White Lies (10 page)

She was almost certain that he'd duped her. He was involved in some complicated plot to ruin her good name. And again the question came; why? What would he gain if she left the island? And what would he achieve by making her out to be a cheap little tramp?

All she could come up with was that somehow he stood to benefit from her family. But would his father have been allowed to act as her solicitor if that was the case?

Picking up the fork, she set it on the tray and thoughtfully finished the candied potato with a spoon. But no more ideas came to her because her mind was dwelling on the fact that she'd find breakfast a terrible ordeal.

Furious with Pascal, she went back to bed in the vain hope that she'd sleep. As she lay there the frogs stopped their loud chorus so suddenly that it was as if they'd been switched off. Birds began to sing long before the sky grew light and she listened to them morosely while slumped against the pillows, trying to think of all the things she could do to trace Pascal's father and, failing that, look for clues to the whereabouts of her relatives.

Behind the dark, angular bulk of the Pitons the sky became a pink glow. It faded rapidly to gold and then turned a fierce blue, as hard and uncompromising as Pascal's eyes.

And finally her purpose was clear. At breakfast she'd behave as if nothing untoward had happened. And she'd make certain that Pascal didn't compromise her when they talked on the beach. She would weigh everything he said and did with the greatest care. If he as much as blinked out of place, she'd walk away and do her own detective work, hard though that would be.

'I'll find my family!' she promised vehemently, her hands clenched in determination. And her bitterness towards Pascal was so intense, her heart so racked with longing that she knew she would do anything to hold her mother or her father in her arms. Absolutely anything.

B
REAKFAST
was every bit as awful as Mandy had imagined. The staff were polite and distant, whereas they'd been warm and friendly with sunny smiles and an easy manner when she'd first arrived. Only the welcome from some of her fellow guests stopped her from running out in tears. Contempt was bad enough, but when it was unfounded it was upsetting. Pascal had to clear her reputation. She'd demand that as a priority.

After feeding left-over rolls and croissants to the cheeky birds, Mandy gloomily returned to her villa to collect what she wanted for the beach. Once she'd seen Pascal, she intended to relax for the rest of the day. If she was to spend the next two weeks searching out information, she needed to adjust to the climate.

She pulled on her classic-style black bathing costume and a pair of old cotton shorts, sighing because she'd half expected to be breakfasting this morning with a relative or two and catching up on family history.

There was another disappointment when she arrived at the beach—no luxury yacht moored in the bay. Presumably Pascal was catching up on his sleep. Mandy wandered disconsolately over the freshly raked sand, dumped her beach-bag under a rustic thatched shelter and smiled vaguely at a Rastafarian who'd driven his motorised canoe up onto the beach and had given her a friendly wave.

To her delight, he walked towards her. 'Hi, lady! How you doin'?' called the man, smiling broadly.

'I'm doing fine,' she said, cheering up. At last, someone to question who might not know her dubious reputation! 'Are you a local man?' she asked, hoping that he might help her later.

'Sure I am! I come from the plantation down the coast. Beau Rivage. That means beautiful shore,' he said in his musical voice. 'And if you're Mrs Cook I gotta take you there.'

Her smile faded. 'I am. But who says?' she asked warily. Speaking to Pascal on a public beach was one thing; going off somewhere unknown to meet him would be stupid.

The Rastafarian dug in his shorts pocket and brought out a business card.

'This is from
Vincente
St Honore?' Puzzled, she read the address: Beau Rivage Plantation. Someone had scrawled underneath, 'Please come.' 'Who gave you this?' she cried in excitement.

'Jemima. Vincente's maid,' said the man. 'It's Mr Vincente's card,' he added unnecessarily. 'She said I was to bring you right over.'

Hardly daring to believe her luck, Mandy thought for a moment. 'Is Mr Pascal there with Mr Vincente?'

That set the Rastafarian grinning. 'If Vincente knew Mr Pascal was on his land, he'd go for his shotgun!'

Mandy beamed. Pascal had been lying about his father's illness. Vincente was waiting for her at Beau Rivage! She had no compunction about standing Pascal up. Her teeth clenched briefly at the prospect of reprisal but she was too elated to dwell on the unpleasant things in life. At last she was on her way to the solicitor's plantation home.

