Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the

publishing industry, having written over one hundred

and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than

forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance

for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,

passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

Moondrift
Anne Mather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE island lay almost immediately below the plane now, one of a group of smaller islands that depended on the larger islands for most of their supplies. It grew coconut palms and banana plants and pineapples, and a small amount of sugar cane, but mostly it relied on tourism for its survival, which at times had not been easy. Shaped like an avocado, it lay drowsing beneath the heat of a Caribbean afternoon, and Rhys felt his nerves tightening as the Cessna banked to make its landing.

He had not wanted to come back. Indeed, there were times when he had sworn he would never come back. But it was ten years now, ten years and he had finally got the island out of his blood. He had had to come back to complete the catharsis.

‘Is that Eleutha, Daddy?’

The girl beside him leaned towards the window excitedly, gazing down at the oblong curve of sand that fringed the west coast of the island. The hotel was situated along that strip of beach, Rhys remembered unwillingly, its low-walled terrace overlooking the lagoon confined by the reef.

‘Yes, that’s Eleutha,’ he answered now, giving her a brief smile. ‘We’ll be landing in a couple of minutes. You’d better get your things together.’

‘I’ve only got my bag and my jacket,’ she exclaimed, looking down at her bare legs with some satisfaction. ‘Look, I’m getting brown already. I expect to have a really super tan when we get back to London.’

Rhys regarded her with affection. ‘You’re not wanting to go back already, are you?’ he enquired, and she shook her head.

‘No, of course not. You said we could stay for a month, didn’t you?’ Her dark gold eyes, so like his own, sparkled excitedly. ‘I can’t wait to see our house. Does it really have its own stretch of beach?’

‘It does.’ Rhys’s eyes turned irresistibly towards the window again. ‘I just hope you don’t get bored. Eleutha isn’t London, and there are no discothèques or department stores here.’

‘That’s not fair!’ A sulky look invaded her eyes at his faint criticism. ‘I didn’t get bored when we went to Mauritius, did I? And you were working there. You’re not going to work here, are you? You promised!’

Rhys sighed. ‘I said, if I remember correctly, that I didn’t think I’d feel like working here,’ he corrected her drily. ‘Besides, you won’t want my company all the time. I’m too old.’

‘You’re not old,’ she contradicted him fiercely. ‘You’re only thirty-six!’

‘Exactly twenty years older than you, madame,’ he retorted shortly, squashing the remembrance that Jordan had only been a year older than Lucy when he first came to the island. ‘Anyway,’ he pushed these thoughts aside, ‘if you do get bored, we can always go back to Nassau.’

‘I shan’t.’ She gazed through the window in delight. ‘I don’t know how you could bear to stay away all these years. Look at the water! Isn’t it absolutely fantastic!’

‘Fantastic,’ agreed Rhys, though his lips twisted as the Cessna’s wheels made contact with the runway. He shouldn’t have come, an inner voice was warning him. He should have sold the house ten years ago, instead of allowing it to stand like a silent monument to his own folly.

The pilot turned as the plane taxied to a halt near the whitewashed building that acted as both service and administration. ‘Glad to be back, Mr Williams?’ he enquired, giving the girl beside his employer a teasing wink. ‘Nothing’s changed, as you can see. Here comes Jacob, eager to shake you by the hand.’

Rhys grinned, forcing himself to relax, and levered his long lean body out of his seat. ‘We’re all ten years older,’ he remarked, thrusting open the Cessna’s door and letting down the flight of steps. ‘Come on, Lucy, let’s go and find the jeep.’

Lucy needed no second bidding, her eyes wide with excitement. Bidding the pilot a swift farewell, she followed her father down the steps, looking about her eagerly as he exchanged greetings with the coloured man who had come to meet them.

The airstrip was situated near to a sandy beach, not the beach they had seen from the plane, but the narrower strip of sand that formed the northern boundary. Even so, the sight of the fine white powdered grains bordered by the creaming surf was quite beautiful, and she tugged Rhys’s arm impatiently when he seemed disposed to linger.

‘You remember Lucy, don’t you?’ Rhys remarked with a wry smile, and the old man who had had charge of the small airport for the past fifteen years gave him a doubtful look.

‘This is Lucy?’

‘It is.’ Rhys glanced around as if familiarising himself anew with his surroundings. But the truth was, he didn’t want to get into a discussion about his daughter, and cutting Jacob off, he said: ‘Is the jeep here?’

The old man looked doubtful, but as he did so, another, younger man, came sauntering across the tarmac towards them. ‘Well, here comes Tomas now,’ he observed, evidently relieved. ‘Late, as usual, but generally reliable.’

‘Good afternoon, Mr Williams, sir,’ the younger man exclaimed now, his dark eyes taking in Rhys’s jean-clad figure and Lucy’s Bermudas with one sweeping glance. ‘It’s good to have you back. Rosa’s talked of nothing else for days.’

‘Really?’ Rhys introduced his daughter to the man, who with his wife, had stayed on as caretakers at the house. Like Jacob, Tomas had lived all his life on the island, and Rhys realised it had been a futile hope that their arrival here should have remained unannounced. Rosalie was too keen on gossiping for that and, he reflected, somewhat philosophically, it was probably better that way. There was less chance of running into Jordan if she knew he was here. He had little doubt that she would want to stay out of his way, too.

The pilot had hauled their cases out of the Cessna, and now Rhys hefted Lucy’s overnight bag and his own guitar case while Tomas took charge of the suitcases. Then, together, they crossed the uneven surface of the runway to where an ancient ex-army jeep stood waiting in the shadow of a clump of palms.

‘It still runs, eh?’ remarked Rhys, swinging the bags into the back and hoisting Lucy up into the front seat.

‘As ever,’ agreed Tomas, joining the cases in the back, and grimacing, Rhys slid behind the wheel.

The road from the airport ran parallel with the coast for some way, then took a winding track among fields tall with sugar cane. Huge sticks of it had fallen into the road in places, causing the jeep to buck a little as it bounced over the obstacle, and there was the sweet smell of rain in the air, indicating a morning shower.

‘You have a good journey, Mr Williams?’ asked Tomas, clinging tenaciously to the back of their seats, and Rhys nodded.

‘We only flew from Nassau this afternoon,’ he explained. ‘We came down from Miami on Thursday.’

