Читать книгу Tahitian Wedding - Angela Devine - Страница 7

THE plane bucked friskily. Bells chimed a warning and down the long cavern of the interior the ‘fasten seatbelts’ signs lit up. With the ease of long practice Claire came out of her doze, flung back the lightweight blue blanket and sat up straight. As she cinched the seatbelt firmly round her waist, she gazed out of the window with a troubled frown. It was not the motion of the plane that worried her. Minor air turbulence was something she could deal with, but the turbulence in her feelings was another matter entirely.

Going home to Tahiti for the first time in years thrilled her to the core and she was genuinely excited at the prospect of her sister Marie Rose’s wedding. Yet she could not shake off the feeling of dread that weighed on her more heavily with each passing minute. And there could be no doubt about the cause of her uneasiness. What disturbed her was the fear that she would meet the man who had driven her away from home in the first place. The one man in the world capable of turning elegant, sophisticated Claire Beaumont to a quivering mass of jelly. A man who seemed perfectly charming on the surface, but was capable of being ruthless, forceful and terrifyingly stern. Alain Charpentier. Alain, whom she had idolised for a few brief months. Until something happened which had ruined his good opinion of her forever.

Restlessly Claire pushed up the sliding shutter which covered the window and pressed her face to the glass. Outside it was dark except for the light of a single star which winked out like the flash of a solitaire diamond. Far ahead the blackness was still impenetrable with no sign of the South Pacific Islands which were her destination. Yet Claire’s watch showed almost four-fifteen a.m. It could not be long before the Air New Zealand plane touched down in Papeete and she had to face the ordeal ahead. Her stomach churned with nerves at the thought, but she gritted her teeth, picked up her toiletries bag and made her way down the aisle to freshen up. Five minutes later she was back in her seat with her long, dark brown hair combed into a smooth bun, discreet eyeshadow accentuating her lustrous brown eyes and a touch of blusher on her high cheekbones. And, as always, her clothes were impeccable. A lightweight jade-green dress with white trim around the neckline and short sleeves, which she had bought in Marseilles the previous summer. And white basket-weave sandals and matching shoulder-bag from Florence. There were some advantages to constant international travel, thought Claire wryly, although not as many as most people thought.

‘Say, don’t I know you from somewhere, honey?’ exclaimed a startled American voice.

The woman paused in the aisle, clutching the back of a seat to steady herself as another flurry of air turbulence hit the plane.

‘You’re the spitting image of the girl reporter in that TV show Towards the Future. What’s her name now? Claire Bowman?’

Claire grinned and held out her hand.

‘Claire Beaumont,’ she agreed.

‘Oh, wow, that’s really something,’ said the woman. ‘I’ve never met anybody famous before. My name’s Sarah Howard and that’s my husband Norman. Norm, come on over here. Just wait until you hear who this is.’

Claire smiled until her cheeks ached, while Sarah and Norman questioned her excitedly about life as an international reporter. She was touched by their warmth but it was a relief when the captain announced the plane’s impending descent. As she sank back into her seat, a deep pang of longing flooded through Claire. All the fame in the world could never compensate her for the things which were still missing from her life. Love. A real home. A family.

The lights of Papeete began to show white and sulphur-yellow beneath the plane’s wing, and Claire leaned forward eagerly. It was six years since she had been home and a fever of impatience gripped her now as the plane’s engines screamed and the tarmac came hurtling towards her. There was a faint bump, then the plane taxied to a halt about fifty metres from the terminal. Stepping out on to the ramp, she took a deep breath of the warm, moist tropical air. High on the bank surrounding the airport, coconut palms waved their feathery tops and the cloying scent of frangipani drifted from unseen gardens. Ahead of her lay the terminal building, constructed in the Polynesian style with swooping gables and thatched roofs. And, somewhere inside, her sister Marie Rose should be waiting to meet her. Marie Rose, who would no doubt be bubbling with news about her forthcoming wedding and Claire’s role as bridesmaid at it. The thought of seeing her sister again filled Claire with excitement but also a faint, uneasy misgiving. She couldn’t help dreading that Marie Rose would probe into her secret reason for staying away so long.

Yet it was not Marie Rose who came forward to greet her as she emerged from Customs. It was somebody else. And, as Claire saw that lean, dark, unsmiling figure striding across the polished vinyl floor, her heart skipped a beat.

She had not seen him for six years, but every nerve in her body was clamouring recognition. He had not changed much. His frame was as lithe and muscular as ever and his face was still satanically handsome. She had always realised that he was good looking. Yet, staring at that springy, dark hair, those intense cornflower-blue eyes and that finely chiselled nose, Claire was stunned anew at the vibrant animal magnetism that Alain Charpentier exuded. In fact, if it had not been for a sardonic twist to the well shaped mouth and a stormy look in his blue eyes, he would have been downright irresistible. He wore a navy and white short-sleeved shirt that had the indefinable stamp of quality, tailored navy shorts and rope-soled espadrilles. Obviously his habit of being casually well dressed had not changed since the last time they had met. Yet there was something else that had not changed in Alain Charpentier: his hostility towards Claire.

