White Lies

‘You’re after my father.’

It sounded like a statement rather than a question. ‘Yes,’ she said eagerly. ‘I—’

‘How was the flight?’ he enquired politely.

‘Endless.’ she grinned, forgiving him his constant interruptions. She had been gabbling on. Nerves seemed to have loosened her tongue. She sighed and tried to stay demure and decent. ‘So was the drive from the airport. We took twenty minutes to do the last two miles! Those potholes in the road are unbelievable! My body’s still swaying—’

‘It is somewhat inaccessible here,’ he conceded. ‘But it keeps down the number of tourists on this end of the island.’ His eyes seemed to mock her. ‘A little discomfort is worth suffering if you end up with your dream, isn’t it?’ he drawled.

She nodded vigorously. ‘I absolutely agree! I never mind hardship if there’s something special at the end, as a reward.’ There was an odd flicker in his eyes that made them briefly splinter with cold lights and then he was smiling again. ‘I suppose you’re used to travelling on that road. It joggled every bone in my body,’ she said wryly.

‘Travel by boat,’ he advised, indicating the hotel launches and the long motorised canoes in the bay. ‘I suggest you go back that way when you fly home. It’s cheap—and a lot quicker. When are you going home?’ he asked smoothly.

‘It depends,’ she said, her eyes shining with joy. ‘It could be in two weeks, or never. It’s up to fate and what happens when I meet your father.’ And there was no way that she could keep the eagerness out of her voice.

Pascal nodded slowly as though he already knew some details of her visit. ‘And whether you can bear the boredom of such isolation,’ he said softly.

Mandy looked around and sighed. ‘I wouldn’t get bored. I love remote places,’ she said warmly ‘I live in a tiny little village in Devon and I hate crowds.’

His heavy lids half closed over the deep blue eyes. ‘You like isolation?’ he asked, as though that was a failing on her part.

Puzzled, she explained. ‘I prefer living in the country but I do enjoy company. I’d be quite happy stuck in the middle of a forest, providing I had someone to talk to.’

Pascal let out a long breath. ‘My father doesn’t entertain. He has few friends.’

Mandy looked at him in surprise. ‘Some people like their own company,’ she remarked politely, wondering why he’d confided that piece of information to her.

‘Life with him would be very lonely,’ he said flatly.

‘Y-y-yes,’ she said hesitantly. ‘But he’s got you, hasn’t he?’ she added with a gentle smile.

‘Like your villa?’ he shot at her suddenly.

Her smile broadened. ‘It’s wonderful, like a luxurious tree-house,’ she enthused warmly. ‘I’ve been treated like a princess. Champagne in the fridge, a basket of weird fruit, garlands of flowers over every available surface—even around the bath taps! How’s that for a welcome?’

‘Warm,’ agreed Pascal in his honeyed drawl. ‘Bordering on the enthusiastic.’

‘It’s fantastic. I’m walking on air,’ Mandy confessed. ‘I can’t thank your father enough for organising it so beautifully.’

The chiselled lips thinned. ‘You will. I’m sure he’ll get his pound of flesh,’ Pascal murmured enigmatically.

Mandy looked at him with anxious eyes. Did he mean that the solicitor’s fees were excessive? Still, presumably whoever had hired Pascal’s father could afford the cost—or maybe they wanted to find her so much that they’d pay anything to get her. A soft affection filled her eyes.

‘I know he’ll expect fair payment,’ she said dreamily. “That’s reasonable since we could both be benefiting from this. You don’t get something for nothing, do you? For instance, I imagine that even the view from my villa must be costed in the overall price.’

‘What a practical turn of mind!’ he murmured. ‘What view do you have?’ he asked casually. ‘Which one have they given you?’

She thought of it with such pleasure that she wanted to share it with him. ‘Up there,’ she said, pointing at the gazebo poised some way up the hill, above the circular reception building. It was just visible amid a tumble of purple and red. ‘I have this incredible open-air deck—I swear it’s larger than my whole house put together! And it’s smothered in bougainvillea and I look down on banana trees and coconut palms with little yellow birds flitting around—’

‘Bananaquits,’ he supplied with a languid air—but watching her intently.

‘Bananaquits!’ she repeated in delight. ‘And the black birds like starlings on stilts?’

‘Grackles.’

Mandy laughed—a gurgling chuckle that welled up from her great happiness. But, instead of smiling back at her as people usually did, Pascal remained neutral, as though he found her joy a little childish. She didn’t care. If she was unsophisticated, so be it. Right at this moment she could have hugged everyone in sight.

