Authors: Nancy Loyan
Daemon led her through the main lobby and into an attached dining room. The hostess smiled, and without a word, grabbed two menus, and escorted them to a round table set outside on a private railed balcony with an unobstructed view of the ocean.
Victoria had never been to this side, the exclusive side, of Beau Vallon beach. Though mid-day, this stretch of beach was deserted with glistening sand and crystal waves undulating to shore. Not one person was sunbathing or strolling or participating in water sports and no raucous laughter or animated voices to interrupt. Funny, she had to return to the Islands to be treated to quiet privilege. Yet, her mother was still hired help. A sense of guilt washed over her. Daemon pulled out a chair and after she sat, he chose a chair across from her.
“I prefer the seclusion of this spot, away from all the tourists and their noise. To really experience the Seychelles, one must be immersed in the beauty of nature,”
Daemon said, a distant look in his eyes.
“You not only speak like a native, you think like one.” Victoria met his gaze.
“Sometimes I think one has to experience the world in order to appreciate a place like this. Life, especially in the States, is so hurried and stressful in comparison to the solace found here. Don’t you agree?” Daemon asked.
Victoria squirmed in her seat, uncomfortable with the topic of conversation. On one hand, she had to agree. After all, slowing down was part of her reason for returning home. Yet, here she was planning to commercialize on it. The tug between doing right for herself and doing right for her fellow natives was strong. She came home to prove herself as a success both personally and professionally. Was she willing to pay the price for it was another story?
“There is a lot to be said for both ways of life,” she decided to answer.
“So tell me, what made you return home?”
She smiled. “I agreed to a drink, not an interrogation.”
“Okay.” He raised his hand and an elegant Hindi woman in a sapphire sari appeared at their table. Turning to Victoria, Daemon asked, “What would you like to drink?”
“A Seybrew.”
The waitress wrinkled her brow as the request. Of course, it would seem strange to order an ordinary island brewed beer in a five-star resort. The local beer was just another one of those strange things Victoria had missed while away.
“I … I’ll have the same,” Daemon added as the waitress shook her head upon leaving.
Victoria shrugged. “What can I say? I had a taste for a beer.”
“No problem. You just keep adding to your mystery.” Daemon folded his hands on the tabletop.
“My mystery? I’d say you’re the mystery … a pilot with a penchant for the finer things in life.”
“I have connections.”
“Is that how you ended up in the Seychelles working for Paradise Helicopters?”
Daemon chuckled. “I
own
Paradise Helicopters.”
“I see.” Now it made sense … the Jaguar matching his craft … the money and the connections.
“I was in the Army Reserves and piloted Black Hawks in Afghanistan,” he added.
“Sounds dangerous. I remember reading about a helicopter being shot down near Kabul, the crew injured and trapped behind enemy lines. Another pilot risked his life by swooping in, under heavy enemy fire, to rescue the crew and lift them to safety. His craft was hit and he was injured yet still managed to get them to base camp. It was a really big deal. His triumph was all over the media.”
Daemon grinned. “I was presented the Congressional Medal of Honor for that crazy feat.”
“You? You were the pilot?” She stared at him, finding it hard to imagine this calm, unaffected man being a national combat hero.
He nodded. “I was just doing my job and have the scars to prove it.”
“The Seychelles are far removed from combat.”
“My sentiments exactly. I came here to recover and never looked back.”
The waitress brought the beer, uncapped, with two crystal glasses. Foregoing the glass, Daemon eagerly took a swig.
Victoria poured her brew in a glass and sipped, contemplating Daemon. There was so much she didn’t know about him and his mystery intrigued her. She had the suspicion he possessed more secrets not easily divulged. She had her own secrets locked away deep inside her mind, heart and soul.
“So, how is the helicopter business?” she asked.
“It has its up and downs … just kidding. Seriously, it’s a steady business with steady income. I have several Jet Rangers and two pilots in addition to myself.
