Honeymoon Island Read online

  Derek sounded nice, Lucie thought after a short, friendly conversation, but he couldn't hide his amazement. She replaced the phone and looked up at Guy. 'Obviously he didn't think you were the marrying type,' she said, teasing him.

  He slid his hands round her neck, under her dark hair, and drew her mouth towards him. 'He didn't know how long I'd been waiting for you,' he murmured against her lips.

  His mouth travelled down her cheek to nuzzle into her neck, and she felt the familiar stirring inside and pressed against him. But he put her away from him, pulling a reluctant face. 'Duty calls, I'd better get back to the bank and catch up on what's been happening.'

  'Yes, of course.' Lucie fought down the disappointment. This was how it would be from now on. Guy was an important man of business. It would have been wonderful if she could have believed that she came first with him, but she couldn't.

  He was locking up his briefcase. 'You'll be OK?' he said rather absently.

  'Oh yes.' She smiled brightly. 'I shall go shopping. I'm anxious to show off my cooking. All I've done up to now is open tins. I mean to tame the microwave oven this evening.'

  'Fair enough,' said Guy. 'I'll drop you off in Georgetown and you can get a taxi back.'

  In Comart, a mini-supermarket in the centre of the town, Lucie encountered Dorothy Maddox, all plump bronzed skin and sun-bleached hair, wearing a minuscule pink and white sundress.

  She beamed all over her pleasant face. 'Hi, Lucie, you're back—we hoped we might meet up again before we left. We're going home tomorrow.' She kissed Lucie affectionately and held her away, inspecting her. 'You look lovely—and what a super tan you'll have to take back to England with you! We heard from Cynthia Blunt that you and Guy had gone to Little Cayman. The Blunts have rented a villa just along from us. He seems nice, but she's a bit—well, I'd call her a man's woman, if you know what I mean.' Dorothy trilled with laughter. 'Oh dear, I gossip too much! Look, my dear, I'm meeting Steve at the Conch Shell and I'm sure he'll love to see you again before we go. Pop your shopping in our car and let's have a soda while we wait for him.'

  They were starting on their second soda when Steve arrived. 'Hi, Lucie girl, and how's the little bride?' He kissed her and sank into a chair, mopping his brow.

  Dorothy pressed Lucie's hand. 'Doesn't she look lovely, Steve? Guy's a lucky man.' She slid Lucie a wicked glance. 'And I guess you're a lucky girl to get a man like that for yourself. He's out of this world! I said to Steve you both looked so gorgeous when you were taking your vows. I was in tears, and I haven't wept since my own eldest girl was married.'

  Suddenly she clapped a hand to her cheek. 'Steve, I've just remembered. I must go back to the shops, I've forgotten my flying pills—you know I daren't fly without them.'

  'Yes, dear. Would you like me to get them for you?' her husband offered without much enthusiasm.

  'No, you stop and talk to Lucie. I won't be long. Can we give you a lift back to your apartment with your shopping, Lucie? If you're not meeting Guy.'

  Lucie pulled a face. ' 'Fraid not. Guy's back on the old treadmill. He's at the bank.'

  'What—already?' said Steve as his wife tripped away. 'That man's a workaholic!'

  'That's what I'm afraid of,' Lucie said, and they both laughed, but she wondered if, perhaps, Steve was right. It didn't really matter any more, she thought. She could live happily in Guy's world of finance and big business. She could live happily in any world, just so long as he was in it.

  Steve got up and fetched a soda for himself and slipped into the seat beside Lucie, leaning towards her confidentially. 'Lucie, there's—er—there's just something I wanted to say to you while we're alone. I hope you don't mind.' He ran a finger round the collar of his jazzy shirt. His face was pink and shiny and he looked the picture of embarrassment.

  'Yes?' Lucie raised her eyebrows encouragingly.

  He cleared his throat. 'Dorothy thinks I shouldn't say this to you, but she doesn't understand how I feel. You see, Lucie, I like you and I guess I don't want you to feel bad about me. It's been on my mind and I've had an idea that you might be blaming me.'

