Moondrift

Jordan turned away towards the stairs. ‘The pins came out,’ she offered, unwilling to discuss the reasons for her dishevelment. ‘I’m going to take a shower. Send me up some tea, will you, love?’

‘Is that necessary? The shower, I mean.’

Karen’s amused retort followed her up the stairs, but Jordan made no response. She badly needed to recover her composure and her equilibrium, and restoring her appearance to its usual neatness was the only way she knew to initiate the process.

In her bedroom, however, she viewed her bedraggled state with reluctant compulsion. She wanted to see for herself what Rhys must have seen, and her skin crawled in humiliation at the sorry picture she presented. Hair like rats’ tails, clothes sticking to her, long bare legs streaked with mud: she didn’t have to look at her face to know she had made a fool of herself. Nevertheless, her eyes did seek their reflection in the mirror, faltering at the tremulous expression they saw there, and moving on over pale cheeks to the vulnerable separation of her mouth. Dear God, she thought, with painful self-derision, what must he have thought of her? After all this time, she should have been more prepared for his censure, but she wasn’t. What had she expected? Why had she been so shocked? They were antagonists after all, not acquaintances; enemies, not friends. How could she have anticipated civility from Rhys, when their parting had been so savage?

Two days later, Jordan was returning from an early morning swim when she saw Mary-Jo coming to meet her. Most of the guests were at breakfast, and Jordan had taken the opportunity to relax for a while, away from her hotel duties. Besides which, she had been awake for hours, waiting for the pale golden light of morning to slat through the shutters, and the sand crabs had still been active when she tossed a towelling jacket about her shoulders and made her way down to the lagoon.

Now, seeing Mary-Jo hurrying towards her, she knew an immediate premonition of disaster. What had happened? she wondered. Surely in the hour or so she had been absent no sinister misfortune had taken place. But the ominous feeling persisted, and she quickened her step accordingly.

‘I’ve been looking for you.’ Mary-Jo’s dark face mirrored her concern. ‘You weren’t in your room and you weren’t on the terrace. I was worried!’

‘Worried?’ Jordan gave her a disbelieving look. ‘I’ve swum in the morning before. Why didn’t you ask Karen where I was?’

‘I did, but she said she didn’t know.’

‘No, but—well—oh, this is ridiculous.’ Jordan shook her anxieties aside. ‘What is it? Why did you need to find me so urgently? Don’t tell me—Mrs Lorrimer has found cockroaches in the bathroom!’

Mary-Jo shook her head. ‘It’s no joke, Jordan. I just wanted to tell you before you found out for yourself.’

‘Found what out?’ Jordan couldn’t deny the little frisson of apprehension that was making itself felt in the pit of her stomach. ‘What has happened that’s of such earth-shattering importance you felt the need to come and find me?’

‘Rhys Williams has booked a table for dinner tonight,’ announced Mary-Jo, somewhat sulkily, evidently deciding her employer’s attitude was not worthy of her distress. ‘I just thought you’d want to know, that’s all. I’m sorry, I didn’t think it was amusing.’

Nor did Jordan, and her cheeks hollowed as she sucked in her breath. ‘How—how do you know this?’ she demanded, struggling to keep her emotions at bay, and Mary-Jo shrugged.

‘I read it—this morning. He must have rung last night, when Raoul was in charge of the switchboard. But it’s there in black and white, if you don’t believe me. A table for two at nine o’clock.’

‘I—I believe you.’ Jordan tightened the cord of her towelling jacket. Rhys was coming here! He was actually planning to eat dinner at her hotel—with his daughter. What kind of game was he playing?

‘I told Karen,’ added Mary-Jo, falling into step beside Jordan as she began to walk numbly back to the hotel. ‘She said you wouldn’t be bothered, but I didn’t believe her.’

‘What? Oh—oh, yes, you did right to tell me,’ murmured Jordan painfully. ‘I—just can’t imagine why he’s coming here.’

‘Can’t you?’ Mary-Jo cast a sceptical look in her direction. ‘I can. He wants to see you, of course. He’s been on the island over a week now and he’s curious. I imagine he expected you to go out to the house. As you haven’t, he’s coming here.’