As he came to a halt in front of her there was no hint of a smile on his lips. Nevertheless, his manners were as impeccable as ever. Placing a lei of fragrant frangipani blossoms over her head, he kissed her formally on both cheeks. Claire was shaken by that contact. Alain’s powerful fingers were gripping her shoulders and she caught the whiff of an expensive cologne as his warm cheek touched hers. An odd, fluttering sensation quivered deep inside her. Perhaps, after all this time, we can finally be friends, she thought. Yet there was nothing friendly in Alain’s manner as he released her. His eyes wandered down over her body with a brooding hostility that stung her unbearably.

‘So. After six years you finally honour us with your presence,’ he drawled insultingly.

Claire’s brown eyes blazed.

‘Did you think you could keep me out of Tahiti forever?’ she demanded. ‘I’m not a gullible nineteen-year-old any more, you know. So if you’re planning to order me out of the country again, don’t bother!’

Alain’s bottom lip curled.

‘I see,’ he said with heavy irony. ‘So I am the reason that you haven’t come home for six years, am I? I’m flattered. I didn’t know my desires meant so much to you.’

‘They don’t!’ retorted Claire in a furious whisper, conscious of the interested glances of other travellers. ‘But if I remember correctly, last time we met you told me you never wanted to see me in Tahiti again.’

‘You do remember correctly,’ agreed Alain. ‘Just as I do, Claire. Not one word or one action of yours has been forgiven or forgotten. But for the sake of Marie Rose I am prepared to be polite to you during this visit.’

Claire seethed at the antagonism in his tone, but his words were a nagging reminder of something else. Gazing impatiently round the building, she looked in vain for her sister.

‘Where is Marie Rose?’ she demanded. ‘She promised to come and meet me.’

‘Unfortunately she was not able to do it,’ replied Alain. ‘She asked me to come in her place.’

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Claire in alarm. ‘She’s not ill, is she?’

Alain dismissed that with a shrug.

‘Marie Rose? No! But for your father, it’s a different matter. His heart has been giving him trouble for the last two years, although perhaps you didn’t know or care about that.’

‘I knew,’ replied Claire shortly. ‘And I cared.’

‘But not enough to come home and visit him?’ challenged Alain.

Claire bit her lip, but remained silent. Alain’s barbed comments filled her with guilt. Knowing Alain, that was probably just what he intended. After all, he had never hidden his opinion that Claire was heartless and totally indifferent to other people’s feelings. In fact, her father’s illness troubled Claire deeply, but pride would not allow her to tell Alain the truth—that she had repeatedly tried and failed to persuade Roland Beaumont to visit a Sydney heart specialist at her expense. As for visiting her family, her conscience was quite clear on that score. Fear of meeting Alain had always kept her away from Tahiti, but she had paid several times for her parents and sister to join her in Sydney. Yet why should she have to justify herself to Alain by explaining all this?

‘Well,’ said Alain with a lift of his eyebrow, ‘there will be plenty of time to catch up on the rest of the news in my car. For now, I think we should go and collect your luggage. After that, I will take you to meet Marie Rose and your parents, just as she asked.’

Claire stared at him in perplexity.

‘But why should Marie Rose ask you to do all that?’ she demanded. ‘You hardly knew her.’

‘Six years ago, no,’ agreed Alain. ‘But a lot can happen in six years. Didn’t Marie Rose tell you that her fiancé Paul Halévy is my cousin and the manager of my new hotel on Moorea?’

Claire took a step back.

‘No, she didn’t!’ she replied in a startled voice.

Alain smiled sardonically.

‘Then, in that case, she probably did not tell you either that I am to be best man at her wedding. Am I right?’

This time Claire stared at him in horror.

‘Best man?’ she croaked. ‘That’s impossible! Ridiculous!’

‘Believe me,’ Alain assured her, ‘the thought of being constantly thrown into your company for the next week is just as unwelcome to me as it must be to you. But for the sake of Marie Rose and Paul, we must both put a good face on it. Now come and we’ll collect your luggage. You must be tired after your long trip.’

Claire’s thoughts whirled as Alain whisked her through the building. For one insane moment she was tempted to flee back to the plane she had just left, but Alain was handling her arrival as efficiently as he had once organised her departure. With the ease of a man accustomed to prompt service, he soon had her outside the airport and comfortably settled in the luxurious front seat of his gleaming Citroen car.

‘You travel light,’ he observed. ‘Only one small suitcase on wheels. As if you were always ready for a fast getaway.’

Claire shrugged.

‘That’s truer than you know,’ she agreed. ‘I’ve been on the move so much in the last six years that I’ve reduced it to a fine art. I never own more than I can carry.’

‘That must be difficult,’ observed Alain.

‘Not really. It’s very simple. All you have to do is decide never to get attached to things.’

‘Or people?’ Alain challenged.

‘Or people!’ retorted Claire with a defiant toss of her head.

