CHAPTER FIVE
B
RUNO CARR was beginning to occupy quite a bit of space in Jessica's head. But he wouldn't be around and the change in weather would do her good.
She kept those two things uppermost in her mind as she boarded the private jet on the Friday.
It was cold and blustery, and, not quite knowing what the temperatures would be when they landed, she had bundled herself up in jeans, a tee shirt, long-sleeved shirt and thick jumper.
Not everyone in the team of eleven was quite so restrained. Ronnie, the youngest of the secretaries, had braved the British elements in a short, flimsy skirt, which blew around her as she climbed the metal staircase, causing great jollity amongst the six young men behind her, and at the top of the stairs she posed, giggling, in an imitation of Marilyn Monroe until Jessica called dryly for her to get in before she caught her death of cold.
âI'm so excited,' she confided to Jessica as they buckled in. âI've never been abroad before.'
âNever?' Jessica asked incredulously. True, Ronnie was only eighteen, but she was still surprised that there were people left who had not had a holiday abroad at some point in their lives.
âMy dad hates flying,' she explained in a high, breathless voice, peering out of the window even though the view was nothing more impressive than the runway, barely visible in the darkness. âSo we always took our holidays in England.'
âWhat happened to the rest of the skirt, Ron?' one of the men asked, pausing to grin at the blonde teenager, and she stuck her tongue out. âDid it go on holiday ahead of you?' General guffaws all round, and Jessica rested her head back and closed her eyes with a smile.
Thank goodness she had made the effort. She would never have been forgiven by her staff if she had squashed the idea flat.
The bonus, when it had been put to them, had been met with uncontainable enthusiasm. Even Mary and Elizabeth, after tut-tutting about short notice and wondering what their respective husbands would do for supper, had greeted the scheme with delight.
They all needed a rest. They had worked hard over the past few weeks, and they deserved a break. And, Jessica thought as the plane slowly began its ascent, as breaks went, they didn't really get more impressive.
Four days of tropical bliss. They wouldn't even need to think about cooking, because housekeepers would be there, taking care of the food, the cleaning and, from the sound of it, pretty much everything else.
She heard the excited chatter around her as the plane cut a path through the sky, and decided that this was going to do her the world of good after all.
Her flu was on the way out, but she still felt lethargic, and work would have been a strain had she gone back. It also occurred to her that it had been a very long time since she had relaxed totally. Over the past couple of years, her breaks had tended to involve decorating the house. Enjoyable enough, because she quite liked the mindless physical exertion of wallpapering and painting walls, but she would hardly describe it as flaking out.
Before that, she dimly recalled a disastrous week in Portugal with her boyfriend at the time. After only nine months of going out, it had been a last-ditch attempt to energise their love life. Instead, he had fallen head over heels in love with a girl on holiday from Manchester, and Jessica had spent the week sunbathing on her own and listening patiently to his attempts at apology.
Holidays had always made her apprehensive. She could remember going on holiday with her parents, fearfully trying to have a good time with her brother in an atmosphere of frozen politeness, waiting for her father to do something to break the temporary cease-fire.
This short break would be different. She was not expected by anyone to have a good time. She could do precisely as she pleased. Lie on the beach with a book, or else doze with her hat over her face, and let time sweep past her, for once. She had brought a couple of novels with her, making sure to leave behind any law books.
The background noise of the engines eventually lulled her into a kind of sleep, and she was roused when they were told to fasten their seat belts in preparation for landing.
Then she sat up, and peered curiously through the small window as a small island took shape. There seemed to be nothing to it. A dot of land in the middle of sea. There were some lights to indicate the landing-strip, but the darkness prevented her from making out any details, and she settled back as the plane bumped along the ground and finally screeched to a stop.
There was a chorus of voices as everyone reached for their bags, and Ronnie said, grinning, âI can't believe we're here!' Her blue eyes gleamed. âCan you believe Mr Carrâoops, Brunoâ
actually owns an
island?'
âAmazing, isn't it?' Jessica said, half smiling and half yawning, as she stood up. âThe lengths some people will go to to guarantee a bit of privacy for themselves.'
âI don't even have privacy in the bathroom at home,' Ronnie was saying cheerfully to her as she yanked out her enormous holdall from underneath the seat in front. âYou wouldn't believe how long teenage boys spend preening themselves!'
âI can imagine!' Jessica returned with a laugh. Her father had been a stickler for timekeeping. She and Jeremy had never seen the bathroom as somewhere to indulge. There had been no preening in front of the bathroom mirror, or reading a book in the bath. Life had always been too disciplined for such indulgences. Most of all, mess had been unacceptable. Every morning, before school, her father would push open the bathroom door and check that everything was spick and span, or else there would be hell to pay, and such lessons were to be avoided at all costs.
Outside, there were two Jeeps waiting for them, but the very first thing they all noticed was the incredible heat. Even at this hour of the night the air was warm, with a lazy breeze doing its best to keep the temperature down. Jumpers were pulled off and shoved over handles of holdalls, and Ronnie, with gleeful satisfaction, raised both arms in the air and asked who was laughing at her outfit now. In her frothy short skirt and skimpy top, she was certainly the most sensibly dressed for the weather, albeit a bit on the overdressed side.
They climbed onto the Jeeps, chatting, and as they bumped along the makeshift road, through a forest of tall, swaying palm trees and bush, Jessica could feel the heat turning her jeans into rubber and her tee shirt into cling film. She hadn't travelled with much. One small case with the barest of essentials. A couple of tee shirts, some shorts, some swimsuits and a cardigan,
just in case
, although, feeling the heat, she had no idea what had possessed her to include this last item in the packing.
