Moondrift

CHAPTER THREE

IT was raining. After weeks of unmitigated heat, the weather had finally broken, and the downpour promised to soak Jordan long before she reached home. Already it was difficult to see where she was going, the tropical cloudburst causing giant puddles in the road, and almost blinding her as it swept across the bouncing bonnet of the buggy.

There had been only a hint of what was to come before she left the hotel. A distant rumbling had warned of thunder, but the sky had seemed clear enough. However, the storm clouds from the west had blown up with unexpected force, and now the clouds were leaden and the rain was falling with steady persistence.

Sighing, Jordan pulled the buggy over to the side of the road, ignoring the dangers of the bending trunks above her. There didn’t seem much point in scrabbling around in the back of the buggy looking for the storm canopy now. Her face and arms were soaked, as was her hair, and the short skirt of her cotton tunic revealed that her legs were dripping with water, too.

A brief appraisal of her whereabouts informed her that she was only about half a mile from Planter’s Point, and in other circumstances she would have had no hesitation in seeking shelter at her father’s old home. But having survived Rhys’s first week on the island without running into him, she was just beginning to relax, and she had no intention of precipitating a meeting.

Nevertheless, the idea of sitting in the buggy until the storm passed was not attractive to her, and deciding she couldn’t get any wetter than she was now, she slid out on to the grass verge. Through the belt of trees she could see the strand of beach, strewn with the debris blown from the trees, and beyond it the sea, rain-washed and inviting.

On impulse, she dropped her sandals into the back of the buggy, and padded across the turf to the sand. The texture of the grass was soft against her toes, stroking her bare legs in a curiously sensuous gesture. The sand, too, was fine and gritty as her feet sank into it, making walking difficult until she reached the damper stretches where the tide had reached.

The soles of her feet made footprints in the sand, but they disappeared almost immediately, absorbed into the springy wetness. And as she approached the sea, creaming in rivulets along the shoreline, the waves took the evidence of her occupation away, rippling round her toes and splashing over her ankles.

Her hair dripped lankly down her neck, and realising it would never dry in its present state, she reached up her arms and pulled out the pins that kept it securely in place. It fell down her back in a long silken curtain, and she ran her fingers through it, enjoying the unaccustomed freedom. Turning her face up to the heavens, she parted her lips and drank in the storm’s sweetness, then spread her arms wide in an all-encompassing attitude.

She didn’t know at exactly what moment she became aware of the man’s presence. It might have been an unconscious realisation in the back of her mind as she lifted her face to the sky. Or it could, conceivably, have been the moment when she spread her arms in that gesture of obeisance and caught sight of the still dark figure silhouetted along the beach.

Immediately, her arms fell to her sides, and she shifted a little uneasily. She felt as if she had been caught out in some flagrant act of abandon, not at all the kind of behaviour expected from the manager of the Trade Winds Hotel. Making an effort to justify her actions, she looped the rain-darkened rope of her hair over one shoulder and squeezed the moisture from it; then, with a careless lift of one shoulder, she started towards the buggy, realising as she did so that the rain was beginning to ease.

The man had started to move, too. She could see him out of the corner of her eye, and although she quickened her step, it was obvious he was going to intercept her before she reached the road. Damn, she thought impatiently, why had she decided to stop? This was a deserted stretch of the highway, and although she was not exactly afraid, she couldn’t help remembering her own reckless behaviour. Perhaps he thought she was looking for company; she could hardly blame him if he had got the wrong impression. And looking down at her breasts outlined against the thin cotton of her bodice, she knew it would be difficult to convince him otherwise.

With a feeling of frustration, she gave up the unequal struggle to reach the buggy and turned to confront her pursuer. Attack was the only method of defence left to her, she decided, and sweeping back her wind-blown hair she held it in place at her nape with both hands.

‘Are you following me?’ she began, before her breath caught in her throat, almost choking her. ‘Rhys!’ she exclaimed, swallowing convulsively, and then more evenly: ‘Rhys! What a surprise! Wh-what are you doing here?’

It was all so much different from the way she had intended their eventual meeting to take place. To begin with, she had expected him to come to the hotel, as Karen had said, to thank her for looking after his house if nothing else. When that didn’t happen, she had steeled herself to meeting him every time she went into the little town of Eleutha, but once again, she had not seen him. She had planned their meeting so minutely, even down to the clothes she would wear and the things she would say, but all that was useless now. She had never expected to encounter him on a rain-soaked afternoon, miles from the hotel, with her hair and clothes clinging to her like a second skin, and without a scrap of make-up to disguise the panic that raged inside her.