‘Ah,’ Tomas nodded. ‘I thought Miss Lucy looked like she’d been doin’ some sunbathing. Plenty of time for that here,’ he added, as the girl cast him a careless look. ‘Not much else to do, really, less’n you like to swim or sail.’

‘I do,’ declared Lucy impatiently, giving her father an appealing look. ‘Is it much further, Daddy? I can’t wait to get there!’

The roads around the island were delightfully quiet after Nassau. Apart from the occasional bicycle, and one or two cattle-drawn vehicles, they didn’t see another car, and Rhys regretted Lucy’s impatience when he was feeling an unfamiliar sense of identity with his surroundings.

‘It’s not much more than a mile now,’ he said, taking his eyes from the road for a moment. ‘You can see the ocean through the trees if you look. Our house is only a few yards from the beach.’

Lucy strained her eyes to see, and Rhys allowed the little jeep to coast the last few yards to their turning. It was all so familiar, he could hardly believe it was more than ten years since he had driven here. So long as he remembered it was, he reminded himself harshly.

A narrow drive, overhung with the scarlet beauty of hibiscus, gave access to a gravelled forecourt. Lucy was already exclaiming her enthusiasm before she saw the cream-washed walls of the house, and impulsively she hugged him as he brought the jeep to a standstill.

‘It’s beautiful!’ she cried, jumping excitedly out of the vehicle. ‘Oh, I didn’t expect anything like this! You said it would most likely be overgrown with weeds and falling to bits!’

Rhys cast Tomas a rueful look. ‘I didn’t exactly say that, Lucy,’ he protested, though he admitted he was pleasantly surprised at the condition of the place. Tomas and Rosalie had evidently gone to some trouble to keep the house and grounds in good order, and Lucy’s careless candour grated a little. ‘I just said everything grew like mad, and that termites ran riot in the islands. But apparently,’ he looked at the other man again, ‘you’ve done a good job.’

‘Oh, Missy Jordan made sure everythin’ stayed the way it should,’ Tomas responded airily, sliding off the tailboard, evidently unaware of the bombshell he had delivered. ‘And here comes Rosa now. See, they’re here—all safe and sound!’

In the genuine pleasure of the housekeeper’s greeting, Rhys was able to keep other thoughts at bay, at least temporarily, and Rosalie’s ample arms engulfed him in an enveloping embrace. ‘I couldn’t believe it when Tomas told me you were comin’ back here, Mr Williams,’ she exclaimed, her voice echoing the sentiment that was evident in her moist brown eyes. ‘It’s good to have you back. Ain’t had no one to cook for in ages.’

‘You got me,’ put in Tomas goodhumouredly, but Rosalie only sniffed, her round black face wobbling with emotion.

‘You’re so thin,’ she exclaimed, her fingers clutching the lapels of Rhys’s shirt. ‘Got to do somethin’ about that, and soon!’

Rhys managed a faint smile, and extracting himself from her clinging fingers, he drew a reluctant Lucy forward. ‘What do you think of my daughter?’ he demanded, his hand resting proudly on the girl’s shoulder. ‘Quite a transformation from the infant you remember, hmm?’

‘This is Lucy?’ Rosalie cast her eyes heavenward for a moment. ‘My, my, hasn’t she grown? And so pretty?’ She subjected the girl to another of her suffocating squeezes. ‘You and me’s goin’ to be good friends, Lucy. Just like me and Missy Jordan, when she was younger.’

Rhys noticed that Lucy quickly extricated herself from the woman’s hold, and the look she cast in his direction was unmistakable. She didn’t like Tomas and Rosalie’s familiarity, and although he sympathised with the strangeness she must be feeling, he wished she had been a little more friendly.

‘Can we go inside, Daddy?’ she pleaded. ‘I can’t wait to see my room. And I want to have a swim before I change for dinner.’

‘I guess so.’ Rhys bent to pick up the guitar case he had put down to return Rosalie’s welcome, and gestured towards the house. ‘You lead the way. Just follow the path round to the verandah. It’s not difficult to find.’

Lucy needed no second bidding, and Rosalie raised her hands in understanding when Rhys cast her an apologetic glance. ‘Go ahead, Mr Williams,’ she declared, nodding in approbation. ‘It’s good to know you haven’t forgotten the old place.’

Forgotten? Rhys wondered if he would ever forget, as he followed his daughter along the paved path that circled the colour-washed wall of the house. There were too many things to remind him, not least Lucy herself, but she had no idea of the depths of feeling behind this visit. To her it was just a house her father had bought and which she had visited once when she was a very small child. She didn’t understand her father’s aversion for the place, or the reasons why they had never come back here. She simply saw it as a second home, that her father had chosen not to use.

When he reached the front of the building, Lucy was already on the slatted boards of the verandah, testing the cushioned seat of a bamboo lounger. ‘Isn’t it wonderful, Daddy?’ she exclaimed, gesturing at the view, and Rhys turned to survey the sweep of sun-kissed beach and green-gold water that spread out before them.

‘Wonderful!’ he echoed briefly, climbing the steps with grim determination, and Lucy looked at him consideringly as he paused before speaking to her.

‘I thought you wanted to see your room,’ he said at last, advancing to where folding shutters gave access to the room beyond. He propped the shaft of his guitar case against his shoulder and drew a steadying breath. ‘This is the living room, and that’s the dining room through the arch.’

‘I thought it must be.’ Lucy left her perch to come and join him, linking her arm with his. ‘Is it exactly as you remembered?’

‘More or less.’ Rhys was offhand, but he couldn’t help it. ‘Let’s go inside, shall we?’

Lucy shrugged. ‘What’s the matter?’ She was perceptive. ‘Why are you looking like that? Did I do something wrong?’

‘You?’ Rhys looked at her strangely, then his face cleared and he released her arm to hug her close against his side. ‘No, you didn’t do anything wrong,’ he assured her gently. And then, hearing Tomas and Rosalie’s voices as they came along the path, he drew her into the artificially-darkened room.

The house was comfortably simple in design. There were six rooms on the ground floor and six rooms on the upper one. As well as the living and dining rooms, there was a kind of studio, which Rhys had used as a music room in the past, as well as the kitchen, and bathroom, and Tomas and Rosalie’s bedroom. A cool tiled hallway ran from front to back of the house, with a shallow, curving stairway giving access to the upper floor.