‘I’m going to buy some biscuits to feed the birds,’ she said contentedly. ‘They’re amazingly tame. I think I’ll spend quite a bit of my time on my deck. The view is stunning. I look across that valley to the hill,’ she said, waving expansively at the jungle. ‘I can see the ocean and the two mountains—Herbert, the minibus driver, said they were volcanic cones or something—’

‘The Pitons,’ provided Pascal lazily, his eyes as sharp as glinting knives.

‘Yes,’ she said, in a voice tinged with awe. ‘Aren’t they something? Two triangles—just like the mountains that kids draw! Herbert lives near them—can you imagine having that view every morning? We had a long chat. He showed me his family photos,’ she added softly, her eyes glowing at the memory of the man’s friendliness.

‘Herbert got chatty with you?’ he asked in a tone of mild surprise. ‘Herbert?’

‘Yes. Do you know him? I love talking to people, don’t you?’

Pascal lifted a hand and rubbed the nape of his neck thoughtfully, his brows angling to meet in a frown over his nose. ‘He’s wary of strangers.’

Mandy laughed again. ‘But you can’t sit next to someone for an hour and a half and remain strangers! I’m going to visit his family some time. Won’t that be lovely?’

‘Lovely,’ Pascal said faintly.

‘Oh,’ she said, remembering, ‘if that fits in with your father’s schedule, that is,’ she amended.

‘Do what you like.’ He paused, his mouth set in lines of barely concealed triumph. ‘Your time’s your own. He’s ill.’

‘Ill!’ The news brought her up sharp. ‘Oh, dear. Poor man.’

Pascal’s sky-blue eyes seemed to cloud briefly and then his expression became sunny again. Sunny...with clouds imminent, she thought apprehensively, because there was a reserve about the man’s manner which she couldn’t quite understand. And why the triumph?

‘He’s quite sick,’ he drawled with a mystifying relish.

‘I see,’ she said slowly. ‘What a shame! I was so looking forward to meeting him today.’ She put a hand to her head because it was still buzzing from the effects of the journey and she couldn’t think clearly. ‘I’m awfully sorry,’ she said sympathetically.

‘How kind. I’ll tell him. You look a little tired. You’d better sit down,’ Pascal said soothingly, taking her arm. ‘Come right under here, next to me. You’ll burn that tender skin if you don’t take proper cover. You don’t want to go home red-raw, do you?’

‘Er...no.’ Uncertainly she allowed herself to be drawn down to the soft, warm sand.

‘Drink?’ he asked politely, shifting into the full glare of the sun so that she could take all the shade.

‘Thanks. I’d love one. Something fruity and cold, please.’

‘Certainly. Simon will be along in a while, I expect.’

The worries were crowding back into her mind. ‘How ill?’ she asked anxiously, slipping off her shoes and wriggling her bare pink toes.

He gave the scuffed, much repaired condition of her shoes a detailed scrutiny and then looked sideways to meet her troubled gaze. ‘Too ill for you,’ he said softly.

She frowned. Either her imagination was running riot or he’d just been rude. ‘I am very sorry to hear that,’ she said sincerely, ignoring his lapse. ‘Anything serious?’

‘There’s always hope,’ Pascal said with a grave expression.

‘That ill?’ Mandy soberly sifted sand through her toes. ‘It sounds as if he won’t be able to see me for a while,’ she said a little tremulously.

‘If at all,’ agreed Pascal placidly.

‘No!’ Her hand fluttered to her mouth, his words throwing her into total confusion. And then she put aside her own needs and thought of the poor man, fighting some dreadful illness. ‘That’s terrible!’ she exclaimed in sympathy.

‘Isn’t it?’ Pascal’s eyes filled with silvery lights. ‘Father will be deeply touched by your concern.’

She bristled at the slicing edge of sarcasm. ‘I meant what I said,’ she said huffily. ‘You think I’m mouthing platitudes, but of course I’m sorry! I feel sympathy for anyone who’s ill.’

Pascal’s gold-tipped lashes swept down to veil his eyes. ‘How nice. Life has made my cynical.’

‘That’s a shame.’ But suddenly she wasn’t thinking about Pascal at all—or even his father. Her own troubles were looming too large. ‘It’s left me with a bit of a problem,’ she said slowly. ‘My air ticket has to be used by the eighteenth of February. That’s less than two weeks away. And your father only paid for my accommodation at Anse La Verdure till that date. What shall I do? I can’t possibly afford to stay any longer—’

‘Shame,’ he echoed insincerely.