Between ferrying tourists, government officials and executives we’re busy enough.”
He was animated when he spoke, the exuberance of youth in his voice, the wisdom of age in his eyes and expressive movement in his actions. She found him as fascinating to observe as to listen.
When the waitress returned for food orders, Victoria ignored her, so engrossed was she in Daemon’s stories about being a pilot on the Islands.
“The usual?” the waitress asked, turning toward Daemon.
He nodded. “And the same for the lady.”
After the waitress left, he said, “I hope you don’t object but I thought you might like the specialty of the house as well.”
“And what might that be?” Victoria asked.
“We’ll start with the
Millionaire’s Salad
and dine on the best octopus coconut curry in the Islands, and finish off with fresh island fruit and imported French cheese.”
“Sounds indulgent for lunch. And I thought I only agreed to a drink.” She smiled. Actually, she was starving, having skipped breakfast this morning. Since arriving home she had been existing on steamed and broiled fish. The island specialty salad of shredded heart of palm with lime and oil and the famous curry would be a welcome change. Was the man a mind reader as well?
“You’ve traveled the world, haven’t you yet learned to live dangerously?” he asked with a grin.
“I
did
get into your helicopter and I dislike heights,” she said, avoiding his potent gaze, a gaze that was dangerous to a single woman who had sworn off relationships.
The lunch was delectable and Victoria finished off each course, savoring every morsel. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed authentic island fare. In Europe and the States she had eaten far too many beef and chicken dishes and tasteless iceberg lettuce salads.
When the bill arrived, she reached for her purse. Before she could object, Daemon signed the bill of fare. He apparently frequented the island’s most expensive restaurant in order to have his own account.
If there was one thing she was learning about, it was the operation of resorts and restaurants. She had been researching the hospitality business in order to become educated in the field so as to operate her own in the future. Eden Resorts, LLC, owner of the Shangri La and other exclusive resorts around the world, had a flawless reputation. They were the world leader in luxury accommodation and dining, setting the industry standard. If she ever hoped to succeed in owning and operating resorts, theirs was an example to follow. Lunch had been more than an entertainment with a new friend, it had been part of her research. Daemon needn’t know.
“Thank you for the exquisite lunch and entertaining company, Mr. Wells,” she said, politely, not wanting to lead him into thinking this would be the start of some island fling.
“Call me Daemon, and the pleasure has been all mine.” He stood and pulled out her chair.
She rose, standing so close to him she could feel his body heat and smell his spicy aftershave. He was one of the few men who towered over her. He was also one of the few men who unnerved her and she had to move away.
“Would you like a tour of the resort?” he asked.
She thought the question strange coming from the owner of a helicopter service and stared at him.
“I thought you might like to check out the resort for future reference. After all, you are buying up property on the island and, I assume, planning on some tourist
development,” he said, in a serious tone she found disconcerting.
Her legs went weak and for a moment she thought she’d faint. How did he know? She had just closed her third land acquisition deal that very morning. No one was told of her true plans.
“Mr. Wells, why would you be interested in my business affairs?”
“Well … you were surveying land from my craft the other day.”
He was clearly hedging. “There are many wonderful resorts on the Islands if I need to do research and I really don’t need a guide.” She glanced at her wristwatch, though she hadn’t any pressing plans. “I really do need to get back to Victoria.”
“You are sure?”
“Quite.” She turned and walked briskly toward the lobby and exit, him following. Touring the resort of her dreams with a man who made her heart flutter and mind wonder was out of the question. Daemon had a magnetic effect and an intimate understanding of her that she found frightening. The sooner she returned to Victoria and left him and his fancy car, the better.
The conversation in the Jag as they returned to Victoria had been light and minimal. Part of it was due to the rustling wind and difficulty in hearing and the other was by choice. She wasn’t interested in revealing any more about herself than necessary to a man who had such strong perception and intuition. When she returned home to the Seychelles she had promised herself that she’d leave all of her experiences and memories of her time in Europe and the States behind. Especially her memories of the States. She was going to start over on her own terms with no encumbrances to question her or hold her back
.
