Pale Orchid

‘It seems unlikely,’ replied the charge nurse smoothly. ‘I think your sister’s mental state is what we need to monitor. You do realise, don’t you, she could always try this again?’

She realised, Laura reflected tensely, replacing the receiver. That was why she was here, in Honolulu. That was why she had agreed to contact Jason, on her sister’s behalf. Naturally, she hadn’t told Pamela of his relationship to Mike Kazantis, but after her sister confessed that Mike was no longer using the address he had put on his letters, there had seemed no alternative but to ask Jason’s assistance. She had reassured Pamela with the conviction that if Jason could help, he would, but she had not really believed it. Still, she was prepared to do anything to take that look of desperation from her sister’s face, and if it meant humbling herself before Jason Montefiore—and his brother-in-law—she would do it.

Unable to stand the inactivity any longer, Laura gathered up her bag and left the room. It was obvious Jason was unlikely to call this evening. Even if he got her message, which was by no means a foregone conclusion, he would evidently be in no hurry to contact her. If Phil Logan’s attitude was anything to go by, he might not even acknowledge her call, and the prospect of having to tell Pamela she had failed was not something she wanted to contemplate.

The coffee shop was crowded and deciding she couldn’t stand to wait, Laura left the hotel and headed towards the floodlit brilliance of Kalakaua Avenue. After the comparative quiet of her room, Waikiki’s main thoroughfare was decidedly noisy, but she welcomed the activity to numb her anxious brain.

Finding a fast-food establishment, she ordered a burger and some coffee, and then carried her tray to a plastic booth and tried to swallow the sandwich. It wasn’t easy. She realised belatedly a bowl of soup or some salad might have gone down more smoothly, but it was too late now to have second thoughts. Picking sesame seeds from the roll, she wondered if Phil Logan would tell her how she might get in touch with Mike Kazantis if Jason’s whereabouts were verboten. Or had he orders to avoid any awkward inquiries? It was always possible that Jason had known of Mike’s involvement with her sister, and obviously he would not want his sister to be upset. Laura cupped her chin on one hand. Whatever happened, it was unlikely that either Mike or his wife lived in the islands. Mike worked for Jason’s father, and so far as she knew, Marco Montefiore’s interests did not encroach on his son’s territory.

Laura’s lips twisted. How on earth had Pamela got herself involved with the Montefiore family? The brief conversation she had had with her sister had not elicited that kind of information. Besides, so far as she knew, Pamela did not know of Mike’s connection with the Montefiores, and it was possible, that as Mrs Goldstein’s private therapist, they could have met socially. Even if her sister had known the truth behind Laura’s own break-up with Jason, she could still have become infatuated with Kazantis. There was nothing to connect him with Laura’s abortive liaison, and if Kazantis had known of the association, he was unlikely to mention it to Pamela, for obvious reasons.

Pushing the burger aside, Laura lifted the plastic beaker containing her coffee and thoughtfully sipped the fragrant brew. American coffee was always so good, she mused inconsequently. Even the unimaginative container could not spoil the taste of its contents.

Gazing blindly out through the open doors on to the busy street beyond, she wondered again what she would do if her efforts to reach either Jason or his brother-in-law proved useless. And why—even if by some chance she did get to speak to Jason—did she think he might be able, or willing, to help her? What did she really expect him to do? What could he do? Mike Kazantis was his sister’s husband. Surely, it was the height of arrogance to believe he might put Pamela’s well-being before that of Irene.

It seemed an insoluble problem, and her brain ached with the effort of trying to solve it. She was not at all convinced that approaching Mike Kazantis was the right thing to do. If Pamela had been more reasonable, if she had been prepared to go back to England, as soon as she was fit, Laura was sure they would have found a way to sort things out. One parent families were not so unusual these days, if Pamela wanted to keep her baby. And if not, there were always adoption agencies eager and willing to find the child a good home.

But Pamela had not been reasonable. Her unwilling return to consciousness to find her sister at her bedside and, it transpired, in possession of all the facts of her case, had elicited an entirely different response. ‘There must be some mistake,’ she had insisted, the faith she had lost so drastically returning now that Laura was there to listen. ‘Mike wouldn’t just abandon me. He wouldn’t! Something must be wrong. Perhaps he’s been taken ill, or had an accident. If only there was someone we could ask. Someone who could give us a clue to his whereabouts. Is there no one you know, Laura? No one you met while you were over here?’