Settling back into her seat, she folded her arms and stared resentfully ahead of her into the darkness. He was determined to goad her, she thought fiercely, but she wasn’t going to be drawn. Alain Charpentier had made a blistering attack on her morals and her character once in her life, but she certainly wasn’t going to give him a second opportunity.

‘You’ve done very well since you left Tahiti,’ he said in milder voice. ‘You should be very proud of yourself.’

‘Thank you,’ replied Claire coolly.

‘Of course it’s not the sort of lifestyle that would suit everybody,’ continued Alain. ‘I’ve always admired your poise in front of the cameras and your ability to adapt to new countries, but I should imagine that sort of jet-setting must be very exhausting. It’s a good thing you’ve never wanted a settled home or any serious attachments, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, isn’t it?’ retorted Claire with an edge to her voice.

She stared out the window again and an ache like a physical pain filled her entire body. Her throat tightened as she remembered how often she had cried herself to sleep in her first bewildering months in Sydney. How many times had she felt a sharp, nostalgic longing for Tahiti, simply because of some trivial reminder that had sent her thoughts winging back to her home? The scent of warm croissants outside a bakery, the sight of scarlet bougainvillaea spilling over a balcony, the feathery crown of a coconut palm waving against a blue sky had all been enough to reduce her to tears. But worst of all had been the pain of missing her family. Her easygoing father Roland, with his rumbling laugh and his home handyman projects that never quite worked, her mother Eve, who sometimes surfaced from her painting long enough to cook wonderful French meals, not to mention her numerous aunts and uncles and cousins. And, of course, warm-hearted Marie Rose, whose only fault was her well-meaning desire to get Claire married off as soon as possible. How dared Alain assume that Claire’s home meant nothing to her or that she didn’t want deep attachments to anyone? Unconsciously she leaned forward urgently, as if she could make the car go faster.

‘We should be there just as the sun rises,’ she said. ‘I do hope we can reach Point Cupid before it comes up! I always used to love watching it from that bare hillside overlooking the bay.’

‘Did you?’ asked Alain. ‘Well, I’ll be glad to stop and let you see it, but I should warn you that the hillside is no longer bare. I’ve built a hotel there.’

‘You’ve what?’ cried Claire in horror. ‘Oh, how could you, Alain? How could you possibly ruin that beautiful headland by building some ghastly eyesore of a hotel there? Don’t you have any sensitivity at all?’

To her astonishment the car suddenly veered sharply off the road and came to halt. The glow from one of the sulphur-yellow street-lights filled the vehicle’s interior, turning Alain’s face to a bronze mask as he turned off the ignition. Then he seized her wrist, and glared down at her.

‘No,’ he said through his teeth. ‘I am like you in that respect, Claire. I have no sensitivity whatsoever and you would do well to remember it. And like you, I care only about one thing—the satisfaction of my own desires. All the same, I flatter myself that I do have good taste. So why don’t you wait until you’ve seen the hotel before you condemn it as being ghastly? It seems to me that you’re entirely too willing to make judgements about situations without being in full possession of the facts!’

‘Really?’ retorted Claire. ‘I always thought that was your speciality!’

‘You go too far!’ grated Alain.

His glittering blue eyes narrowed as he stared down at her and she caught her breath in a swift, convulsive gulp. The movement made her breasts strain against the low-cut neckline of her dress and she was conscious of the swift, instinctive flare of desire in Alain’s glance. Against her will Claire felt an answering surge of excitement as his eyes rose to scan her face. The silence lengthened and Claire was conscious of an unwelcome throbbing that pulsed through her entire body. Alain’s grip on her wrist seemed to scorch through her like a bracelet of fire. Then with a low, shuddering sigh he released her. Turning back to the steering-wheel, he switched on the ignition, rammed the car into gear and pulled out on to the road with a protesting squeal of rubber.

‘We’ll be at Point Cupid in another twenty minutes,’ he said with biting sarcasm. ‘So you’ll soon have the chance to see for yourself whether I’ve ruined the place or not.’

The streets of Papeete flashed past, ghostlike in the gloom. Down by the harbour, Claire caught a glimpse of the lights of moored ships and heard the distant laughter of all-night revellers on the docks, then Alain took a turning which led out towards the east of the island. Ten minutes later as the car was speeding up a winding road through lush tropical forest, a sudden burst of orange radiance filled the landscape around them.

‘Oh, do stop,’ begged Claire.

With a brooding glance at her, Alain sent the car hurtling round one final bend and brought the Citroën to a halt in a parking area overlooking the magnificent bay of Point Cupid. Scrambling eagerly out, Claire darted across to the viewing platform and stood gazing out over the ocean. As the sun rose like a blood-red orange from the sea, its rays lit up the dark blue of the outer ocean, the lacy necklace of foam that marked the hidden coral reef and the much lighter blue waters of the lagoon. Down below them a tangle of luxuriant tropical vegetation rioted exuberantly over the hillside. The flaming orange canopies of African tulip trees were noisy with the cries of mynah birds and, further down, coconut palms, hibiscus and banana trees jostled in colourful profusion. Claire gazed and gazed, avidly noting the far-off buildings of Papeete and the yachts at anchor in the harbour.