And he looked just the same—a little older perhaps, but not significantly so, his dark hair plastered to his head, outlining the lean contours of his face and jawline. He was still as attractive as ever, moving with that lithe, cat-like grace, that characterised his sexuality. Like her, his clothes were wet and sticking to him, though he had unbuttoned the denim shirt and it hung loose from his shoulders. Jeans moulded his thighs, but she determinedly kept her eyes on the silver clasp of his belt. She didn’t want to look at him, she didn’t want to remember what they had once shared; and most of all she didn’t want him to look at her, particularly not when his expression clearly mirrored a fine contempt.

‘I should ask you that question,’ he said now, covering the space between them. ‘You’re trespassing, or did you know that?’ His dark eyes compelled her gaze. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing back there?’

Jordan took several deep breaths to calm herself, but without a great deal of success. He was angry, that much was evident, and even being civil was obviously an effort.

Wrapping her arms closely about her, she lifted her head. ‘I—I don’t know what you mean,’ she said carefully. ‘I was just killing time until the storm had cleared. I didn’t know I was trespassing, but if you say I was, I’ll take your word for it.’

‘Thanks.’ Rhys’s features twisted. ‘Just tell me something—did you come here deliberately, even after I told Rosa to keep you away?’

‘You told Rosa——’

‘Making a spectacle of yourself like that, in view of anyone who cared to look! My God, what’s happened to you, Jordan? Have you taken up rain worship or something? Or was that little charade for my benefit? You apparently knew I was there.’

‘I did not!’ Jordan’s indignation was her only defence. ‘I wasn’t doing anything wrong.’

‘No?’

‘No.’ She licked the rainwater from her lips. ‘What’s it to you anyway? I wouldn’t have expected you to be prudish, Rhys.’ She paused. ‘And I didn’t ask you to watch, did I?’

‘So you admit you were putting on an act?’

‘I do not.’ Jordan’s dark eyes had taken on the greenish tinge of the sea and they sparkled resentfully. She shook her head. ‘I don’t have to listen to this, you know. What I do or don’t do is my own affair. Now, will you please step out of my way. I’d like to get back to my car.’

‘That—vehicle—is yours?’

‘The buggy, yes.’ Jordan endeavoured to hide the fact that she was trembling. ‘Excuse me, I have to get back.’

Rhys didn’t move. ‘To the hotel?’ he enquired tautly, and she nodded. ‘What are you doing on this road?’

Jordan gasped. ‘That’s my business!’

‘I’m making it mine.’

She shook her head. ‘This is ridiculous! Get out of my way!’

‘In a minute.’ Rhys stepped closer to her. ‘When you’ve told me what you were doing prowling round my property.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Jordan was feeling distinctly apprehensive now. ‘I was not—prowling round your property. As a matter of fact, Nana’s ill. I’ve been to see her.’

‘Nana? Oh, your old nurse.’

‘That’s right.’ Jordan suppressed the urge to physically keep him at bay. ‘If you remember, she lives at the other side of the island.’

‘Oh, I remember.’ Rhys wiped an impatient hand along his jaw. ‘And that’s the only reason you stopped here?’

‘I’ve told you. It’s raining, or hadn’t you noticed. I couldn’t see where I was going.’

Rhys hesitated, then stepped back again, much to her relief. ‘All right, I suppose I have to believe you.’

‘You can please yourself.’ Jordan’s words were bravely said, even if her voice was tremulous. ‘Now, do you mind if I get on?’

Rhys lifted his shoulders. ‘Be my guest.’

‘Thank you.’

It was an effort to walk past him to the buggy. She was trembling so much, her limbs seemed incapable of responding to the simplest commands, and she was sure he would notice. Her short skirt and bare legs were terribly revealing, and with the sodden curtain of her hair about her shoulders, she felt as coltish and ungainly as the teenager she had once been.

The seat of the buggy was a puddle of water, but she didn’t stop to wipe it away. With quivering fingers, she fired the ignition, and expelled her breath in deep relief when it responded at the first attempt.

