Authors: Nancy Loyan
Chapter 7
Daemon wasn’t expecting the phone call that came from Singapore. He had just taken a shower and was dressing when he picked up and flipped open his cell phone.
“Yes?”
“I need to talk to you,” Alexander Well’s voice boomed into the line. Just like his father not to offer a greeting first.
“I gather that’s why you called?” Daemon sat on his bed.
“What the hell’s going on between you and that Montcherry woman? First, she buys land right from under our noses. Now I hear rumors that you’re dating her.”
“That’s not a rumor but a fact.”
“It has to stop. I won’t have my only child dating a native.” If steam could rise out of the phone line, Daemon would have expected it. His father’s temper was about to burst.
“Your only child is of legal age to date who he darn well pleases.” This was getting interesting. Victoria wasn’t the first native woman Daemon had dated, just the first to raise the ire of his father. Victoria was different. Not only had she been educated in the States and in Europe, she had business savvy and was competing directly with Alexander Wells. To be one-upped by a native was one thing but by a beautiful woman quite another.
“Not a Wells.”
“Excuse me? Are you saying that the natives aren’t as good as we are?”
“Boy, I don’t care who you have sex with. I do care who you date and marry.”
This was coming from a man who thought nothing of bedding native women on several continents while married? Daemon knew his father’s dirty little secrets. Had known of them since he was a child. Playing devoted and loving husband and father at home while acting like some stud playboy on business trips. His mother may have gone to her grave thinking her husband was faithful, but his father would go to his grave reminded he was a cheat.
“I won’t have my son marrying some mixed race woman who will give him mixed race children. And me mixed race grandchildren.”
Marriage was something Daemon hadn’t given any serious thought. Until meeting Victoria Montcherry. Ever since she stepped into his helicopter and into his life, he had
visions of her on his arm and in his bed. He could see his unborn children in her eyes. Mixed race children. Island children. Children borne of love and growing up in the utopia of the Seychelles.
For the first time in his life, Daemon had fallen in love. His father’s words made him realize how profound and special it was.
“I will date and marry whom I please. Love is color blind.”
What Daemon called a “boat” was a shimmering thirty-five foot luxury sailing yacht complete with experienced skipper. During the three-hour excursion from Mah’e to La Digue, the sleek yacht skimmed over the choppy waters separating the islands while bottlenose dolphins leapt from the waves created in its wake.
Victoria lounged on the teak deck in her tankini, soaking in the sun’s rays and ocean breeze. Beside her was Daemon in his swim shorts, golden chest glistening, eyes hidden beneath dark sunglasses. He looked so relaxed, prone on the deck, his lips a thin line.
He had been successful in convincing her to join him for the weekend and was turning her journey back home into a vacation. Instead of closing more land deals, planning for commercial development and constructing a home, she was playing hooky. She was doing the exact opposite of what she had intended. A man was not supposed to enter her life and sweep her off her feet.
Daemon wasn’t just any man. She had never met anyone as confident and self-assured as she with the same goals, aspirations and interests. His being incredibly handsome hadn’t hurt either.
She glanced his way, noting his deep tan. The day’s sun would only enhance it. A shiver radiated up her spine. Though his skin was a rich caramel, he was white. With her blonde hair and pale skin she appeared white, yet African, Arab and Asian blood flowed in her Seychellois veins. He knew she was a native but did he realize her racial mix? There were natives, after all, who were white through and through. Did it really matter if he knew? It would be different if they were in a serious committed relationship with thoughts of marriage and children, wouldn’t it?
He stirred, sitting up and removing his dark shades. “I wish I had a camera. You look like a California girl turned island princess.”
She smiled, lips trembling
.
“You belong on this boat,” he said.
“It’s quite a boat.”
“Just a fun toy, that’s all.” He winked.
Like me?
She rubbed her arms.
“You really should apply more sunscreen. Your pale skin is already beginning to burn and the sun can be brutal out here,” he said. “If you need some help applying it, I’d be happy to oblige.”
“Right. I could see where that would lead,” she mumbled and rolled her eyes.
“And you wouldn’t regret it.” He grabbed a nearby tube of sunscreen.
She reached out and he placed it in her hand, lightly brushing her fingers.
“I can do this … alone,” she said, removing the cap and squeezing the protective lotion in her palm, the coconut scent overly sweet.
She slathered on the cream, knowing he was watching her with a grin plastered on his face and too many ideas in his head
.
“Damn, Victoria, do you have to be so sexy?”
She looked at him, as she smoothed the lotion over her firm thighs. “That’s why you asked me away this weekend, isn’t it?”
He shook his head. “You have me pegged all wrong. Though I admit I’d enjoy having sex with you, I find your mind just as tantalizing than your body.”
“I find that hard to imagine.”
“It’s the truth. The purpose of this weekend escape isn’t getting laid,” he said in a serious tone. “But getting to know each other better.”
She put the cap back on the lotion and set it down, her gaze still fixed on Daemon.
“I’d really like to know more about you, your education, career and your reasons for returning to the Islands.”
Part of her was impressed with his sincerity and curiosity, yet another part was a bit frightened of revealing too much. When you give too much of yourself to a person, you lose a part of yourself.
“So, we have a couple of hours before getting to La Digue. Tell me about yourself, Miss Montcherry.”
She hesitated before speaking. “I’m sure my life isn’t as adventuresome as yours.”
“This isn’t a contest. Just let me get to know you.”
“Let’s see. I spent my childhood in the Islands and attended the local schools from Creche to Polytechnic. After, I went to college in the States on scholarship and earned an MBA from Wharton.”
“I knew you were a beauty with brains. Go on.”
