Читать книгу Moondrift - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 7

‘HE’S back!’

Jordan was in the linen room counting pillowcases when Karen came to find her, and although she had been expecting it, her sister’s words still brought out a wave of goosebumps over her skin.

‘Who?’ she asked, as if there could be any doubt, and Karen gazed at her disbelievingly.

‘You know who!’ she accused after a moment, propping herself against the door frame. ‘The great man, of course. He arrived yesterday afternoon. With his daughter.’

Jordan felt the muscles of her stomach tense, and to disguise her emotions from Karen, she moved out of the shaft of sunlight cast through the door. Thank goodness she had an occupation, she thought sickly, as her heart palpitated wildly. It was worse, much worse, than she had imagined, and the fact that he had brought the child with him showed how insensitive he was.

‘Well? Don’t you have anything to say?’ Karen was growing impatient, and she regarded her elder sister suspiciously. ‘Did you know already?’ she demanded suddenly. ‘Did you know it was yesterday he was due? Or did your spies at the house let you know that your pop singer was here?’

‘He’s not my pop singer!’ Jordan’s voice was muffled, but audible. ‘Karen, if you’ve nothing else to do, you can drive down to the town for those avocados. I shan’t have time this morning, and Josef needs them for tonight.’

‘Forget about the avocados!’ Karen snorted. ‘Jordan, I just told you that Rhys Williams is back on the island! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’

‘What should it mean?’ Making sure her face was still in shadow, Jordan turned to face her sister. ‘My relationship with Rhys Williams ended over ten years ago. I—I was a child, that’s all. It was a childish infatuation. It means nothing to me now.’

‘So why do you spend every spare minute at his house?’ demanded Karen scathingly. ‘Since he went away, you’ve been there at least once every week. Come on, Jordan. I may have been a kid when it happened, but I’m not a kid now!’

Jordan pressed the clipboard holding the housekeeping lists close to her chest. ‘You forget,’ she said, hearing the tremor in her voice and despising herself for it, ‘that house was Daddy’s home, too. Is it so unnatural that I should want to make sure it didn’t fall into disrepair?’

Karen shook her head. ‘And that’s your final word?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, I don’t believe you,’ retorted Karen succinctly, swinging about and making for the stairs. ‘I’ll get your avocados. I shan’t be long.’

After she had gone, Jordan spent several minutes composing herself before emerging from the linen room. There was always the chance that someone else might take it into their heads to inform her of Rhys’s return, and she wanted to be sure she could face their commiserations before returning to her office.

Just to make doubly sure, she made a detour to her own apartments, and closing the louvred door behind her, she paused a moment to take a deep breath. Rhys was back. Well, she had been expecting it. And it was nothing so terrible if she could keep things in perspective.

Walking across to her dressing table, she lifted a comb and lightly flicked back the errant strands that had escaped from the chignon at her nape. Her hair, which was toffee-coloured and streaked with blonde, grew back from a centre parting. Her brow was wide and tanned, and her eyes were grey and shielded by long brown lashes. She knew she was not beautiful in the accepted sense of the word, but when her features were animated they did have a certain attraction which she was not unaware of. Right now, however, her face was withdrawn and sombre, and she surveyed herself without pleasure and assessed the changes Rhys must see.

When he went away, she had been seventeen—now she was twenty-seven; a spinster, or so Karen was often telling her. As a teenager, she had worn her hair loose and free; now it was always coiled in a chignon or a knot, anything to keep it out of her eyes. And finally, when she was younger, her long-limbed frame had been rounded and feminine; these days, she seldom had an ounce of flesh on her bones, and she touched the hollows in her neck with fingers that shook quite revealingly.

Damn, she thought fiercely, turning away, why couldn’t she just dismiss him from her mind? He was totally amoral, totally insensitive. Were he not, he would never have come back here, never have brought his daughter with him—never have put her in such an invidious position.