In Victoria, Mah’e, she asked Daemon to let her off on Albert Street.
“I can drive you home, it would be easier,” he offered.
The last thing she needed was for him to know where she lived. “Thanks, but I have some business to attend to here first,” she lied.
“Can we do this again?” he asked with a sparkling and hopeful smile.
She smiled back, exiting his car in silence and waved. Better to be silent than to make promises only to be broken.
Chapter 3
Victoria set her overnight bag near the front door of her mother’s home. Her plan called for a quick trip to the island of Praslin to see and negotiate on some property. She also welcomed the solace the smaller, more secluded island would bring. She relished the time away from her mother’s inquisitive eyes, her friends’ small talk and the chance of encountering Daemon Wells. In a short time, the taxi would be arriving to whisk her off to the airport and a fifteen-minute airplane charter flight to a more remote paradise.
“So, you are to view more property?” her mother asked with a biting tone.
“Yes, there’s some land that interests me.”
“One island is not enough for you?” Her mother stood firm, hands planted on her ample hips. She was as short and wide as her daughter was tall and lanky, her calico dress as loose as her daughter’s shorts and camp shirt were tight.
Victoria rolled her eyes. Would her mother ever realize that there was more to a woman’s life than men and babies? Some women had careers and ambition.
“Are you meeting Mr. Wells on Praslin as well?”
Victoria stared at her mother in stunned silence.
“Well, you did have lunch with him at the Shangri La the other day.”
“One lunch, that’s all. Nothing more.” She met her mother’s steadfast, all-knowing gaze. “And how did you find out?”
Her mother chuckled. “On an island, news hasn’t far to travel. I have friends at other Beau Vallon resorts who keep me informed.”
“For their information and yours, helicopter pilots are not my type.”
“He told you he is only a pilot?” Her mother’s brows arched and a smirk appeared on her face.
“And that he owns the company.”
Her mother kept staring at her.
“What?”
“Victoria, you are buying island property to develop, yes?”
“Possibly. So what?”
“You and Mr. Wells have more in common than you realize.”
She stared at her mother, wondering what secrets her mother harbored and wasn’t revealing. “Excuse me? What are you driving at?”
“You will find out.”
The taxi arrived, honking its horn. There wasn’t time for confrontations or explanations from her mother.
“We’ll discuss this when I get back,” Victoria said, grabbing her bag. All she needed was more
kankan,
island gossip.
Victoria held special feelings for the island of Praslin. British General Charles Gordon deemed Praslin’s Vallee de Mai rainforest as the location of the original Garden of Eden. The island, subject to forest fires with large tracts of denuded red earth, was still mostly lush and green with a breathtaking natural harbor surrounded by crystal clear water. It was a land of opportunity.
Victoria rented a taxi for the short ride from the airstrip to Grande Anse, hugging the shoreline of silver sand beaches and the azure Indian Ocean. She was deposited at a quaint guesthouse along the bay at Grand Anse. The quiet location would allow her time alone to think between negotiating the land deal and conducting research.
After settling in her room with lanai overlooking the ocean, Victoria grabbed her tote and purse and headed out toward the beach. Once in the sand, she removed her sandals and stowed them in her tote. Raising her dark sunglasses for a clearer view, she surveyed the stretch of powdery sand. If she followed the shore a half-mile or so, she would be at the beachfront of the elegant Garden of Eden resort, another of Eden Resorts, LLC prized Seychelles properties. Formidable competition.
As she strolled on the edge of the surf, the squishy sand and warm ocean waves, she thought of how she had missed the beauty of the Indian Ocean. The water went from
turquoise in the shallows to sapphire blue in the depths. The temperature was constant, like bath water and the rolling waves lulling. There was tranquility in the Seychelles, found no place else on earth. Outside of the hurricane and cyclone belt, the Islands were protected from storms and even in monsoon season, the weather went from wet to sunny in moments and the temperature was always humid and hot.