‘You haven’t told me what you think of my eyesore of a hotel yet,’ reminded a sardonic voice beside her.

‘W—what?’ stammered Claire. ‘Where is it?’

‘You’re practically on top of it,’ said Alain.

Gripping her shoulders, he turned her forty-five degrees further east and pointed downwards. Claire gasped. Tucked into the hillside, so cunningly that it was scarcely visible, was a set of buildings that looked more like a living staircase than a luxury hotel. Built in a series of tiers that followed the shape of the hillside, it was surrounded by coconut palms and banana trees that sheltered it from the wind and the gaze of curious sightseers. In addition, each unit had its own large balcony with planter boxes filled with tropical creepers. Bougainvillaeas in every imaginable shade of scarlet, orange and white cascaded over the walls and the air was heavy with the scent of tropical flowers. On the highest level of the cliff-top, the whole structure was dominated by a longhouse in the traditional Polynesian style, with the graceful swooping lines of a ship’s hull. And in the gap between the screen of trees Claire caught a glimpse of the sapphire-blue water of a large swimming-pool.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she acknowledged reluctantly.

Her admission seemed to dissolve some of the hostility between them. Alain’s face relaxed into an unexpected smile and he looked almost friendly.

‘Why don’t you come and have breakfast with me and see it properly?’ he invited.

Claire bit her lip.

‘I really want to get home and see my family,’ she protested.

‘Of course,’ he agreed. ‘But there are some wedding presents for Marie Rose that arrived through my hotel’s courier service yesterday. It’s some items of china and glassware from my great-aunt in France. She didn’t trust them to the mail and I thought you might like to take them with you for your sister.’

‘Oh,’ said Claire. ‘Well, in that case, I suppose I should stop. Besides, nobody ever gets up early in our house. They’ll probably all be snoring blissfully if I arrive now.’

‘True,’ said Alain gravely. ‘Besides, there’s another reason why you’d be wise to stop here on your way home.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Claire with a puzzled frown.

Alain took her arm and escorted her back to the car.

‘According to Marie Rose, your father has been putting in a new bathroom,’ he explained.

A horrified look spread over Claire’s face.

‘Oh, no,’ she wailed. ‘Papa’s been tinkering with the plumbing? You don’t mean—?’

‘I’m afraid so. Marie Rose says they’ve had no hot water for the past six weeks, so if you want a decent shower your best chance is at my house. I think you’ll find the facilities there are adequate.’

They were more than adequate, they were totally luxurious, Claire discovered. Alain’s new house was built at a distance from the main hotel and was set amid such a luxuriant private garden that it seemed totally secluded. White stucco walls and a hedge of red ginger plants almost concealed it from view and, as Alain drove into the double garage, Claire saw that the garden was a riot of colourful tropical plants. Yellow and pink hibiscus flowers jostled for space with cascades of orange and scarlet bougainvillaea that spilt over the enclosing walls. Like the reception building of the hotel, the house was constructed in the traditional Polynesian style with a thatched roof. Yet, as Alain unlocked the front door and led her into the entrance hall, Claire saw that the resemblance to a primitive thatched hut ended there. Once inside, they were met by the discreet hum of airconditioning and a welcome coolness descended on them. Claire gazed around her in surprise, taking in the colourful riot of Polynesian bark paintings, glossy green plants and a glimpse of a vivid, casual living-room with deep, comfortable sofas and bright wall-hangings.

‘Goodness,’ she murmured under her breath.

‘What is it?’ demanded Alain.

‘I didn’t expect your home to look so colourful and relaxed,’ admitted Claire, turning to face him.

‘Oh?’ retorted Alain. ‘Why not?’

‘It doesn’t go with your personality somehow,’ explained Claire. ‘It’s quite different from what I expected.’

‘And what did you expect?’ he prompted.

Claire wrinkled her nose.

‘Oh, white walls, lots of chrome everywhere. A kitchen that looks like a cross between a butcher’s shop and an operating theatre. Like that house you were renting a few years ago. The sort of place nobody could really relax in, not that you would worry about that. I mean, you’ve always been more into working than relaxing, haven’t you?’

‘I see,’ murmured Alain. ‘Well, how cosy. It sounds as though you regard me as some kind of clinical, unfeeling robot, whose only interest in life is making money. Am I right?’

Claire’s face flamed. She opened her mouth to protest that she hadn’t intended anything quite so rude, but saw that Alain was gazing at her with mocking blue eyes that held an unmistakable challenge. Her chin lifted defiantly.

‘Yes, I suppose I do,’ she replied.

His mouth set grimly and his gaze travelled down over her slender body.

‘Well, I won’t tell you what sort of decorating style I’d expect you to favour,’ he drawled. ‘I don’t suppose you’d have room to cart soft lighting and red satin sheets around in your little suitcase anyway.’

Claire caught her breath in a sob of rage and her eyes sparkled dangerously. Lunging forward, she tried to wrestle her bag out of his grip.