By the time Jordan went downstairs again, she had herself in control. She had succeeded in convincing herself that she was behaving foolishly—irrationally—and that the cold sweat which had broken out over her flesh when Karen confirmed that Rhys was back was the natural result of long-suppressed emotions. Rhys had returned to the island; she had to accept that. He had every right to return here. She did not own the island, only a very small part of it—and that, too, was being whittled away by the disturbing decrease in visitors to the hotel. But that was nothing to do with Rhys Williams. That was her affair, her problem; and she had no need of any further problems to trouble her. The most sensible course, so far as Rhys was concerned, was to behave as if the past had never happened, and when they met—as they were bound to do on an island of this size—she would behave with the calmness and dignity won over ten years of self-restraint.

At this time of year the hotel was at its busiest, and she was grateful for that. As she made her way to her office, situated behind the reception desk on the ground floor, she exchanged greetings with several of the guests passing through on their way to change for lunch after a morning spent by the pool. Trade Winds, as her father had christened the hotel, was not a large concern, but it was unique, in that it occupied the finest position on the west coast of the island, and its patrons generally returned for a second, and sometimes a third, visit.

It was approaching noon, and already there was a sense of lethargy creeping over the place. The breezes that usually kept the climate temperate at this time of the year were conspicuous by their absence, and Jordan could feel a trickle of moisture dampening the back of her shirt. Even the wide-legged cotton culottes that covered her slim legs to well below her knees felt uncomfortably sticky, and she refused to associate her present condition with her thoughts earlier. It was a hot day. She was feeling the heat, that was all. And although a visit to one of the many quiet beaches that fringed the island, to swim and sunbathe, was appealing, she was needed here. Besides, she preferred to keep herself occupied. She would have time enough to think when the day was over.

The lobby of the hotel was light and airy. A through draught kept this area cool at all times, and urns of pampas grass and flowering plants added to its tropical appearance. There were wickerwork chairs, a small bar that jutted out below a thatched awning, and rose-pink quarry tiles underfoot, both functional and attractive.

Jordan’s office was small, but functional, too. Here she discussed menus, answered booking enquiries, and prepared accounts. There were a dozen other tasks she did, too, like ordering supplies from the mainland, choosing colour schemes when the rooms needed decorating, or arbitrating in disputes between the other members of the staff. But mostly, her job was concerned with being available to the guests, to answer queries and complaints, and to assure herself that everyone was pulling their weight.

She had a secretary, a coloured girl called Mary-Jo, and when she went into her office now, she found the girl on her hands and knees on the floor. ‘Paper-clips,’ Mary-Jo answered her silent enquiry, grimacing as one of the scattered items dug into an unwary knee. ‘Josef’s been in here complaining about the shortage of prawns for tonight’s buffet.’

‘And he threw these about?’ exclaimed Jordan, joining her on the floor.

‘No,’ Mary-Jo giggled. ‘Not intentionally, that is. But he did bring his fist down on the desk and the box just happened to be in the way …’

Jordan sighed. ‘He really is impossible at times! And I thought we had enough shellfish.’

‘We probably do.’ Mary-Jo satisfied herself that she had collected most of the paper-clips and got to her feet. ‘You know what Josef is like—all bark and no bite. Here, let me help you.’ She gave Jordan her hand. ‘You look worn out.’

‘Well, thanks.’ Jordan could smile at the backhanded sympathy. ‘I am—feeling the heat today. The linen room isn’t the coolest place to be when the temperature is in the nineties.’

‘You should have let me do it,’ exclaimed Mary-Jo, crossing to where a tray was set on a filing cabinet. ‘Would you like some orange juice? The ice hasn’t melted yet.’

‘Please.’ Jordan sank down into her own chair behind the desk, and fanned herself with a languid hand. ‘Did Karen go down to Mallorys?’

‘Yes. She left about a half hour ago,’ agreed Mary-Jo, handing over a glass of the sun-tinted fluid. ‘There you are—liquid vitamin C!’

