Pale Orchid

Laura swallowed. ‘You can’t force me to stay.’

‘No. I can’t do that,’ he agreed, adding a measure of orange curacao to the flask. ‘Nor do I intend to do so. I shall just make it—difficult for you to go.’

Laura gazed at him disbelievingly. ‘How could you do that?’

Jason shrugged, his attention fixed on the remaining ingredients needed to complete the cocktail. ‘Sit down,’ he advised evenly. ‘Wait until you’ve heard what I have to say. And stop looking so anxious.’ His tawny eyes lifted to her troubled face. ‘The prospect of going to bed with me used not to frighten you that much!’

Laura gulped and turned away. ‘You’re … despicable!’

‘Why?’ He fastened the cap on the container and shook it energetically. ‘Isn’t it the truth? I seem to remember you were not exactly opposed to our making love.’

‘It was not love!’

‘Would you know the difference?’ he demanded cynically, and then he expelled his breath on a heavy sigh. ‘Look. I don’t want to argue with you, Laura. It’s obvious we’ve got a lot of ground to make up. Right now, I suggest you have a Mai Tai and stop worrying about your fate. The future will take care of itself. It always has, and it always will.’

The crushed ice frosting the glass he held out to her was very appealing, and without really knowing why, she accepted the cocktail. Perhaps she needed the support the alcohol could give her, she thought miserably, sipping the chilled liquid. But it was delicious. She had to admit that, if only to herself. Jason had lost none of his skill … in any direction, she added silently.

Out on deck, two white-coated stewards had just finished laying the table. Its glassy surface was spread with bamboo place mats and shining silver cutlery, pristine white napkins reflected in the polished gleam of delicate cut glass. From somewhere, a centrepiece of star jasmine and scarlet frangipani, called plumeria in the islands, had been arranged, and a bottle of Dom Perignon was residing in an ice bucket. Set beneath the striped awning, it was at once open to the soft trade winds, yet protected both from the sun, and the inquisitive glances of other users of the marina. A millionaire’s retreat indeed, thought Laura, following Jason across the white painted boards. And how had Alec Cowray accomplished so much in such a short space of time?

‘Is everything satisfactory, Mr Montefiore?’ inquired one of the stewards politely, while his companion subjected Laura to an intent scrutiny. Laura had never seen either of them before, but she could guess what they were thinking. In her cheap pants and shirt and without any make-up, she was not at all the glamorous kind of female they were no doubt used to seeing. Had Alec Cowray filled them in on her previous relationship with Jason, she wondered. She didn’t know which was worse: the idea that they knew she had once been Jason’s mistress, or their avid speculation that she might be hoping to assume that role.

‘This is fine, thank you,’ Jason was saying now, his smile perfunctory but polite. He waited until Laura had taken the chair the steward held out for her before dismissing a similar attention and taking his own seat. ‘We’ll serve ourselves,’ he added, his crisp tone tempered by his manner, and the two men departed, evidently disappointed that their services were no longer required.

A prawn cocktail, arranged on pink-fleshed bases of papaya, had been served as an appetizer, and although Laura had not felt hungry when she sat down, the sun and the breeze, and the succulent aroma of the food were seductive. While Jason was uncorking the bottle of champagne, she took a spoonful of the juicy concoction, and it was so delicious that she took another. There were warm rolls, wrapped in a cloth and residing in a basket, and creamy curls of butter, cool on a bed of ice. With a feeling of resignation, she gave in to the temptation to taste the bread, too, and by the time her glass was filled with the effervescing liquid, she was actually enjoying her meal.

Jason, she noticed, ate little, and she was relieved to see he was not drinking much either. He seemed quite content to lounge in his seat, set at right angles to hers, playing with the stem of his wine glass and watching the antics of a pair of dinghies, tacking backwards and forwards across the blue expanse of Mamala Bay.