  'Blaming you? Whatever for? You've been wonderful friends, you and Dorothy.'

  Steve shook his head miserably. 'If I'd only known—' He paused, eyeing her. 'You did know, didn't you, about the doctor's evidence—that your father had a serious heart condition? That he certainly shouldn't have been diving.'

  Lucie stared at him blankly. She shook her head slowly. 'No, nobody told me. Guy didn't want me to go to the inquest, he said it would only upset me.'

  He stared at her, horrified. 'You didn't know? Then perhaps I shouldn't have said anything. But I wanted you to know that if I'd known about it I'd never had let him dive that day.' He took out a handkerchief and passed it over his moist brow. 'I feel very bad about it. It's selfish of me to bring this up—and when you've just come back from your honeymoon, too.'

  He looked so embarrassed and unhappy that Lucie said automatically, 'You mustn't worry, Steve. It's all in the past now and it wasn't your fault. You mustn't blame yourself.'

  He pressed her hand gratefully. 'You're a dear girl, Lucie. Thank you, my dear, you've taken a weight off my mind.' He glanced over his shoulder. 'Oh, here's Dorothy now, you won't—'

  'I won't give it another thought,' Lucie promised. And knew that she could never keep that promise. This was something that she couldn't put behind her. Something that loomed up, black and forbidding, full of dark warnings that she couldn't put a name to.

  After the Maddoxes had driven her back to the apartment and said their goodbyes, brimming over with invitations and plans to meet again next year, Lucie slumped into a chair and stared out at the blue, innocent-looking sea. Accidental death, the verdict had been, James had told her that much.

  But had it been an accident? She heard her father's voice again. 'Down there you're in another world—a wonderful deep blue world—you forget all your worries.' He must have had so many worries, so much to forget. Her heart contracted. Had he sunk down—down—deeper than a man who knew his heart wouldn't stand the strain should venture— knowing that he wouldn't come up again alive? Had he chosen this way out when he knew, finally and irrevocably, that the bank wasn't prepared to help him any longer?

  Lucie bit her lip hard, staring blindly out of the window, and the beautiful calm view of sea and sand swam before her eyes.

  She had to know, she couldn't keep this suspicion to herself. Guy, then? There was no one else to ask. She had to find out whether Guy had signed her father's death warrant.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  She couldn't just sit here brooding for the rest of the afternoon. She had no appetite for lunch, so she set to and unpacked her boxes of food in the kitchen and started to plan a meal for this evening, trying to keep her mind on what she was doing. There was an instruction and recipe book on top of the sophisticated microwave oven, and she pored over it, concentrating resolutely on every detail. Canard a l'orange should be possible. With an exotic salad. Then cheese, sandwiched between courses in the French fashion, the way that Guy liked it, followed by fresh fruit, with coffee afterwards.

  After the meal they would sit relaxed and watch the sunset and she would bring up the question that was nagging at her. She would say casually, 'I've been a bit bothered, darling. I met Steve Maddox today and he happened to mention something that threw me, rather. He said that it came out at the inquest that my father had a serious heart condition—that he shouldn't have been diving. I couldn't help wondering if he knew, if it was his way of— well, of getting out of a hopeless situation.'

  They would discuss it quite calmly. Perhaps Guy would have something new to add, something that would set her mind at rest. She would tell him how she had quarrelled with her father years ago; how nearly they had come to regaining the love they had once shared long ago; how much she grieved for him and that they had been denied that happiness. Oh, there was so much she could explain that she had never discussed with Guy. He knew nothi
ng about her and her life. No past—no future—just today, he had insisted on that first day of their honeymoon, and that was how it had been. Just the magical happiness of each moment together as it came.

  But now they were back in the real world with problems to face, and so long as they shared the problems they could build a wonderful life together. She was sure it would happen. She would make it happen.