Jordan took a taste of the orange juice on to her tongue, savouring its cool sweetness. ‘Mmm, delicious,’ she murmured, smiling her thanks. ‘Just exactly what I needed.’

‘Is it?’ Mary-Jo looked a little quizzical now, and Jordan’s brow furrowed.

‘Shouldn’t it be?’

‘Well——’ Mary-Jo paused, ‘the way I heard it, something stronger might have been in order. A kind of—stiffener, wouldn’t you say?’

Jordan sighed, cradling the glass between her palms. ‘You heard,’ she said flatly. ‘Who told you?’

‘I don’t remember.’ Mary-Jo turned away to pour herself some of the juice. ‘Oh, it’s all over the island, Jordan. I suppose it was too much to hope that he could come back here without creating a stir.’

Jordan looked down into her glass. ‘Well, contrary to public opinion, I don’t need a stiffener to face Rhys Williams,’ she declared firmly. She looked up at the other girl. ‘That was all over long ago, while you were still in school.’

Mary-Jo shrugged. ‘You’re only five years older than I am, Jordan. I remember what happened at the time. I mean, who wouldn’t? Rhys Williams isn’t like any ordinary tourist, is he?’

‘No.’ Jordan’s tongue circled her lower lip. ‘No, he’s not. But there’s something else you should remember, Mary-Jo. I was only seventeen at the time, little more than a schoolgirl myself. And that’s all it was—a schoolgirl crush on an older man.’

Mary-Jo looked doubtful. ‘You were pretty cut up about it when his wife turned up, weren’t you?’ she protested. ‘And who could blame you?’

‘Mary-Jo!’

‘Well, it’s true. I mean, imagine him not telling you he was married! And having a daughter and everything. You must have felt terrible——’

‘Mary-Jo!’

Jordan’s voice had risen sharply, and as if just realising how personal she was being, the girl muttered a word of apology and sat down. But the looks she kept casting in her employer’s direction were eloquent of her feelings, and Jordan’s nerves felt ragged as she endeavoured to concentrate on the accounts.

She was almost relieved when Karen came back, waltzing into the office with her usual disregard for anyone’s privacy. ‘The avocados are here!’ she announced unnecessarily. And then, with sudden intuition: ‘What’s been going on here? You could cut the atmosphere with a knife!’

Jordan put down her pen and sighed. ‘Mary-Jo and I have just had a difference of opinion,’ she declared shortly. ‘Now, do you mind if we get on? I seem to have wasted half the day already.’

‘All right.’ Karen’s blue eyes took on a knowing expression. Unlike her sister, she was a natural redhead, and in consequence her colouring was that much fairer. ‘But I thought you might like to know, Rhys was in town, with his daughter. At least, I assume she was his daughter. She looks about eighteen.’

‘She’s—sixteen,’ said Jordan slowly, realising, as she did so, how wrong she had been to think of her as a child. Then, colouring, she added: ‘Where did you see them? Did you speak to them? I hope you weren’t rude—they have as much right here as we do.’

‘Hardly,’ exclaimed Karen indignantly. ‘Daddy’s family have lived here for—for donkey’s years. And I was born here.’

‘I wasn’t.’

‘No, but you’re not like Rhys Williams. He’s only lived on the island for a matter of months, not years.’ Karen pursed her lips. ‘Anyway, you don’t have to worry. I didn’t speak to them. They didn’t even see me, and if they had, I doubt Rhys would have recognised me. I was only ten when he went away.’

Jordan allowed her breath to escape unnoticed. ‘You—you could be right. So—where did you see them?’

‘In the market.’ Karen tucked her hands into the pockets of her shorts. ‘He was buying her a sun-hat. One of those hand-made palm things that weigh a ton until they’ve dried out.’ She paused. ‘He hasn’t changed much.’

‘Well, I have.’ Jordan tried to make it sound like a joke, but it didn’t quite come off. ‘I—where did you leave the avocados? Not out in the sun, I hope.’

