Читать книгу Tender Assault - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 7

‘SO WHERE is he?’

Adele Kittrick turned from applying a moisturising foundation to her face and neck, and regarded her daughter impatiently. In a coral silk wrapper, with her skilfully bleached hair hidden beneath a black turban, she looked rather more than the forty-two years she admitted to. It didn’t help that her expression was taut and demanding. India was the only person who ever saw her mother at her worst.

‘He said he was going to take a shower,’ India replied now, hooking her hip over the arm of a satin-striped chaise-longue, and meeting her mother’s gaze without rancour. ‘I’ve put him in 204, as we decided. If I’d known you wanted me to bring him here, I’d have made other arrangements.’

‘I didn’t want you to bring him here,’ retorted her mother shortly, turning back to survey her reflection in the mirror of the dressing-table. ‘I just find it hard to believe that he didn’t mention the will as you were driving back from the airport. It must be on his mind, for God’s sake. It’s why he’s come here. To make fools of us all!’

India drew her lower lip between her teeth. ‘I don’t think you can blame Nathan for what his father did,’ she said cautiously. ‘He knew nothing about the will. And he certainly didn’t influence Daddy.’

‘How do you know that?’ Adele screwed the cap back on to the jar of cream and slammed it down on the tray in front of her. The crystal rang protestingly, but fortunately it didn’t shatter. Nevertheless, India’s nails curled into her palms at this obvious display of temper.

‘Mother, you know Daddy hasn’t spoken to Nathan for over eight years,’ her daughter replied steadily. ‘Why, even Mr Hastings didn’t have his address.’

Adele snorted. ‘Oh, yes, go on. Defend him, India. You always did. Even though you knew what he’d said about you, how he’d treated you, you still ran around after him like a lovesick puppy!’

India drew a calming breath. This was an old argument, and one she had learned not to pursue. It used to hurt—it might still hurt, if she let it. But she knew it was just her mother’s way of expunging her frustration, of letting out some of the bitterness that was eating her up.

‘Well, what did you talk about, then?’ Adele persisted now, when it became apparent that her previous taunt was not about to bear fruit. ‘Is he still as arrogant as ever—as aggressive? What?’

India carefully uncurled her fingers and smoothed them over the expanded Lycra of her shorts. She was glad her mother was looking at her own reflection at that moment, and not at her. But that didn’t prevent her palms from growing moist, or stop a trickle of sweat from running down between her breasts.

‘He’s—older,’ she said at last, realising that was hardly a satisfactory response, but needing to say something before her mother became suspicious of her silence. ‘And—he’s very brown. I’d say that, whatever he’s been doing for the past eight years, it hasn’t been in an office.’

Adele’s eyes shifted to her daughter’s face. ‘Well, what did you expect?’ she demanded scathingly, and India was so relieved she had noticed nothing amiss that she didn’t voice any protest. ‘He’s probably been herding cattle or working on an oil rig! God knows, he wasn’t fit for anything else. When I think of how we’ve worked to make a success of this place, I could weep. It’s just not fair that he should get it all.’

‘No.’ India had to concede her mother’s final point at least. But Nathan was his father’s flesh and blood. She had only ever been second-best.

Adele picked up a tube of lip-gloss, and examined the colour intently. ‘Did—er—did he ask about me?’ she enquired, and, although India had been expecting the question, it still caught her unawares.

‘He—asked how you were,’ she admitted honestly, managing to contain the wave of heat that threatened to invade her neck. And then, rushing on, ‘But mostly he talked about Daddy. He wanted to know the details of how he died.’

Adele’s mouth took on a sullen twist. ‘As if he cared,’ she exclaimed malevolently. ‘I hope you told him his father never spoke of him. I don’t remember Aaron even mentioning his name in my hearing.’

India got abruptly to her feet. That wasn’t true, but she knew better than to say so. ‘I’d better go,’ she said, aware that, for all her apparent composure, she couldn’t take much more. It hadn’t been an easy day for her either, and even her cultivated detachment was wearing dangerously thin. ‘I promised Carlos I’d speak to Paolo about serving drinks while he’s playing. And I’ve got to get changed yet. I’m supposed to be having dinner with Senator Markham and his wife.’