Mandy stiffened and flushed at his mocking tone. He wasn’t exactly being helpful. Quite at a loss, she stared at the sand between them, watching a tiny crab laboriously hauling itself out of a hole and dumping a clawful of sand onto a small heap at the entrance. She sighed, identifying with the crab’s efforts. She’d been fighting her way out of holes for years. She looked closer. Or was the crab digging that hole for itself to shelter from the burning sun?

She lifted appealing eyes to Pascal’s amused face. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she confided.

‘Have that drink,’ he suggested, either unaware of her distress or completely indifferent to it. A brief lift of his hand in the air seemed sufficient to bring Simon running, the young man’s bare feet kicking up small flurries of sand as he hurried over.

There was an exchange of friendly conversation in the strange local patois she’d heard several times already, before Simon went off convulsed with laughter at some teasing remark. For a moment Pascal looked rather nice—the sort of man she could confide in, who’d share a laugh and be jolly when life became tough—and she was glad that he wasn’t too cynical to be nice to Simon.

Emboldened, she reached out and touched his arm. ‘You will help me, won’t you?’ she said persuasively.

‘Of course,’ he said smoothly, giving the lie to the message in his frosty blue eyes. ‘I’ll give you the best advice I can,’ he assured her.

‘Please do!’ she said fervently. ‘I’ve no idea how to proceed.’

The lips smiled, the eyes didn’t. ‘I think,’ he said, with a regretful sigh, ‘that all you can do under the circumstances is to enjoy your holiday here at my father’s expense, go home on the eighteenth, and hope that he’ll arrange for you to come over again some time in the future.’ He creaked the smile a little further but the dimples didn’t appear.

Her pulses hammered like small drums. He wanted to get rid of her, she felt sure. But why? Trying to be generous, she decided that she might be posing a problem under the circumstances. It was more than likely that his father had left a backlog of work at his office. She knew from her days as an office worker that difficulties arose when a key member of staff was ill.

Maybe Pascal was involved in trying to lighten the load for his father’s firm—and she was just another problem that they wanted to shelve for the time being. There might be more pressing cases to deal with...like defending those clients charged with crimes, she thought vaguely. But her case was important too! No one knew how desperately she needed Pascal’s father. It was only fair to make that clear.

‘You’re right. What you suggest would be the sensible thing to do,’ she agreed reasonably, startled by the genuine and delighted grin that lit Pascal’s face. She smiled back ruefully, knowing that she’d blow his hopes of clearing her file from the in-tray. ‘However...and I can guess that this won’t be what you want...’ she said sympathetically, ‘I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly do what you suggest. I have to stay, somehow.’

He gave her a sharp look. ‘Why?’ he asked tightly.

She smiled gently at his determination to protect his father from extra worry. ‘I’m too close to my dream. To walk away from it, to risk losing the chance I’ve been given, fills me with horror. I can’t give up on this.’

‘You’d be wasting your time,’ said Pascal coldly.

She noticed that the tiny pile of sand between them was much larger now. The crab had laboriously excavated a home for itself, grain by grain. It seemed like an omen and she gave a sigh of satisfaction.

‘I don’t think so. Your father may be my saviour,’ she said huskily. ‘When I knew what he might be offering, I was over the moon. It’s everything I’ve always wanted. To be honest, I’d have surfed across the Atlantic to come here, knowing what might transpire! I appreciate that you won’t understand what this means to me—’

‘On the contrary, I do.’ Pascal impatiently swept a hand through the mass of silky gold hair that haloed his head. ‘In my time I’ve seen plenty of women like you passing my father’s way,’ he said shortly. ‘Bright-eyed, hungry, hoping their lives will be radically changed.’

She beamed in delight. From what Pascal was saying it seemed that his father specialised in missing-person or lost-daughter cases. ‘Your father’s quite a guy,’ she said in admiration.

‘His reputation on the island is second to none,’ agreed Pascal cynically.

Mandy decided that if Monsieur St Honoré had such a good track record there was all the more reason for her to stay. She clasped her hands together tightly, her hopes rekindled.

‘If you have had experience of women like me before, then you’ll know how desperate I am,’ she said, her face impassioned as she strove to engage Pascal’s emotions. ‘I have to hang around here. I’ve got to wait till your father’s better. He can make my life perfect.’ She smiled dreamily. ‘It would be a new kind of life entirely. With someone for me to love, someone to love me...’

‘My God!’ he muttered.

She flinched, but she lifted her chin, determined not to be crushed by his look of revulsion at her sentimentality. Love wasn’t nauseating and Pascal was missing a lot if he thought it was.

‘I know I’m hoping for a lot—’

‘Dream on,’ he said scathingly.