  Preparations for dinner complete and everything tucked away in the fridge, Lucie poured herself an ice-cold pineapple drink and took it back to the verandah, with a box of biscuits. It was very hot out there, she should really go inside and switch on the fan and lie on the bed and rest. But she was too jittery to rest. She knew she wouldn't be able to relax until she had talked to Guy about Steve Maddox's disclosure this morning. She closed her eyes against the sunlight filtering through the branches of the palm-trees that overhung the verandah and tried to stop thinking, and presently the stillness and the heat lulled her into a light sleep.

  A movement in front of the verandah brought her wide awake. Guy, she thought, and her heart leapt. But it was Cynthia Blunt who was strolling up the beach towards her, looking exquisite in a white bikini with a scarlet cotton skirt tied at the waist and hanging open at the front. She wore huge sun-glasses and an enormous straw hat and her silky skin was tanned to a biscuit-brown perfection.

  She climbed the steps on to the verandah, uninvited, and sank down into one of the blue canvas loungers. 'Hello, and how's the little bride today? Enjoyed your honeymoon?'

  Lucie felt the adrenalin begin to flow. 'Honeymoons are always enjoyable, don't you think?' she said coolly.

  Cynthia took off her hat and laid her head against the back of the chair. Her hair was white-gold, drawn back from her face in the way that only ballet dancers and women who are completely sure of their own beauty can afford to do. 'Ah yes,' she sighed. 'Such a pity the dream has to end.'

  'Is it?' murmured Lucie. If she thinks I'm going to be frightened by her stupid innuendoes she can think again, she thought. But suddenly the picture of Guy and this woman strolling along beside the harbour, arms linked, on the day of the wedding appeared before her eyes.

  'Oh, yes.' The other woman turned her enormous sun-glasses on Lucie. 'That's what I came to warn you about, my child, just in case Guy doesn't see fit to. Men are sometimes stupidly devious about these things, but we women have to be perfectly honest with each other—if not with the men. Don't you agree?'

  She waited, smiling thin-lipped, and when Lucie remained silent, she went on, 'I think I must explain the position to you, my poor dear Lucie. You're very young, but I don't think you're a fool, so you would probably guess the truth before long yourself, but I'm doing you a favour by putting you in the picture so that you're forearmed. The fact is that Guy and I have been lovers for some time, and neither of us wishes to make any change. At the moment it suits him to have a wife. Now that he's chairman of the bank he needs a certain—er—cloak of respectability. You, my dear Lucie, are that cloak, if you get my meaning. However, my husband and I will be divorcing before long, and after that Guy will no doubt arrange to get his freedom too. But until then he'll probably need to keep you on for a short time. And if you want your little bit of fun with him during that time I shan't make a fuss about it. After all, Guy and I will have the rest of our lives together.'

  Lucie was on her feet, one hand gripping the balcony rail. She stared at the woman lounging back in the chair, as if she were confronting a venomous snake. Her knees were trembling and she felt sick, but she said quite steadily, 'I don't believe you. And please go now.'

  Cynthia Blunt rose gracefully. 'Of course,' she said silkily. 'I hardly expected you to believe me, you poor child. And if you choose to tackle Guy he'll probably deny it. But if you need proof, Guy will be at the villa with me this afternoon. We can't wait to get together again. My dear husband has an important meeting with some of the other lawyers in your father's case. Call in around three o'clock—I think you'll be convinced.' She replaced her hat with a languid gesture and glanced at the slim gold watch on her wrist. 'I must get back—I wouldn't want to keep Guy waiting, would I?' Still smiling, she strolled away along the beach.

  Lucie stared after her, her throat constricted. She was lying, of course she was. A beastly woman, out to make trouble. Bored with her husband, jealous of a younger woman. Perhaps she had tried to get Guy and failed. Yes, that would make a woman like that livid with jealousy.

  Perhaps—Lucie faced it. Perhaps she and Guy had been lovers once. A long time ago. She began to shiver in the hot sunshine.

  She went into the apartment and paced up and down the long living-room. She wouldn't go, of course she wouldn't, she trusted Guy. If only Dorothy hadn't told her where the Blunts were now living she couldn't go, because she wouldn't know where to go to. But Dorothy had told her. 'The Blunts have rented a villa just along from us,' Dorothy had said this morning. That meant that it was in the same complex as Lucie's father's villa. Just five or six minutes' walk along the beach.