Adele grimaced. ‘He won’t expect you to keep to that arrangement, India. Besides, it was business, wasn’t it? Why should you continue to take bookings when, as far as we know, Nathan could boot us out tomorrow?’

India breathed out slowly. ‘I—don’t think he’ll do that, Mother.’

‘How do you know? Has he said so?’

‘No——’

‘There you are, then.’ Adele sighed with frustration. ‘I wish you’d stop thinking that you know him better than I do. He’s a rat, India. A bastard! He’s totally without scruples, and you’d better start believing it!’

She did!

As India made some perfunctory comment about not having time to discuss Nathan now, and left her mother’s room, her nerves were working overtime. And, with the door closed behind her, she took a moment to get herself back together. But her mother’s words were far too potent to dismiss that easily, and the fact that they were true made them impossible to forget.

Nathan was everything her mother had said. He had behaved abominably, and had almost broken his father’s heart. It had taken Aaron Kittrick years to get over what his son had done, and her mother had borne the brunt of the depression he had suffered because of it.

Squaring her shoulders, India determinedly put that memory behind her. However Nathan had behaved, whatever he had done, it was pointless thinking about it now. Evidently his father had forgiven him, or he would not have made him his heir. It was no use her feeling bitter. Her mother was nursing enough bitterness for both of them.

The family apartments were situated in a separate wing of the hotel. Connected to the main building by means of a vine-hung colonnade, it was a single-storey dwelling, with a pink-tiled hipped roof, and long windows, opening on to a paved terrace. It was sufficiently apart from the other hotel buildings to ensure complete privacy, but near enough so that any problems could be dealt with at once. After all, it was the very personal service they offered that had made Kittrick’s Hotel and Pelican Island world-famous. It prided itself on its reputation for providing both comfort and individuality, and, although it had accommodated many visitors over the years, a careful record was kept of each guest’s likes and dislikes.

Of course, it helped that the hotel could only accommodate a maximum of thirty guests at any one time. Eighteen suites catered to the needs of visitors as diverse as politicians and pop stars, their exclusivity ensuring that if privacy was sought it would be found. There were no sensation seekers on Pelican Island, no publicity hounds, no fans wanting autographs. Indeed, there were times when the whole hotel was filled with a single party, and it wasn’t uncommon for an anonymous guest to turn out to be a very familiar face.

It was almost dark as India entered the cathedral-like foyer of the hotel. But the enormous chandelier suspended from the cavernous ceiling cast its mellow glow over the many plants and floral displays that gave the huge reception area a colourful ambience. As well as the chandelier, a sprinkling of lamps, set beside groupings of chairs and sofas, created small oases of intimacy and comfort, while the stripped pine floor was strewn with Chinese rugs, thick and rich and delicately patterned.

There were few people about at this hour of the evening. From experience, India knew that most guests were either bathing or resting at this time, or enjoying a rejuvenating massage from one of the hotel’s team of health therapists. After a day spent swimming, or sailing, or simply soaking up the sun, it was good to relax and be pampered. Kittrick’s Hotel was equipped with every device necessary to make their guests happy, and men, as well as women, took advantage of its many facilities.

It was later that the bar would fill up and the poolside restaurant would start serving the score of gourmet delicacies cooked up by their French chef and his expert staff. But for now the public rooms were practically deserted, except for the ever present army of stewards, some of whom were always on duty.

Nevertheless, India felt slightly under-dressed as she crossed to the reception desk. By this time, she was usually changed for the evening, and although her presence wasn’t always necessary, she preferred to keep an eye on things. But Nathan’s arrival had upset the normal scheme of things, and she was still struggling to come to terms with her own reaction to it.

‘Oh, hello, Miss Kittrick.’ The receptionist left the pile of credit slips she had been systematically entering into the computer, and came to greet her. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘What?’ For a moment, India wondered if she meant Nathan, and then, realising it was her appearance that had produced such a comment, she shook her head. ‘Oh—no. No.’ She forced a smile. ‘I just wanted to have a word with Paolo. Do you know where he is?’

‘He’s in the bar, Miss Kittrick,’ said the girl at once. ‘Your—er—brother wanted a drink.’ She paused. ‘He’s very nice, isn’t he? Your brother, I mean. So—easy-going and friendly. Not—not at all like … well, like his father, is he?’