She looked about the beach feeling out of place in madras shorts and camp shirt. European women sunned and swam topless, without concern for size, sagging or shape. The men donned tiny Speedos with equal ease. She could spot an American tourist in an instant. American women kept their tops and were more covered up and concerned about appearances. Victoria laughed. The cultural differences in people always amazed her. Sometimes even upset her. The Seychelles, though, had been renowned for harmony. The place where everyone fit in.
Shortly, she had reached the Garden of Eden. Like most resorts, guests sunned themselves on chaises, frolicked in the waves, windsurfed and a few were high above the beach paragliding. Down the beach, in a restricted area, were private thatched guest cottages. The main resort building with its natural pink granite façade and octagonal design, loomed overhead with three stories of tiered teak decks. The massive lower deck featured an infinity-edge pool and whirlpool. The second deck appeared to be an offshoot of the lobby with deck chairs and tables while the top deck featured dining tables clothed in white linen. Varieties of potted palm trees were scattered about the decks amidst pots of orchids, hibiscus and canna. Their sweet scent wafted in the breeze and Victoria inhaled nature’s perfume. The resort had an aura of Eden and she took mental notes.
Slipping on her sandals, she headed up the teak stairs on to the first deck, observing the tourists lounging about the pool area. They wore enough gold and diamonds to furnish an upscale jewelry store. Definitely the sort of clientele she’d want to attract if she owned a resort. The scent of money continued inside at the casino. Black jack, roulette, craps and poker were played along with the cha-ching of slot machines, another big money maker for a resort. The adjoining bar with its palm frond overhead fans, carved mahogany bar and colorful silk fabrics was bustling with chattering, laughing tourists. A private club room was air conditioned for those seeking a respite from the island heat. More mental notes.
Taking an elevator to the second level, Victoria entered the open lobby which was decorated in rattan upholstered in antique silk sari cloth, draped with mosquito netting, colorful loomed rugs scattered on the wide plank teak floors. Brass lamps and accessories
provided accent. A hostess with a gardenia clipped behind an ear carried a tray of mango juice, offering a complimentary drink to every guest. Victoria took a crystal glass and thanked the island girl. A nice touch, she thought.
She strolled the lobby, perused the gift shop with its toiletries and trinkets and walked out onto the deck, overlooking the pool and ocean below. Even she would have a hard time topping this place. The Garden of Eden was the ultimate resort. She sighed. Maybe she was crazy to dare to dream.
“
Mademoiselle Montcherry,
what a pleasant surprise to find you here.”
Victoria cringed at the rich baritone and the shock of hearing it in a place she least expected. She turned to face Daemon Wells, standing in fine black linen slacks and white silk shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbow and collar undone low enough to reveal enough chest to appear casually sexy. Hadn’t the man reeked enough of masculinity without having to accentuate it?
“Mr. Wells,” she stammered.
What the hell is he doing here?
“What brings you to Praslin?” he asked, his gaze slow and steady.
“I was going to ask you the same question.”
“I have business dealings here,” he said.
“So have I.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Another land development deal I presume?”
“Mr. Wells, I …”
He grinned. “I know, it’s none of my business. So, what do you think of the Garden of Eden? Quite a place isn’t it? You could learn a lot here.”
The man presumed too much.
“You look a bit tired and flustered. Perhaps I can interest you in a drink?” he asked.
“It seems we’ve already gone this route,” she said, thinking of their last drink and lunch.
“I could ask you to bed, that’s a route we have yet to take.” He winked.
The way he said it with a confident smirk on his face made her burn up inside, but the parts burning were totally unexpected and uncomfortable.
“If I took you up on your offer, you’d be the one in for a surprise,” she replied in a flippant yet sultry tone.