‘I will,’ she said firmly. ‘And my dreams will come true. I am a romantic, but I don’t apologise for that. I don’t care what you think—what anyone thinks!’ she added, defending her beliefs. ‘Ever since I saw your father’s advert I’ve been so excited—dancing on air, halfscared, half-thrilled. And I don’t care who knows it. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt so happy.’

He grunted, unmoved by her happiness. ‘Pity you’re going to be disappointed.’ And Pascal lay back on the sand and closed his eyes in dismissal. ‘He won’t be well enough to see you before the eighteenth.’

Mandy frowned with irritation. He was being difficult. ‘In that case I’ll have to get a job,’ she said, with more conviction than she felt.

‘You won’t be able to,’ he muttered irritably, not even bothering to open his eyes and talk to her properly. ‘You’ll never get a work permit. Jobs go to St Lucians. So, if you haven’t any funds, how do you think you’ll manage?’

Mandy didn’t waver. She’d shift the ground from under him even if it meant doing it grain by grain! She grinned at the image and felt a bit better. ‘Well, do me a favour and save me from selling my body in the open market-place,’ she said jokingly. ‘I’m sure you can help me if you put your mind to it.’

His eyes opened and pinned her with a baleful look. ‘Are you suggesting I finance you myself?’ he asked coldly.

‘No!’ She checked her exasperation. ‘Look, your father must have someone who’s deputising for him now he’s ill. Couldn’t I talk to that person? I appreciate you must have a thousand and one things to do and I don’t want to be a nuisance, so if you’d just tell me where his office is I’ll go there in the morning and make my own arrangements,’ she finished briskly.

‘That could be difficult. He doesn’t have an office.’ He smirked at her surprise.

‘Well, wherever your father usually sees his clients,’ she persisted sweetly, wondering why he was being so obstructive.

‘In bed?’ murmured Pascal, lifting a wicked eyebrow.

Her eyes flickered. ‘Yes, in bed! Why not?’ she countered pleasantly, calling his bluff. What a ridiculous remark to make!

Pascal let his gaze drift insolently over her body and she wished that she hadn’t made the joke. It was perfectly obvious that he was thinking lustful thoughts because his eyes had become drowsy and his expression was smouldering. Surely he must have realised that she was being sarcastic?

‘You come to the point with astonishing bluntness. The very idea fills me with horror. I think we can try to ensure your relationship never gets that far,’ he said levelly.

She heard the threat that edged his voice and read the message in his eyes. Goose-bumps rose on her arms. He was totally hostile to her. Why?

‘Your sense of humour’s deserted you! And so have your manners. You ought to be helping me,’ she said impatiently. ‘If your father should learn how—’

‘Don’t threaten me!’ he snapped. ‘You’re not seeing him, so get that into your head!’

His hostility was out in the open now. Mandy fumed. ‘There’s no need to be rude!’ she said stiffly. ‘Arrange a meeting with one of your father’s colleagues for me. I’m sure you’ve been asked to give me what help you can—’

Pascal interrupted her with a disparaging snort. ‘Yes! Unfortunately for you, however,’ he said coldly, ‘I’d rather help a snake find a vein in my leg than do anything that would assist either you or him.’

‘What?’ she gasped.

‘You’re on your own,’ he growled. ‘Don’t expect anything from me. To be frank, Mrs Cook, if I had my way I’d feed the two of you a hefty dose of rat poison.’

CHAPTER TWO

MANDY gaped like a floundering fish. ‘I don’t know why you’re being so insulting!’ she cried in astonishment. ‘You talk as though you hate your father, and that’s your prerogative—but how—why—can you hate me? Why are you being so unpleasant? Is it because my clothes are cheap and out of fashion and I can’t afford decent shoes?’ she suggested, stung by his look of contempt. ‘Because I don’t wear make-up or go to a swish hairdresser?’

‘I don’t care what you wear—’ he began.

‘Then why keep staring at me?’

He seemed surprised, as if that was news to him. And then he drew in an irritated breath. ‘I despise you because of what you do,’ he growled. ‘Dammit! I need a drink. Where the hell is Simon?’ He scanned the far end of the beach.

Mandy was silent for a moment, a frown jerking her dark brows together. He knew about her work, then. What was wrong with being a postmistress?

She saw that Pascal was looking at her hands, which had been unconsciously plucking at the hem of her dress and screwing it into a rag—a certain give-away of her chaotic feelings. Miserably she smoothed the crumpled cotton over her exposed white thighs and clasped her hands firmly in her lap.