‘How dare you?’ she cried unsteadily. ‘Look, Alain, I should never have come here! It was ridiculous to think that you and I could be pleasant to each other for five minutes at a time. So, if you’ll just call me a taxi, I’ll take my unwelcome presence away.’

‘Don’t be such a melodramatic little fool!’ growled Alain. ‘You’ll go when I’m ready to take you, Claire, and not before. I promised Marie Rose that you and I would get along together until the wedding is over.’

‘Fine,’ seethed Claire, still trying to wrestle her bag from his grip. ‘I’ll see you again on the actual day of the wedding and I’ll even bare my teeth and smile at you. But in the meantime, give me my suitcase and let me go!’

‘When you’ve had a shower and breakfast and calmed down, I’ll let you go!’ thundered Alain. ‘But I won’t allow you to turn up at your home in such a state as this. Your father is a sick man and you’ll upset him!’

‘I am not in a state!’ cried Claire.

‘Yes, you are,’ contradicted Alain. ‘Your hands are shaking! Look at them.’

It was true. Claire looked down and saw that her slim, tanned fingers were gripped around the handle of the bag so tightly that they were trembling. Very slowly and deliberately, as if he were undoing a padlock, Alain prised them free. Then he patted Claire soothingly on the shoulder.

‘Now, go and have a shower,’ he advised, ‘while I order some breakfast for us. You can use the green bedroom through there. And just come back to the dining-room when you’re ready.’

Claire stared at him with blazing brown eyes.

‘I hate you,’ she breathed. ‘You’re the most overbearing, ruthless, patronising, hateful—’

‘Remember that,’ cut in Alain, ‘and the next week will pass very smoothly. I’ll see you in the dining-room in fifteen minutes, Claire.’

Left alone, Claire stalked into the bedroom, slammed the door and leaned against it, choking for breath.

‘Swine!’ she muttered. ‘Swine, swine, swine!’

But she could see quite clearly that staying in a rage would only serve to amuse Alain even further, so she knew she would have to regain control of herself. Taking a long gulp of air, she looked around her. The room was decorated in cool shades of blue and green and white and the curtains were drawn back, revealing a panoramic view of the ocean. In the far corner was a small sitting area with deep, cream leather armchairs and feathery potted palms, while nearby french doors led on to a private balcony. A queen-sized bed with a colourful floral cover dominated the centre of the room, but there were also spacious built-in wardrobes, a carved chest of drawers and a wall unit that held everything from a television set and video-recorder to a large aquarium filled with red and blue fish. Exploring further, Claire found a spacious bathroom and let out a low gasp of astonishment at its magnificence. It was faced with palest green marble and had gold fittings in the shower and bath. Yet what held her gaze longest was not the décor, but the view. Because of the house’s location high on the cliff-top, there was no problem of privacy. Consequently one wall had been lined with huge picture windows, overlooking the dazzling sapphire vista of the sea. Walking slowly towards them as if in a dream, Claire stared down at the beach of black, volcanic sand far below. Shading her eyes, she peered intently at the cluster of houses backing on to the foreshore and caught a glimpse of her parents’ modest bungalow between the coconut palms.

‘Oh, it’s so nice to be home!’ she murmured. ‘If only I didn’t have to deal with Alain, everything would be perfect.’

But she did have to deal with him. That was the whole problem. If only I hadn’t been such a fool six years ago, she thought passionately, he wouldn’t hate me like this! Still, there’s no way I can change the past, so I’ll just have to grit my teeth and get through this somehow…

Five minutes later she was rotating blissfully under the warm downpour of the shower. In spite of her tension, a ridiculous, bubbling happiness welled up inside her each time she remembered she was home. And when at last she reluctantly turned off the water, wrapped a gigantic white towel around her and padded into the bedroom, she did something entirely unexpected. Reaching down into her suitcase full of neatly folded clothes, she picked up a smart, tailored black and white dress and then hesitated. It was an outfit she had worn several times on reporting assignments and with the small pearl and gold stud earrings and the black pumps she knew it made her look cool and sophisticated and totally in control of life. Exactly the way she wanted to feel in order to deal with Alain Charpentier. Yet some strange nostalgia made her replace it in the bag and pick up something else instead. A dress she hadn’t worn for six years, but which she had never been able to throw away. A pareu, the national costume of Tahiti, in her favourite colours of scarlet and white.

Picking up the rectangular piece of cloth, Claire wound it round her body, tucking it high under her armpits, so that it concealed her breasts, but left her shoulders bare. Then, watching herself thoughtfully in the mirror, she pulled off her plastic shower cap and let her long brown hair tumble loose to her waist. A jolt of shock went through her as she saw her own reflection. The last time she had worn that dress, she had been squirming in Alain Charpentier’s grip, sobbing and pleading and babbling incoherent explanations as he ordered her to leave Tahiti. Wearing it now seemed like an act of defiance, a way of showing him that she could no longer be bullied. If he even remembered the dress, which was highly unlikely.

Alain’s sharp intake of breath as she entered the sitting-room five minutes later showed her that she was wrong on that score. His brows drew together in a scowl and she had no doubt at all that he was remembering the past just as vividly as she was. However, he made no mention of it as he rose to his feet and came towards her.

