Diamond Fire

A lush jungle of palms and wild hibiscus formed a natural barrier between the private road that led to the estate, and the manicured lawns beyond. Alex noticed that the white flowers had come into bloom in his absence; combined with the more familiar red blossoms of the hibiscus the effect was startling. Like blood on white linen, he reflected fancifully, and then dragged his thoughts from the precipice where they were heading. Virginia wasn’t going to defeat him, he told himself grimly. But the knife turned just the same.

Kumaru, his house—the house that had once belonged to his father, but which Alex’s parents had moved out of when Vittorio had retired—stood on a rise, with the ocean at its back. It had been Alex’s home for as long as he could remember; firstly as a much-loved only child, and then later, after his marriage to Virginia, they had occupied the self-contained wing that his father had had built on to the main building. Alex suspected that his mother and father had not originally intended to move out of their home. But circumstances had changed their minds. Although they had never criticised Virginia in his presence, it had become increasingly obvious that the two households could not exist side by side. Virginia had made no secret of her dislike of his parents, and, although they loved their only grandchild, when Vittorio had given up his active role in the corporation they had moved into a smaller house, nearer the city.

The house itself was a long, sprawling, ranch-style dwelling, with most of the rooms on the ground floor. But, as the house was built on sloping land, a lowerground floor gave space for what had used to be his mother’s garden room, a sauna and gymnasium where Alex expunged much of his frustration, and a play-room for Maria. Mama Lu’s quarters were there, too, next to the play-room. The old Hawaiian woman, who had been first his nurse and was now Maria’s, also acted as unpaid housekeeper, for Virginia had never been interested in looking after her family. It was all ‘too boring’: her words, not his. Besides, why should she bother about such things, when that ‘stupid old woman’ was perfectly willing to do it?

Things had changed a lot since the days when his mother had taken a pride in supervising the running of her home, Alex thought now, bringing the car to a halt on the pebbled forecourt. Although she had been a haole, or a newcomer to the island, having been brought up in New England and coming to the island for the first time when she married Vittorio, Sonya Conti came of good middle-European stock. In consequence, she had never been prepared to leave her household in the hands of servants. She had been there, ever vigilant, caring for her home and her family, creating the comfortable ambience her husband had needed after a day at the office.

Not so Virginia. Alex had invariably been greeted by some complaint about himself, or Maria, or one of the servants, and her ever-present craving for excitement had soured the whole atmosphere of the house. Indeed, were it not for the fact that she had taken with her the one person Alex loved more than anyone else in the world, he might have welcomed her disappearance. Though, he conceded wearily, knowing what he did about her mental condition, he doubted he could have abandoned his responsibilities completely. Family ties were too strong, and his upbringing had been such that he would not, in all conscience, have left her to her fate.

Now he thrust open his door to get out, but before he could pull his jacket from the back seat a small baldheaded man came rushing out of the house. Dressed in baggy black trousers and a dark green mandarin jacket, his olive-skinned face alight with animation, he came crunching across the pebbled drive towards the car. It was Wong Lee, Alex’s steward and Mama Lu’s husband, and Alex felt his stomach tighten at the probable cause for his excitement.

‘Padrone!’ he exclaimed, skidding to a halt beside the car. ‘Padrone, you have a visitor.’

Alex endeavoured to control his quickening heartbeat. ‘A visitor?’ he echoed, as Carlo, too, got out of the automobile. ‘What kind of a visitor?’

‘What kind of a visitor?’ Wong Lee’s eyes registered his confusion. ‘What kind of visitor were you expecting?’

‘The padrone was not expecting a visitor,’ snapped Carlo shortly, his superiority of service giving the edge of impatience to his voice. ‘What the padrone means is—is his visitor on business, or pleasure?’

‘Thank you, Carlo, I can handle this,’ Alex inserted swiftly, sensing the potential for conflict and in no mood to encourage it. The fact that Mama Lu was still apt to spread her favours rather freely sometimes created other problems, and, although both Carlo and Wong Lee were in their sixties, sexual rivalry knew no age limit. ‘Who is the visitor, Lee?’ His palms felt damp. ‘Is it someone from the mainland?’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Wong Lee, giving Carlo Ventura a triumphant look. ‘She says she’s Mrs Ginia’s cousin. She says Mrs Ginia invited her to come visit.’

