Читать книгу A Dangerous Taste Of Passion - Anne Mather - Страница 10

RAFE DROVE BACK to Orchid Point, cursing the impulse that had made him embarrass the girl.

He only knew who she was because his cook spoke of the girl’s father with such derision. But then, Luella, like many of the other inhabitants on the island, paid lip service to the Anglican church while secretly attending other forms of religious ceremonies after dark.

He scowled, annoyed with himself for baiting her. Didn’t he have enough complications in his life as it was? An ex-wife who persisted in stalking him; a reputation that was in ruins, despite the fact that all charges had been dropped; and the knowledge that living on Orchid Cay, unless he could find something to occupy him, would soon begin to pall.

He swung the four-by-four round a tight curve where hedges of scarlet hibiscus brushed against the side of the Lexus. Nevertheless, his eyes were irresistibly drawn to the blue-green waters of the ocean, creaming on sands that had been bleached a palest ivory by the tropical sun.

It was beautiful, he thought. He’d missed sights like these while he’d been living in New York. His father still lived in Miami, of course, and he’d visited him fairly regularly. But he’d been so busy building up his business, he’d forgotten all about the simple delights of his childhood in Havana.

That was the excuse his ex-wife had given when he’d discovered she’d been cheating on him. He was never home, Sarah had complained, and she’d been lonely. But their marriage had been a mistake from the start, and he’d certainly not been too distressed when he’d had reason to sue for divorce.

Unfortunately, Sarah had fought him every step of the way. Despite the very generous settlement he’d given her, she’d wanted him to forgive her, to take her back, to move back into their penthouse apartment as if nothing had happened.

But Rafe had considered the loss of the luxurious duplex a small price to pay for his freedom. Even when, some months later, Sarah had bluffed her way into his new home and trashed his bedroom, he hadn’t brought any charges against her. He’d believed that sooner or later she’d accept that their relationship was over.

But in the last few months Rafe had realised that wasn’t going to happen. He’d been arrested for drug smuggling. And, although he’d never had any dealings with the South American cartel Sarah had accused him of joining, it had meant serious lawyer’s bills and a court case that had drained him of any enthusiasm to remain in New York.

The experience had made him think seriously about his life. He was almost forty, and for the past twenty years he’d concentrated all his energies into his work.

That was why, when the opportunity to sell out came, he’d taken it. He’d retained only a nominal interest in the Oliveira Corporation and bought land and property from a man who’d won it playing poker in Las Vegas.

For the next couple of years, however restless he became, he intended to take a break, to do some sailing and fishing, and to generally chill out. He need never work again, but he didn’t think he could stand that prospect. Nevertheless, in future, he intended to invest in small enterprises. Like Cartagena Charters, for example.

Rafe drove through the village of Coral Key. His home, a sprawling villa made of coral and limestone, occupied the cliffs overlooking a private sandy cove. Rafe had taken to swimming there most mornings, usually before most of his household was awake.

Perhaps the Fielding girl should follow his example.

The gates to the property swung open at his approach, thanks to the electronic pad Steve Bellamy, his butler-cum-assistant, had installed in the car.

As well as vetting all visitors, the ex-policeman acted as chauffeur, computer programmer, and gourmet chef, if required to do so. Though this was a skill he’d sworn Rafe never to divulge to any of his erstwhile colleagues on the New York force.

Rafe parked the Lexus in one bay of the six-car garage and, leaving the keys in the ignition, he strolled around to the back of the villa.

A swimming pool lay basking in the noonday sun and, on either side of the pool, tubs of hibiscus and fragrant oleander tumbled exotically onto the painted tiles. Beneath a striped awning, a teak table was already laid for lunch. Just in case he should choose to eat outdoors.

His housekeeper appeared as he was standing gazing out towards the ocean. Carla Samuels had worked for him for over fifteen years, since long before the breakdown of his marriage. And, although his ex-wife had threatened her with all manner of retribution, she’d insisted on going with Rafe when he’d moved out of the apartment and ultimately to Orchid Cay.

‘What time will you be wanting lunch, Mr Oliveira?’ she asked, and Rafe turned to her with a lazy shrug.

‘I cannot say I am particularly hungry, Carla,’ he confessed ruefully. ‘Maybe later, hmm?’

‘A man needs to eat,’ insisted Carla staunchly. ‘Wouldn’t you like a delicious fillet of grouper, cooked simply with a little butter and lemon?’ And when this aroused no apparent interest, ‘Or a salad? Luella has got some shellfish, fresh off the boat this morning.’ She touched her fingers to her lips. ‘You would love them.’

