a brooding expression. ‘I’ve almost worked myself to death trying to get these new hotels up and running, but I don’t know if there’s really any point to it. Perhaps if I had someone to share it with, I might feel differently.’

‘You’ve never thought about marrying?’ asked Claire curiously.

Alain’s mouth tightened. Setting down his glass, he strode across to the huge picture window and stared sombrely out to sea.

‘Only once,’ he replied indifferently. ‘There was only one girl who ever touched my heart. But it soon became apparent that my good opinion of her was totally unfounded. So why bother? If I were going to marry, I would want a wife whom I could trust completely. A woman who would commit herself to me, body and soul. Not an easy thing to find these days!’

‘Don’t be so cynical!’ protested Claire. ‘There are plenty of women like that!’

Alain swung round to face her, his blue eyes glittering fiercely.

‘Are there?’ he sneered.

Claire flinched at the bitterness in his tone. It was as if he felt that no woman could be trusted because a single person had once betrayed him.

‘I think you’re being absurd,’ she said with spirit. ‘You shouldn’t let one bad experience sour your entire life. Anyway, what about all the women you go around with? Don’t they mean anything to you?’

Alain’s eyes narrowed.

‘What do you know of the women I go around with?’ he demanded.

Claire flushed.

‘Only what Marie Rose tells me,’ she muttered.

‘I see,’ said Alain thoughtfully. ‘So you find my private life interesting enough to ask Marie Rose about it, do you?’

‘No!’ cried Claire. ‘I didn’t do anything of the kind, but you know what Marie Rose is like. Her biggest interest in life is other people’s relationships. If she could pair off everybody she knows and march them up the ramp to Noah’s Ark, she’d die happy! Anyway, whenever I phone home, she always tells me about everybody’s love life. Yours included.’

Alain swore under his breath.

‘If I didn’t need Marie Rose in my new hotel, I’d wring her neck for her impertinence!’ he vowed. ‘But if Marie Rose keeps you so well informed, you must realise that there have been women who were only too happy to join me for a frolic in a tropical paradise. Women who meant as much to me as I meant to them. Which was absolutely nothing! And I dare say that will be the pattern for the rest of my life.’

Claire stared at him in dismay.

‘I think that’s awful,’ she said bluntly.

‘Do you?’ retorted Alain. ‘How odd. I thought you were the expert when it came to sexual frolics without commitment.’

With an angry gasp Claire shot to her feet, knocking over her glass of juice.

‘How can you be so—?’ she began.

But at that moment the front door bell chimed musically. Alain strode off to answer it and Claire was left fuming.

‘Come in, Paulette,’ invited Alain.

A moment later the door to the sitting-room opened and an elderly Tahitian woman dressed in a scarlet pareu with a garland of acacia blossoms in her hair came in with a heavy tray in her hands. She smiled dazzlingly at Claire and wished her good morning before trudging through into the dining-room.

‘There you are, Monsieur Alain,’ she said, setting down the tray. ‘Juice, croissants, butter, jam and fresh coffee from the hotel restaurant. Is there anything else I can bring you?’

‘No, thank you, Paulette,’ replied Alain pleasantly. ‘But if you could just mop up the couch I’d be grateful. Mademoiselle Beaumont had an accident with her drink.’

‘Ooh, là!’ exclaimed the housekeeper, clicking her tongue. ‘But, of course, monsieur. I’ll just fetch a cloth from your kitchen.’

Paulette was stoutly built and Claire felt a pang of guilt as she saw the older woman waddle back and sink to her knees with the damp cloth.

‘Oh, let me,’ she begged. ‘It was my fault.’

‘But of course not, mademoiselle,’ protested Paulette in outrage. ‘This is my job. You sit down and enjoy your breakfast. Ta maa maitai. Good appetite.’

‘Mauruuru,’ replied Claire. ‘Thank you.’

The task did not take long and, in spite of the maid’s protests, Claire stood by and helped her to her feet when she finished.

‘You’re very kind, mademoiselle,’ Paulette panted. ‘Thank you very much.’

‘Aita pea pea,’ smiled Claire. ‘No problem.’

As the front door finally closed behind the older woman, Alain gave Claire a long, piercing look.

‘That was considerate of you,’ he said in a faintly puzzled tone.

Claire returned his gaze with undisguised resentment.

‘You sound as if that surprises you,’ she remarked.

