Authors: Anne Oliver
C
HARLOTTE
inspected her holiday wardrobe the following morning. She didn’t want to fade into the background today. She wanted to dress the way she was feeling—sunny and happy. She wanted to fit in with the island culture.
She wanted Nic to notice.
With an hour before she was due to meet him, she headed for the central facilities and shops. She chose half a dozen picture books and jumbo crayons for Kasanita’s class. Then she tried on clothes, finally settling on a bright tropical print dress in lime and hot pink. It reminded her of the way Nic’s eyes had all but set her sarong on fire last night. Before he’d taken it off her.
Not her usual choice, she thought, staring at her reflection back in her room. And she liked it: being someone different. Here in Fiji she didn’t need to worry about being recognised. Here she wasn’t a big name’s daughter or a politician’s partner. She could be herself. She wasn’t entirely familiar with the freedom of anonymity. Feeling as if she were dancing on air, she reached for her hat.
She was walking along the cool elevated breezeway towards the concierge desk on her way to meet Nic when she saw him on the lawns below chatting with a couple of female staff members. She paused at the balustrade. He wore khaki shorts and a white T-shirt with a black turtle
motif, his slightly dishevelled hair catching the breeze, his smile blinding, even at this distance.
Like Flynn, he was a people person, charm and charisma personified. Another pretty girl joined them. Nic hugged the new arrival’s shoulders, she smiled back and said something and they all laughed. Unlike Flynn, he wasn’t using his charm to further any agenda. It was professional courtesy and respect and friendly interest all the way. Also unlike Flynn, Nic made time for people because he genuinely cared about others. And he was utterly, utterly gorgeous with it.
Her heart squeezed tight, then seemed to detach from her body and took off on a journey of its own.
Oh, no. She rubbed a hand over her chest and mentally dragged her heart back where it belonged and waited the longest time for it to settle.
She was no expert on men. Apart from co-workers and a forgettable couple of adolescent crushes, her experience was limited to her father and brother who’d loved her and an ex-fiancé who had not. Falling for Nic wasn’t an option. This was a holiday romance, nothing more.
She turned and continued towards the concierge desk at the end of the open-air structure, taking her time to feel the salty air drifting through the covered walkway while her pulse returned to normal.
A colourful array of beads caught her eye and she paused to talk to the local women who came in from the nearby village daily and sat in the shade, their handcrafts spread on tarpaulins in front of them.
By the time she’d chosen a bracelet of tiny lime green stones to match her dress, Nic was waiting, watching her as she approached. She felt as admired and breathless as she had last night.
‘
Bula
, Charlotte.’ He looked her up and down. ‘Don’t you look bright and cheerful today.’
‘Thanks.’ She smiled. ‘I
feel
bright and cheerful.’ She saw the appreciation in his dark eyes and was glad she’d decided to buy something different.
As they drove inland and away from the coast in his luxury car she asked Nic about the education system.
‘Here they lack the funds for equipment Australian schools take for granted, particularly in the rural areas.’
‘Tell me about this school we’re visiting.’
Nic overtook an ancient, rusted pick-up truck overloaded with workers on their way to the sugar-cane fields. ‘It caters for children from five to twelve years, with two classrooms, two teachers and sixty kids. Kasanita teaches the kids up to the age of eight.’
‘So how do they afford computers?’
‘They don’t.’ He slowed for a bus stopping to pick up passengers.
‘Oh?’ Of course. ‘You donated them.’
He shrugged a shoulder. ‘It’s a good cause.’
She nodded. He was a
cause
man. She loved causes. So often she’d found it to be women who put in the time and effort. ‘How often do you visit?’
‘When I’m here, I try to make it every couple of weeks. Early intervention’s important, so I spend most of that time with Kas’s class.’
‘How do you know Kas?’
‘Her father owns a yachting business and takes charter cruises around some of the local islands. But we’ve not talked much about you yet.’ He glanced at her; more specifically at her breasts. ‘I take it you’re a fashion designer.’
She ignored the heat his gaze invoked and tried not to think about the underwear she’d chosen specifically in
the hope that at some stage he’d take it off her. ‘No. That’s just a hobby.’
‘A hobby.’ His tone suggested he thought she lived on her parents’ wealth. ‘What do you do, then?’