'Let's go!' she said eagerly, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

Happily she clambered into the heavy dugout and sat in a state of excited terror as the fragile boat sped over the water. It seemed very unstable, especially when it met the choppy seas around the headland, and several times it seemed to leap into the air and drop down with an unnerving smack.

'Beau Rivage!' the Rasta yelled finally, pointing to a beach.

It looked completely deserted. Just the beach and coconut palms which ran back through a valley tucked between scrubby hills. 'Where's the house?' she shouted back as the boat drove full-tilt for the beach.

'Down the road a way. He goin' to meet you, don't you worry.' The Rasta killed the engine and then there was silence.

Mandy felt a deep sense of unease. The road was nothing but a dusty track, the plantation looked unkempt and there was a ruined shack just visible amid a tangle of vegetation. Apprehensively she hooked her bare leg over the side of the canoe and grabbed the man's steadying hand. Wading through the shallows with her shoes around her neck, she searched for some signs of life.

'Am I supposed to wait?' she asked uncertainly. There was no answer. When she spun around, it was to see the Rastafarian pushing the boat off the shelving shore. 'Hey! Don't go!' she yelled apprehensively.

Dropping her bag, she ran into the sea, kicking up a shower of silvery water and whimpering at her own stupidity. Pascal! she thought in a sudden flash of comprehension as the boatman roared away. 'Pascal!' she rasped aloud.

Fists clenched, she stood shin-deep in the ocean, soaked to the skin and trying frantically to quell her alarm and recall the geography of the land between the hotel and Beau Rivage—if that was where they truly were—because she'd have to walk back by the looks of it, that might take most of the day, judging by the dense undergrowth!

There was the track leading into the valley, of course, though she didn't hold out much hope that it would take her to a house as the Rasta had claimed. Dejectedly she turned back to study it again. And saw Pascal.

He came striding cheerfully towards her, dressed in khaki shorts, a jungle-green shirt open almost to the waist and ancient sneakers. And for a moment she was desperately glad to see him. Just for a moment. It passed quickly, leaving her raging at his deception.

'Paddling?' he asked, a grin on his irritatingly cheerful face.

'Cooling my temper,' she said tightly, wishing that she were wearing more than a bathing costume and shorts. 'You deceived me again!' she accused.

'Want to hear my side of it before you hit me?' he suggested, quite unconcerned.

She drew in a deep lungful of air. 'Amaze me.'

'I think I will. Shall we go into the shade or do you want to stay in the water and get wrinkled feet?' he asked politely.

Ignoring his obvious amusement, she tipped up her chin and gave him a long, cold stare, staying exactly where she was. 'I thought I was coming to see your father!'

'No, I
told
you, he's in hospital,' he replied with great patience, as if he were talking to a slow-witted child.

'But he rang last night.' Her eyes hardened. 'Didn't he?'

'Yes. He'd been trying to get me at home. They knew at the plantation that I was somewhere in the hotel so they told him to try there.'

'At three in the morning?' she asked scathingly.

'Good grief, he doesn't concern himself with the fact that other people might be asleep!' he exclaimed drily. 'If he's awake he thinks nothing of waking anyone he pleases. He wanted to know if you'd arrived.'

'How is he?' she asked cautiously.

Pascal gave a short, mirthless laugh. 'Like a cornered bull. Yelling at me on the phone and the nurses at the same time. No change in his physical condition, incidentally. He's not supposed to see anyone and he's not supposed to get excited.'

Mandy's brows pulled together. 'You hate him and yet you visit him?'

'He's my father,' Pascal said simply.

She felt a little better about him for saying that. 'What about what you said last night?' she asked suspiciously. 'About solving the situation—'

'That's why you're here. I sent China to get you,' he said smoothly. 'We need time together—uninterrupted time. I used one of my father's cards to entice you because I thought you wouldn't come if you knew we'd be alone on a deserted beach. I had to get you here, Mandy, to tell you something.'

Suddenly the amusement had vanished. Mandy frowned at the seriousness of his warm blue eyes and she felt her pulses quicken in anticipation. But she couldn't trust him. She'd be a fool to do that.