Alex’s brows descended. ‘Virginia’s cousin?’ he echoed disbelievingly, and then, before either Wong Lee or Carlo could make any further comment, he tossed his jacket over one shoulder and strode towards the house. Virginia’s cousin, he brooded as he mounted the two shallow steps that led up to the veranda. He couldn’t remember Virginia ever mentioning any female cousin, and he was pretty sure he hadn’t met her at the wedding. The marriage, which had taken place in London, had been a fairly large affair, it was true, and it was possible that there had been cousins of Virginia’s there that he had never been introduced to. But, as far as he knew, Virginia’s mother had been an only child—much the same as Virginia, he reflected now, with similar characteristics—and her father had supposedly died in the dim and distant past. Indeed, so far as Virginia’s relatives had been concerned, they had been rather thin on the ground, and the majority of the guests had been friends and acquaintances, and his own rather large circle of relations.

So, who was this woman? he wondered grimly, tossing his jacket on to a polished Japanese chest in the hall, and raising questioning eyebrows at Mama Lu, who had heard the car and was making her own, less energetic way to greet him. At something approaching two hundred and fifty pounds in weight, the elderly Polynesian woman was not disposed to hurry anywhere, and Alex had sometimes wondered at her apparent irresistibility to both Carlo and her husband. In Alex’s estimation, she could have crushed either of them between her massive thighs, but evidently he was not privy to her undoubted sexual attractions.

Now, however, he was not in the mood to consider such anomalies, and when she opened her mouth to say, ‘There’s a lady waiting to see you,’ Alex cut her off unceremoniously.

‘I know,’ he said, breathing deeply. ‘Who is she, and where is she?’

‘Well … she says she’s your wife’s cousin,’ murmured Mama Lu, glancing towards the louvred doors that led into the parlour. ‘I put her in there.’

‘Thanks.’

Although Alex knew that the old woman would have liked to accompany him into the parlour, his tone was dismissing, and Mama Lu knew it. But as she turned away Alex saw her reddened eyes, and, realising she was as upset over what had happened as he was, he made a rueful gesture.

‘I’ll let you know why she’s here as soon as I find out,’ he promised, and Mama Lu’s fat cheeks wobbled a little as she summoned up a tearful smile.

‘Shall I make some tea?’ she suggested, and, although tea was the last thing Alex needed, he nodded.

‘Yes,’ he said, guessing she needed something to do. ‘That’s a good idea.’

Mama Lu inclined her head, and ambled away towards the kitchen as Alex took hold of the handles of the doors. Then, forcing away the uneasy feeling of impending disaster, he slid the doors aside.

The young woman who was waiting for him was standing by the windows. Which meant she had probably observed his arrival, he thought grimly, giving her plenty of time to prepare for this meeting while he was still on edge at learning of her presence in his house. Was that why she appeared so calm and composed now, when only hours before she had been the one who had lost her temper? he wondered warily. For it was the woman from the airport, Alex saw instantly. The redhead who had been having the argument with the girl at the car rentals desk. The woman who had attracted his unwilling attention long before he had known who she was—or who she claimed to be.

CHAPTER TWO

ALEX was nothing like her expectations. From Virginia’s description, Camilla had imagined a man in late middle-age, with a balding pate, and a paunch. A man who was mean and cruel, more concerned with making money and running his business empire than with taking care of his young wife. He had married her because he’d needed a wife to provide him with an heir, Virginia had written, and after making her pregnant he had eschewed his responsibilities. Consequently, she was left alone and neglected on this isolated country estate, desperate for company, desperate for a friend.

And, of course, all that could be true, she conceded now, steeling herself to meet his dark-eyed gaze without flinching. Just because he was younger than she had expected, and infinitely better looking, was no reason to doubt that his character was every bit as black as Virginia had painted it. The trouble was, it seemed that Virginia wasn’t here, and now Camilla felt like the protagonist and not the defender.

