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  Besides it might be difficult to explain why she was wandering around the house in the middle of the night. She was sure Mama Lu already suspected something of what had happened the evening before. When she’d brought Camilla’s supper—to her room, in keeping with Alex’s assertion that she had had a headache—she had viewed the younger woman’s flushed features with some speculation. Even though Camilla had got into bed, and was feigning feeling unwell, the housekeeper hadn’t seemed convinced. And if she found her erstwhile patient padding the halls of the house, ostensibly in search of a nightcap, she might suspect her motives were not as innocent as they seemed.

  Camilla knew she couldn’t do that to Alex, however she might feel. He had enough to worry about as it was, without having to defend himself to the housekeeper. In any case, Camilla had no wish to draw any more attention to herself. Her best plan would be to tell Alex all she knew in the morning, and then make definite arrangements for leaving.

  She was up at first light, and down on the terrace for breakfast before Mama Lu had even laid the table. In a coffee-coloured silk shirt and matching trousers, she felt more capable to face whatever was before her, and not even the housekeeper was going to distract her mood. She had even confined her hair in an uncompromising plait, with no beguiling strands to soften her taut profile.

  But it wasn’t Mama Lu who came to set the table. It was Wong Lee, his olive-skinned features as taut as Camilla’s own. There was no cheerful smile to split his lips; they were tightly pressed together this morning, and there was no teasing conversation to make her feel relaxed.

  ‘Um…is…isn’t Mr Conti joining me for breakfast?’ Camilla ventured when the man laid only one set of cutlery on the cloth, and Wong Lee shook his head.

  ‘No, Miss Richards,’ he replied, folding his hands and shaking his head. ‘The padrone…he left for town some hours ago.’

  ‘Some hours ago!’ Camilla was disturbed. ‘But—it’s only seven o’clock now!’

  ‘Yes.’ Wong Lee bowed over his hands. ‘I will get you some coffee, Miss Richards,’ he added, without any further explanation. ‘Then you can tell me how you would like your eggs, yes?’

  ‘No. That is…’ Camilla put out a hand as he would have jogged away. ‘Is that all you can tell me? That Mr Conti’s gone into town? Why did he go into town? Has there been some development?’

  ‘There was a letter, Miss Richards,’ replied Wong Lee reluctantly, and Camilla gave an impatient sigh.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I know that!’ she exclaimed. And then, realising she could hardly blame him for the situation, she lowered her voice. ‘But I still don’t understand. Why would…why would he—Mr Conti—go into town in the middle of the night?’ She paused. ‘Did he get another message? Do you know what’s going on?’

  ‘No, Miss Richards.’

  Wong Lee’s sibilant lisp was polite, but negative. Bowing again, he left her, and Camilla had the distinct impression that if he did know anything he wasn’t going to confide in her. And he must know something, she thought uneasily. He and Mama Lu both.

  But when Wong Lee came back with the coffee she didn’t press him. It wasn’t fair to involve him in her problems, and she was possibly jumping to the wrong conclusions anyway. Maybe, like her, Alex hadn’t been able to sleep. But, unlike her, he had not been confined to his apartments.

  Refusing anything but orange juice and some toast, Camilla breakfasted alone. It was another beautiful morning, and she wondered how anyone living in these surroundings could still want more. Virginia had had everything, she thought: a handsome husband, a beautiful home, a loving family; what was it that had caused her to waste her life? She had had more than one chance to start again. But something—or someone—had driven her onward. Grant Blaisdell? Camilla pondered. Or simply a fatal flaw in her own make-up?

  She was getting up from her chair when she heard the car. Alex, she thought weakly, not really prepared for this meeting. She had been prepared when she came down to breakfast. But Wong Lee’s words, and the lapse of time, had robbed her of the advantage.

  Nevertheless, she had to see him, and, deciding she would rather speak to him in private, she walked through the garden-room, and up the twisting staircase to the landing. At least the polished floors would give some warning if Mama Lu chose to join them, she thought. She had no intention of embarrassing herself again.