‘You look very attractive,’ he said.

‘Thank you,’ replied Claire warily.

‘Let me get you some juice,’ suggested Alain. ‘I’ve ordered breakfast from the hotel, but I don’t expect it for another five minutes or so. Now what would you like? Orange juice or a tropical medley?’

‘Tropical medley, please,’ said Claire.

His fingers brushed hers as he handed her the tall, frosted glass and she flinched. Colouring self-consciously, she took a hasty gulp of the chilled drink. It was delicious, thick with shreds of fresh pineapple and mango and full of crushed ice. Alain’s gaze did not leave hers as he set down the crystal jug on the coffeetable.

‘Well, sit down and tell me about yourself,’ he ordered abruptly. ‘How did you get into this television reporting in the first place? Was it your little brush with the film world in Tahiti that inspired you?’

Claire cast him a suspicious glance, but was not certain whether any malice lay behind his question. In any case, she decided that dignity was her best defence. Sitting back in her chair and toying with her glass, she adopted the cool, poised manner that had seen her through countless difficult interviews.

‘No, not at all,’ she replied. ‘It was pure chance really. After I left home, I went to stay with relatives in Sydney. As you probably know, my mother is originally Australian and she had always planned for me to spend a year in Australia when I finished school. Anyway my aunt managed to find me a job at a television station as a sort of Girl Friday. In the beginning I was only doing odd jobs, typing, making coffee, running messages, that sort of thing. But then I had a lucky break.’

‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘A famous French scientist from New Caledonia was visiting Sydney and we had a reporter who spoke French lined up to do a live interview with him. But as they were all coming down the stairs to the recording studio, the reporter slipped and broke his ankle. Of course, there was instant pandemonium. The poor chap was in dreadful pain and couldn’t possibly go on air, but the interview was due to start at any moment. I was the only other person around who spoke fluent French, so I offered to do it. Luckily the head of the studio was very impressed with the result.’

‘And so?’ prompted Alain.

Claire smiled.

‘And so nothing,’ she retorted with a shrug. ‘For the next few months, everything went on exactly as usual, but then one day the boss called me into his office. He said they were starting up a new programme about international scientific discoveries and they wanted a roving reporter who spoke a major language other than English. He offered me the job on a trial basis and naturally I jumped at the chance.’

‘And you enjoy it, do you?’ asked Alain, eyeing her searchingly.

Claire sighed.

‘I did at first,’ she agreed. ‘What twenty-year-old wouldn’t? Constantly jetting around the world, wearing lovely clothes, having somebody else do my hair and my make-up every day. Yes, it’s been fun! But it’s also a lot harder than it looks. Lately I’ve found the constant travel an absolute nightmare and I’m not alone in that. None of the other original team of reporters is still doing the job. The others all found it clashed too much with their family commitments and gave it up.’

‘But you didn’t have that problem?’ asked Alain with a touch of sarcasm.

‘No,’ replied Claire shortly. ‘As you say, I didn’t have that problem. All the same, I sometimes find myself at some ungodly hour of the morning waiting for a change of planes in Singapore airport and feeling dead on my feet. And I ask myself, “What on earth am I doing this for?”’

‘I know what you mean,’ agreed Alain, staring out of the window with a brooding expression. ‘I’ve almost worked myself to death trying to get these new hotels up and running, but I don’t know if there’s really any point to it. Perhaps if I had someone to share it with, I might feel differently.’

‘You’ve never thought about marrying?’ asked Claire curiously.

Alain’s mouth tightened. Setting down his glass, he strode across to the huge picture window and stared sombrely out to sea.

‘Only once,’ he replied indifferently. ‘There was only one girl who ever touched my heart. But it soon became apparent that my good opinion of her was totally unfounded. So why bother? If I were going to marry, I would want a wife whom I could trust completely. A woman who would commit herself to me, body and soul. Not an easy thing to find these days!’

‘Don’t be so cynical!’ protested Claire. ‘There are plenty of women like that!’

Alain swung round to face her, his blue eyes glittering fiercely.

‘Are there?’ he sneered.

Claire flinched at the bitterness in his tone. It was as if he felt that no woman could be trusted because a single person had once betrayed him.

‘I think you’re being absurd,’ she said with spirit. ‘You shouldn’t let one bad experience sour your entire life. Anyway, what about all the women you go around with? Don’t they mean anything to you?’

Alain’s eyes narrowed.

‘What do you know of the women I go around with?’ he demanded.

Claire flushed.

‘Only what Marie Rose tells me,’ she muttered.

‘I see,’ said Alain thoughtfully. ‘So you find my private life interesting enough to ask Marie Rose about it, do you?’

‘No!’ cried Claire. ‘I didn’t do anything of the kind, but you know what Marie Rose is like. Her biggest interest in life is other people’s relationships. If she could pair off everybody she knows and march them up the ramp to Noah’s Ark, she’d die happy! Anyway, whenever I phone home, she always tells me about everybody’s love life. Yours included.’

Alain swore under his breath.