‘You’re … Virginia’s cousin?’ he enquired politely, and Camilla, who had told the lie in order to get beyond the gates of the estate, felt a faint trace of colour invade her pale cheeks.

‘Not—not exactly,’ she admitted, wishing Virginia had not chosen today of all days to absent herself from the estate.

‘Not exactly?’ Alessandro Conti’s dark brows ascended towards the dark swathe of hair that dipped on to his forehead. ‘Either you are, or you aren’t. Don’t you know?’

‘My name is Camilla Richards——’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’ His drawl, which had echoes of the west coast of America in its depth and resonance, was attractive, but she refused to be diverted. ‘Um … Virginia … and I went to school together. We’ve known one another for … for over fifteen years.’

Alessandro Conti’s expression didn’t alter. It was still cold, and watchful, and infinitely suspicious. It made Camilla feel as if she had done something unforgivable by coming here, and she began to believe that Virginia had not been exaggerating.

‘So—you’re not my wife’s cousin,’ he said at last, and Camilla reluctantly shook her head. ‘Then do you mind telling me what the hell you are doing here?’

Camilla swallowed. ‘Well, really——’

‘Well, really—what? Did Virginia send you here, is that it? Did she tell you to get in here by whatever means you could? What does she want? Are you her messenger? Because if so I should tell you, Miss Richards——’

‘No!’ Camilla broke into his angry tirade with a denial that fairly trembled off her tongue. ‘No, of course Virginia didn’t send me here! I don’t know what you’re talking about. Virginia invited me to come. I’m her guest. And … and when your … your bloodhound at the gate refused to allow me to come in I said I was Virginia’s cousin, because it seemed the only thing to do!’

Alessandro Conti’s eyes narrowed. ‘D’you want to run that by me again? You say—Virginia invited you here?’

‘Of course.’ Camilla held up her head proudly, becoming aware, as she did so, that the knot she had secured so confidently in the hotel in Los Angeles that morning, was rapidly loosening, and fiery strands were beginning to tumble about her nape. ‘We … we went to school together, as I said, and when she wrote and told me——’

‘Told you what?’

‘That … that …’ Camilla faltered. She could hardly tell him exactly what Virginia had said, but at the same time she had to give some reason for her precipitous arrival from London. ‘She—er—she said why didn’t I take a holiday in Hawaii? That … that it would be fun to … to talk over old times. I … I naturally thought you knew about it.’

‘Me?’

Alessandro Conti pointed towards his chest, and Camilla couldn’t help noticing the shadow of hair and skin beneath the fine material of his shirt. The shirt was made of silk, she thought, and it encased a broad chest and muscled biceps, the cuffs rolled back to reveal hair-covered wrists. Like the dark trousers that covered his legs, and moulded the undeniable evidence of his sex, it had obviously been made by an expert hand, and in one aspect at least, she guessed, Virginia had not been mistaken: her husband was obviously a wealthy man.

‘Me?’ he said again now, shaking his head. ‘You thought Virginia would have discussed it with me?’

Camilla licked her dry lips. ‘Yes.’

‘Then you obviously don’t know your … friend … very well,’ he declared harshly. ‘Exactly when was this invitation issued? And what do you propose to do now?’

Camilla frowned. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I said——’

‘I know what you said.’ Nervousness had made her defensive. ‘Are … are you implying that I can’t stay here?’

The look he gave her was incomprehensible. ‘You expect to stay? Now? In the present circumstances?’

Camilla gave a helpless little shrug. ‘What circumstances?’

‘The fact that Virginia’s not here,’ declared Alessandro Conti impatiently. ‘I understood someone had told you that.’

‘Well—yes.’ Camilla was confused. ‘But … she’ll be back, won’t she?’

‘Will she?’ He took a couple of steps nearer to her, and all at once she was aware of her own vulnerability in the face of this tall, daunting stranger. ‘You tell me. When will she be back?’

Camilla swallowed. ‘Well—I don’t know exactly, of course. La … later today, I suppose.’

‘Later today?’ He was barely an arm’s length from her now, and, although she kept telling herself that he had no reason to suspect her of any wrong-doing, his attitude was so strange that she inwardly retreated.