‘I worked at the winery, in the office.’
‘Not any more?’
‘I sold the business three weeks ago, so I’m out of a job at the moment.’
He didn’t reply and maybe she was being oversensitive but she got the feeling he thought she was satisfied with her unemployed status. She hastened to explain she wasn’t some rich chick with nothing to do but take exotic vacations. ‘My ex and I were going to open a cheese and wine cellar door place there until he changed his mind and decided to give politics a go. And now …’
She looked away, at the green mountains in the distance, and thought how far away her problems seemed on this island paradise. How she had so many things to tackle on her return. How unready she still was to tackle them. ‘I decided I couldn’t, not on my own.’
He was silent as they drove past fields of banana palms and more jungle. Charlotte watched blurred walls of creeping green vegetation skim by, corrugated iron structures and primitive thatched roofs.
Finally he said, ‘You could turn your designs into a business if you wanted to; they’re unique enough.’
‘No.’ Her designs were her private indulgence and a solitary pursuit. She’d given it a lot of thought since Flynn had left and decided she needed work that involved social interaction if she wanted to avoid becoming a total recluse. ‘Something’ll turn up.’ The charities her mother and she supported could keep her busy in the meanwhile.
The school was part of a village, quaint and old and basic—a single louvred building painted bright blue with
a maroon roof and a wide porch. The playground’s grass surface was patchy and devoid of shade or equipment and adjoined the ubiquitous village rugby field.
But it didn’t lack vitality because the moment they pulled up at the door the children spilled outside, Kas following, and suddenly the car was surrounded with friendly faces.
‘Bula! Bula!’
The kids swarmed around them, hands on the car’s windows, their laughs loud and happy.
She and Nic climbed out into humidity and hot sun, crushingly different from the car’s air conditioning. A couple of chooks scratched at the ground and unfamiliar bird calls echoed in the trees.
Kasanita welcomed them. ‘
Bula
, Charlotte, Nic.’
After being presented with garlands of kid-made paper flowers, shells and bits of silver paper, they followed the noisy class inside like a couple of royal visitors. Children’s colourful artwork more than made up for the room’s sparse aspect, with one exception—the six computers along one wall.
Kas offered them fresh coconut milk, then quietened the children with her guitar. Charlotte and Nic sat on rush matting amongst the children and joined in. An interactive time followed, the children free to choose activities and show off their learning to their special visitors. There was an encore of the previous night’s dance.
The visit gave Charlotte a further insight into Nic. He interacted with the children naturally and knew how to reach them on their level, whether it was explaining how to use a computer program or sharing a joke or peeling a tiny girl’s banana.
‘What do you say to fresh grilled fish for lunch?’ Nic asked as they drove away, heading towards the coast once more. ‘I know this little place.’
‘Yes, please. I’m starving.’
‘Did you enjoy yourself?’
‘I loved it. Thanks for inviting me along.’ So much sharing and caring and learning in such basic conditions was a contrast to her own privileged upbringing. ‘The playground could do with some climbing equipment. Maybe some shade sails.’ She turned to Nic. ‘I’d like to help.’
He glanced her way. ‘How do you mean?’
‘Funding. One thing I do know is how to raise money.’
He looked at her a moment, eyes unreadable, then back at the road. ‘You’re not what I expected, Charlotte Dumont.’
She stiffened, staring back. ‘Reverse snobbery, Nic? You think because I was born into a privileged family that I don’t see what goes on around me? That I don’t care? You’re a self-made man,’ she said slowly. ‘What happened in your past that makes you think I’m less because my wealth came to me naturally?’
He shook his head, clearly unwilling or unable to talk about that past. ‘You’re being overly sensitive, Charlotte. I don’t think that at all.’
She remembered the darkness in his eyes when she’d asked why he’d rescued her from that reporter. He had a deep-seated animosity towards bullies. Had someone treated him as less because he came from an impoverished background? He gave her nothing with which to draw any conclusions.
She didn’t ask. Some secrets were best left undisclosed, especially with someone who was a temporary figure in her life.
‘Maybe a fashion show,’ she said a few moments later. ‘My best friend has her own bridalwear business. Or I could model my lingerie,’ she joked, to clear the air of residual tension that had sprung up.