‘It does,’ agreed Alain bluntly. ‘But never mind that now. Come and sit down before the coffee gets cold.’

In spite of her annoyance Claire joined him at the table and was soon enjoying an excellent breakfast. The croissants were warm and flaky and rich with butter, the raspberry jam was deliciously fruity and the hot coffee was fragrant and reviving. As they ate Alain began to talk about his new hotel on Moorea where Marie Rose would be living after the wedding and Claire found herself listening with unexpected interest.

‘It sounds heavenly,’ she admitted. ‘And, of course, we’ve heaps of cousins on Moorea, so Marie Rose certainly won’t feel lonely when she moves.’

‘You’re fortunate to have such a close family,’ remarked Alain. ‘I suppose you’ve missed them while you were away.’

‘Yes,’ replied Claire. ‘Of course, it was rather a blow when my grandfather died last year.’

Her face shadowed at the thought. A severe ear infection had made flying impossible for her at the time, so she had not even been able to attend his funeral. That was one occasion when even the risk of meeting Alain would not have kept her away from the island. As it was, she had spent the day of her grandfather’s funeral in tears, finding her exile more painful than ever.

‘I was sorry to hear about it,’ said Alain.

‘Oh, well,’ continued Claire, shaking her head. ‘He had a very happy life and lived to be eighty-one. It would be wrong to mourn him.’

‘He was French originally, wasn’t he?’ asked Alain.

‘Yes,’ replied Claire, brightening suddenly. ‘He came out to Tahiti to do his military service, fell in love with a local girl and lived happily ever after. Rather a romantic story, really. Although very common in the islands, of course.’

‘I’m not so sure about that,’ replied Alain. ‘Not every Frenchman who falls in love with a Tahitian girl manages to live happily ever after.’

Claire winced at the bitterness in his tone. Was Alain talking about himself? she wondered. But before she could say anything, he continued abruptly.

‘And your parents?’ he quizzed. ‘Do you think they’re happy?’

Claire frowned thoughtfully.

‘I think so,’ she said. ‘Although Papa does have some health problems now. But he has a new business venture going too and he seems very pleased about that. He’s taking four-wheel-drive tours to the interior of the island. I don’t know if you’ve heard about them.’

‘Yes, I have,’ said Alain. ‘Many of the guests at my hotels have been going on them. They’ve been very popular. My sister Louise went on one when she was here last year.’

There was a sudden deathly silence and Claire’s coffeespoon clattered loudly off the saucer and fell to the floor. For a moment she sat rigid, feeling as sick and shocked as if she were about to faint, then she bent down to retrieve it. But Alain was ahead of her, his fingers closing over the silverware before she could even reach it.

‘You look very pale,’ he said deliberately as they both straightened up. ‘Does the thought of my sister really upset you so much?’

Claire stared at him with a stricken expression, but his face was as cruel and pitiless as a Spanish inquisitor’s. His blue eyes seared through her like jets of flame.

‘Well?’ he taunted.

She drew in a long, agonised breath.

‘I asked you a question!’ he shouted, slamming his open hand on the table.

Claire leapt to her feet, feeling her legs shake beneath her, but she stared back at him defiantly. Then she let out her breath in a ragged gasp.

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘It upsets me.’

Suddenly Alain too was on his feet, staring at her across the barrier of the table.

‘Oh?’ he challenged. ‘Really? It didn’t upset you six years ago though, did it?’

‘That’s not true!’ cried Claire.

She broke away, felt tears stinging her eyes and stumbled across to the window. Relentlessly Alain pursued her and his powerful hand closed on her wrist.

‘Isn’t it?’ he insisted, hauling her up against him, so that she could feel the tension in his hard, muscular body. ‘Well, if thinking about Louise upset you, it was never obvious. It didn’t stop you from going to bed with her husband, did it?’

‘Stop it!’ cried Claire wildly.

Snatching herself free from Alain’s grip, she covered her face with her hands. A violent shudder went through her. But Alain was totally merciless. Seizing her hands, he pulled them away and glared down at her. He was so close that she could feel his swift, thudding heartbeat through his thin shirt, smell the spicy odour of his cologne, see the muscle twitching in his left temple.

‘You didn’t care how much you hurt Louise, did you?’ he insisted savagely. ‘Did you? All you wanted was to have a wild roll in the hay with Marcel and to hell with the consequences!’