Rafe grinned, sliding his arms out of his jacket and hooking it over one shoulder. ‘You don’t give up, do you, Carla?’ He strolled towards her. ‘Okay. I’ll have a salad. But tell Luella no mayonnaise, me oye?’

Carla’s response was indicative of what she thought of his decision. But, apart from checking with him whether he wanted to eat outdoors or in, she’d learned to keep her opinions to herself.

‘Outdoors, I think,’ Rafe decided, following her into the house. He grimaced. ‘God, it’s cold in here!’

Carla shrugged. ‘Mr Bellamy likes it that way,’ she said smugly, hurrying away before her employer could take her up on it.

Rafe tossed his jacket onto a chair in the glass-walled entry and then walked on into a huge reception hall. The floor was Italian-tiled, with a central table overflowing with orchids and lilies. Beyond, a curving stone staircase led to the upper gallery, where all the main bedroom suites were situated.

Rafe’s study was in the wing to his left. He was heading in that direction when Steve’s voice arrested him. ‘Hey, Mr Oliveira,’ he called, striding towards Rafe from the direction of the kitchen. ‘Got a minute?’

Rafe gave a resigned gesture, turning to rest his shoulders against one of the stone columns that supported the ceiling. ‘Do I have a choice?’

Steve pulled a wry face. A tall, well-built man, a few years older than his employer, he had the kind of face that Rafe thought anyone would trust. ‘You always have a choice,’ he said now, rumpling his greying hair. ‘I only wanted to tell you, you had a visitor while you were in town.’

Rafe surveyed the man curiously. He’d known Bellamy for over two years now, and he knew he wasn’t the kind of guy to get upset over nothing. ‘A visitor?’ he said, frowning at Steve’s doubtful expression. ‘Grant Mathews, no?’

‘Close. But I get the feeling Mr Mathews is still licking his wounds from his trip to Las Vegas. I did hear he is short of cash.’

‘Men like Mathews are not short of cash for long, Steve,’ retorted Rafe flatly. ‘Having a cash-flow problem is their usual excuse. You will see, in about six months he will be desperate to buy this house and the land back again.’

Steve’s brows rose. ‘And will you let him?’

Rafe shrugged. ‘That depends.’

‘Depends on what?’

‘On whether I like living here,’ replied Rafe carelessly. ‘Do not get too comfortable, Steve. I may find island life is not for me.’

Steve stared at him hard, as if he was trying to see if his employer was serious, but Rafe was getting impatient. ‘The visitor,’ he prompted, causing the older man to do a double-take. ‘You said we had had a visitor. If it was not Grant Mathews, who was it?’

‘His daughter,’ said Steve at once, and Rafe stared at him now, trying to come to terms with what he’d heard.

‘His daughter?’ he echoed. ‘I didn’t know he had a daughter. What’s her name? How old is she?’

‘Does that matter?’ Steve’s tone was dry. ‘In her twenties, I’d guess. Her name’s Laura. Apparently she and her mother used to live on the island—in this house actually—until her mother remarried and Laura went away to college.’

‘I see.’ Rafe contemplated what he’d heard. ‘Did she say what she wanted?’

‘No.’ Steve was laconic. ‘But she insisted it was you she needed to see.’ He paused. ‘My opinion is that she’s come here hoping to see what you were like. Maybe her father sent her. Maybe not. She certainly seemed interested in you.’

Amusement tugged at the corners of Rafe’s mouth. ‘Did she now?’

Steve looked disgusted. ‘I’d have thought you’d have had enough of women who use their good looks as a weapon,’ he retorted shortly, and Rafe gave a sigh.

‘Oh, I have,’ he agreed flatly, patting the other man on his shoulder. ‘And thanks for the heads-up, Steve. I may just be unavailable—again—if Ms Mathews returns, no?’

* * *

Lily didn’t see Rafe Oliveira again for several days.

Ray Myers returned from his trip to Miami and was somewhat ambivalent about the news that a Señor Oliveira had been looking for him.

‘How well do you know him?’ asked Lily, defending her curiosity on the grounds that she’d worked for Ray for a few years and usually shared his confidence.

Indeed, it was only six months since he’d offered her a chance to invest in the business. The fact that she didn’t have that kind of money hadn’t soured their relationship. At least, she didn’t think it had.

‘We’ve met,’ said Ray carelessly now, sitting down at the computer and attempting to turn up the database detailing any charters that had come in since he’d been away. ‘I see the Ariadne got back okay.’