He chuckled. “I can only imagine.”
“You’ll just have to keep imagining. Are you always so sure of yourself?” If she had any sense at all she wouldn’t keep talking to him. She would be leaving … now. Yet, she couldn’t. The man intrigued her too much. Too much for her own good.
“Life is too short, Victoria, for wasting time. I prefer to cut to the chase.”
Her pulse was racing and she had to draw a deep breath for composure. “I really need to be leaving.”
As she turned, he touched her arm, “Don’t go. Can’t you stay for one drink?”
She met his hypnotizing gaze.
“I’d like to talk,” he added.
“What do we have to talk about?”
“Join me for a drink and let’s see where it takes us.”
She rubbed her arm, trying to erase his electric touch and the tingle it sent down her spine. Her mother’s words about her having more in common with Daemon than she thought entered her mind. Maybe he would provide the answers.
“Okay, one drink.”
They were seated on the top deck at a table clothed in white linen overlooking the aquamarine pool with its cascading man-made waterfalls and the glistening golden beach and ocean with its undulating waves below. A crystal vase of sensuous red anthurium was set on the table alongside a small hurricane glass enclosed taper. Victoria noted that the tableware was sterling and the glasses Baccarat. No expense had been spared.
A waiter appeared in a red waistcoat and white slacks.
“A Seybrew?” Daemon asked, turning to Victoria.
“No, a Chardonnay,” she replied.
“A scotch and soda,” Daemon ordered.
“
Oui, Monsieur Wells,”
the waiter said before leaving.
Victoria folded her hands on the tabletop. “My oh my, does everyone on all the islands know you?”
He winked. “I do have a bit of a reputation.”
“So I’ve surmised.” She had to smile.
“Soon, you will have a reputation, too.”
“Only if I keep being seen with you,” she said. “We have to stop meeting like this,
Monsieur Wells.”
“Meeting me is one problem, I’ll agree, but buying up Seychelles land at cut-rate prices is quite another.” His tone was as serious as his sudden change in demeanor. “Land
banking can only mean one thing, more development. More development is not in the best interest of this island chain.”
“How would you know? You’re not a native. I am.”
He scoffed. “A worldly native who left years ago, only to return with a personal agenda.”
“That’s my business.”
“When it affects the Islands it’s everyone’s business. Why don’t you make an appointment to meet with our president? He has an open door policy. President Michel will set you straight as to Island priorities.”
“He won’t be president forever and priorities will change. This is a new millennium. You can’t halt progress.”
“You’ve lived in the States far too long.”
Their drinks arrived and Victoria saw Daemon polish off his scotch quickly enough to order another while the waiter stood nearby. She sipped her Chardonnay, savoring the mellow liquid since she hadn’t had wine since the ten-hour flight over from Paris two weeks earlier.
A dignified middle-aged man with graying hair and a handlebar moustache approached their table. He was dapper in a tan linen suit with an orchid in his lapel, matching linen shirt and a bow tie of colorful Indian madras.
“I say, Mr. Wells,” the man began in a British- accented voice, “Your father has outdone himself and the firm’s reputation with such an aristocratic resort. Tell
him I will give the Garden of Eden a five-star rating in the next volume of my travel guide to the Islands. I have also spoken to the travel reviewer for the
Times
and he is to rate it high as well. My boy, your family has done wonders with Eden Resorts.”
Victoria choked on her wine.
What the hell had Daemon
Wells to do with Eden Resorts?
She stared at Daemon who sat very still and quiet, almost embarrassed by the accolades.
“Thank you, Mr. Finch,” Daemon replied. “I am honored by your words and equally honored by your being a guest.”
“Keep up the good work,” the man said, tapping his cane, before leaving.
Victoria watched the man exit and turned to Daemon, “What was that all about?”
“
My
business,” Daemon answered and smiled, leaning into the table. “Okay, I’ll admit my family has a vested interest in island development. My father owns Eden Resorts.”