Rhys spent little time showing Lucy around downstairs. ‘You’ll soon find your way about,’ he assured her, leading the way upstairs, and Lucy scampered up after him, matching two of her steps to his agile stride.

There were three bedrooms and three bathrooms on the first floor. Two of the bedrooms overlooked the curve of beach, and the third embraced the sweep of the drive and the glowing hibiscus blossom.

‘Which would you like?’ asked Rhys, allowing Lucy to make her choice. To his relief she chose the larger of the two ocean-facing rooms, thus removing any necessity for him to refuse that particular apartment. Even entering the translucent beauty of the bedroom evoked the most painful memories he had experienced so far, and he was glad when Lucy pushed open the louvred doors and he could step out on to the balcony.

‘Isn’t it unbelievable?’ she exclaimed, leaning on the wrought iron rail. ‘Oh, how could you neglect the place for so long?’

‘I haven’t had the time,’ Rhys responded, keeping his tone purposely light. ‘Besides, there are places I like more. Islands in the Pacific, for example.’

Lucy grimaced. ‘Oh, well, I suppose you have been busy,’ she conceded. Then she turned and rested her elbows over the rail. ‘But are you sure you don’t mind me having this room? It is the biggest room, isn’t it?’

‘The one at the back is just as big,’ replied Rhys quickly. ‘Besides, I don’t need a big room.’ He grinned. ‘I don’t have half a dozen suitcases of clothes to accommodate.’

‘Oh, you!’

Lucy dug him playfully in the ribs, then sighed half impatiently when she heard Tomas labouring into the bedrooms behind them. ‘I’ll leave these in here, shall I, Mr Williams?’ he called, attracting his employer’s attention, and Rhys strolled back into the room to give him his instructions.

‘Those two are mine,’ Rhys said swiftly. ‘Put them in next door, would you, Tomas? I’ll deal with them later.’

‘But isn’t this your room, Mr Williams?’ Tomas protested in some surprise. ‘Seems like I remember, last time you were here——’

‘Not this time,’ asserted Rhys crisply, passing him to reach the landing and walking into the other ocean-facing bedroom. ‘This will do me fine, Tomas. Put Miss Lucy’s cases in next door.’

‘As you say, Mr Williams.’

Tomas’s dark brows ascended with some disapproval, but he didn’t argue. After depositing Rhys’s luggage on the rack provided, he disappeared downstairs again for the rest of their belongings, and Rhys pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans in a gesture of repudiation.

‘Isn’t this cosy?’

Lucy’s sudden appearance from the balcony they both shared interrupted his mood, and forcing a corresponding smile to his lips, he inclined his head. ‘Very,’ he conceded, looking round the comfortable apartment. ‘And if you can entertain yourself for the next few minutes, I’ll go and have a word with Rosa and find out what the form is.’

‘Can’t I come with you?’

Lucy’s face mirrored her disappointment, but Rhys had to speak to Rosa alone. ‘You unpack,’ he advised, accompanying the rebuff with a casual caress to her cheek. ‘Find your swimsuit. There’ll be plenty of time to test the water before dinner.’

Lucy looked mutinous, but she knew better than to argue with him in this mood. There was a certain compression about his mouth that warned of his uncertain temper, and his eyes, which were usually so warm and affectionate, now gleamed like molten amber.

‘All right,’ she said, going towards the bedroom door. ‘But you will swim with me later, won’t you?’

‘I’ve said so, haven’t I?’ he responded, with that clipped edge to his voice, and Lucy dipped her head in acquiescence before making good her escape.

Left to himself, Rhys paused only long enough to cast one unwilling glance at the view beyond the windows before striding after his daughter. But whereas she had returned to the other bedroom, he quickly descended the stairs, walking surely along the tiled hallway to the airy pine-scented kitchen at the back of the house.

Rosalie was at the table, setting cups and saucers on to a polished wood tray, adding a cork stand and a rose-patterned teapot. She looked up when Rhys entered the room, but her eyes revealed no surprise. ‘You want tea or something stronger?’ she asked perceptively. ‘I guessed you’d be coming to see Rosa before too long.’

‘Something stronger,’ said Rhys, gesturing towards the refrigerator. ‘Have you got a beer or some lager? I seem to remember you kept quite a store in the old days.’

Rosa chuckled. ‘Got some in, ‘specially for you comin’,’ she declared, padding over to the fridge and fetching him an iced can. ‘Sit down. Make yourself at home. We got a lot of years to make up.’

Rhys hesitated a moment and then he wedged his hip on a corner of the scrubbed table. Pulling the ring on the can, he watched the beer ooze out in a cluster of fizzy bubbles before saying quietly: ‘What did Tomas mean about Jordan Lucas?’

‘Missy Jordan?’ Rosalie tried to sound offhand and failed. ‘What he tell you ’bout her?’

Rhys sighed, hazarding a guess that Rosalie had heard exactly what her husband said. But, deciding to play it their way, he explained patiently: ‘About the house. About Miss Jordan making sure things stayed the way they should be. Are you telling me Jordan Lucas has visited here while I’ve been away?’

Involuntarily his voice had quickened, hardened, and Rosalie responded to it, spreading her hands wide as she endeavoured to justify the situation. ‘She was just tryin’ to be neighbourly,’ she exclaimed. ‘After all, this used to be her daddy’s home when he was a little boy.’

‘I know that.’ Rhys’s voice brooked no compromise. ‘I bought it from Robert Lucas, remember? But it’s mine now. It’s not the Lucas house any more. And I don’t know by what right you thought she had leave to come here in my absence!’

Rosalie wrung her hands now, her dark eyes rolling expressively. ‘You have been away ten years, Mr Williams——’

‘Is that supposed to be an excuse?’

‘Yes. No. I don’t know.’ The housekeeper was getting more and more agitated. ‘I didn’t know I was doin’ wrong. You and she were always so close, up until—up until——’

‘Up until about three weeks before I left,’ Rhys finished for her grimly. ‘My God, I only kept the house open because of you!’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And this is what happens!’ He took a savage drink from the can. ‘If I’d known Jordan Lucas was likely to come anywhere near this place, I’d have closed the house up, boarded the windows, locked the gates, and to hell with the sense of it!’

‘Yes, sir.’ Rosalie’s bright good humour had been quenched. ‘I understand.’