Nic grinned, his fingers tightening on the wheel at the thousand and one images that stole like seduction into his mind’s eye. ‘Count me in.’
‘I was kidding, Nic. As if that’s going to happen,’ she muttered.
‘Why not?’
‘Forget it.’ Her voice lost its humour.
‘No can do. I’ve got the image in my head now.’ He turned off the main road. ‘So I insist you model some of your creations for me this afternoon. A private showing.’
From the corner of his eye, he saw her hug her arms across her chest. ‘Putting myself on display for a roomful of people is just not me, no matter what I’m wearing.’
‘I’m not a roomful of people,’ he said, looking at her briefly before turning his eyes back to the road.
She was staring at him behind her sunglasses. ‘I’m not even sure I can do it for you.’
‘Sure you can. Remember Melbourne?’ He could. His groin tightened at the memory of her mindless abandonment.
She made a noise that could have been amusement or it could have been pain.
‘You can let yourself go when you want to.’
‘Maybe I’m afraid to,’ she said quietly as he pulled up at ‘Inoke’s Catch of the Bay’, one of his favourite out-of-the-way places. ‘Maybe I’m afraid of this new person.’
‘Don’t be,’ he said, just as quietly. He killed the engine and turned to her. He reached out to take off her glasses so he could see the silvery flecks in her wide, wide eyes. The bright tones of her new dress highlighted the light tan of her skin and lent colour to her cheeks. ‘I like this person. I like her a lot.’
Her eyes remained huge and she chewed on her lower lip. ‘And maybe I’m afraid of that too.’
Her words eerily echoed his own thoughts. ‘It’s okay, babe,’ he said, as much for himself as for her. ‘You don’t have to change.’ He combed his fingers through her hair, traced the fine curve of her jaw. ‘But explore another side of yourself and you may find you like what you discover. Maybe it’ll help you look at life differently when you go home.’
She nodded slowly. ‘Maybe.’ She seemed to shiver, then came out of her pensive mood as if by sheer determination and opened the car door. ‘That’s a lot of maybes.’ She breathed deeply, the rich aroma of the grill wafting in. ‘I’m starving.’
It was perfect—the food, the warm overcast weather, her company. They spent a leisurely hour eating, then Charlotte excused herself to freshen up in the restroom outside while he paid the bill. He spent a few moments chatting to the owner, a friend, Inoke, then spotted Charlotte further up the beach collecting shells that littered the bay’s coarse sand.
He headed after her, admiring the carefree way she moved, long legs flashing in the sun. Her hair was tucked up under her hat. Those creamy shoulders were going to burn. Should’ve brought sunscreen, he thought, but his attention was snagged by a man approaching her.
Damn. As Nic picked up his pace he watched Charlotte stop and speak with the reporter—what else could he be with that long-range camera slung around his scrawny neck? Too far away to hear what they were saying. Sensing Nic’s evil eye spearing his way, the reporter glanced towards Nic, then began retracing his steps to the car park. Nic changed direction.
‘Hey, you!’ Nic skidded to a halt in front of him, his feet throwing up sand, and glaring at the jerk through narrowed eyes. ‘If I see you anywhere near her again, I’ll sue
you for harassment.’ Tension simmered along his jaw and he spoke through clenched teeth. ‘I might sue you anyway, just for the hell of it.’
‘Hey, man, what’s your damn problem?’ The scrawny-necked reporter glared back. ‘Ms Dumont’s public property—’ he looked closer ‘—
Mr
Russo. And I never forget a face.’
‘Right back at you, mate. She’s on a private vacation so back off or you’ll have me to deal with.’
The man’s eyes sparked with interest as they flitted towards Charlotte, then Nic. ‘Private, eh?’
‘Yeah, private; so get lost.’
‘Like that lover of yours a few years back? What was her name?’ He smiled—unpleasantly. ‘Never pays to be on the wrong side of the press,
Mr
Russo.’ Skirting Nic, he resumed walking.
Nic waited until the reporter climbed into his car and drove off before turning his attention to Charlotte, who hadn’t moved from her spot and was watching on, her expression serious.
‘You okay?’ he said as he approached her. Concern slid through him. He shouldn’t have goaded the man; he didn’t want his threat to impact on Charlotte.