White Lies

She beamed in delight. From what Pascal was saying it seemed that his father specialised in missing-person or lost-daughter cases. ‘Your father’s quite a guy,’ she said in admiration.

‘His reputation on the island is second to none,’ agreed Pascal cynically.

Mandy decided that if Monsieur St Honoré had such a good track record there was all the more reason for her to stay. She clasped her hands together tightly, her hopes rekindled.

‘If you have had experience of women like me before, then you’ll know how desperate I am,’ she said, her face impassioned as she strove to engage Pascal’s emotions. ‘I have to hang around here. I’ve got to wait till your father’s better. He can make my life perfect.’ She smiled dreamily. ‘It would be a new kind of life entirely. With someone for me to love, someone to love me...’

‘My God!’ he muttered.

She flinched, but she lifted her chin, determined not to be crushed by his look of revulsion at her sentimentality. Love wasn’t nauseating and Pascal was missing a lot if he thought it was.

‘I know I’m hoping for a lot—’

‘Dream on,’ he said scathingly.

‘I will,’ she said firmly. ‘And my dreams will come true. I am a romantic, but I don’t apologise for that. I don’t care what you think—what anyone thinks!’ she added, defending her beliefs. ‘Ever since I saw your father’s advert I’ve been so excited—dancing on air, halfscared, half-thrilled. And I don’t care who knows it. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt so happy.’

He grunted, unmoved by her happiness. ‘Pity you’re going to be disappointed.’ And Pascal lay back on the sand and closed his eyes in dismissal. ‘He won’t be well enough to see you before the eighteenth.’

Mandy frowned with irritation. He was being difficult. ‘In that case I’ll have to get a job,’ she said, with more conviction than she felt.

‘You won’t be able to,’ he muttered irritably, not even bothering to open his eyes and talk to her properly. ‘You’ll never get a work permit. Jobs go to St Lucians. So, if you haven’t any funds, how do you think you’ll manage?’

Mandy didn’t waver. She’d shift the ground from under him even if it meant doing it grain by grain! She grinned at the image and felt a bit better. ‘Well, do me a favour and save me from selling my body in the open market-place,’ she said jokingly. ‘I’m sure you can help me if you put your mind to it.’

His eyes opened and pinned her with a baleful look. ‘Are you suggesting I finance you myself?’ he asked coldly.

‘No!’ She checked her exasperation. ‘Look, your father must have someone who’s deputising for him now he’s ill. Couldn’t I talk to that person? I appreciate you must have a thousand and one things to do and I don’t want to be a nuisance, so if you’d just tell me where his office is I’ll go there in the morning and make my own arrangements,’ she finished briskly.

‘That could be difficult. He doesn’t have an office.’ He smirked at her surprise.

‘Well, wherever your father usually sees his clients,’ she persisted sweetly, wondering why he was being so obstructive.

‘In bed?’ murmured Pascal, lifting a wicked eyebrow.

Her eyes flickered. ‘Yes, in bed! Why not?’ she countered pleasantly, calling his bluff. What a ridiculous remark to make!

Pascal let his gaze drift insolently over her body and she wished that she hadn’t made the joke. It was perfectly obvious that he was thinking lustful thoughts because his eyes had become drowsy and his expression was smouldering. Surely he must have realised that she was being sarcastic?

‘You come to the point with astonishing bluntness. The very idea fills me with horror. I think we can try to ensure your relationship never gets that far,’ he said levelly.

She heard the threat that edged his voice and read the message in his eyes. Goose-bumps rose on her arms. He was totally hostile to her. Why?

‘Your sense of humour’s deserted you! And so have your manners. You ought to be helping me,’ she said impatiently. ‘If your father should learn how—’

‘Don’t threaten me!’ he snapped. ‘You’re not seeing him, so get that into your head!’

His hostility was out in the open now. Mandy fumed. ‘There’s no need to be rude!’ she said stiffly. ‘Arrange a meeting with one of your father’s colleagues for me. I’m sure you’ve been asked to give me what help you can—’

Pascal interrupted her with a disparaging snort. ‘Yes! Unfortunately for you, however,’ he said coldly, ‘I’d rather help a snake find a vein in my leg than do anything that would assist either you or him.’