‘Do you? Do you?’ Rhys got up from the table and strode aggressively round the kitchen. ‘I wonder.’

Rosalie shook her head. ‘I didn’t think you’d mind. And after her daddy died, and all——’

‘Robert Lucas is dead?’ Rhys swung round to face her.

‘More’n six years ago,’ nodded Rosalie quickly. ‘He wasn’t a well man, you know, and what with the accident and——’

‘What accident?’ Rhys’s eyes narrowed. ‘Jordan didn’t have an accident, did she?’

‘No, no.’ Rosalie licked her thick lips. ‘It was Mr Lucas. He almost drowned. Never did get over it.’

‘What happened?’ Rhys came back to the table and then, seeing the way Rosalie flinched away from him, he sighed. ‘Please—I want to know what happened. Was it a sailing accident?’

‘It was.’ Rosalie folded her plump hands together. ‘That boat of his capsized. He was in the water for hours. When they got him out he was pretty sick.’

Rhys absorbed this with brooding concentration. ‘And—he died, afterwards.’

‘Not then, no.’ Rosalie made a negative gesture. ‘The accident happened soon after you went away.’

‘I see.’ Rhys finished his beer and crushed the can in his fist. ‘So has the hotel been sold?’

‘No. Missy Jordan took over. She’d been helping her father for years, and it was natural that she should want to carry on.’

Rhys nodded. ‘And—when did she start coming here?’

Rosalie hesitated. ‘Missy Jordan’s always come here. She loves this house. When you went away, she said to me, “Rosa,” she said, “I want you to care for the house, just as if Mr Williams still lived here.” And I have.’

Rhys expelled his breath heavily. ‘Are you sure she didn’t say, just as if Mr Lucas still lived here?’ he inquired harshly. ‘Oh, what the hell! It’s done now.’ He paused. ‘And I am grateful to you and Tomas for looking after things so well.’

‘Are you?’ Rosalie sniffed. ‘Seems like you don’t care about us at all, only the house.’

Rhys shook his head. ‘I’m sorry.’ He ran restless fingers through the thick straight hair that sprung darkly from his scalp. ‘But you have to understand my feelings, too. I don’t like the idea of Jordan Lucas coming here. I don’t want her on my property. I admit—once she was welcome here, but now she’s not. And you can tell her that the next time you see her.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Rosalie’s response was polite, but unfriendly, and Rhys cursed Jordan anew for creating this unwanted hostility between himself and the housekeeper. It was natural that Rosalie should side with Jordan. She had worked for Jordan’s grandfather before coming to work for him, and years ago he had been grateful to Jordan for providing him with such excellent staff. But that was all over now. The past was something he wanted to erase. And because of Jordan, he was being forced to face it far sooner than he had intended.

CHAPTER TWO

‘HE’S back!’

Jordan was in the linen room counting pillowcases when Karen came to find her, and although she had been expecting it, her sister’s words still brought out a wave of goosebumps over her skin.

‘Who?’ she asked, as if there could be any doubt, and Karen gazed at her disbelievingly.

‘You know who!’ she accused after a moment, propping herself against the door frame. ‘The great man, of course. He arrived yesterday afternoon. With his daughter.’

Jordan felt the muscles of her stomach tense, and to disguise her emotions from Karen, she moved out of the shaft of sunlight cast through the door. Thank goodness she had an occupation, she thought sickly, as her heart palpitated wildly. It was worse, much worse, than she had imagined, and the fact that he had brought the child with him showed how insensitive he was.

‘Well? Don’t you have anything to say?’ Karen was growing impatient, and she regarded her elder sister suspiciously. ‘Did you know already?’ she demanded suddenly. ‘Did you know it was yesterday he was due? Or did your spies at the house let you know that your pop singer was here?’

‘He’s not my pop singer!’ Jordan’s voice was muffled, but audible. ‘Karen, if you’ve nothing else to do, you can drive down to the town for those avocados. I shan’t have time this morning, and Josef needs them for tonight.’

‘Forget about the avocados!’ Karen snorted. ‘Jordan, I just told you that Rhys Williams is back on the island! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’

‘What should it mean?’ Making sure her face was still in shadow, Jordan turned to face her sister. ‘My relationship with Rhys Williams ended over ten years ago. I—I was a child, that’s all. It was a childish infatuation. It means nothing to me now.’

‘So why do you spend every spare minute at his house?’ demanded Karen scathingly. ‘Since he went away, you’ve been there at least once every week. Come on, Jordan. I may have been a kid when it happened, but I’m not a kid now!’

Jordan pressed the clipboard holding the housekeeping lists close to her chest. ‘You forget,’ she said, hearing the tremor in her voice and despising herself for it, ‘that house was Daddy’s home, too. Is it so unnatural that I should want to make sure it didn’t fall into disrepair?’

Karen shook her head. ‘And that’s your final word?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, I don’t believe you,’ retorted Karen succinctly, swinging about and making for the stairs. ‘I’ll get your avocados. I shan’t be long.’

After she had gone, Jordan spent several minutes composing herself before emerging from the linen room. There was always the chance that someone else might take it into their heads to inform her of Rhys’s return, and she wanted to be sure she could face their commiserations before returning to her office.

Just to make doubly sure, she made a detour to her own apartments, and closing the louvred door behind her, she paused a moment to take a deep breath. Rhys was back. Well, she had been expecting it. And it was nothing so terrible if she could keep things in perspective.

Walking across to her dressing table, she lifted a comb and lightly flicked back the errant strands that had escaped from the chignon at her nape. Her hair, which was toffee-coloured and streaked with blonde, grew back from a centre parting. Her brow was wide and tanned, and her eyes were grey and shielded by long brown lashes. She knew she was not beautiful in the accepted sense of the word, but when her features were animated they did have a certain attraction which she was not unaware of. Right now, however, her face was withdrawn and sombre, and she surveyed herself without pleasure and assessed the changes Rhys must see.

When he went away, she had been seventeen—now she was twenty-seven; a spinster, or so Karen was often telling her. As a teenager, she had worn her hair loose and free; now it was always coiled in a chignon or a knot, anything to keep it out of her eyes. And finally, when she was younger, her long-limbed frame had been rounded and feminine; these days, she seldom had an ounce of flesh on her bones, and she touched the hollows in her neck with fingers that shook quite revealingly.