  'No,' she said aloud. 'I won't go. I won't, I won't!' She looked at her watch. It was half-past one. She had to get through the time until Guy came back, and she didn't know when that would be. It would all depend on how much work he had found waiting for him.

  She went into her bedroom, the one she had slept in since Guy brought her here a fortnight ago. Tonight he would join her here and they would make love, and she would—what would she do? Would she tell him about Cynthia Blunt's visit? Better not to, better to put the whole thing aside just as you drop an unwanted advertisement in the waste basket and never give it another thought.

  She would arrange for maid service tomorrow, but for today she would prepare the bedroom herself. She found clean linen, stripped the bed and fitted the green bottom sheet without a wrinkle, changed the pillow-cases, persuaded the duvet into its patterned cover. Not that they would need it tonight, it was going to be a warm night. Just a sheet would do.

  She fetched Guy's brushes and combs and lotions from his room and laid them beside her own on the dressing-counter, holding the shiny back of the tortoiseshell brush against her cheek. He had used it in the shack and she could see him now so clearly, standing by the long window looking out at the sea, brushing back his dark hair, while she lay on the airbed, watching him lazily, waiting for him to turn and come over and take her in his arms—She replaced the brush. Somehow, at this moment, she didn't want to remember.

  The room had gathered a little dust while they were away. She flicked it round and made sure that the shower-room was spotless. Then she looked at her watch and saw with surprise that only half an hour had passed.

  She got into a bikini and walked down to the sea. The water was tepid and licked round her ankles, and she spent another half-hour swimming in the shallows, watching the tiny darting fish below in the clear water. Tomorrow she would go into George-town and see if she could buy paints and brushes, it would be fun to start to make some sketches for her new book, and it would pass the time while Guy was busy at the bank, before they flew back to London and her new life.

  She sat on the warm, soft sand, while a group of children played round her with a large striped red and white ball, and tried to imagine what her life would be like. True to his decision, Guy had told her nothing of it—she didn't even know where they would live. Their honeymoon had been, as he had wished, a matter of living for the moment. It would be fun, finding out all about each other. Most couples do that when they become engaged—talking endlessly, making plans together. They had all that excitement to come.

  She shivered and realised that a bank of clouds had come up and obscured the sun. Was it going to thunder? She didn't think they had thunderstorms here at this time of the year, but there was a first time for everything. She went inside the villa and showered and dressed in one of the simple cotton dresses she had brought with her. She towelled her hair and brushed it dry, then looked at her watch again. It said seven minutes to three.

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sp; Her heart started to beat heavily. If she walked along the beach—just a little way? She could do something that she had put off until now—call in at her father's villa. There would be a lot to do there, sorting out all his things. It would be an opportunity to see what state the villa was in after having been shut up.

  And perhaps she would see Cynthia Blunt sunbathing on the verandah of one of the other villas—alone. Or sipping an aperitif with some of the other residents as they lounged on the patio that surrounded the pool? And then she would know for sure that the woman had been lying.

  For a long, long minute she stood in the bedroom and her breath seemed to be hurting her chest. Then she went out, as if drawn by a magnet, and started to walk quickly along the beach, in the shade of the trees.

  The first rumble of thunder sounded as she reached the group of white villas with the steeply-sloping pink roofs. The second one, standing back a little, was where her father had lived, where she had met him again.

  Suddenly the storm broke with tropical violence. Lucie made a dash for the verandah of the villa, but the rain was beating in from the sea and there was no shelter on the verandah. She tried the long glass door into the living-room. It was unlocked, and she went inside and pulled it to.

  In the big room nothing had changed except that there was a thin film of dust over everything, giving the place a neglected, pathetic look. Her father's big desk in the corner still had a pile of his papers on it, under a big conch-shell paperweight. He had been coming back that day for a meeting with Guy—but he had never come back.