Whether Pamela knew exactly what she was asking, Laura had no idea. Certainly she had never confided the true facts of her relationship with Jason Montefiore to her sister. But perhaps Pamela sensed, or suspected, that there had been more to Laura’s abrupt return to England than the casual explanation that she had grown tired of living so far from London. Whatever, Laura had felt compelled to use what influence she had to try and set her sister’s mind at rest, and that was why she was here in Hawaii, facing the increasing conviction that she was wasting her time.

The situation seemed hardly brighter in the morning. Laura had not slept well, and after ringing the hospital and ensuring herself that Pamela was still making progress, she considered what her next move should be. She could ring the club again, she supposed, although the prospect was not one she favoured. Besides, only the cleaning staff were likely to be there at this hour of the morning, and none of them would risk their jobs by giving out private information. And perhaps she was being overly pessimistic anyway. Jason might telephone. There was still time.

The telephone rang while she was in the shower, but although she dashed out of the bathroom to take the call, a towel wrapped hastily around her dripping body, it was an early morning call meant for someone else. ‘Aloha, this is your wake-up service,’ announced the mechanical voice, and Laura slammed down the receiver, feeling the painful ache of tears behind her eyes.

Dressed again, in the cotton pants and shirt she had worn the evening before, she stood in front of the mirror to plait her hair. She had no particular desire to look at her reflection, the evidence of the disturbed nights she had spent since Pamela’s call a visual depressant. But she couldn’t help assessing her appearance with Jason’s critical eyes, and her conclusion was not flattering. Too tall, too thin, and too plain, she thought bitterly, wondering, not for the first time, whatever it was he had seen in her. She was certainly nothing like the girls who had worked in his club or hung around the bar, hoping to attract his attention. They had all had one thing in common: an unswerving faith in their own desirability, whereas Laura had always doubted her appeal.

She sighed now, her hands falling limply to her sides. From the very beginning, she had been bemused by Jason’s interest in her, and perhaps that was why he had succeeded where other men had failed. If she had not been so naïvely flattered by his attentions, she might have recognised him sooner for what he was, instead of learning too late how easily she had been deceived.

She shook her head. It was too late now to change the past. And in spite of her experiences, she had succeeded in making a new life for herself with Pierce. There had actually been days when she had not thought about Jason Montefiore and the devastating influence he had had on her. Until Pamela’s ‘phone call, that was, and the inescapable connotations it had aroused …

It was barely eight o’clock when she went down to the coffee shop and ordered some coffee. The menu didn’t interest her, but realising that starving herself would help no one, she chose scrambled eggs and toast. Trying to do them justice, she surveyed her fellow diners enviously. How nice it would have been to have nothing more momentous on her mind than what bikini she would wear to the beach, Laura mused wryly. With her pale skin, she was definitely a rarity, and it was not a distinction she enjoyed.

After the waitress had taken away her half-eaten plate of eggs, Laura sipped her third cup of coffee and wondered what she ought to do now. She supposed she should stay around the hotel, if only to be on hand should Jason make an attempt to contact her. On the other hand, if he had not ‘phoned by lunchtime, she could surely discount his doing so, and then she would have to decide whether or not to try the club in person.

Her decision made, she told the receptionist at the desk she was expecting a call, and then joined the other holidaymakers congregating beside the small pool. Seated in the shade on a padded lounger, she made an effort to appear as nonchalant as the other guests, but she was acutely alert to the paging call of the receptionist’s voice.

From time to time, a lissom Polynesian girl, dressed in a flowered bikini, with a matching kanga looped about her waist, came to offer cocktails, fruit drinks or coffee. But Laura always refused her lilting inquiry, and when a shadow fell across her for the fourth time, she lifted her head impatiently.

‘Thank you, I don’t want …’ she was beginning rather tersely, when her throat dried and the words choked to silence in her mouth. ‘Heavens—Jason!’ she got out disbelievingly, scrambling hastily to her feet, but her knees felt ridiculously unsteady as she faced the man across the width of the lounger.