  But the man who was standing in the arching entrance hall was not Alex. It was Grant Blaisdell, and Camilla’s initial impulse was to turn and flee. He was the last person she had expected to come to Alex’s house, and only the knowledge that he couldn’t know about her meeting with Virginia kept her from showing her feelings.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, and he looked and spoke so normally that Camilla could only marvel at his duplicity. How dared he come here, she wondered, acting as if nothing had happened when, at the very least, he was culpable of aiding Virginia’s disappearance?

  But she mustn’t let him know she doubted his sincerity. And not just for Virginia’s sake, either. Until she had spoken to Alex, until she had at least tried to warn him of Grant’s conspiracy, she was the only person, besides Virginia, who knew of his involvement. And if Virginia was apprehensive of his motives, shouldn’t she be, too?

  ‘Hi,’ she responded now, making sure her voice revealed none of the anxiety she was feeling. ‘Did…did you want to see…Alex?’

  ‘Alex?’ Grant gave her a mocking look. ‘What happened to “Mr Conti”?’

  ‘All right. Mr Conti, then.’ Camilla was in no mood to play word-games, but she tempered her response with a tight smile. ‘Anyway, if you have come to see him, he’s not here—’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You know?’ Camilla’s surprise was genuine. ‘Oh, but I—’

  ‘That’s why I’m here,’ explained Grant swiftly. ‘It’s good news, Camilla. Virginia’s been found.’

  ‘She has?’

  Camilla could only stare at him, dumbfounded, and Grant nodded. ‘Yes. Isn’t it marvellous? Alex called to tell me, and I thought you might like to come with me. Virginia’s been taken to hospital, and I’m sure he’d welcome your help with Maria.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CAMILLA had never been on a yacht before. Occasionally she had wondered if she would make a good sailor, but the opportunity to find out had never arisen, and it had not been an omission that had troubled her greatly. It was one of those things she had expected to face if it ever happened, and never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that one day she might learn to hate the slapping sound of water against pressed steel, and the uneven rise and fall of the deck beneath her.

  But then, she had never anticipated that anyone might ever take her prisoner, or that they might choose for her prison the stifling engine-room of Alex’s yacht. Of all the many luxurious apartments on the yacht where she might have been confined, she had been thrust into the engine-room, and the smell of oil and diesel was nauseating.

  To say she was frightened would have been an understatement. She was terrified, not least because she now knew what Grant was capable of. He would do anything to achieve his own ends, she realised, even to the extent of disposing of her if he had no other option.

  Of course, when she had accompanied him to Honolulu she had had no idea that it might be a trap. How could she have? Her excitement at hearing that Virginia and Maria were free had superceded all else, and, despite what Virginia had told her, it would have been difficult to refuse to go with him.

  Besides, he had told Mama Lu the same story. The housekeeper had wept tears of joy when she’d heard that Alex’s daughter was safe and well. So far as Virginia was concerned, her relief had been visibly less enthusiastic, but they had all been excited that their fears had been unjustified.

  Except Grant, Camilla acknowledged despairingly. If Virginia had been found—and she had only his word that she had—Grant must know his position was in jeopardy. But Virginia was an addict. It was a well-known fact that she had been an addict fo
r years, and Alex already knew her for a liar. It was possible that if she maintained that Grant had been her accomplice—and Grant himself might deter her from making any uncorroborated accusations—no one would believe her. But Camilla was another matter. Camilla had spoken to Virginia when she had been under no pressure to defend herself, and Virginia had told Camilla of Grant’s involvement. Camilla would be believed, and Grant knew that.

  If only she had told Alex what had happened, Camilla thought bitterly. If only passion hadn’t overwhelmed reason, and she had alerted him to what Virginia had said. But events had overtaken her, and this morning he had been gone.