The house was a matter of a few minutes' drive away, and it was already so late by the time they arrived that they were shown immediately to their rooms, none of which was shared.
Lord only knew how many rooms the place had. Jessica, her eyes heavy with exhaustion, vaguely noticed lots of wood everywhere: wooden floors, wooden ceilings, and a labyrinthine network of areas, leading to various different parts of the house.
Her room was large and airy with an overhead fan and a soft mosquito net draped over a double-sized bed. There were rugs on the floor and through an opened door she saw an
en suite
bathroom. It was all very luxurious, she thought, dumping her bag on a chair. The thought of having a shower was tempting, but the thought of changing into her pyjamas in under five seconds and flopping on the bed underneath the mosquito net was even more so.
She switched on the fan, felt obliged to peer through one of the large, veranda-style windows, then slipped on her striped pyjamas, and within ten minutes she was asleep.
When she next opened her eyes, it was to find sunlight streaming into the bedroom, and she groggily realised that it was after ten in the morning.
Through sheer habit, she felt her stomach go into knots at the thought of having overslept. It was something she rarely did, if ever. Her father had never allowed it, and her body had adapted to suit from a very early age.
When she pushed open the slatted wooden window, it was to be greeted with the most perfect sight she had ever seen in her life before. The house was on the beach. White sand and turquoise sea were visible through a latticework of palm trees.
She dressed quickly, flinging on a black bikini, then she grabbed her sun cream, a pair of shades, her hat, a book and rushed out of the house.
âAbout time you got up!' she heard Ronnie's voice from behind her, and she waved and laughed.
âWhere's everyone?' she asked.
âSunbathing, swimming, exploring! I'm back out in a couple of minutes. Can't waste this weather!'
âNo. We might not see it again till summer rolls round in England. If it decides to!'
How on earth could a few hours on a plane make such a difference? She couldn't believe that she had devoted so much time to feeling guilty about work, imagining the mounds of it collecting in her in-tray with relentless, sneering persistence, thinking about how much of her weekends would be eaten up in trying to reduce the swelling pile. As she stepped onto the sand and felt it slipping warmly through her bare feet, work seemed like something vaguely unpleasant that was happening millions of light years away.
Mary and Elizabeth, paired off as usual, were further along the beach, two portly figures modestly attired in dark-coloured one-pieces and shaded with broad-brimmed straw hats. Further along, Ronnie's cronies were fooling around in the water.
Jessica waved and then found herself a more secluded part of the beach, under a palm tree, and she lay down on her towel and slowly plastered herself with sun cream.
The sound of the sea was lulling, a lazy, lapping noise as the water washed against the sand, ebbing away, with the steady in and out rhythm of something alive and breathing. She had brought her book with her, but the glare in her eyes was too strong to read comfortably, and after five minutes she gave in to the irresistible impulse to close her eyes and drift off. Sea, sun, sand, a cool breeze, tranquillity, and a deep, velvety voice in her right ear saying, âYou have to be careful, you know. With your complexion, there's a good chance you could end up looking like broiled lobster.'
Jessica's eyes flew open to confront Bruno Carr standing over her, with two cold drinks in his hands. The vision was so unexpected that she blinked a few times, convinced that the heat must have caused some dreadful mirage to appear. On the fifth blink, she realised that this was no mirage.
âWhat are you doing here?' she said, sitting up, desperately aware of how much of her body was exposed in her black bikini. Every nerve in her body seemed to have gone on red alert, and, although she did her best to keep her eyes plastered to his face, she was all too aware of his muscular body, more tanned than she would have expected, and clothed only in a short-sleeved cotton shirt, unbuttoned, and a pair of trunks.
Thank goodness for her sunglasses! At least they offered her some protection from the shock of seeing him here. And where was her hat? She grabbed it from next to her and stuck it on, so that her face was instantly half covered.
âCare for a drink?' He handed her a glass of something long and cold, and she took it from him quickly with a bright, âThanks.'
âWhat are you doing here?' she repeated, in a more normal voice. âI thought you said that you weren't going to be coming.'
âDid I?' He looked at her with an expression of amazement. âYou must have misunderstood. I said that I might not be able to come over for the full time, but as you can see...' he sipped his drink, and, disturbingly because it threatened a longer stay than she wanted, sat down on the edge of her towel, so that she had to make a few imperceptible adjustments to further the distance between them â...I managed to make it over.'
âSo I see,' Jessica mumbled.
âCall me a fool, but I couldn't resist the temptation of seeing you without your handy working-woman face on. Efficient cool lawyer by day, efficient cool lawyer by nightâdidn't make sense. So I rearranged my affairs to see if I could catch a rare glimpse of the only occasionally spotted Jessica Stearnâwoman.' He chuckled, thoroughly amused at his wit, and she refused to indulge him by responding.
âSometimes I wonder how you manage to be so successful,' she said tartly, âwhen bird-spotting is such a great pastime of yours.'
âI don't think I said that. Quite.' He shot her a dark, outrageously flirtations look and grinned. âOnly one species in particular.'
Unable to find a suitable response to that, Jessica resorted to a look of complete disdain, which made him grin even more.
âWhat do you think of it?'
âFine. It's your house, after all.'
âNo,' he said softly into her ear, which made her shift over a bit more in alarm, âI meant what do you think of the place, not what do you think about my being here.'
âOh.' She turned to look at him, and before she knew what was happening he reached out and removed her sunglasses in one neat movement.