Jordan moistened her dry lips. ‘That’s your assessment, is it?’ She had told no one of that brief encounter near Planter’s Point, but now she half wished she had. ‘Well, I doubt he’s coming to see me, Mary-Jo. We didn’t exactly—part—on the best of terms.’

‘Why do you think he’s coming, then?’ asked the other girl, as they reached the three shallow steps that led up to the terrace.

To their left, the pool glistened blue-green in the sunlight edged about with cushioned li-los and locally woven garden furniture. To the right, a palm-thatched awning gave protection to the outdoor restaurant, and as Jordan responded to the greetings of the guests seated nearest the steps, she realised she couldn’t answer that question either.

‘I—oh, I should think he’s getting bored with the rustic life,’ she said now, hoping Mary-Jo would let the subject drop, but she didn’t.

‘Why should he be getting bored after only a week?’ she exclaimed. ‘Last time he was here, he stayed more than six months. He didn’t seem to be getting bored then.’

‘Perhaps he was more easily entertained in those days,’ said Jordan unwillingly as they entered the lobby of the hotel. ‘I don’t know, do I, Mary-Jo? Now, excuse me: I have to go and get dressed.’

She seemed to spend all her time escaping from awkward conversations these days, Jordan thought frustratedly, as she put on the buttercup yellow wrap-around skirt and matching sleeveless vest she had laid out before going for her swim. And it was all because of Rhys Williams, damn him! Why hadn’t he sold the house and stayed in Europe or the United States—where he belonged!

The day passed agonisingly slowly. Every time the phone rang, Jordan tensed, half expecting to hear that Rhys had cancelled his reservation, but no such relief was forthcoming. She would have contacted Neil and invited herself to his house for dinner, but he had flown to the mainland the previous afternoon, and was not expected back until the next day. She had no excuse to be absent, she thought bitterly, and by six o’clock her nerves were shredded.

Karen encapsulated Jordan’s own summation of the situation when she said she thought Rhys was bringing his daughter to Trade Winds deliberately. ‘He wants you to see her,’ she declared frankly, coming into the office where Jordan was unsuccessfully trying to repair the stapling machine. ‘And no doubt he’s curious about you, too. Who wouldn’t be after ten years? I must admit, I got quite a shock myself when I saw him.’

Jordan’s head lifted. ‘You said—you said he looked much as you remembered.’

‘Yes, I did.’ Karen draped herself over a corner of the desk and examined her finger nails. ‘But I was only a kid when he was last here, remember? I didn’t realise how——’ she coloured—‘well, how attractive he is. I’m sorry, Jordan,’ she added awkwardly, ‘I realise you’d rather not hear this, but I feel I should warn you. He hasn’t lost his—appeal.’

Jordan’s lips tightened. ‘Thank you.’

‘No, I mean it.’ Karen shifted her position. ‘Honestly, Jordan, that picture we saw of him in the Woman’s Journal didn’t do him justice.’

‘Are you a fan?’ Jordan’s voice was clipped, but at least she succeeded in hiding the pain her sister’s words had caused her. What was Karen implying? she wondered uneasily. That she might have made a mistake in breaking with him? Or that Karen herself found him attractive, too? ‘I imagine Rhys Williams knows his appeal better than anyone,’ she added, unable entirely to suppress the tinge of bitterness. ‘After fifteen years of the kind of success he’s enjoyed, it would be difficult not to.’

‘Oh, Jordan!’ Karen stared at her defensively. ‘I’m not saying I’d ever get involved with him. It’s just that, having seen him, I’m beginning to understand how you must have felt when he started to take an interest in you.’

Jordan drew a deep breath. ‘I see.’

‘Were you—I mean, did you——?’ Karen faltered, and then finished lamely: ‘Were you very close?’ which was obviously not what she had been going to ask at all. ‘You don’t talk about it, do you? I only know the bare facts: that you used to spend a lot of time with him when he was here, and that Daddy didn’t approve. Then his wife turned up, with the child. That’s all I know.’