She was embarrassed and showed it, but, having started the sentence, she had had to finish it. India sympathised with her. And it was true, she thought unwillingly. In latter years, Nathan’s father had become more and more remote. India had put his uncertain moods down to his health. There was no denying that, for the past eighteen months at least, Aaron Kittrick had not been a well man. He had been withdrawn and unsociable, even with her. But now she was not so sure of her conclusion. Had his estrangement from Nathan been preying on his mind? she wondered. She would probably never know.

But, more immediately, she had the unenviable prospect of facing Nathan again, if she wanted to speak to Paolo before the evening’s entertainment began. She would have preferred to avoid seeing Nathan, at least until she had had time to bathe and change. Without the armour of clothes and make-up she felt absurdly vulnerable, a circumstance for which Nathan was wholly responsible.

He had embarrassed her horribly that afternoon by asking her that unforgivable question. And she had made it worse by admitting that she still cared about him. She should have evaded an answer, made some glib response that wouldn’t commit her either way. Instead, she had been so desperate to prove her own detachment that she had laid herself open to the kind of ridicule he could so readily produce.

Once it wouldn’t have bothered her. She had grown up with his teasing, and she’d always believed it was without malice. Until her mother had pointed out how unsuitable it was for a thirteen-year-old to go on treating Nathan as her contemporary. Until she had made it plain that he was just too polite to tell her to get lost.

India remembered how humiliated she had felt when she’d realised that truth. She had followed Nathan everywhere, it was true, but she’d never had a brother before, especially not an older brother who could do all the things she herself was desperate to learn.

She’d thought he’d enjoyed her company, too, and perhaps he had, to begin with. Perhaps, like her, he’d found having a ready-made sibling quite appealing. Particularly one who admired him, and hung on his every word.

But there was an enormous difference between the hero-worship of a seven-year-old and the embarrassing persistence of a post-pubescent teenager. And, as soon as her mother remarked on it, India had known she must be right. Of course then she hadn’t realised where his desires lay, hadn’t understood that his tolerance with her had just been a means to an end …

Now she straightened her spine, made a reassuring remark to the red-faced receptionist, and walked determinedly across the foyer. She couldn’t blame the girl for responding to Nathan’s charm. She knew only too well how lethal that charm could be.

The cocktail bar was four steps down from the level of the foyer. Cool and dim, with a long counter strung with lights, it overlooked the beach, and the lights of the marina in the distance. Her stepfather had built the marina in the days before Kittrick’s Hotel had become a household name. The old house, where they had lived when she and her mother had first come here, had been both hotel and residence. However, since the new hotel had been constructed, it had been turned into a haven for yachtsmen. There was a clubhouse now, on the upper floor, and a comprehensive chandlery beneath. And, although the store was supposed to be there for the benefit of the yachting community, it also sold golf and scuba-diving gear, and female guests could often be found browsing through its racks of designer sportswear, or chatting up the manager, who was, admittedly, quite a hunk.

India halted at the top of the steps leading down into the bar, and surveyed the territory. The piano where Carlos Mendoza played most evenings was as yet unattended, and there were no couples smooching on the tiny dance-floor. The neat armchairs and tables that were set by the long windows to take advantage of the view were still empty, and the distant sounds from the stereo were soft and not intrusive.

She saw Nathan at once, seated on one of the tall stools at the bar, talking to Paolo. And why wouldn’t she? she asked herself impatiently. Apart from the bartender, he was the only occupant. Nevertheless, it was galling to feel her pulses racing, and she thrust aside the feeling that he had already taken control.

He had changed, she noticed. The well-worn jeans that had clung to his muscled thighs had given way to black chinos and a dark shirt. His dark hair overhung his collar at the back, and even from here she could see it was still damp from his shower. But, when Paolo suddenly noticed her, and said something to his companion, Nathan turned his head in her direction, and she focused on the fact that the tie they insisted upon was absent.

All the same, it was a little unnerving to have him watch her descend the steps and cross the polished floor towards them. She was intensely conscious of her windswept hair and bare arms and legs, and she prayed she wouldn’t trip or do something equally stupid.