  This morning? Camilla wondered. It was impossible to judge what time it was, or indeed if it was even the same day. Light did filter into the engine-room around the frame of the door, but, as she had been unconscious, she couldn’t honestly be sure what day it was.

  Camilla groaned as the painful pressure of the ropes that bound her wrists to her ankles cut into her flesh. If only she had insisted on ringing Alex before delivering herself into Grant’s hands, she thought now. But how could she have done that without arousing Grant’s suspicions? And at that time she had still believed he knew nothing about her meeting with Virginia.

  And he had behaved so convincingly, she remembered, recalling the journey into Honolulu with a shiver. He had sounded so convincing, in fact, that she had actually wondered if Virginia had lied to her. But that had just been part of his strategy, and she should have trusted her initial instincts about him and been on her guard.

  Honolulu had been quiet, she remembered, with just the street-cleaners and a few intrepid joggers occupying Kalakaua Avenue. There had been cars about, of course, and taxis, but she had hardly noticed them anyway, so intent had she been on reaching their destination.

  She supposed she should have been more wary, but the very fact that he had brought her into Honolulu had convinced her of his sincerity. If she had entertained any doubts—and, in all honesty, Camilla couldn’t remember doing so—she would have expected him to make his move when they were out of town. But Grant was cleverer than that. He hadn’t wanted any witnesses to what he planned to do, and she had been so gullible that it had been comparatively easy for him.

  Nevertheless, she had looked doubtful when Grant had turned off the main thoroughfare and approached the yacht marina. But his casual explanation that Virginia and Maria had been hiding out on Alex’s yacht had sounded so believable that Camilla hadn’t argued. After all, it was common knowledge that the best hiding-places were the most obvious ones. And Alex would never have expected Virginia to stay so close to home.

  That was why Camilla had accompanied him on board the yacht in good faith. The place had looked deserted, but, knowing Alex’s desire to keep this affair quiet, she hadn’t been alarmed. Why should she expect to see a police car, when the police hadn’t been informed of Virginia’s disappearance? So far as they—and the Press—were concerned, Virginia had left of her own free will. Unless Alex asked for their assistance, they wouldn’t interfere.

  The yacht was huge, a floating palace of a boat with every conceivable luxury appliance. It was exactly the kind of place Virginia would choose to use as a hideout, thought Camilla wryly. It was private, and comfortable, with every modern convenience.

  Including a telephone, Camilla noticed at once, as they entered the enormous state-room. Not that she was looking for such things. She was more concerned with the prospect of seeing Alex again, after what had happened the night before. And with meeting his daughter, the child who might still have the ability to repair her parents’ relationship.

  However, the state-room was empty, and, although she felt the first pricklings of unease, Camilla realised that someone hiding out would hardly advertise their presence so blatantly. Consequently, she followed Grant into the much smaller cabin aft, where the evidence of a prolonged occupation was unmistakable: empty fast-food packages and magazines were strewn everywhere, and the unpleasant smell of stale food permeated the atmosphere. There were dirty cups and glasses, too, making permanent stains on the teak-wood fittings, and, more chillingly, a syringe, tossed carelessly on to the floor.

  But this room was empty, too, and the sight of another of the dolls Camilla had seen at the house, lying forgotten on the floor, reminded her of why she was here. Where was Maria? And, more significantly, where was Alex?

  Looking back now, Camilla realised she had been off guard. But seeing the room where Virginia had hidden herself and her daughter away, imagining what it must have been like for a little girl, confined to one room when she was used to living at Kumaru, had blinded her to any fears for her own safety. She realised she had still believed that Alex would appear at any moment, and when she had turned to Grant she had had no other thought in her mind.

  And that was where she had made her mistake—well, the last of many, she conceded wearily. But the trouble was, in spite of everything that had happened, she still had an inherent belief that there must have been some mistake, that Grant would not have been involved. Even the abandoned syringe had been no more than proof of Virginia’s instability, and when she saw the syringe in Grant’s hand it was too late to do anything about it. Her reflexes were not swift enough to avoid the jabbing needle, and the pain of its unguarded entry into her arm was agonising.