‘Why wouldn’t it?’ Lily was offhand, but she was hurt that Ray was shutting her out. ‘Oh, and by the way, Dave says the engines in the Santa Lucia need overhauling. If you want him to do it, you’d better give him a ring.’

Ray glanced up at her. ‘I will. Maybe in the next couple of weeks.’

‘You might have to take the Lucia out of service before then. We’ve got a group—’

‘Oh, yeah, yeah.’ Ray interrupted her as his memory kicked in. ‘You mean that fishing party from Boston.’ He shrugged. ‘I wonder if we can get away with leaving it until after their booking. What do you think?’

Lily shrugged without answering him. At any other time she’d have given her opinion, but it wasn’t her responsibility, after all. If Ray chose to take chances with his licence, that was his affair. But she couldn’t help thinking that in his place she’d have taken the safer option.

Ray scowled, but then, evidently deciding it would be wise not to push it, he said, ‘I suppose you know Laura Mathews is back on the island?’

‘Laura?’ Lily was surprised.

Laura Mathews had been a close friend before they’d each gone their separate ways: Laura to New York, to work in an advertising agency, and Lily to university in Florida.

‘No, I haven’t heard from her.’

Of course, recently there’d been talk about Laura’s father losing a lot of money at the tables in Las Vegas. Once the richest man on Orchid Cay, these days Dee-Dee said he was struggling to survive due to the downturn in the market. And it was rumoured that he was only living there on borrowed time.

Certainly he’d had to sell some property. As witness, the house at Orchid Point, Lily mused with some reluctance.

Years ago, Laura and her mother had lived in the villa that Rafe Oliveira now owned. Laura’s parents had separated when she was a child, and since then Grant Mathews had occupied the plantation house alone.

Ray shrugged. ‘I heard she’s been back a few days,’ he said, and Lily gave a shrug.

‘Perhaps she’s come back to comfort her father,’ she remarked casually. Although her memory of the other girl said the opposite.

‘Anyway, get on to Dave Tapply and tell him I’d like the Lucia’s engines overhauled, but not until after next week,’ Ray said now. Then, getting tired of trying to find the information he was looking for, he got up from Lily’s desk. ‘Print me out a copy of the current financial statement, would you? I’m no good with computers.’

Lily felt a twinge of apprehension. It was only intuition, but Ray wasn’t skilled at hiding his feelings and it was apparent that he had more than the Lucia’s problems on his mind.

‘You look…worried,’ she said, despite her determination not to get involved. ‘We’re not in trouble, are we?’

‘You’re not,’ said Ray at once. ‘You had more sense than to invest your hard-earned cash with a crock like me.’

Lily gasped. ‘I didn’t have any money to invest,’ she protested.

‘Nor do I,’ said Ray dourly. ‘Ain’t that a shame?’

Lily stared at him. ‘But Cartagena Charters is the best on the island.’

‘Which isn’t saying a lot in the present climate, if you’ll forgive the pun. People aren’t coming to the island in the off-season like they used to.’

‘Some are.’

‘The stalwarts, yeah.’ Ray was phlegmatic. ‘But all these hurricanes in the Caribbean; they’re bad for business. You know we’ve had a couple of cancellations, and since I lost those two boats in that storm last fall it’s been a struggle to—dare I say it?—keep my head above water.’

‘But they were insured. The boats, I mean.’

‘Were they?’ Ray gave a mirthless laugh. ‘In the small print I think you’ll find there was something about excluding acts of God.

‘And that’s what hurricanes are, Lily. You ask the Reverend, your father. I haven’t been able to find an insurer yet who’s prepared to accept liability for storms!’

Lily realised the apprehension she’d been feeling earlier had been justified. ‘But why buy a new schooner? Can we afford it?’

Ray regarded her warily. ‘Does it matter? We needed it,’ he reminded her. ‘Haven’t I just said we lost two boats last fall?’

‘Yes.’ Lily looked thoughtful. ‘And I suppose if you’re going to get anyone interested in Cartagena Charters, you have to present a successful front.’

Ray made an affirmative gesture. ‘Now you’re talking.’

An investor like Rafe Oliveira, thought Lily uneasily. Her nerves prickled at the memory of the other man standing in the office, regarding her with those night-dark eyes.

Oh, God! She swallowed. Was Ray really hoping to get Oliveira interested in the agency? She doubted if even Dee-Dee could foresee what the South American might do if that happened.

Or herself, for that matter.