‘Hi,’ he said when she reached them, and she was glad he didn’t slide off the bar-stool to greet her. As it was, with his arms on the counter, and his shoulders hunched over the Scotch and water in front of him, he was almost her own height, and she didn’t experience the same lack of advantage she’d felt at the airport.

‘Hello,’ she responded, managing a smile, even if it was a trifle chilly. But Nathan disturbed her, and she didn’t like the sensation. She was letting his lack of sensitivity get to her, and she knew she would have to deal with it.

‘You look harassed,’ he remarked, and she thought how typical it was of him to make such a personal comment. She knew how she looked. She didn’t need him to tell her. And, when it came right down to it, it was none of his business, so why didn’t he butt out?

‘You don’t,’ she remarked now, noticing he had shaved the growth of stubble from his chin. It didn’t make him look any younger; it just accentuated the harsh beauty of his features.

‘Is that supposed to mean something?’ he enquired, rubbing his nose with a lazy finger. His eyes were lazy, too, dark and inscrutable behind their shield of sooty lashes.

‘I—we—guests are expected to wear a tie in the evening,’ she explained, not without some trepidation. She could tell herself that this was her stepbrother, that it was Nathan, with whom she had once shared all her girlish confidences, but it didn’t work. Too much had happened. He had gone away and they had grown apart. The man he was now bore little resemblance to the boy she remembered.

‘Really?’

Nathan’s fingers probed the open collar of his shirt, which she could now see was made of navy blue silk. So wherever he had been, and whatever he had done, he hadn’t been penniless, she reflected tautly, trying to avoid watching those long narrow fingers as they exposed the sun-burned column of his throat.

‘Yes, really,’ she confirmed, grateful that she sounded more resolute than she felt. Her gaze strayed to the faintly mocking curve of his mouth. ‘I’m sorry.’

Nathan’s lips parted, revealing teeth that were white and even. ‘And that’s the purpose of this visit?’ he enquired. ‘To tell me I’m not properly dressed?’ His lips twisted. ‘Forgive me, but are you saying that what you’re wearing is suitable, but I’m out of line?’

‘No!’ India was impatient. ‘No, of course not. I came to speak to Paolo. I didn’t know I’d find you here, did I?’

Nathan inclined his head. ‘Maybe not,’ he conceded, raising his glass to his lips. ‘So do you want me to leave you two alone?’

India refused to dignify his words with a reply. Instead she turned to Paolo, and, adopting the polite but authoritative manner she used with all the staff, she explained Carlos’s predicament.

‘He’d like you to avoid clattering glasses while he’s playing,’ she clarified carefully. ‘Most people are prepared to wait until each medley’s over before being served. And those who won’t wait will come to the counter. Your moving round the room, taking orders, is distracting the guests while they’re listening to the music.’

Paolo was scowling when she’d finished, and India suppressed a sigh. The Italian barman was not the easiest person to deal with, and he and Carlos had crossed swords before. ‘What he means is he’s afraid he won’t get his tips if I give them something else to think about,’ he retorted, in the hoarse accented English the women guests found so appealing. ‘Dio, doesn’t the idiota realise that so far as the guests are concerned I might just as well be playing the stereo?’

‘I don’t think that’s entirely true, Paolo,’ she declared evenly. ‘Carlos is a very accomplished musician——’

‘E puntura!’ grunted Paolo sulkily, and although India didn’t know what that meant she was sure it was nothing complimentary.

‘I don’t think——’ she was beginning wearily, when Nathan intervened.

‘I think you owe Miss Kittrick an apology,’ he said, his voice no less compelling because it was low and controlled. ‘And if she tells you not to serve drinks while this pianist is doing his stuff you won’t do it. Right?’

Paolo’s reaction was immediate. ‘But of course, signore,’ he exclaimed, and if India hadn’t already had experience of his belligerence she would have thought she had imagined it. ‘I was only joking, no? Carlos—he is my friend. We are all friends here on Pelican Island.’

India’s jaw compressed. It had not been a good day for her, and this was the last straw. It was bad enough that Nathan should have felt the need—or believed had the right—to involve himself in her affairs, but Paolo’s response was humiliating.