Damn, she thought fiercely, turning away, why couldn’t she just dismiss him from her mind? He was totally amoral, totally insensitive. Were he not, he would never have come back here, never have brought his daughter with him—never have put her in such an invidious position.

By the time Jordan went downstairs again, she had herself in control. She had succeeded in convincing herself that she was behaving foolishly—irrationally—and that the cold sweat which had broken out over her flesh when Karen confirmed that Rhys was back was the natural result of long-suppressed emotions. Rhys had returned to the island; she had to accept that. He had every right to return here. She did not own the island, only a very small part of it—and that, too, was being whittled away by the disturbing decrease in visitors to the hotel. But that was nothing to do with Rhys Williams. That was her affair, her problem; and she had no need of any further problems to trouble her. The most sensible course, so far as Rhys was concerned, was to behave as if the past had never happened, and when they met—as they were bound to do on an island of this size—she would behave with the calmness and dignity won over ten years of self-restraint.

At this time of year the hotel was at its busiest, and she was grateful for that. As she made her way to her office, situated behind the reception desk on the ground floor, she exchanged greetings with several of the guests passing through on their way to change for lunch after a morning spent by the pool. Trade Winds, as her father had christened the hotel, was not a large concern, but it was unique, in that it occupied the finest position on the west coast of the island, and its patrons generally returned for a second, and sometimes a third, visit.

It was approaching noon, and already there was a sense of lethargy creeping over the place. The breezes that usually kept the climate temperate at this time of the year were conspicuous by their absence, and Jordan could feel a trickle of moisture dampening the back of her shirt. Even the wide-legged cotton culottes that covered her slim legs to well below her knees felt uncomfortably sticky, and she refused to associate her present condition with her thoughts earlier. It was a hot day. She was feeling the heat, that was all. And although a visit to one of the many quiet beaches that fringed the island, to swim and sunbathe, was appealing, she was needed here. Besides, she preferred to keep herself occupied. She would have time enough to think when the day was over.

The lobby of the hotel was light and airy. A through draught kept this area cool at all times, and urns of pampas grass and flowering plants added to its tropical appearance. There were wickerwork chairs, a small bar that jutted out below a thatched awning, and rose-pink quarry tiles underfoot, both functional and attractive.

Jordan’s office was small, but functional, too. Here she discussed menus, answered booking enquiries, and prepared accounts. There were a dozen other tasks she did, too, like ordering supplies from the mainland, choosing colour schemes when the rooms needed decorating, or arbitrating in disputes between the other members of the staff. But mostly, her job was concerned with being available to the guests, to answer queries and complaints, and to assure herself that everyone was pulling their weight.

She had a secretary, a coloured girl called Mary-Jo, and when she went into her office now, she found the girl on her hands and knees on the floor. ‘Paper-clips,’ Mary-Jo answered her silent enquiry, grimacing as one of the scattered items dug into an unwary knee. ‘Josef’s been in here complaining about the shortage of prawns for tonight’s buffet.’

‘And he threw these about?’ exclaimed Jordan, joining her on the floor.

‘No,’ Mary-Jo giggled. ‘Not intentionally, that is. But he did bring his fist down on the desk and the box just happened to be in the way …’

Jordan sighed. ‘He really is impossible at times! And I thought we had enough shellfish.’

‘We probably do.’ Mary-Jo satisfied herself that she had collected most of the paper-clips and got to her feet. ‘You know what Josef is like—all bark and no bite. Here, let me help you.’ She gave Jordan her hand. ‘You look worn out.’

‘Well, thanks.’ Jordan could smile at the backhanded sympathy. ‘I am—feeling the heat today. The linen room isn’t the coolest place to be when the temperature is in the nineties.’

‘You should have let me do it,’ exclaimed Mary-Jo, crossing to where a tray was set on a filing cabinet. ‘Would you like some orange juice? The ice hasn’t melted yet.’

‘Please.’ Jordan sank down into her own chair behind the desk, and fanned herself with a languid hand. ‘Did Karen go down to Mallorys?’

‘Yes. She left about a half hour ago,’ agreed Mary-Jo, handing over a glass of the sun-tinted fluid. ‘There you are—liquid vitamin C!’

Jordan took a taste of the orange juice on to her tongue, savouring its cool sweetness. ‘Mmm, delicious,’ she murmured, smiling her thanks. ‘Just exactly what I needed.’

‘Is it?’ Mary-Jo looked a little quizzical now, and Jordan’s brow furrowed.

‘Shouldn’t it be?’

‘Well——’ Mary-Jo paused, ‘the way I heard it, something stronger might have been in order. A kind of—stiffener, wouldn’t you say?’

Jordan sighed, cradling the glass between her palms. ‘You heard,’ she said flatly. ‘Who told you?’

‘I don’t remember.’ Mary-Jo turned away to pour herself some of the juice. ‘Oh, it’s all over the island, Jordan. I suppose it was too much to hope that he could come back here without creating a stir.’

Jordan looked down into her glass. ‘Well, contrary to public opinion, I don’t need a stiffener to face Rhys Williams,’ she declared firmly. She looked up at the other girl. ‘That was all over long ago, while you were still in school.’

Mary-Jo shrugged. ‘You’re only five years older than I am, Jordan. I remember what happened at the time. I mean, who wouldn’t? Rhys Williams isn’t like any ordinary tourist, is he?’

‘No.’ Jordan’s tongue circled her lower lip. ‘No, he’s not. But there’s something else you should remember, Mary-Jo. I was only seventeen at the time, little more than a schoolgirl myself. And that’s all it was—a schoolgirl crush on an older man.’

Mary-Jo looked doubtful. ‘You were pretty cut up about it when his wife turned up, weren’t you?’ she protested. ‘And who could blame you?’

‘Mary-Jo!’

‘Well, it’s true. I mean, imagine him not telling you he was married! And having a daughter and everything. You must have felt terrible——’

‘Mary-Jo!’

Jordan’s voice had risen sharply, and as if just realising how personal she was being, the girl muttered a word of apology and sat down. But the looks she kept casting in her employer’s direction were eloquent of her feelings, and Jordan’s nerves felt ragged as she endeavoured to concentrate on the accounts.