‘No.’ Karen gave her an impatient look. ‘I’m not stupid. Willy took them down to the cellar.’

‘Good.’ Jordan managed an approving smile. ‘Josef will be pleased anyway.’

She hoped Karen would go now, but her sister hovered in the doorway, evidently wanting to say something else. Jordan’s fingers tightened convulsively round her pen as Karen tried to catch her eye, and she wondered how long her new-found composure would last if it was subjected to these pressures.

‘Do you think he’ll come here?’ Karen asked at last, when it became obvious that her sister was not going to make things easy for her, and Jordan laid down her pen.

‘Why should he?’

‘To thank you, of course.’ Karen hunched her shoulders. ‘You have looked after the house for him, haven’t you?’

Jordan sighed. ‘Tomas and Rosa have looked after the house.’

‘Yes, I know. But you know they wouldn’t have been as diligent as you have.’

‘Oh, Karen!’ Jordan drew an unsteady breath. ‘Can’t we just forget about Rhys Williams? Please? I don’t want his thanks, I just want to get on with my life. Now, can I do that?’

Karen’s lips compressed. ‘Well, I think the whole affair stinks,’ she declared rudely, going out of the room and slamming the door behind her, and Jordan was left to face Mary-Jo’s knowing gaze as the room resounded with the sound.

The remainder of the morning passed without incident, and during the afternoon Jordan had to contend with other problems about the hotel. The shutter on the window in one of the bathrooms had broken, and she had to summon the carpenter to deal with it. One of the guests had trodden on a sea urchin, and the doctor had to be called to remove the spines. And finally, one of the waiters in the restaurant slipped and sprained his ankle, leaving them short-staffed at the busiest time of the day.

By the time Jordan took her evening shower, she was feeling decidedly frayed at the seams. It had been one of those days, she thought, as she towelled her hair dry before picking up the hand drier to complete the process. Ever since Karen had told her about Rhys Williams, her nerves had been on edge, and she had to force her hand to remain steady as she directed the hot air on to her head.

She was applying a pale gold eye-shadow to her lids when the internal phone rang. ‘Mr Ferris is here, Miss Jordan,’ Raoul’s laconic voice announced in her ear, and she acknowledged the news with an emphatic: ‘I’ll be right down.’

Thank goodness for Neil, she thought, as she hurried into a raw silk skirt and a full-sleeved blouse. Without his help and encouragement, she might never have succeeded in carrying on after her father died, and his knowledge of the hotel trade had been invaluable. It had been particularly kind of him, considering he owned the only other hotel of any size on the island, and by supporting Trade Winds he had halved the business he could have done. Jordan had known him for years, ever since her father came back to the island, bringing his wife and young daughter with him. But it wasn’t until her father died that she learned to appreciate his friendship, and the growing bond of affection that was gradually developing between them.

He was waiting for her in the lobby when she went downstairs, tall and tanned and handsome in his black dinner jacket. He was leaning on the desk, talking to Raoul, who took over the switchboard after Mary-Jo had gone home, and Jordan felt a wave of gratitude sweep over her in his warm familiar presence.

‘Hi,’ she said, her sandalled feet making little sound on the tiled floor, and he turned and straightened and came to greet her.

‘Hi,’ he responded, his hands on her shoulders marvellously reassuring. ‘You looked flushed. Have you been hurrying?’

‘It has been quite a hectic day,’ she conceded, as his lips brushed her cheek. ‘Thank goodness you were at the end of it. I can’t wait to get away from the hotel for a few hours!’

Neil regarded her intently. ‘Really?’ He tucked her arm through his. ‘Well, don’t let’s delay. I’ve got some cocktails cooling over ice, and a fillet of beef cooked with herbs and brandy.’

‘Mmm, it sounds delicious,’ murmured Jordan, giving Raoul a wave of farewell, and then Neil was tucking her into the front seat of his sleek convertible, and the cares of the day just melted into space.