  She had tried to scream, but Grant had been prepared for that, and, although she had attempted to bite the fingers he crushed across her mouth, already the drug was weakening her defences.

  ‘What…what have you done?’ she remembered gasping, as her arm, and progressively the rest of her body, began to lose feeling, and Grant stuffed a dirty napkin into her mouth to keep her silent.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said harshly, ‘you’re not dying. Not yet, anyway. It’s just a simple tranquilliser. Just to make you…co-operative, shall we say?’

  Camilla’s tongue felt swollen. The linen napkin was filling her mouth, and she was sure she was choking. But there was nothing she could do about it. The insidious effects of the drug were numbing all her muscles, and, long before he had finished tying her wrists, she had lost consciousness…

  She had awakened to find herself locked in this airless prison. Her wrists were bound to her ankles, and she had been left squatting on the floor of the cabin, her knees drawn up to her chin. It was not a comfortable position, but that was the least of her worries. She had probably been left this way because Grant would know that her cramped legs would prevent her making any attempt to escape when he came to release her. If he came to release her, she reminded herself unsteadily. She had no reason to be sure that he would. But she refused to think of that.

  Her mouth was so dry, and she wondered again how long it had been since breakfast. Judging from the desperate need she had to use the bathroom, she guessed it was only hours, and not days. But if she was left here overnight what would she do? The alternatives were too disgusting to contemplate, and once again her thoughts turned to calculating how long she could survive in this heat without food or water. Well, water, anyway, she amended stoically. Surely, if Grant didn’t mean to kill her, he would have to come back, and soon?

  At least the choking napkin had been removed. No doubt, once she had lost consciousness, Grant had felt able to allow her that small advantage. However, her lips were now sealed by a broad strip of plaster, so the possibility of her shouting for help had also been denied her.

  Her head ached, no doubt from the after-effects of whatever substance he had used to render her unconscious. But at least her mind was clear. He could have given her heroin or morphine, drugs which, if taken in excess, could scramble your brain at the very least. Maybe he was saving that for later, she thought despairingly. Was it really conceivable to think that he would let her go?

  But where was Virginia? In all of this, she was the only hope Camilla had. If she had been found, where was she? Was she really in the hospital as Grant had said?

  She had no way of finding out. None whatsoever. S
he didn’t even know if Virginia was still alive. ‘In hospital’ could mean anything. They had mortuaries in hospitals, didn’t they? What if Virginia and Maria were both dead? What if she was the only person left who could connect Grant with Virginia’s disappearance?

  Panic was a potent incentive, and Camilla’s need to use the bathroom became almost uncontrollable. Dear God, she thought, had she travelled all the way to Hawaii just to die, tied up in some grotty engine-room? Was this to be her punishment for falling in love with Virginia’s husband? For she was in love with him; she couldn’t deny that. Even if it damned her soul for all eternity.

  But the thought of Alex reassured her. Alex wasn’t a fool. Not like her. He wasn’t gullible. Hadn’t he monitored the call Virginia had made to her? Hadn’t he been suspicious of that letter? If she disappeared, he wouldn’t just abandon her. He’d want to know where she had gone, not least because he didn’t trust her.

  She groaned. But if Virginia and Maria had been found—dead or alive—he was unlikely to come here for some time. He might not even know where they had been living—or care! So long as they had been found, he would have far more important things to do.

  She had cried earlier, hot aching tears that had left her with bleary eyes and a permanent sniff, but now she felt the cowardly wetness on her cheeks once again. It was no good, she defended herself. She wasn’t the stuff of which heroines were made. She was just an ordinary woman caught up in extraordinary events—and she was afraid.

  Gradually, the narrow slivers of light around the door disappeared. It was getting dark, she realised, shivering as the perspiration dried on her body and left her feeling chilled. But at least the air was distinctly fresher, and although her whole body was aching she could breathe a little easier.