She was almost relieved when Karen came back, waltzing into the office with her usual disregard for anyone’s privacy. ‘The avocados are here!’ she announced unnecessarily. And then, with sudden intuition: ‘What’s been going on here? You could cut the atmosphere with a knife!’

Jordan put down her pen and sighed. ‘Mary-Jo and I have just had a difference of opinion,’ she declared shortly. ‘Now, do you mind if we get on? I seem to have wasted half the day already.’

‘All right.’ Karen’s blue eyes took on a knowing expression. Unlike her sister, she was a natural redhead, and in consequence her colouring was that much fairer. ‘But I thought you might like to know, Rhys was in town, with his daughter. At least, I assume she was his daughter. She looks about eighteen.’

‘She’s—sixteen,’ said Jordan slowly, realising, as she did so, how wrong she had been to think of her as a child. Then, colouring, she added: ‘Where did you see them? Did you speak to them? I hope you weren’t rude—they have as much right here as we do.’

‘Hardly,’ exclaimed Karen indignantly. ‘Daddy’s family have lived here for—for donkey’s years. And I was born here.’

‘I wasn’t.’

‘No, but you’re not like Rhys Williams. He’s only lived on the island for a matter of months, not years.’ Karen pursed her lips. ‘Anyway, you don’t have to worry. I didn’t speak to them. They didn’t even see me, and if they had, I doubt Rhys would have recognised me. I was only ten when he went away.’

Jordan allowed her breath to escape unnoticed. ‘You—you could be right. So—where did you see them?’

‘In the market.’ Karen tucked her hands into the pockets of her shorts. ‘He was buying her a sun-hat. One of those hand-made palm things that weigh a ton until they’ve dried out.’ She paused. ‘He hasn’t changed much.’

‘Well, I have.’ Jordan tried to make it sound like a joke, but it didn’t quite come off. ‘I—where did you leave the avocados? Not out in the sun, I hope.’

‘No.’ Karen gave her an impatient look. ‘I’m not stupid. Willy took them down to the cellar.’

‘Good.’ Jordan managed an approving smile. ‘Josef will be pleased anyway.’

She hoped Karen would go now, but her sister hovered in the doorway, evidently wanting to say something else. Jordan’s fingers tightened convulsively round her pen as Karen tried to catch her eye, and she wondered how long her new-found composure would last if it was subjected to these pressures.

‘Do you think he’ll come here?’ Karen asked at last, when it became obvious that her sister was not going to make things easy for her, and Jordan laid down her pen.

‘Why should he?’

‘To thank you, of course.’ Karen hunched her shoulders. ‘You have looked after the house for him, haven’t you?’

Jordan sighed. ‘Tomas and Rosa have looked after the house.’

‘Yes, I know. But you know they wouldn’t have been as diligent as you have.’

‘Oh, Karen!’ Jordan drew an unsteady breath. ‘Can’t we just forget about Rhys Williams? Please? I don’t want his thanks, I just want to get on with my life. Now, can I do that?’

Karen’s lips compressed. ‘Well, I think the whole affair stinks,’ she declared rudely, going out of the room and slamming the door behind her, and Jordan was left to face Mary-Jo’s knowing gaze as the room resounded with the sound.

The remainder of the morning passed without incident, and during the afternoon Jordan had to contend with other problems about the hotel. The shutter on the window in one of the bathrooms had broken, and she had to summon the carpenter to deal with it. One of the guests had trodden on a sea urchin, and the doctor had to be called to remove the spines. And finally, one of the waiters in the restaurant slipped and sprained his ankle, leaving them short-staffed at the busiest time of the day.

By the time Jordan took her evening shower, she was feeling decidedly frayed at the seams. It had been one of those days, she thought, as she towelled her hair dry before picking up the hand drier to complete the process. Ever since Karen had told her about Rhys Williams, her nerves had been on edge, and she had to force her hand to remain steady as she directed the hot air on to her head.

She was applying a pale gold eye-shadow to her lids when the internal phone rang. ‘Mr Ferris is here, Miss Jordan,’ Raoul’s laconic voice announced in her ear, and she acknowledged the news with an emphatic: ‘I’ll be right down.’

Thank goodness for Neil, she thought, as she hurried into a raw silk skirt and a full-sleeved blouse. Without his help and encouragement, she might never have succeeded in carrying on after her father died, and his knowledge of the hotel trade had been invaluable. It had been particularly kind of him, considering he owned the only other hotel of any size on the island, and by supporting Trade Winds he had halved the business he could have done. Jordan had known him for years, ever since her father came back to the island, bringing his wife and young daughter with him. But it wasn’t until her father died that she learned to appreciate his friendship, and the growing bond of affection that was gradually developing between them.

He was waiting for her in the lobby when she went downstairs, tall and tanned and handsome in his black dinner jacket. He was leaning on the desk, talking to Raoul, who took over the switchboard after Mary-Jo had gone home, and Jordan felt a wave of gratitude sweep over her in his warm familiar presence.

‘Hi,’ she said, her sandalled feet making little sound on the tiled floor, and he turned and straightened and came to greet her.

‘Hi,’ he responded, his hands on her shoulders marvellously reassuring. ‘You looked flushed. Have you been hurrying?’

‘It has been quite a hectic day,’ she conceded, as his lips brushed her cheek. ‘Thank goodness you were at the end of it. I can’t wait to get away from the hotel for a few hours!’

Neil regarded her intently. ‘Really?’ He tucked her arm through his. ‘Well, don’t let’s delay. I’ve got some cocktails cooling over ice, and a fillet of beef cooked with herbs and brandy.’

‘Mmm, it sounds delicious,’ murmured Jordan, giving Raoul a wave of farewell, and then Neil was tucking her into the front seat of his sleek convertible, and the cares of the day just melted into space.

Unlike Jordan and her sister, Neil did not live in his hotel. He had had a single-storied villa built alongside; adjacent to, and yet separate from, the main buildings. Unlike Trade Winds, the accommodation at Coral Cay was provided in a series of beach bungalows, and in consequence, the area it covered was much greater.

Tonight, Jordan could hear the sounds of a beach barbecue as they neared Coral Cay, and the leaping flames of a fire on the sand gave the night an added illumination. Fortunately, it was cooler now than in the heat of the day, but Jordan had no objections when Neil suggested they had their drinks on the verandah.