CHAPTER TWO

‘HELLO, LAURA.’

Jason’s voice was cool and polite, his tone detached and incurious, as if her arrival in the islands was no surprise to him. On the contrary, there was a cynical gleam in the depths of his pale gold eyes, and his expression was resigned and only slightly guarded.

‘I … er … I thought you’d ring,’ Laura stammered now, caught unaware by her own unwelcome response to his dark magnetism. She had thought she had recovered from that unhealthy infatuation, but it seemed she had been premature in dismissing his attraction.

‘I did,’ he replied briefly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and she noticed, inconsequently, how much older he looked. The lines that etched his dark features were deeply ingrained, and the hair that lay so smoothly against his head was distinctly threaded with grey. ‘You were not available,’ he added, glancing behind him to where two other men were lounging by the pool bar.

Realising he had not come alone, Laura felt a resurgence of the resentment which had sustained her through the long weeks following her return to England. Of course, she thought bitterly, a man like him would need a bodyguard. He must have many enemies, not just here, but on the mainland.

‘I rang yesterday evening,’ he continued, observing her changing expression with impassive eyes. ‘Logan said it was urgent. I presume he exaggerated.’

‘I … why … no!’ Laura gathered her wandering thoughts, and adopted an air of concentration. ‘He—Logan, that is—doubted you would wish to speak to me. I’m afraid I went for a walk. You should have left a message.’

Jason expelled his breath evenly. ‘Yes,’ he said flatly. ‘Yes, I expect I should. Well—I am here now. I suggest we find somewhere we can talk.’

‘Oh—yes.’ Laura looked about her awkwardly, realising for the first time that their conversation was being observed by at least a dozen pairs of curious eyes. And why not, she reflected drily. They must be wondering what a man like Jason Montefiore could possibly want with a pale-skinned English girl of nondescript appearance, when he could evidently have his pick of any of the golden-skinned beauties lining the pool.

‘I assume you have no objections to coming with me?’ Jason inquired, as they walked towards the hotel entrance, and Laura cast him a sideways glance.

‘Coming with you?’ she echoed faintly, acutely aware of the shortcomings of her outfit compared to the fine silk of his beige suit.

‘I thought we might use the yacht,’ he essayed politely, allowing her to precede him into the hotel. ‘We can hardly talk here.’

‘Why not?’

Laura’s braid swung over one shoulder as she twisted her head towards him, and his lips parted in a thin smile. ‘I think we will use the yacht,’ he responded, striding lithely through the lobby and pushing wide the swing door for her to precede him out on to the front steps of the building. ‘You initiated this meeting, Laura,’ he added crisply. ‘The least you can do is to allow me to choose its venue.’

Aware of the two men from the bar following them, Laura had little choice but to step out into the sunlight. Rubbing her palms against her upper arms, she saw the sleek silver Mercedes waiting at the kerb, and her heart beat a little faster in spite of her misgivings.

Jason went ahead of her down the steps, and she saw him loosen the button beneath his tie and pull the knot away from his collar. So even he felt the heat, she reflected tensely, glad of the small imperfection. Then, as the doors opened behind her, she descended the steps, just as a uniformed chauffeur emerged to open the car doors for them.

‘Get in,’ advised Jason briefly, his eyes already looking beyond her to the two men behind. She did so, with reluctance, closing her ears to the terse instructions Jason was issuing, not looking his way again even when she felt the depression of his weight on the cushioned seat beside her.

The door was closed, and immediately the air-conditioning inside the car chilled her flesh. With the glass screen between front and back raised, they were enclosed in a world of smoked glass sophistication, and Laura couldn’t help remembering the last occasion she had ridden with him. There had been antagonism between them then, as there was now, but also a compelling familiarity—an addictive intimacy Laura had found it so hard to live without. She had known him so well—or at least she had thought she had—and there were times in those early days when she had wondered how she had ever found the strength to leave him, even after what she had learned. The truth, she had discovered to her cost, was that love did not always conform to a code of ethics. It was headstrong and unpredictable, and it had taken many months and many sleepless nights to get Jason Montefiore out of her blood …

‘You flew in—when? Yesterday?’ he inquired now, and she was forced to withdraw her attention from the leather strap hanging by the window.

