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  ‘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 whe
n 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 y
ou.’ 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?’