Tahitian Wedding

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?’