‘As I was saying,’ she continued, through her teeth, ‘I don’t think there is any advantage to be gained in insulting one another. Carlos has his job to do, just as you have yours. And I don’t think I need to remind you that good bartenders are easier to find than good musicians. Do I make myself clear?’

Paolo cast a grudging glance at Nathan, as if gauging his reaction to her words, and then, with a shrug of his dinner-jacket-clad shoulders, he submitted. ‘Yes, signora.’

‘Good.’ India permitted herself a taut look in her stepbrother’s direction, and then pushed herself away from the counter. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me——’

‘Wait!’

She had reached the shallow steps leading up into the foyer when Nathan caught up with her. For a brief moment she had thought he was going to let her go without saying anything more, but she ought to have known better.

‘Yes?’ she said now, turning to face him with what she hoped was calm indifference.

‘What was all that about?’ he demanded, casting a meaningful look behind him. ‘Why the cold shoulder?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ India pretended ignorance. She glanced at the slim gold watch on her wrist, the watch her stepfather had bought her for her twenty-first birthday, and frowned. ‘I don’t have time to talk now. I have to get changed.’

‘That’s not what I mean and you know it,’ retorted Nathan flatly. ‘What’s the matter? Did I say something wrong?’

India stiffened. ‘Why should you think that?’

‘I didn’t mistake that look you gave me just now,’ he answered. ‘It was lethal. Well, OK, if there’s something you want to say to me, let’s have it. I don’t like innuendo; I never have.’

India took a deep breath. She didn’t want to get into this. Not right now. She was hot, and she was tired, and the prospect of a cool shower was all she wanted to think about. ‘You’re imagining things,’ she said, deciding there was no point in making a big thing of it. After all, Nathan owned the place now. If he chose to remonstrate with the staff, who was she to complain?

She would have turned away again, but Nathan’s fingers curled about her arm, preventing her. ‘I am not imagining things,’ he said, with quiet force. ‘I guess you didn’t like me butting into your conversation with the barkeep. That’s the only thing it can be, unless I said something this afternoon that’s made you mad. Hell, tell me if it bugs you! I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us.’

India swallowed, wondering why Nathan’s hand was causing such a furious reaction inside her. Where those hard fingers touched, her skin felt as if it were on fire, and a hot stream of awareness was shooting up her arm. It was as if her whole body was focused on that careless grip, and she could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.

She was over-reacting. She knew it. Heavens, it wasn’t as if Nathan had never touched her before. In the days before her mother had made her aware of her own foolishness, he had often grabbed her arm to emphasise a point, or to drag her out to go fishing. Of all his activities, going fishing had been the one she liked least, and they had often done battle over who was to get their way. He even used to pick her up and throw her into the water sometimes, and she’d try to wrestle him underwater to get her own back. They’d been totally unselfconscious with each other in those days, so why was she getting so upset that it took every bit of determination she possessed not to tear herself away from him?

Realising there was only one way to deal with it, she tipped her chin towards him. ‘I think you know what you did,’ she declared, her tone clipped and aggressive. ‘It might have slipped your notice, but the hotel’s been running just fine while you’ve been away!’

Nathan’s lips tightened. ‘You thought I was interfering,’ he stated evenly. ‘So why didn’t you just say so?’

India snorted. ‘I thought I just did.’

‘Not before I had to practically drag it out of you,’ retorted Nathan. ‘And while we’re on the subject, why don’t you let Adele do her own dirty work? If she wants the Italian put in his place, let her do it. You’re not her lackey.’

India blinked, momentarily distracted from her efforts to avoid his dark, accusing gaze. ‘Adele?’ she echoed blankly. ‘My mother? What’s she got to do with this?’

Nathan frowned, his eyes searching her increasingly hot face. ‘She does have the final say about what goes down, doesn’t she?’

‘What goes down?’ India gave an impatient exclamation. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘All right.’ Nathan’s tone was considerably less friendly now. ‘She may employ a manager—who may or may not be you, I don’t know—but she signs the cheques, doesn’t she? Or rather she did, when my father was alive.’

‘No!’ Now India did pull herself away from him. ‘My mother’s never taken any part in the running of the hotel. When Daddy … when your father was alive he trusted me to handle the practical side of it. My mother—she travels a lot. This is a small island. People get—restless.’