The first person she saw when she got back to the hotel was Karen, and her sister regarded her with some concern. ‘What happened to you?’ she exclaimed. ‘Couldn’t you have waited until the storm was over to drive home? I know you wanted to make sure the musicians had arrived, but I could have handled it.’

‘I know that.’ In all honesty, Jordan had forgotten about the planned entertainment for the evening. ‘I—it wasn’t raining when I left. I thought I’d make it in time.’

‘Well, obviously you didn’t.’ Karen pulled a face. ‘But it’s quite a change to see you looking your age for once. You look nice with your hair loose, Jordan. I’ve always thought so.’

Jordan turned away towards the stairs. ‘The pins came out,’ she offered, unwilling to discuss the reasons for her dishevelment. ‘I’m going to take a shower. Send me up some tea, will you, love?’

‘Is that necessary? The shower, I mean.’

Karen’s amused retort followed her up the stairs, but Jordan made no response. She badly needed to recover her composure and her equilibrium, and restoring her appearance to its usual neatness was the only way she knew to initiate the process.

In her bedroom, however, she viewed her bedraggled state with reluctant compulsion. She wanted to see for herself what Rhys must have seen, and her skin crawled in humiliation at the sorry picture she presented. Hair like rats’ tails, clothes sticking to her, long bare legs streaked with mud: she didn’t have to look at her face to know she had made a fool of herself. Nevertheless, her eyes did seek their reflection in the mirror, faltering at the tremulous expression they saw there, and moving on over pale cheeks to the vulnerable separation of her mouth. Dear God, she thought, with painful self-derision, what must he have thought of her? After all this time, she should have been more prepared for his censure, but she wasn’t. What had she expected? Why had she been so shocked? They were antagonists after all, not acquaintances; enemies, not friends. How could she have anticipated civility from Rhys, when their parting had been so savage?

Two days later, Jordan was returning from an early morning swim when she saw Mary-Jo coming to meet her. Most of the guests were at breakfast, and Jordan had taken the opportunity to relax for a while, away from her hotel duties. Besides which, she had been awake for hours, waiting for the pale golden light of morning to slat through the shutters, and the sand crabs had still been active when she tossed a towelling jacket about her shoulders and made her way down to the lagoon.

Now, seeing Mary-Jo hurrying towards her, she knew an immediate premonition of disaster. What had happened? she wondered. Surely in the hour or so she had been absent no sinister misfortune had taken place. But the ominous feeling persisted, and she quickened her step accordingly.

‘I’ve been looking for you.’ Mary-Jo’s dark face mirrored her concern. ‘You weren’t in your room and you weren’t on the terrace. I was worried!’

‘Worried?’ Jordan gave her a disbelieving look. ‘I’ve swum in the morning before. Why didn’t you ask Karen where I was?’

‘I did, but she said she didn’t know.’

‘No, but—well—oh, this is ridiculous.’ Jordan shook her anxieties aside. ‘What is it? Why did you need to find me so urgently? Don’t tell me—Mrs Lorrimer has found cockroaches in the bathroom!’

Mary-Jo shook her head. ‘It’s no joke, Jordan. I just wanted to tell you before you found out for yourself.’

‘Found what out?’ Jordan couldn’t deny the little frisson of apprehension that was making itself felt in the pit of her stomach. ‘What has happened that’s of such earth-shattering importance you felt the need to come and find me?’

‘Rhys Williams has booked a table for dinner tonight,’ announced Mary-Jo, somewhat sulkily, evidently deciding her employer’s attitude was not worthy of her distress. ‘I just thought you’d want to know, that’s all. I’m sorry, I didn’t think it was amusing.’

Nor did Jordan, and her cheeks hollowed as she sucked in her breath. ‘How—how do you know this?’ she demanded, struggling to keep her emotions at bay, and Mary-Jo shrugged.

‘I read it—this morning. He must have rung last night, when Raoul was in charge of the switchboard. But it’s there in black and white, if you don’t believe me. A table for two at nine o’clock.’

‘I—I believe you.’ Jordan tightened the cord of her towelling jacket. Rhys was coming here! He was actually planning to eat dinner at her hotel—with his daughter. What kind of game was he playing?

‘I told Karen,’ added Mary-Jo, falling into step beside Jordan as she began to walk numbly back to the hotel. ‘She said you wouldn’t be bothered, but I didn’t believe her.’