‘That’s all there is.’ Jordan’s voice was crisp. ‘Oh, I’ve told you, I was too young to know better. And like Daddy said, he took advantage of me.’

Karen opened her mouth to ask the obvious question this provoked, then closed it again. Evidently she would have liked to question her sister more closely about her involvement, but discretion—and a certain lack of assurance—caused her to think again. Although, as Jordan was older, Karen had often confided in her, the situation had never been reversed. This particular part of her past was something Jordan had always avoided, and over the years it had been tacitly agreed that that episode was taboo.

Now, however, Jordan sensed Karen’s curiosity with some sympathy. Not for the first time, she wished she had someone she could confide in. There had never been anyone, except Nana, who was too old now to burden with her problems. She had sometimes wondered, had her mother been alive, whether she might never have become infatuated with Rhys Williams in the first place. An older woman might have been wary of his interest in her daughter and tactfully defused the situation. Jordan’s father had not realised what was happening until it was too late, and by then Jordan was fathoms deep in love with the sophisticated young musician.

In her room later, dressing for the evening, Jordan deliberately chose one of the least attractive outfits in her wardrobe. Her striped navy and white shirt had a round Peter Pan collar, and the narrow sleeves had broad, workmanlike cuffs. With it she wore a plain navy skirt, whose only drawback in her eyes was its shortness, but flat-heeled leather sandals seemed to negate any attention being drawn to her legs. Her hair she plaited into a single braid before skewering it securely on top of her head, thus removing any trace of gentleness it might have given to her features.

It was a quarter to eight when she went downstairs, and in spite of her intention to go straight to her office, she was cornered by two of the guests who wanted to discuss the whereabouts of some caves on the island.

‘Maury—that’s our friend—stayed here last year, and he was telling us about these fantastic caves you can dive into,’ exclaimed Shelley Palmer, a young American who was holidaying with her boy-friend. ‘He says they’re really worth the trouble, and Jason and I wondered if you knew where we could hire some equipment.’

Jordan offered her polite smile. ‘Well, we can arrange the scuba equipment for you,’ she agreed. ‘But I would advise you to talk to our resident expert first. The caves are worth a visit, but only someone used to deep-water diving should attempt it.’

‘Oh, Jason’s used to it,’ the American girl dismissed her fears airily. ‘He works for an oil company. He’s done a lot of deep-sea diving, haven’t you, darling?’

Jason Ascani looked rueful. ‘Some,’ he conceded, giving Jordan a reassuring grin. ‘But we may take a rain-check on that particular trip, Shelley. Your experience is limited to shallower waters.’

‘Hey, don’t be a spoilsport!’ Shelley pursed her lips. ‘You promised you’d give it a try.’

‘As I recall it, I said I’d give the matter some thought,’ Jason told her firmly. ‘And now, we’re keeping Miss Lucas from getting on with her job.’ He grinned at Jordan. ‘Thanks for your help. I’ll let you know if we need any further information.’

‘You do that,’ Jordan nodded, and was just about to make good her escape when it happened. One moment she was following them across the lobby, feeling a little sorry for Shelley as she loudly protested her competence, and the next she had frozen to a standstill. Two people had entered the hotel during their discussion, and were now approaching the reception desk. One was a girl, a teenager, wearing a pale blue cotton jump suit, her streaked blonde hair expertly cut to frame her face like an inverted bell. The other was a man, casually but expensively dressed in narrow-legged black corded pants and a silk shirt of the same sombre shade, a jerkin that matched his slacks looped carelessly over one shoulder.

Rhys! thought Jordan sickly, knowing, without even needing to look at his face that she was not mistaken. She was experiencing an entirely physical reaction to his presence, and every inch of her skin felt raw, as if someone was scraping a sharp knife across her flesh.

It was the moment for decision, she know. She could ignore them. She could turn and walk into her office without acknowledging either of them, in which case Rhys would form his own assessment of her motives. Or she could go and greet them as she would any other guest of her acquaintance who might come to the hotel for a meal. The choice was hers, and without doubt her actions would be reported afterwards. Submission or resistance, that was what it boiled down to. To be a mouse—or a cat. She chose the latter.