Because Coral Cay was at the southernmost point of the island, the view was different from the one Jordan was used to. The sea was not so gentle here; there were breakers splintering over the jagged horns of the reef, and although the bathing was adequate, she much preferred the smoother shores of home.

Neil emerged from the house carrying a flask of cocktails and setting two glasses down on the glass-topped table beside her chair, he poured the bubbling liquid. ‘Daiquiris à la Ferris,’ he said teasingly, handing her a wide-lipped glass. ‘Just what you need after a tiring day.’

‘Is it ever!’ murmured Jordan fervently. ‘Beautiful! You’d make a good barman, Neil. If you ever need a job, come and see me.’

Neil subsided into the cushioned chair beside her, depositing a kiss at the corner of her mouth before stretching his legs out before him. ‘The very best part of the day,’ he averred, tasting his own drink. ‘So, tell me: why are you so feeling so drained?’

‘Oh——’ Jordan was glad of the shadows on the verandah to hide her sudden colour. ‘You know—this and that. The usual ups and downs of an hotelier’s life.’

‘And that’s all?’ Neil turned his head to look at her. ‘Just the usual pitch and toss?’

‘What else?’ Jordan lifted one foot to rub her instep lightly against her leg. In the dark, the whiteness of her skirt was a sharp contrast to the brownness of her skin, and she reflected how lucky she was never to need tights or stockings. ‘One of the French girls stood on a sea urchin, and Carlos chose tonight of all nights to go and sprain his ankle.’

‘And that was it?’

‘Well …’ Jordan lifted a slim shoulder, feeling the weight of her hair as it coiled against her neck, ‘there were one or two other irritations, but yes, I guess that was all.’

‘Oh, Jordan!’ Neil leant forward to pour more of the pale liquid into his glass. ‘You’re not telling me you haven’t heard that Rhys Williams is back, are you? According to Karen, she virtually ran into him in town today, and I know she wouldn’t keep that piece of news to herself.’

Jordan stiffened. ‘You’ve spoken to Karen?’

‘Sure. She was in the lobby talking to Raoul when I arrived. As soon as she mentioned Williams’ name I guessed how you’d react. Damn the fellow! What’s he come back here for?’

Jordan hesitated. ‘Rosa told me he was coming for a holiday,’ she admitted after a moment, and Neil frowned.

‘You knew he was coming, then?’

‘Y—e—s.’ Jordan drew the word out. ‘I—it’s not unnatural, is it? I mean, he does own the house at Planter’s Point.’

‘I don’t know how he has the nerve to come here,’ snapped Neil angrily. ‘But I suppose it’s all you can expect from artists!’ The way he said the word was an abuse. ‘I’d have thought he’d have better things to do than come here, raking up old gossip! From the little I’ve read about him in the American press, he’s not been short of female companionship during the past ten years.’

‘Neil, please!’ Jordan sat up, straightening her spine. ‘It’s not that important.’

‘It’s important to me,’ retorted Neil grimly. ‘I may not have had a personal interest in you at that time, but I know how you must have felt when his wife turned up like that. Everyone thought you were going to marry the fellow, didn’t they? No wonder your father didn’t approve!’

Jordan sighed. ‘Look, can we talk about something else? I appreciate your sympathy, but—well, it’s really not necessary. It all happened a long time ago. I was too young to know what I was doing. Let’s forget it, shall we? According to Rosa, he’s only staying a few weeks. I probably won’t even see him.’

CHAPTER THREE

IT was raining. After weeks of unmitigated heat, the weather had finally broken, and the downpour promised to soak Jordan long before she reached home. Already it was difficult to see where she was going, the tropical cloudburst causing giant puddles in the road, and almost blinding her as it swept across the bouncing bonnet of the buggy.

There had been only a hint of what was to come before she left the hotel. A distant rumbling had warned of thunder, but the sky had seemed clear enough. However, the storm clouds from the west had blown up with unexpected force, and now the clouds were leaden and the rain was falling with steady persistence.

Sighing, Jordan pulled the buggy over to the side of the road, ignoring the dangers of the bending trunks above her. There didn’t seem much point in scrabbling around in the back of the buggy looking for the storm canopy now. Her face and arms were soaked, as was her hair, and the short skirt of her cotton tunic revealed that her legs were dripping with water, too.

A brief appraisal of her whereabouts informed her that she was only about half a mile from Planter’s Point, and in other circumstances she would have had no hesitation in seeking shelter at her father’s old home. But having survived Rhys’s first week on the island without running into him, she was just beginning to relax, and she had no intention of precipitating a meeting.

Nevertheless, the idea of sitting in the buggy until the storm passed was not attractive to her, and deciding she couldn’t get any wetter than she was now, she slid out on to the grass verge. Through the belt of trees she could see the strand of beach, strewn with the debris blown from the trees, and beyond it the sea, rain-washed and inviting.

On impulse, she dropped her sandals into the back of the buggy, and padded across the turf to the sand. The texture of the grass was soft against her toes, stroking her bare legs in a curiously sensuous gesture. The sand, too, was fine and gritty as her feet sank into it, making walking difficult until she reached the damper stretches where the tide had reached.

The soles of her feet made footprints in the sand, but they disappeared almost immediately, absorbed into the springy wetness. And as she approached the sea, creaming in rivulets along the shoreline, the waves took the evidence of her occupation away, rippling round her toes and splashing over her ankles.

Her hair dripped lankly down her neck, and realising it would never dry in its present state, she reached up her arms and pulled out the pins that kept it securely in place. It fell down her back in a long silken curtain, and she ran her fingers through it, enjoying the unaccustomed freedom. Turning her face up to the heavens, she parted her lips and drank in the storm’s sweetness, then spread her arms wide in an all-encompassing attitude.

She didn’t know at exactly what moment she became aware of the man’s presence. It might have been an unconscious realisation in the back of her mind as she lifted her face to the sky. Or it could, conceivably, have been the moment when she spread her arms in that gesture of obeisance and caught sight of the still dark figure silhouetted along the beach.

Immediately, her arms fell to her sides, and she shifted a little uneasily. She felt as if she had been caught out in some flagrant act of abandon, not at all the kind of behaviour expected from the manager of the Trade Winds Hotel. Making an effort to justify her actions, she looped the rain-darkened rope of her hair over one shoulder and squeezed the moisture from it; then, with a careless lift of one shoulder, she started towards the buggy, realising as she did so that the rain was beginning to ease.