“I worked for several top financial firms as a stockbroker and bond trader. Various promotions took me around the world; Hong Kong, Singapore, Johannesburg, New York City.”
“And Seychelles?”“I came back by choice after having left my job in New York.”
“Why?”
She wrung her hands together, wondering what to say and how to say it. “I needed to escape life in New York and in the States.”
He chuckled. “You make it sound as if you had committed some sort of crime. Insider trading? Embezzling?”
“Nothing like that.”
Daemon reached into a cooler set nearby and removed two bottles of Seybrew, popped off the caps and handed one to her. She accepted the cool bottle with trembling fingers, taking a sip before speaking.
“On my last job, my office had been in the World Trade Center. On the morning of 9-11, I had an early breakfast meeting off-site with a good client. I was en-route to my office when the sky fell in. My world fell in.
“As I was walking in the direction of the Center, people were fleeing in the opposite direction. They were caked in soot, some in tattered clothes and bleeding, some like zombies with glazed eyes, many screaming hysterically. The air was filled with a choking chalky dust. I looked for familiar faces but couldn’t see any, not that I would have recognized anyone anyway. I had no idea what happened. It was so strange and so surreal.
“I found out from a policeman that two planes had deliberately hit the World Trade Center and exploded. One building had collapsed and the other on the verge. My office had been in the North Tower, on the floor that imploded on impact.” Tears formed in her eyes and she took a swig of beer.
“My office was obliterated, my co-workers dead. The gravity of the situation didn’t hit until I saw the news later and learned what happened,” she continued. “Evan, my fiancée, his office was in the South Tower. He was blown apart. Dead.” She cried, muffling whimpers with her hands drawn up to her mouth. It was the first time she ever made this revelation to anyone. She had kept the memories locked up in her mind as if they would just be forgotten in time. Time had passed, though, and they were as fresh as yesterday
.
Daemon moved toward her, enveloping her in his arms, holding her close, rocking her gently, in time with the swaying of the yacht. “I’m so sorry.”
“It was so awful. Why was I spared when everyone else died?”
“Right place, right time?” Daemon whispered, blinking back his own tragic memories and swallowing hard.
“Or some other reason?” She glanced up at him.
“Maybe. Maybe that reason is here and now?”
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Why did have to say that? Why did he have to look at her with eyes full of promise? Why?
She opened her eyes, swiping away the tears. “The company offered me a promotion at a branch office in Jersey. I accepted but was just going through the motions. My heart wasn’t in the work anymore. My heart was no longer in Manhattan. It was time to trade one island for another. It was time to come home.”
“I’m glad you came home,” he said, kissing her atop her head and holding her tight. “Your heart belongs here with those who love you.”
Love?
She didn’t expect to hear that word from him. Didn’t want to hear it from him. He was just saying it to be kind and consoling. He didn’t love her. She didn’t love him. Love had no future in their relationship
.
After disembarking on the pier in La Digue, Daemon hired an oxcart and driver. On an island where automobiles were banned, it was the favored mode of transportation.
Bicycles could be rented but offered little room for baggage and lacked the quaint charm of man and beast. The young driver, his head in moppy dreadlocks, loaded their overnight bags in the back of his wooden paneled cart. As Daemon chatted with the driver, Victoria went forward to greet the ox, his massive dark head and jutting horns in contrast to his sweet disposition. She petted him on his broad snout.
Once seated on bench in the cart, Victoria gazed over at Daemon. His expression was so peaceful and his love for the Islands seemed to radiate from him like sunbeams. As the ox ambled on and the cart slowly jolted along the dirt road, Victoria felt the serenity of the island. Without automobiles with their horns blasting and impatient drivers, the unhurried pace of nature prevailed. Leafy arches of ancient trees shaded the road from the sun’s late morning glare. The driver pointed out places of interest along the road. The swaying palms of L’Union Estate, an old coconut plantation and its timber-framed buildings took them back in time. The Founder’s Cemetery with its toppled granite headstones were a reminder of the islands’ 1700’s French discovery and settlement. A pen of land tortoises located behind the official residence of the President of Seychelles caught Victoria’s interest. The sight of two massive tortoises in the throes of mating was a rare sight, the male humping the female, his grunts and groans resounding in the air. Daemon nudged her with a wicked grin plastered on his face.
“Hey, he’s two-hundred years old and can still get it on,” he said and chuckled.
“So can she.”
“Gives hope that we can have a fun future growing old together, doesn’t it?”
She forced a smile in response. From experience, whenever a man spoke of a future together it seemed the relationship had been destined to fail. Her track record was more “love ‘em and leave ‘em,” with her being the one left. She didn’t pin much hope on the future as far as her love life was concerned. Better to live for the moment.
They passed quaint timbered homes with rusted tin roofs, a shipyard with takamaka wood schooners and fishing boats in different phases of construction and repair, and headed toward the scenic beaches of the Indian Ocean.
Instead of turning into the famous tourist beaches, Daemon directed the driver to follow a narrow dirt path into a dense palm forest where the birds squawked and a fine mist settled in the humid air. The scent of orchids and hibiscus tickled the nostrils. Victoria inhaled the beauty of the place
.
As they reached a clearing, she saw it. The massive tri-level building perched on a granite boulder overlooking the ocean. Constructed of slabs of shimmering island granite and timber, it featured a myriad of windows and a layer of decks. As they approached, she observed the infinity edged swimming pool and hot tub, seeming to blend with the turquoise of the ocean. A short distance from the property a bright yellow helicopter was set upon a concrete pad. She considered it odd, that for all its beauty, the property was empty. No tourists frolicked in the pool or sipped drinks at tables on the decks. An eerie quiet, except for the ocean waves crashing against the rocks, permeated the place.