‘Yesterday afternoon,’ she agreed, giving him a swift look of appraisal. He had lost weight, she noticed unwillingly, but the deeply-set eyes and thin-lipped mouth were still as disturbingly sensual as ever. His cheeks had hollowed, but the skin stretched tautly over his bones gave his dark face the strength and character she remembered, his Italian ancestry only evident in the burnished darkness of his hair.

‘From London?’ he persisted, raising one leg to rest his ankle across his knee, and the fine cloth of his pants tautened across his thighs.

‘No,’ she responded shortly, turning her eyes away from his unconscious sexuality, and concentrating on the back of the chauffeur’s head. Evidently the two other men were riding in a separate car, for there was only themselves and the driver in this one. After all, what use had Jason for a bodyguard with her? He was perfectly capable of subduing her, should he so wish.

She thought he might pursue his questions, but he didn’t. As if deciding he could wait if she could, he lounged a little lower in his seat, resting one leanfingered hand on his drawn-up ankle and gazing broodingly out of the tinted window.

It didn’t take them long to reach the marina. Jason’s driver evidently knew the city well, and in only a few minutes they had reached the basin where dozens of yachts had their mooring. The Mercedes drove into the parking area, but before he could get out to open the door for his passengers, Jason had already taken care of it.

‘You can pick me up at four o’clock,’ he told the man, flicking back the cuff of his brown silk shirt and glancing at the narrow gold watch circling his wrist. ‘If I need you before, I’ll call.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The chauffeur touched his cap with exaggerated courtesy, and Jason’s lean face displayed the first trace of humour Laura had seen since his appearance. ‘Okay, Ben,’ he acknowledged drily, jerking open Laura’s door and offering her his hand to alight. ‘I’ll see you later.’

Laura got out without any assistance, and Jason’s hand fell to his side without comment. Slamming the door behind her, he waited until his driver had moved away before starting off towards the boardwalk, his long stride covering the ground easily so that Laura had to hurry to keep up.

He was one of the few men who did not make her conscious of her height, she thought reluctantly, his lean frame overtaking hers by a good six inches. It was one of the first things she had noticed about him; that, and the lazy brilliance of his eyes. The fact that he had been at least ten years older than she was had not registered. Despite the fact that until then she had never been interested in older men, her attraction to Jason had been immediate and overwhelming. Was that how it had been with Pamela? she wondered, struggling manfully to remember exactly why she was here.

Jason’s yacht, the Laura M, was moored at the end of the jetty. Laura had thought he might have changed the yacht—or changed its name—but the 84 foot schooner was exactly as she remembered it, its trim white lines gleaming as it nudged against the boardwalk. A man in white shorts and a knitted cotton shirt was already on board, leaning on the rail, talking to a member of the crew of the adjoining craft. But he quickly straightened when he saw Jason, and Laura’s lips parted as she recognised Alec Cowray, the captain of the Laura M.

‘Good morning, Mr Montefiore,’ he greeted Jason politely, lifting his cap and then pushing it back on his bald pate. ‘I didna expect ye to be coming aboard this day.’

‘I didn’t know myself, Mr Cowray,’ responded Jason drily, stepping on to the deck. ‘Don’t disturb yourself. I shan’t be staying longer than a few hours. I gather we do have some food on board?’

‘No problem,’ averred the stout Scotsman, his expression mirroring his confusion, and then he saw Laura. ‘Christ!’ he exclaimed, forgetting to moderate his language. ‘I don’t believe it!’

‘Hello, Mr Cowray. How are you?’ asked Laura awkwardly, following Jason towards the forward hatch. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

‘It’s good to see you, too, miss,’ declared Alec Cowray fervently. He looked helplessly towards his employer. ‘Will that be lunch for two, Mr Montefiore?’

‘Provisionally,’ replied Jason crisply, giving Laura a thoughtful glance. ‘Don’t go to a lot of trouble, Alec. Miss Huyton may not be staying.’