The man had started to move, too. She could see him out of the corner of her eye, and although she quickened her step, it was obvious he was going to intercept her before she reached the road. Damn, she thought impatiently, why had she decided to stop? This was a deserted stretch of the highway, and although she was not exactly afraid, she couldn’t help remembering her own reckless behaviour. Perhaps he thought she was looking for company; she could hardly blame him if he had got the wrong impression. And looking down at her breasts outlined against the thin cotton of her bodice, she knew it would be difficult to convince him otherwise.

With a feeling of frustration, she gave up the unequal struggle to reach the buggy and turned to confront her pursuer. Attack was the only method of defence left to her, she decided, and sweeping back her wind-blown hair she held it in place at her nape with both hands.

‘Are you following me?’ she began, before her breath caught in her throat, almost choking her. ‘Rhys!’ she exclaimed, swallowing convulsively, and then more evenly: ‘Rhys! What a surprise! Wh-what are you doing here?’

It was all so much different from the way she had intended their eventual meeting to take place. To begin with, she had expected him to come to the hotel, as Karen had said, to thank her for looking after his house if nothing else. When that didn’t happen, she had steeled herself to meeting him every time she went into the little town of Eleutha, but once again, she had not seen him. She had planned their meeting so minutely, even down to the clothes she would wear and the things she would say, but all that was useless now. She had never expected to encounter him on a rain-soaked afternoon, miles from the hotel, with her hair and clothes clinging to her like a second skin, and without a scrap of make-up to disguise the panic that raged inside her.

And he looked just the same—a little older perhaps, but not significantly so, his dark hair plastered to his head, outlining the lean contours of his face and jawline. He was still as attractive as ever, moving with that lithe, cat-like grace, that characterised his sexuality. Like her, his clothes were wet and sticking to him, though he had unbuttoned the denim shirt and it hung loose from his shoulders. Jeans moulded his thighs, but she determinedly kept her eyes on the silver clasp of his belt. She didn’t want to look at him, she didn’t want to remember what they had once shared; and most of all she didn’t want him to look at her, particularly not when his expression clearly mirrored a fine contempt.

‘I should ask you that question,’ he said now, covering the space between them. ‘You’re trespassing, or did you know that?’ His dark eyes compelled her gaze. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing back there?’

Jordan took several deep breaths to calm herself, but without a great deal of success. He was angry, that much was evident, and even being civil was obviously an effort.

Wrapping her arms closely about her, she lifted her head. ‘I—I don’t know what you mean,’ she said carefully. ‘I was just killing time until the storm had cleared. I didn’t know I was trespassing, but if you say I was, I’ll take your word for it.’

‘Thanks.’ Rhys’s features twisted. ‘Just tell me something—did you come here deliberately, even after I told Rosa to keep you away?’

‘You told Rosa——’

‘Making a spectacle of yourself like that, in view of anyone who cared to look! My God, what’s happened to you, Jordan? Have you taken up rain worship or something? Or was that little charade for my benefit? You apparently knew I was there.’

‘I did not!’ Jordan’s indignation was her only defence. ‘I wasn’t doing anything wrong.’

‘No?’

‘No.’ She licked the rainwater from her lips. ‘What’s it to you anyway? I wouldn’t have expected you to be prudish, Rhys.’ She paused. ‘And I didn’t ask you to watch, did I?’

‘So you admit you were putting on an act?’

‘I do not.’ Jordan’s dark eyes had taken on the greenish tinge of the sea and they sparkled resentfully. She shook her head. ‘I don’t have to listen to this, you know. What I do or don’t do is my own affair. Now, will you please step out of my way. I’d like to get back to my car.’

‘That—vehicle—is yours?’

‘The buggy, yes.’ Jordan endeavoured to hide the fact that she was trembling. ‘Excuse me, I have to get back.’

Rhys didn’t move. ‘To the hotel?’ he enquired tautly, and she nodded. ‘What are you doing on this road?’

Jordan gasped. ‘That’s my business!’

‘I’m making it mine.’

She shook her head. ‘This is ridiculous! Get out of my way!’

‘In a minute.’ Rhys stepped closer to her. ‘When you’ve told me what you were doing prowling round my property.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Jordan was feeling distinctly apprehensive now. ‘I was not—prowling round your property. As a matter of fact, Nana’s ill. I’ve been to see her.’

‘Nana? Oh, your old nurse.’

‘That’s right.’ Jordan suppressed the urge to physically keep him at bay. ‘If you remember, she lives at the other side of the island.’

‘Oh, I remember.’ Rhys wiped an impatient hand along his jaw. ‘And that’s the only reason you stopped here?’

‘I’ve told you. It’s raining, or hadn’t you noticed. I couldn’t see where I was going.’

Rhys hesitated, then stepped back again, much to her relief. ‘All right, I suppose I have to believe you.’

‘You can please yourself.’ Jordan’s words were bravely said, even if her voice was tremulous. ‘Now, do you mind if I get on?’

Rhys lifted his shoulders. ‘Be my guest.’

‘Thank you.’

It was an effort to walk past him to the buggy. She was trembling so much, her limbs seemed incapable of responding to the simplest commands, and she was sure he would notice. Her short skirt and bare legs were terribly revealing, and with the sodden curtain of her hair about her shoulders, she felt as coltish and ungainly as the teenager she had once been.

The seat of the buggy was a puddle of water, but she didn’t stop to wipe it away. With quivering fingers, she fired the ignition, and expelled her breath in deep relief when it responded at the first attempt.

The first person she saw when she got back to the hotel was Karen, and her sister regarded her with some concern. ‘What happened to you?’ she exclaimed. ‘Couldn’t you have waited until the storm was over to drive home? I know you wanted to make sure the musicians had arrived, but I could have handled it.’

‘I know that.’ In all honesty, Jordan had forgotten about the planned entertainment for the evening. ‘I—it wasn’t raining when I left. I thought I’d make it in time.’

‘Well, obviously you didn’t.’ Karen pulled a face. ‘But it’s quite a change to see you looking your age for once. You look nice with your hair loose, Jordan. I’ve always thought so.’

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.

Ignoring the sudden intake of breath from Raoul hovering behind the desk, she pinned a polite smile to her lips and advanced towards them, holding out her hand.

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