‘If I didn’t need Marie Rose in my new hotel, I’d wring her neck for her impertinence!’ he vowed. ‘But if Marie Rose keeps you so well informed, you must realise that there have been women who were only too happy to join me for a frolic in a tropical paradise. Women who meant as much to me as I meant to them. Which was absolutely nothing! And I dare say that will be the pattern for the rest of my life.’

Claire stared at him in dismay.

‘I think that’s awful,’ she said bluntly.

‘Do you?’ retorted Alain. ‘How odd. I thought you were the expert when it came to sexual frolics without commitment.’

With an angry gasp Claire shot to her feet, knocking over her glass of juice.

‘How can you be so—?’ she began.

But at that moment the front door bell chimed musically. Alain strode off to answer it and Claire was left fuming.

‘Come in, Paulette,’ invited Alain.

A moment later the door to the sitting-room opened and an elderly Tahitian woman dressed in a scarlet pareu with a garland of acacia blossoms in her hair came in with a heavy tray in her hands. She smiled dazzlingly at Claire and wished her good morning before trudging through into the dining-room.

‘There you are, Monsieur Alain,’ she said, setting down the tray. ‘Juice, croissants, butter, jam and fresh coffee from the hotel restaurant. Is there anything else I can bring you?’

‘No, thank you, Paulette,’ replied Alain pleasantly. ‘But if you could just mop up the couch I’d be grateful. Mademoiselle Beaumont had an accident with her drink.’

‘Ooh, là!’ exclaimed the housekeeper, clicking her tongue. ‘But, of course, monsieur. I’ll just fetch a cloth from your kitchen.’

Paulette was stoutly built and Claire felt a pang of guilt as she saw the older woman waddle back and sink to her knees with the damp cloth.

‘Oh, let me,’ she begged. ‘It was my fault.’

‘But of course not, mademoiselle,’ protested Paulette in outrage. ‘This is my job. You sit down and enjoy your breakfast. Ta maa maitai. Good appetite.’

‘Mauruuru,’ replied Claire. ‘Thank you.’

The task did not take long and, in spite of the maid’s protests, Claire stood by and helped her to her feet when she finished.

‘You’re very kind, mademoiselle,’ Paulette panted. ‘Thank you very much.’

‘Aita pea pea,’ smiled Claire. ‘No problem.’

As the front door finally closed behind the older woman, Alain gave Claire a long, piercing look.

‘That was considerate of you,’ he said in a faintly puzzled tone.

Claire returned his gaze with undisguised resentment.

‘You sound as if that surprises you,’ she remarked.

‘It does,’ agreed Alain bluntly. ‘But never mind that now. Come and sit down before the coffee gets cold.’

In spite of her annoyance Claire joined him at the table and was soon enjoying an excellent breakfast. The croissants were warm and flaky and rich with butter, the raspberry jam was deliciously fruity and the hot coffee was fragrant and reviving. As they ate Alain began to talk about his new hotel on Moorea where Marie Rose would be living after the wedding and Claire found herself listening with unexpected interest.

‘It sounds heavenly,’ she admitted. ‘And, of course, we’ve heaps of cousins on Moorea, so Marie Rose certainly won’t feel lonely when she moves.’

‘You’re fortunate to have such a close family,’ remarked Alain. ‘I suppose you’ve missed them while you were away.’

‘Yes,’ replied Claire. ‘Of course, it was rather a blow when my grandfather died last year.’

Her face shadowed at the thought. A severe ear infection had made flying impossible for her at the time, so she had not even been able to attend his funeral. That was one occasion when even the risk of meeting Alain would not have kept her away from the island. As it was, she had spent the day of her grandfather’s funeral in tears, finding her exile more painful than ever.

‘I was sorry to hear about it,’ said Alain.

‘Oh, well,’ continued Claire, shaking her head. ‘He had a very happy life and lived to be eighty-one. It would be wrong to mourn him.’

‘He was French originally, wasn’t he?’ asked Alain.

‘Yes,’ replied Claire, brightening suddenly. ‘He came out to Tahiti to do his military service, fell in love with a local girl and lived happily ever after. Rather a romantic story, really. Although very common in the islands, of course.’

‘I’m not so sure about that,’ replied Alain. ‘Not every Frenchman who falls in love with a Tahitian girl manages to live happily ever after.’

Claire winced at the bitterness in his tone. Was Alain talking about himself? she wondered. But before she could say anything, he continued abruptly.

‘And your parents?’ he quizzed. ‘Do you think they’re happy?’

Claire frowned thoughtfully.

‘I think so,’ she said. ‘Although Papa does have some health problems now. But he has a new business venture going too and he seems very pleased about that. He’s taking four-wheel-drive tours to the interior of the island. I don’t know if you’ve heard about them.’

‘Yes, I have,’ said Alain. ‘Many of the guests at my hotels have been going on them. They’ve been very popular. My sister Louise went on one when she was here last year.’

There was a sudden deathly silence and Claire’s coffeespoon clattered loudly off the saucer and fell to the floor. For a moment she sat rigid, feeling as sick and shocked as if she were about to faint, then she bent down to retrieve it. But Alain was ahead of her, his fingers closing over the silverware before she could even reach it.