‘What? Oh—oh, yes, you did right to tell me,’ murmured Jordan painfully. ‘I—just can’t imagine why he’s coming here.’

‘Can’t you?’ Mary-Jo cast a sceptical look in her direction. ‘I can. He wants to see you, of course. He’s been on the island over a week now and he’s curious. I imagine he expected you to go out to the house. As you haven’t, he’s coming here.’

Jordan moistened her dry lips. ‘That’s your assessment, is it?’ She had told no one of that brief encounter near Planter’s Point, but now she half wished she had. ‘Well, I doubt he’s coming to see me, Mary-Jo. We didn’t exactly—part—on the best of terms.’

‘Why do you think he’s coming, then?’ asked the other girl, as they reached the three shallow steps that led up to the terrace.

To their left, the pool glistened blue-green in the sunlight edged about with cushioned li-los and locally woven garden furniture. To the right, a palm-thatched awning gave protection to the outdoor restaurant, and as Jordan responded to the greetings of the guests seated nearest the steps, she realised she couldn’t answer that question either.

‘I—oh, I should think he’s getting bored with the rustic life,’ she said now, hoping Mary-Jo would let the subject drop, but she didn’t.

‘Why should he be getting bored after only a week?’ she exclaimed. ‘Last time he was here, he stayed more than six months. He didn’t seem to be getting bored then.’

‘Perhaps he was more easily entertained in those days,’ said Jordan unwillingly as they entered the lobby of the hotel. ‘I don’t know, do I, Mary-Jo? Now, excuse me: I have to go and get dressed.’

She seemed to spend all her time escaping from awkward conversations these days, Jordan thought frustratedly, as she put on the buttercup yellow wrap-around skirt and matching sleeveless vest she had laid out before going for her swim. And it was all because of Rhys Williams, damn him! Why hadn’t he sold the house and stayed in Europe or the United States—where he belonged!

The day passed agonisingly slowly. Every time the phone rang, Jordan tensed, half expecting to hear that Rhys had cancelled his reservation, but no such relief was forthcoming. She would have contacted Neil and invited herself to his house for dinner, but he had flown to the mainland the previous afternoon, and was not expected back until the next day. She had no excuse to be absent, she thought bitterly, and by six o’clock her nerves were shredded.

Karen encapsulated Jordan’s own summation of the situation when she said she thought Rhys was bringing his daughter to Trade Winds deliberately. ‘He wants you to see her,’ she declared frankly, coming into the office where Jordan was unsuccessfully trying to repair the stapling machine. ‘And no doubt he’s curious about you, too. Who wouldn’t be after ten years? I must admit, I got quite a shock myself when I saw him.’

Jordan’s head lifted. ‘You said—you said he looked much as you remembered.’

‘Yes, I did.’ Karen draped herself over a corner of the desk and examined her finger nails. ‘But I was only a kid when he was last here, remember? I didn’t realise how——’ she coloured—‘well, how attractive he is. I’m sorry, Jordan,’ she added awkwardly, ‘I realise you’d rather not hear this, but I feel I should warn you. He hasn’t lost his—appeal.’

Jordan’s lips tightened. ‘Thank you.’

‘No, I mean it.’ Karen shifted her position. ‘Honestly, Jordan, that picture we saw of him in the Woman’s Journal didn’t do him justice.’

‘Are you a fan?’ Jordan’s voice was clipped, but at least she succeeded in hiding the pain her sister’s words had caused her. What was Karen implying? she wondered uneasily. That she might have made a mistake in breaking with him? Or that Karen herself found him attractive, too? ‘I imagine Rhys Williams knows his appeal better than anyone,’ she added, unable entirely to suppress the tinge of bitterness. ‘After fifteen years of the kind of success he’s enjoyed, it would be difficult not to.’

‘Oh, Jordan!’ Karen stared at her defensively. ‘I’m not saying I’d ever get involved with him. It’s just that, having seen him, I’m beginning to understand how you must have felt when he started to take an interest in you.’

Jordan drew a deep breath. ‘I see.’

‘Were you—I mean, did you——?’ Karen faltered, and then finished lamely: ‘Were you very close?’ which was obviously not what she had been going to ask at all. ‘You don’t talk about it, do you? I only know the bare facts: that you used to spend a lot of time with him when he was here, and that Daddy didn’t approve. Then his wife turned up, with the child. That’s all I know.’