‘What?’ she gasped.

‘You’re on your own,’ he growled. ‘Don’t expect anything from me. To be frank, Mrs Cook, if I had my way I’d feed the two of you a hefty dose of rat poison.’

CHAPTER TWO

MANDY gaped like a floundering fish. ‘I don’t know why you’re being so insulting!’ she cried in astonishment. ‘You talk as though you hate your father, and that’s your prerogative—but how—why—can you hate me? Why are you being so unpleasant? Is it because my clothes are cheap and out of fashion and I can’t afford decent shoes?’ she suggested, stung by his look of contempt. ‘Because I don’t wear make-up or go to a swish hairdresser?’

‘I don’t care what you wear—’ he began.

‘Then why keep staring at me?’

He seemed surprised, as if that was news to him. And then he drew in an irritated breath. ‘I despise you because of what you do,’ he growled. ‘Dammit! I need a drink. Where the hell is Simon?’ He scanned the far end of the beach.

Mandy was silent for a moment, a frown jerking her dark brows together. He knew about her work, then. What was wrong with being a postmistress?

She saw that Pascal was looking at her hands, which had been unconsciously plucking at the hem of her dress and screwing it into a rag—a certain give-away of her chaotic feelings. Miserably she smoothed the crumpled cotton over her exposed white thighs and clasped her hands firmly in her lap.

‘Look, I do my job to the best of my ability.’ That seemed to make his mouth curl even more. Baffled, she sighed and gave up. ‘Think what you like,’ she said impatiently. ‘I’m determined to wait for your father—if only to commiserate with him! Poor man! I hope I never have a son like you—’

‘The very thought makes me go cold!’ he bit out.

Mandy was struck dumb by his savage reaction. ‘Something’s bugging you! Tell me what it is!’ she demanded.

‘Are you that insensitive that you don’t know? You’re the problem. You and my father!’ he snarled, his teeth almost tearing at the words. ‘Be in no doubt as to how I feel. I hold my father and you in contempt. I refuse to lie down and let him grind his heel in my neck! I will not help women who want to use him for their own mercenary means! Got that?’

She drew in her breath. Their eyes met, glacial blue and startled brown. ‘The message is crystal-clear,’ she said with icy dignity. ‘When your father recovers—’

‘Maybe he won’t,’ Pascal said with soft savagery, as if he wasn’t particularly concerned.

He carried his hatred like a spear, thrusting it at anyone who was associated with his despised father. Pascal’s hostility was worrying her. The bitterness between him and his father ran very, very deep. There was an anger in Pascal that was greater than anything she’d known before. And she wondered what had happened between the two men to make them such implacable enemies.

A feeling of dread crept over her. Pascal saw her as an ally of his father’s. Not only would Pascal refuse to co-operate, but she’d bet her bottom dollar that he’d do his best to stop her mission out of pure spite.

‘You can’t take your anger out on me—it’s unreasonable!’ she complained. But nothing moved in his face. No pity, no softening of that twisted, stony mouth. ‘I’m sorry you think of your father as your enemy. It’s terrible.’ And it was a dreadful waste. She’d have given anything to have a father. ‘But what’s the point of revenge? It will only hurt you both,’ she argued.

‘I’m not looking for revenge,’ he said tightly. ‘I’m looking for justice. Don’t interfere in my life. Don’t offer advice and smother me with your sweet, sentimental idea of close family ties! You know nothing of what’s going on!’

‘No, I don’t. It’s obviously something immensely important to you. I’m sorry,’ she conceded with contrition.

Pascal looked strained. ‘Yes. You should be. Now you know the score. Enjoy your holiday and then go home.’

‘I can’t do that,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m sorry you won’t help me but it doesn’t make any difference to my decision. I have to see him.’ And she set her mouth in firm lines.

‘I’ll stop you. Come hell or high water, I’ll keep you two apart.’

His voice was quiet but utterly determined and Mandy felt a quiver of alarm run through her body. The circumstances which had put father and son at loggerheads must be more serious and far-reaching than she could imagine. Something terrible had happened between them that caused the bleakness in Pascal’s cold blue eyes and the tensing of every muscle in his body to straining point whenever he referred to his father.