Unlike Jordan and her sister, Neil did not live in his hotel. He had had a single-storied villa built alongside; adjacent to, and yet separate from, the main buildings. Unlike Trade Winds, the accommodation at Coral Cay was provided in a series of beach bungalows, and in consequence, the area it covered was much greater.

Tonight, Jordan could hear the sounds of a beach barbecue as they neared Coral Cay, and the leaping flames of a fire on the sand gave the night an added illumination. Fortunately, it was cooler now than in the heat of the day, but Jordan had no objections when Neil suggested they had their drinks on the verandah.

Because Coral Cay was at the southernmost point of the island, the view was different from the one Jordan was used to. The sea was not so gentle here; there were breakers splintering over the jagged horns of the reef, and although the bathing was adequate, she much preferred the smoother shores of home.

Neil emerged from the house carrying a flask of cocktails and setting two glasses down on the glass-topped table beside her chair, he poured the bubbling liquid. ‘Daiquiris à la Ferris,’ he said teasingly, handing her a wide-lipped glass. ‘Just what you need after a tiring day.’

‘Is it ever!’ murmured Jordan fervently. ‘Beautiful! You’d make a good barman, Neil. If you ever need a job, come and see me.’

Neil subsided into the cushioned chair beside her, depositing a kiss at the corner of her mouth before stretching his legs out before him. ‘The very best part of the day,’ he averred, tasting his own drink. ‘So, tell me: why are you so feeling so drained?’

‘Oh——’ Jordan was glad of the shadows on the verandah to hide her sudden colour. ‘You know—this and that. The usual ups and downs of an hotelier’s life.’

‘And that’s all?’ Neil turned his head to look at her. ‘Just the usual pitch and toss?’

‘What else?’ Jordan lifted one foot to rub her instep lightly against her leg. In the dark, the whiteness of her skirt was a sharp contrast to the brownness of her skin, and she reflected how lucky she was never to need tights or stockings. ‘One of the French girls stood on a sea urchin, and Carlos chose tonight of all nights to go and sprain his ankle.’

‘And that was it?’

‘Well …’ Jordan lifted a slim shoulder, feeling the weight of her hair as it coiled against her neck, ‘there were one or two other irritations, but yes, I guess that was all.’

‘Oh, Jordan!’ Neil leant forward to pour more of the pale liquid into his glass. ‘You’re not telling me you haven’t heard that Rhys Williams is back, are you? According to Karen, she virtually ran into him in town today, and I know she wouldn’t keep that piece of news to herself.’

Jordan stiffened. ‘You’ve spoken to Karen?’

‘Sure. She was in the lobby talking to Raoul when I arrived. As soon as she mentioned Williams’ name I guessed how you’d react. Damn the fellow! What’s he come back here for?’

Jordan hesitated. ‘Rosa told me he was coming for a holiday,’ she admitted after a moment, and Neil frowned.

‘You knew he was coming, then?’

‘Y—e—s.’ Jordan drew the word out. ‘I—it’s not unnatural, is it? I mean, he does own the house at Planter’s Point.’

‘I don’t know how he has the nerve to come here,’ snapped Neil angrily. ‘But I suppose it’s all you can expect from artists!’ The way he said the word was an abuse. ‘I’d have thought he’d have better things to do than come here, raking up old gossip! From the little I’ve read about him in the American press, he’s not been short of female companionship during the past ten years.’

‘Neil, please!’ Jordan sat up, straightening her spine. ‘It’s not that important.’

‘It’s important to me,’ retorted Neil grimly. ‘I may not have had a personal interest in you at that time, but I know how you must have felt when his wife turned up like that. Everyone thought you were going to marry the fellow, didn’t they? No wonder your father didn’t approve!’

Jordan sighed. ‘Look, can we talk about something else? I appreciate your sympathy, but—well, it’s really not necessary. It all happened a long time ago. I was too young to know what I was doing. Let’s forget it, shall we? According to Rosa, he’s only staying a few weeks. I probably won’t even see him.’