Laura pressed her lips together to prevent herself from voicing an indignant comment as she followed Jason down the gleaming stairway. She was more convinced than ever now that he knew exactly why she had come to the islands, and she fed her resentment in an effort to dispel the effect her surroundings were having on her. He had brought her here deliberately, she thought, knowing what association it would have for her. The first time Jason had made love with her had been aboard this yacht, and she averted her eyes determinedly from the panelled doors to his stateroom. She knew the craft so well—she knew there were three suites; an upper and lower saloon; and a well-equipped galley aft. Yet, for all its size, a crew of three could handle it, using the powerful diesel engines when the sails were not in use.

Jason led the way into the forward saloon, a beautifully furnished living area, with cushioned banquettes, panelled walls, and a soft carpet underfoot. From its windows on three sides, one had an uninterrupted view when the craft was sailing, and Laura remembered moonlit evenings, after she and Jason had dined alone, sitting here and enjoying the starlit beauty of the night …

‘Will you have a drink?’

While she had been absorbing the saloon’s familiarity, Jason had opened up the fitted bar and was presently examining its contents. ‘Gin? Scotch? Vodka? Or would you like me to mix you a Chi-Chi?’ he inquired, mentioning the island cocktail which had once been her favourite.

‘Nothing, thank you,’ she responded tautly, seating herself on the low banquette and imprisoning her hands between her knees. ‘I—well, I’d like to get this over with. I believe you know why I’ve come.’

Jason poured himself a scotch, despite the early hour, and after adding several cubes of ice, looked at her over the rim of the glass. ‘I have a fairly good idea,’ he conceded cynically, swallowing a generous mouthful. ‘I suppose you assume my agreeing to see you gives you the edge. Well—I shouldn’t bank on it, if I were you.’

Laura felt the colour pour into her cheeks at his scathing words, and it was all she could do to remain sitting. But standing would be equally as perilous, and she didn’t want him to see how nervous she really was.

‘I have no—preconceptions,’ she declared now, holding up her head and concentrating on the tasselled cord securing a fall of velvet curtain. The words stuck in her throat, but she had to say them: ‘I’m—grateful—you agreed to see me.’

Jason lowered his glass. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t?’ he inquired mockingly, and she bent her head to study the tightly clenched bones of her knees.

‘I thought it was possible,’ she agreed carefully. ‘As I said before, Logan didn’t seem to think …’

‘Phil Logan was only doing his job as he saw it. He knows we split up. I guess he got the wrong idea.’

Laura quivered, and when she lifted her eyes to his, the resentment she was feeling was mirrored in their depths. ‘You mean—he thought you got tired of me, don’t you?’ she demanded painfully. ‘Did you disabuse him?’

‘You’re here, aren’t you?’ remarked Jason flatly. ‘That should mean something, even to Logan.’

Laura absorbed his words with a troubled frown. ‘You’re—very generous,’ she murmured unwillingly. ‘I—don’t know what to say.’

‘I’m sure you’ll think of something,’ retorted Jason tersely, finishing the scotch in his glass. ‘I suggest you tell me what you’ve been doing since you left. I know; but I’d like to hear it in your words, just so we understand one another.’

Laura caught her breath. ‘What do you mean?’ she exclaimed, shaking her head. ‘You—know—what I’ve been doing?’

Jason sighed. ‘Must we go into this right now?’

‘Yes, I think we must.’

‘Okay.’ He set down his glass, and came to stand in front of her. ‘But first, I think I should sample the merchandise, don’t you? I mean, it has been three years, and I may have overestimated your appeal!’ And before she could move or even comprehend his meaning, he had circled her wrist with his fingers and jerked her to her feet.

The warm strength of his lean fingers on her nape, as he drew her unresistingly towards him, was the last coherent awareness Laura had before his lips descended on hers. Disbelief; resentment; panic; all were briefly subdued by the hard pressure of his mouth, and her shaken disconcertment opened her lips to his tongue.

His free arm slid around her, drawing her closer into his embrace, and it was the sensuous abrasion of his shirt against her fingers that brought her a returning measure of sanity. But although she fought free of him without too much effort, his shocking behaviour had disturbed her, and she knew he had sensed her involuntary response.