‘I … don’t you expect her back at any time?’ she stammered, resisting the impulse to raise her hands in front of her. For God’s sake, what had she said? He was acting as if she herself were responsible for Virginia’s absence.

There was a pregnant silence while she fought the urge to put some space between them, and he studied her face with those dark, disturbing eyes. And then, almost dismissively, he told her, ‘Considering that Virginia disappeared almost a week ago, I should say it was highly unlikely that I’d expect her back today, wouldn’t you?’

The room she had been shown to was unlike any room Camilla had occupied before. As a fairly successful solicitor, working in Lincoln’s Inn in London, she had used her fairly generous salary to travel all over Europe, and on one occasion she and a friend had even ventured as far as Sri Lanka for a holiday. But no hotel room had ever compared with the luxury of this apartment in Alessandro Conti’s house, and, although she didn’t want to be, she was impressed.

And why not? she thought ruefully, after the incredibly fat Polynesian woman, who had originally admitted her to the house, had left her alone. She might consider herself moderately sophisticated, but she wasn’t used to split-level rooms, with velvet carpets on the upper level and polished floors strewn with expensive Chinese rugs on the lower. She wasn’t used to beds the size of a small football field, or ceilings with curved fanlights, angled so that there was no danger of being dazzled by the sun.

Not that the sun was a problem right now, she had to admit. On the contrary, darkness had fallen with an unexpected swiftness, and, although she was sure that the view from the veranda outside the room would be equally spectacular as what she had found within, the velvety blackness outside her windows was almost opaque. But she could hear the ocean murmuring somewhere beyond the terrace, and in spite of the unexpectedness of all that had happened she couldn’t prevent a prickling sense of excitement.

After all, she was here, on Oahu, just a few miles from the world-famous Waikiki Beach which Rupert Brooke had described so evocatively all those years ago. She had never been so far from home before, and, although Virginia’s disappearance was worrying, Camilla wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t felt some stirring sense of communion with her surroundings. Hawaii was one of those places that everyone dreamed of visiting at some time in their lives, and from what she had seen of it so far it lived up to every one of her expectations.

Which was more than could be said for her host, she admitted unwillingly. Alessandro Conti had proved to be the exact antithesis of the impression Virginia had created in her letter, and it wasn’t easy to ally what Virginia had written with the man she had met. Oh, she knew appearances meant little. In her work she had had to learn to distinguish between a clever lie and an un-clever truth, and sometimes the most unlikely story proved that life was often stranger than fiction. And she had no reason to disbelieve the things Virginia had told her. Nothing Alessandro Conti had said had given her any real reason to doubt his culpability. On the contrary, she was quite prepared to believe he could be violent on occasion, and there had been a moment during their conversation when she had felt threatened. Yet, for all that, she was uneasy with the situation, and it wasn’t just because Virginia wasn’t here.

But where was she? she wondered, turning to view her two suitcases, placed side by side on a long cushioned ottoman at the foot of the enormous bed. She was here, as Virginia had requested—no, begged—but Virginia, and her small daughter, had apparently run away.

It didn’t make sense. Why would Virginia invite her here and then disappear? Why would she imply that she was virtually kept a prisoner, and then leave the island without telling anyone where she was going? And why take Maria with her? The little girl’s father was obviously worried sick about his daughter. That much she had gathered. As to his feelings about Virginia’s disappearance, they were less easy to interpret. She thought he was worried about his wife, but there was something else, something he wasn’t saying, but which his words were telling her. Perhaps Virginia was right. Perhaps he did regret marrying her. Perhaps if she had attended the wedding she would not be so perplexed now.

But she had been in Italy when Virginia had married Alessandro Conti, and in any case after they’d left the private girls’ school they had both attended their lives had diverged. For one thing, Camilla had only attended the expensive boarding-school because her godmother had paid for her to do so when her own parents were killed. Mr and Mrs Richards had died in a climbing accident in Switzerland when Camilla was ten, and, although for a while her godmother had found it amusing to play nursemaid to her orphaned god-daughter, eventually the inconvenience of having to make arrangements for baby-sitters every time she had wanted to go out had begun to pall. In consequence, at the age of thirteen Camilla had been despatched to Queen Catherine’s, and she had remained there for the next five years.