‘Don’t you mean bored?’ suggested Nathan harshly, though he was evidently having some difficulty in coming to terms with what she had said. ‘So … Kittrick’s Hotel, Pelican Island—this was your baby?’

‘I didn’t say that.’ India was defensive now. ‘You know it was my mother’s idea to expand the resort——’

‘Because it wasn’t earning enough money to satisfy her as it was,’ put in Nathan caustically, but India chose to ignore him.

‘And Daddy—that is, your father—arranged the finance.’

‘You mean he put himself in hock to the bank?’ Nathan’s mouth curled. ‘Oh, yes, I know about that.’

India took a deep breath. ‘If you’re going to persist in making rude remarks, then I don’t think I want to go on with this,’ she declared stiffly. ‘I’m sure Mr Hastings must have given you all the details. If you need any more information, I suggest you ask him.’

‘Ah—damn!’

Nathan swore volubly and colourfully, and India squared her shoulders and started up the steps. She had no reason to tolerate his crudeness, she told herself. She didn’t have to defend herself to him, and she particularly didn’t have to defend her mother.

‘All right, all right, I’m sorry.’ His unexpected apology came from behind her left ear, and she realised he had followed her out of the bar. He was now standing on the step immediately below her, which accounted for the fact that his breath was fanning her neck and not the top of her head. ‘As far as Hastings is concerned,’ he went on, ‘he supplied all the necessary information, sure, but not the details. Dammit, I haven’t even met with the guy. As soon as I read his cable, I came right here.’

India turned towards him with some reluctance. And, because he was lower than she was, their eyes were almost on a level. It meant she had no chance of avoiding his defensive stare, and she crossed her arms across her midriff in an unconsciously protective gesture.

‘So,’ she said, moistening her lips with a wary tongue, ‘what more can I say?’

‘You can tell me how my father’s modest plans to build an extension to the original building turned into this place,’ he replied, spreading his arms. ‘When I left, he’d built the marina and was talking about putting in a swimming-pool and some tennis courts. Nothing like this.’

India lifted her head. ‘Well—it seemed like a good investment, that’s all.’

‘To whom?’

‘To—all of us,’ she replied, choosing her words with care.

‘But it must have cost the earth!’

‘It was worth it.’

‘Was it?’ He came up the final step so that he was standing beside her. ‘Your mother had big ideas, and my father would have done anything to please her.’

India stepped back. ‘Your father was proud of what he’d achieved!’

‘But it was a strain, right?’

‘If you’re implying that his heart attack had anything to do with money worries, you couldn’t be more wrong!’ she exclaimed angrily. ‘My God! This place is worth a small fortune! Well, not small. Quite a large fortune, actually. How dare you suggest that his illness was in any way to do with the hotel?’

Nathan’s face was unrelenting now. ‘Well, you have to admit the old man did die years sooner than anyone could have expected,’ he retorted, and India’s stomach hollowed at the realisation that in a matter of minutes he had lost all veneer of politeness. He was cold and arrogant, and every bit as aggressive as her mother had expected.

‘I don’t have to listen to this,’ she hissed, aware that the heat of their exchange was being monitored by at least two members of the staff. Paolo was obviously straining his ears to hear what was being said, and the young woman on the reception desk couldn’t help noticing that something was wrong. ‘If you have any complaints, I suggest you take them up with Mr Hastings when he gets here. I don’t want you upsetting my mother any more than she’s been upset already.’

Nathan scowled, but when he spoke it wasn’t Adele he was interested in. ‘Hastings?’ he said. ‘He’s coming here?’

‘In a couple of days, yes.’ India found it much easier to cope with this conversation with the cloak of hostility between them. ‘I asked him to delay his arrival, to give you time to familiarise yourself with the island again. Of course, I didn’t know then that you were going to start throwing accusations around as soon as you got here.’

Nathan’s jaw clamped. ‘I’m not throwing accusations around. Hell, India, I’m just trying to find out what’s been going on! Dammit, he was my father!’

‘I know.’ India squashed the feeling of sympathy that stirred inside her. ‘But that doesn’t give you the right to come here and impugn the reasons for his illness. You just might have played some part in that yourself!’