‘You look very pale,’ he said deliberately as they both straightened up. ‘Does the thought of my sister really upset you so much?’

Claire stared at him with a stricken expression, but his face was as cruel and pitiless as a Spanish inquisitor’s. His blue eyes seared through her like jets of flame.

‘Well?’ he taunted.

She drew in a long, agonised breath.

‘I asked you a question!’ he shouted, slamming his open hand on the table.

Claire leapt to her feet, feeling her legs shake beneath her, but she stared back at him defiantly. Then she let out her breath in a ragged gasp.

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘It upsets me.’

Suddenly Alain too was on his feet, staring at her across the barrier of the table.

‘Oh?’ he challenged. ‘Really? It didn’t upset you six years ago though, did it?’

‘That’s not true!’ cried Claire.

She broke away, felt tears stinging her eyes and stumbled across to the window. Relentlessly Alain pursued her and his powerful hand closed on her wrist.

‘Isn’t it?’ he insisted, hauling her up against him, so that she could feel the tension in his hard, muscular body. ‘Well, if thinking about Louise upset you, it was never obvious. It didn’t stop you from going to bed with her husband, did it?’

‘Stop it!’ cried Claire wildly.

Snatching herself free from Alain’s grip, she covered her face with her hands. A violent shudder went through her. But Alain was totally merciless. Seizing her hands, he pulled them away and glared down at her. He was so close that she could feel his swift, thudding heartbeat through his thin shirt, smell the spicy odour of his cologne, see the muscle twitching in his left temple.

‘You didn’t care how much you hurt Louise, did you?’ he insisted savagely. ‘Did you? All you wanted was to have a wild roll in the hay with Marcel and to hell with the consequences!’

‘That’s not true!’ protested Claire.

‘Isn’t it?’ sneered Alain. ‘You seem to forget that I found you in bed with him in my own house, you lying little schemer!’

Claire’s face flamed.

‘I haven’t forgotten,’ she choked.

‘Neither have I!’ growled Alain. ‘Every detail of that day is burnt into my mind like acid and I wish to God it weren’t. Because then I wouldn’t have to recognise you for the heartless, destructive troublemaker that you are.’

‘You’re being totally unfair!’ cried Claire.

Alain gave a harsh laugh and thrust her aside contemptuously. Striding across the room, he came to a halt and turned on her with uncontrolled vehemence.

‘Am I?’ he demanded. ‘So you deny that I found you naked in my own bed with Marcel, do you?’

Claire let out a low groan.

‘No, I don’t!’ she cried. ‘How can I? You know perfectly well that it’s true, but you’re still being unfair, Alain! I didn’t know that Marcel was married, I swear to God I didn’t! I never even knew that Louise existed.’

‘I’m sure!’ jeered Alain disbelievingly.

‘Look,’ insisted Claire, ‘whatever you say, that’s the truth, Alain! And you couldn’t possibly feel worse about what happened than I did. But I never intended to hurt anybody. You know what Marcel was like as well as I do—handsome, glamorous and full of charm. And a film director into the bargain. And I was nineteen years old and very, very gullible. I believed him when he told me he was in love with me, I even believed him when he said he wanted to marry me. But he certainly never told me he had a wife already tucked away in Paris!’

Alain’s only response was an incredulous lift of the eyebrows. That small, contemptuous gesture goaded Claire into action. With an inarticulate cry, she flung herself at him and seized him by the arms.

‘It’s the truth!’ she cried. ‘You must believe me, Alain!’

Her impetuous rush caught him off balance and almost sent them both toppling. Instinctively he reached out to steady her and she found herself imprisoned in those hard, unyielding arms. She gave a low, distraught gasp and her body quivered under his touch. Her involuntary movement sparked an unexpected response in Alain. For a moment he stared down at her, his blue eyes glazed with anger, or possibly something else. Then, like some savage bird of prey, he suddenly swooped.

Claire uttered a startled squeak as his mouth came down on hers in the fiercest and most enthralling kiss she had ever experienced in her life. For an instant she stood rigid with shock, then molten fire seemed to flow through her veins as Alain took violent possession of her mouth. There was a strange roaring in her ears and she felt dizzy with longing as his hard, urgent fingers traced sensual patterns on her back. His ferocity woke an answering urgency in her and without any conscious intent she kissed him back with equal force. His male strength was warm and insistent against her and she was shocked to hear the soft, whimpering sounds that rose in her throat as she let herself lean wantonly against him. Time lost all meaning as they swayed in that warm, pulsing embrace. Then suddenly Alain thrust her furiously away from him.

‘You haven’t changed!’ he exclaimed bitterly. ‘You’re still throwing yourself at men without thought for the consequences, aren’t you, Claire?’

The unfairness of it took her breath away. She stood staring at him with her shoulders heaving and her mouth gaping open. Then suddenly she regained her voice.

‘You swine!’ she breathed. ‘There’s no possible way I can get along with you for the next week. No way on earth!’