Virginia’s circumstances at that time had not been unlike her own, and she supposed that was why the two of them had become such friends. Virginia’s mother—her father was never talked about—was one of those brittle women who spent their lives relying on other people to support them. Camilla supposed Virginia’s mother had had some money once, but that had long since been squandered on expensive clothes and other luxuries that outwardly showed she could hold her own among the social élite with whom she claimed parity. Virginia’s school fees, like Camilla’s own, had been paid by some long-suffering older relative, but by the time Virginia left school her mother was in real financial difficulties.

In consequence, Virginia had been expected to recoup the family fortunes by marrying well, and, although Camilla would have hated such a responsibility, Virginia had seemed perfectly resigned to her fate.

That it hadn’t happened as swiftly as her mother could have hoped had been made apparent when Camilla met her friend for lunch, about a year after leaving Queen Catherine’s. By this time Camilla had been anticipating her second year at university, and although it was a struggle financially she was determined to get her degree. Although she’d still occasionally seen her godmother, and would be eternally grateful to her for being there when she’d needed her, she’d had no intention of sponging on her again. With her grant, and the additional cash she earned by working at a fast-food restaurant in the evenings, she had been keeping her head above water—just—and, if her life hadn’t exactly been glamorous, at least it was satisfying.

Virginia, meanwhile, had changed from the rather free and easy teenager she had been at school. Camilla hadn’t wanted to believe it, but already her friend was beginning to speak like her mother, and there was a sharpness to her personality that had not been there before. In addition to which the differences in their lifestyles had created a gulf between them, and, while Camilla was interested in what her friend had been doing, Virginia had a totally different set of values.

Of course, Camilla had made excuses for her. She knew it couldn’t be easy living the kind of brittle existence that her friend’s mother found so appealing. Virginia wasn’t like that, not really; at least, Camilla had never thought so. And if she did seem self-centred now, it was probably just a front. It was Virginia’s way of handling a difficult situation.

It was another two years before they had met again, and then only by chance in Bond Street. By this time, Camilla had achieved her hard-won degree in law, and was having an equally hard struggle in finding some firm of solicitors willing to give her a chance to get her articles. Until she had spent at least two years working as an articled clerk in a solicitor’s office she could not begin to call herself a lawyer, and, in those days of high inflation and unemployment, it wasn’t easy.

Virginia, however, had been jubilant. She’d insisted they went into a nearby wine-bar that she knew, and over champagne cocktails, which Camilla had paid for, she told her friend that she was getting married. A certain wealthy Argentinian polo-player was her constant escort, and both she and her mother were planning a Christmas wedding.

Camilla had been suitably enthusiastic, although the prospect of her friend’s marrying some South American playboy just because he was incredibly wealthy had filled her with unease. Virginia might appear to be on top of the world, but there was a distinct edge to her brilliance, and Camilla hadn’t been able to help noticing she seldom looked her in the eye for more than a few seconds. And she was so thin, almost unfashionably so, if that were possible. And talking of a glittering future about which she hadn’t seemed convinced.

Of course, there was nothing Camilla could have said to dissuade her, and nor did she try. She was rapidly coming to the conclusion that the Virginia she had known at Queen Catherine’s might not have been the real Virginia at all, and although she blamed the girl’s mother it wasn’t really all her fault.

However, Virginia’s Christmas wedding had not materialised. A month later the wealthy Argentinian polo-player had eloped with an American model, and although Camilla was not involved she’d felt tremendous sympathy. She guessed how humiliated Virginia must have felt, and wished there was something she could do.

But there wasn’t. She knew no one who might remotely meet Virginia’s demands so far as a husband was concerned, and the idea that her friend might realise the futility of the life she was leading, and find some other way to assuage her needs, was no longer even a possibility.

And then, nine months later, out of the blue, Camilla had received an invitation to Virginia’s wedding. Not to the Argentinian playboy, of course. He had long since married his American model, and was presently in the process of adapting to fatherhood. No, Virginia’s husband-to-be was an American businessman, Alessandro Conti, and after the wedding they were to live at his luxurious estate in Hawaii.