The stewards appeared briefly to clear away the dishes already used and to set two silver-domed tureens before them. Inside, Laura discovered two whole lobsters, halved and filled with a delicious thermidor sauce, with tempting mounds of saffron rice to accompany them. ‘Help yourself,’ advised Jason, offering her the serving tools, and with a little sigh, she lifted half a lobster on to her plate.

‘Do you want some?’ she asked nervously, feeling obliged to make the gesture, and he inclined his head.

‘Thank you,’ he said, allowing her to serve him also, and in spite of her apprehension, she managed not to spill any in his lap.

Forking a white piece of lobster meat into her mouth, she eventually said quietly, ‘Don’t you think this has gone far enough?’ She paused, and then added tensely, ‘You don’t really expect me to move back into your apartment, do you? I mean—why would you want me to? There are plenty of other women who would be only too—’

‘I don’t want plenty of other women,’ retorted Jason smoothly, laying his fork aside. ‘I want you.’ He met her eyes squarely, and she was jolted by the unguarded passion in the depths of his. ‘I’m being very civilised about this, Laura, because I sense that if I move too fast I’ll have you running scared. But don’t doubt my determination. It’s there. Believe me!’

She did. With her throat closing up suffocatingly, she found her appetite which had flowered so unexpectedly, closing up too. ‘But why?’ she demanded imploringly. ‘Why?’

Jason did not dignify her plea with a reply. ‘I don’t live in an apartment any more, Laura,’ he replied, pouring more champagne into her glass. ‘I have a house, approximately two hundred and fifty miles from here, on an island called Kaulanai.’

Laura stared at him. ‘Kaulanai?’ she shook her head. ‘I’ve never heard of it.’

‘You wouldn’t have.’ Jason’s expression was indifferent. ‘It’s only a small island. Approximately fourteen miles long by seven miles across. But it’s beautiful. And it belongs to me.’

‘To you?’ Laura’s tongue circled her dry lips. ‘It’s your island?’

‘For my sins,’ agreed Jason wryly. ‘You would agree with that, I assume.’

Laura’s hands curled together in her lap. ‘And—and you expect me to live there?’

‘Not all the time,’ he assured her drily. ‘I still own the apartment New York, and I keep a suite in one of the hotels here in Honolulu always available.’

Laura took a trembling breath. ‘And what is your plan for Pamela? An expensive abortion?’

‘Of course not.’ Jason’s tone hardened in response to her sarcasm. ‘Though if that’s what she wants, it can be arranged.’ He paused. ‘But no. Your sister losing her baby was not part of my plan. I’m quite prepared to support her as well as you.’

Laura shook her head. ‘She’ll never agree.’

‘Won’t she?’ Jason put his glass aside and rested his elbow on the table, supporting his chin on his palm. ‘Right now, Pamela is alone and desperate. She has no job and she has no money …’

‘How do you know she has no job? Mrs Goldstein hasn’t fired her. Pamela’s a good physiotherapist …’

‘I’m sure she is.’ Jason shrugged. ‘However, an attempted suicide is not something easy to live down. And this Mrs Goldstein, did you say? She’s unlikely to want to go on employing someone with such … psychological tendencies.’

‘You make her sound like a mental case!’

‘No. I’m only saying she may find it difficult to take up where she left off, even should she want to. And you yourself suggested persuading her to go back to London.’

Laura sighed. ‘All right. So she’s in a difficult situation. I know that.’

Jason abandoned his confiding stance and lay back in his chair again. ‘Okay. So we agree on something,’ he remarked drily. ‘Let me put it to you that your sister would find life far more appealing without any money worries, without any responsibilities—except to look after herself and be happy. And you have to admit, the climate here is a little more appealing than London.’

Laura’s palms felt damp and she rubbed them hastily over the knees of her pants. ‘You’re suggesting we both live in your house on Kaulanai?’

Jason’s lips twisted. ‘Well—not quite as it sounds,’ he commented sardonically. ‘And I shall require you to do a little more than—live in my house.’

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