'I don't like your methods,' she said coolly.

'I don't like my father's,' he countered. "That's why I've had you brought here and why you must, why you deserve to have an explanation.'

Slowly Mandy walked through the silken water to the beach where he stood, so confident, so certain that he was in the right. Perhaps he was—and maybe she should give him the benefit of the doubt. 'It had better be a good one! You've already got some explaining to do about last night!' she muttered, annoyed that he'd managed to deceive her so easily. He must think her very naive. Her mouth tightened. 'How do you think it looked, with me wrapped in a sheet and you in my villa in the early hours looking all dishevelled?'

'Damning?' he suggested tentatively.

'I'm darned if I can tell if you're as innocent as you make out or not!' she muttered. 'If you've deliberately ruined my reputation then I want to know why! And if it was a total accident you've got some explaining to do at the hotel on my behalf. I'm not sitting through another breakfast there and having a plate of smoked salmon and scrambled eggs dumped in front of me by a disapproving waitress who thinks I'm flighty!'

'I'm sorry,' he sympathised, sounding remarkably sincere. 'I can assure you that you won't have to go through that experience again.' He looked contrite. 'I admit that I had hoped to soften you with a little alcohol but I had no idea Simon was going to bring you two drinks—or that you'd knock them back so fast. Did I?'

'You could have told him to bring two Voodoo Punches when you chatted with him. You were very buddy-buddy with him.'

'I should hope so. He's the son of my overseer,' said Pascal surprisingly. 'But I've known him since he was a baby. I wouldn't dream of using him like that and ordering him to tell lies for me.'

'All right. I accept your explanation about the drinks,' she said grudgingly. 'But it seems to me that you knew your father was going to ring—and that's why you hung around in my villa all night, waiting for someone to appear and find us together!'

Pascal shrugged. 'I honestly had no idea he'd call.' He looked at her in a puzzled way. 'You do care what people think of you, do you?'

When she nodded miserably his face softened. She thought that he was going to touch her in reassurance, but instead he thrust his hands deep into his shorts pockets.

'I do my best to lead a decent life,' she said quietly.

It seemed that she'd surprised him by that remark. He pushed his hand through his silky blond hair. 'We must try to make sure that you do,' he drawled, his intense cerulean blue eyes fixed on hers. 'Tell me... if you were as embarrassed as you say, why didn't you ask for room service this morning, instead of turning up for breakfast in the restaurant?'

Mandy flipped up her chin. 'And admit I've done something I'm ashamed of?' she said indignantly.

Admiration showed in his eyes and the dimples came out to disarm her. 'You have courage, Mandy,' he said softly. 'I'm impressed. That must have taken some guts.'

'It did. What are you going to do to clear my name?' she asked, feeling mollified.

'Leave everything to me. I'm going to make sure that no one at the hotel treats you with contempt again. I promise.' And he laid a hand on his heart and fixed her with his unblinking gaze.

'Thank you. Make sure you do explain what happened,' she said in relief. 'Now...you said we had to talk. What.. .what do you have to tell me?' she asked cautiously.

'A rather unpleasant story. I think you'd better come to my house. It's on the plantation next door to Beau Rivage,' he said with a worrying gentleness. 'We'll sit on the deck and have coffee.'

'I can't trust you, Pascal,' she muttered.

'Caught between the devil and the deep blue sea?' He gave a faint smile. 'If you're worried about being alone with me, then forget it. There's a full complement of staff and my aunt lives with me. Shall we go? The Jeep's just up the road.'

'I don't have much choice, do I?' she said wryly.

"He touched her shoulder briefly, as someone might when comforting a close friend. 'No, you don't,' he agreed smoothly.

She bit her lip. But Pascal had already cupped her elbow and was guiding her towards the trees. They grew so densely at the back of the beach that the sudden shadow beneath the palms plunged the two of them into a half-darkness.

'Everything looks awfully unkempt,' she commented. 'Does anyone ever use this track?'

'Not often.' Pascal helped her into the Jeep and slammed the door. 'Beau Rivage is reverting to nature,' he explained when he got in beside her. 'It's suffered a few blows in its lifetime—hurricane damage, disease, my father's neglect and his antagonistic attitude towards the association.'