‘That’s not true!’ protested Claire.

‘Isn’t it?’ sneered Alain. ‘You seem to forget that I found you in bed with him in my own house, you lying little schemer!’

Claire’s face flamed.

‘I haven’t forgotten,’ she choked.

‘Neither have I!’ growled Alain. ‘Every detail of that day is burnt into my mind like acid and I wish to God it weren’t. Because then I wouldn’t have to recognise you for the heartless, destructive troublemaker that you are.’

‘You’re being totally unfair!’ cried Claire.

Alain gave a harsh laugh and thrust her aside contemptuously. Striding across the room, he came to a halt and turned on her with uncontrolled vehemence.

‘Am I?’ he demanded. ‘So you deny that I found you naked in my own bed with Marcel, do you?’

Claire let out a low groan.

‘No, I don’t!’ she cried. ‘How can I? You know perfectly well that it’s true, but you’re still being unfair, Alain! I didn’t know that Marcel was married, I swear to God I didn’t! I never even knew that Louise existed.’

‘I’m sure!’ jeered Alain disbelievingly.

‘Look,’ insisted Claire, ‘whatever you say, that’s the truth, Alain! And you couldn’t possibly feel worse about what happened than I did. But I never intended to hurt anybody. You know what Marcel was like as well as I do—handsome, glamorous and full of charm. And a film director into the bargain. And I was nineteen years old and very, very gullible. I believed him when he told me he was in love with me, I even believed him when he said he wanted to marry me. But he certainly never told me he had a wife already tucked away in Paris!’

Alain’s only response was an incredulous lift of the eyebrows. That small, contemptuous gesture goaded Claire into action. With an inarticulate cry, she flung herself at him and seized him by the arms.

‘It’s the truth!’ she cried. ‘You must believe me, Alain!’

Her impetuous rush caught him off balance and almost sent them both toppling. Instinctively he reached out to steady her and she found herself imprisoned in those hard, unyielding arms. She gave a low, distraught gasp and her body quivered under his touch. Her involuntary movement sparked an unexpected response in Alain. For a moment he stared down at her, his blue eyes glazed with anger, or possibly something else. Then, like some savage bird of prey, he suddenly swooped.

Claire uttered a startled squeak as his mouth came down on hers in the fiercest and most enthralling kiss she had ever experienced in her life. For an instant she stood rigid with shock, then molten fire seemed to flow through her veins as Alain took violent possession of her mouth. There was a strange roaring in her ears and she felt dizzy with longing as his hard, urgent fingers traced sensual patterns on her back. His ferocity woke an answering urgency in her and without any conscious intent she kissed him back with equal force. His male strength was warm and insistent against her and she was shocked to hear the soft, whimpering sounds that rose in her throat as she let herself lean wantonly against him. Time lost all meaning as they swayed in that warm, pulsing embrace. Then suddenly Alain thrust her furiously away from him.

‘You haven’t changed!’ he exclaimed bitterly. ‘You’re still throwing yourself at men without thought for the consequences, aren’t you, Claire?’

The unfairness of it took her breath away. She stood staring at him with her shoulders heaving and her mouth gaping open. Then suddenly she regained her voice.

‘You swine!’ she breathed. ‘There’s no possible way I can get along with you for the next week. No way on earth!’

CHAPTER TWO

AS THE gleaming Citroën turned into the road leading to Acajou Beach, Claire leaned eagerly forward to catch the first glimpse of her parents’ house. For the present even her hostility towards Alain was forgotten as she scanned the dense thickets of scarlet bougainvillaea, yellow hibiscus and flapping green banana trees that hid most of the houses from view. Then, as they neared the last few buildings near the turquoise water, she let out a low cry of delight.

‘That’s it!’

Like Alain’s house, it had a hedge of red ginger plants in the front garden, but there the resemblance ended. While the Beaumonts’ home might be casual and welcoming, it was undoubtedly rather shabby. The paint was peeling, weeds grew almost as profusely as flowers around the boundary fence and there was a large rusty bath sitting like a wrecked ship on the front lawn. Claire felt herself tensing uncomfortably as Alain turned into the uneven driveway. It was bad enough that he disapproved of her so violently, without the added humiliation of having him despise her home and family. She could only hope that he would drop her off quickly and make his departure. Unfortunately Alain did nothing of the kind.