‘Look, I do my job to the best of my ability.’ That seemed to make his mouth curl even more. Baffled, she sighed and gave up. ‘Think what you like,’ she said impatiently. ‘I’m determined to wait for your father—if only to commiserate with him! Poor man! I hope I never have a son like you—’

‘The very thought makes me go cold!’ he bit out.

Mandy was struck dumb by his savage reaction. ‘Something’s bugging you! Tell me what it is!’ she demanded.

‘Are you that insensitive that you don’t know? You’re the problem. You and my father!’ he snarled, his teeth almost tearing at the words. ‘Be in no doubt as to how I feel. I hold my father and you in contempt. I refuse to lie down and let him grind his heel in my neck! I will not help women who want to use him for their own mercenary means! Got that?’

She drew in her breath. Their eyes met, glacial blue and startled brown. ‘The message is crystal-clear,’ she said with icy dignity. ‘When your father recovers—’

‘Maybe he won’t,’ Pascal said with soft savagery, as if he wasn’t particularly concerned.

He carried his hatred like a spear, thrusting it at anyone who was associated with his despised father. Pascal’s hostility was worrying her. The bitterness between him and his father ran very, very deep. There was an anger in Pascal that was greater than anything she’d known before. And she wondered what had happened between the two men to make them such implacable enemies.

A feeling of dread crept over her. Pascal saw her as an ally of his father’s. Not only would Pascal refuse to co-operate, but she’d bet her bottom dollar that he’d do his best to stop her mission out of pure spite.

‘You can’t take your anger out on me—it’s unreasonable!’ she complained. But nothing moved in his face. No pity, no softening of that twisted, stony mouth. ‘I’m sorry you think of your father as your enemy. It’s terrible.’ And it was a dreadful waste. She’d have given anything to have a father. ‘But what’s the point of revenge? It will only hurt you both,’ she argued.

‘I’m not looking for revenge,’ he said tightly. ‘I’m looking for justice. Don’t interfere in my life. Don’t offer advice and smother me with your sweet, sentimental idea of close family ties! You know nothing of what’s going on!’

‘No, I don’t. It’s obviously something immensely important to you. I’m sorry,’ she conceded with contrition.

Pascal looked strained. ‘Yes. You should be. Now you know the score. Enjoy your holiday and then go home.’

‘I can’t do that,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m sorry you won’t help me but it doesn’t make any difference to my decision. I have to see him.’ And she set her mouth in firm lines.

‘I’ll stop you. Come hell or high water, I’ll keep you two apart.’

His voice was quiet but utterly determined and Mandy felt a quiver of alarm run through her body. The circumstances which had put father and son at loggerheads must be more serious and far-reaching than she could imagine. Something terrible had happened between them that caused the bleakness in Pascal’s cold blue eyes and the tensing of every muscle in his body to straining point whenever he referred to his father.

‘There’s more to this than I know, isn’t there?’ she said.

Pascal nodded. ‘Much more. You don’t want to get caught up in it. Do the sensible thing. It’s in your own interest not to stay.’

Feeling defeated, Mandy miserably picked up her shoes and stood up in a liquid flow of limbs and body. ‘I’m sorry you’re both so unhappy,’ she said, feeling sad for Pascal and his father, and he gave her an odd, suspicious look. ‘I’ll make my own enquiries. People here will know where your father is—’

‘They don’t,’ he said coldly. ‘He’s in a private hospital. Strictly no visitors. No calls.’

She heaved a sigh. ‘Then I won’t disturb him. You said he didn’t have an office but he must have a colleague who can help me—’

‘A colleague?’ Pascal said scathingly. ‘He doesn’t have one.’

Mandy drew in an exasperated breath. ‘Then I’ll ring the solicitor in London,’ she said, beginning to lose patience. ‘Mr Lacey will give me a contact address—’

‘Don’t waste your time asking,’ said Pascal. ‘He’s had strict instructions not to reveal any information whatsoever. Only to give you the airline tickets and the accommodation voucher.’

‘How do you know?’ she asked suspiciously.

He gave a small smile of triumph. ‘I saw the instructions to Lacey when I was sorting through my father’s papers.’

‘I see. Well, it doesn’t matter,’ she said, bravely stopping her lower lip from wobbling. Somehow she needed to see those papers. Pascal wouldn’t help, but maybe someone else would. ‘I’ve come so far, I can’t give up now! I can still ask around. People are always willing to talk to me. I’ll find out. I’ve spent half my life battling against the odds. Finding your father won’t be any problem for me, and I’m sure he’ll see me when he feels a bit better. I can be very persuasive.’