‘That’s all there is.’ Jordan’s voice was crisp. ‘Oh, I’ve told you, I was too young to know better. And like Daddy said, he took advantage of me.’

Karen opened her mouth to ask the obvious question this provoked, then closed it again. Evidently she would have liked to question her sister more closely about her involvement, but discretion—and a certain lack of assurance—caused her to think again. Although, as Jordan was older, Karen had often confided in her, the situation had never been reversed. This particular part of her past was something Jordan had always avoided, and over the years it had been tacitly agreed that that episode was taboo.

Now, however, Jordan sensed Karen’s curiosity with some sympathy. Not for the first time, she wished she had someone she could confide in. There had never been anyone, except Nana, who was too old now to burden with her problems. She had sometimes wondered, had her mother been alive, whether she might never have become infatuated with Rhys Williams in the first place. An older woman might have been wary of his interest in her daughter and tactfully defused the situation. Jordan’s father had not realised what was happening until it was too late, and by then Jordan was fathoms deep in love with the sophisticated young musician.

In her room later, dressing for the evening, Jordan deliberately chose one of the least attractive outfits in her wardrobe. Her striped navy and white shirt had a round Peter Pan collar, and the narrow sleeves had broad, workmanlike cuffs. With it she wore a plain navy skirt, whose only drawback in her eyes was its shortness, but flat-heeled leather sandals seemed to negate any attention being drawn to her legs. Her hair she plaited into a single braid before skewering it securely on top of her head, thus removing any trace of gentleness it might have given to her features.

It was a quarter to eight when she went downstairs, and in spite of her intention to go straight to her office, she was cornered by two of the guests who wanted to discuss the whereabouts of some caves on the island.

‘Maury—that’s our friend—stayed here last year, and he was telling us about these fantastic caves you can dive into,’ exclaimed Shelley Palmer, a young American who was holidaying with her boy-friend. ‘He says they’re really worth the trouble, and Jason and I wondered if you knew where we could hire some equipment.’

Jordan offered her polite smile. ‘Well, we can arrange the scuba equipment for you,’ she agreed. ‘But I would advise you to talk to our resident expert first. The caves are worth a visit, but only someone used to deep-water diving should attempt it.’

‘Oh, Jason’s used to it,’ the American girl dismissed her fears airily. ‘He works for an oil company. He’s done a lot of deep-sea diving, haven’t you, darling?’

Jason Ascani looked rueful. ‘Some,’ he conceded, giving Jordan a reassuring grin. ‘But we may take a rain-check on that particular trip, Shelley. Your experience is limited to shallower waters.’

‘Hey, don’t be a spoilsport!’ Shelley pursed her lips. ‘You promised you’d give it a try.’

‘As I recall it, I said I’d give the matter some thought,’ Jason told her firmly. ‘And now, we’re keeping Miss Lucas from getting on with her job.’ He grinned at Jordan. ‘Thanks for your help. I’ll let you know if we need any further information.’

‘You do that,’ Jordan nodded, and was just about to make good her escape when it happened. One moment she was following them across the lobby, feeling a little sorry for Shelley as she loudly protested her competence, and the next she had frozen to a standstill. Two people had entered the hotel during their discussion, and were now approaching the reception desk. One was a girl, a teenager, wearing a pale blue cotton jump suit, her streaked blonde hair expertly cut to frame her face like an inverted bell. The other was a man, casually but expensively dressed in narrow-legged black corded pants and a silk shirt of the same sombre shade, a jerkin that matched his slacks looped carelessly over one shoulder.

Rhys! thought Jordan sickly, knowing, without even needing to look at his face that she was not mistaken. She was experiencing an entirely physical reaction to his presence, and every inch of her skin felt raw, as if someone was scraping a sharp knife across her flesh.

It was the moment for decision, she know. She could ignore them. She could turn and walk into her office without acknowledging either of them, in which case Rhys would form his own assessment of her motives. Or she could go and greet them as she would any other guest of her acquaintance who might come to the hotel for a meal. The choice was hers, and without doubt her actions would be reported afterwards. Submission or resistance, that was what it boiled down to. To be a mouse—or a cat. She chose the latter.

Ignoring the sudden intake of breath from Raoul hovering behind the desk, she pinned a polite smile to her lips and advanced towards them, holding out her hand.