White Lies. SARA WOOD

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      Mandy looked at him with anxious eyes. Did he mean that the solicitor’s fees were excessive? Still, presumably whoever had hired Pascal’s father could afford the cost—or maybe they wanted to find her so much that they’d pay anything to get her. A soft affection filled her eyes.

      ‘I know he’ll expect fair payment,’ she said dreamily. “That’s reasonable since we could both be benefiting from this. You don’t get something for nothing, do you? For instance, I imagine that even the view from my villa must be costed in the overall price.’

      ‘What a practical turn of mind!’ he murmured. ‘What view do you have?’ he asked casually. ‘Which one have they given you?’

      She thought of it with such pleasure that she wanted to share it with him. ‘Up there,’ she said, pointing at the gazebo poised some way up the hill, above the circular reception building. It was just visible amid a tumble of purple and red. ‘I have this incredible open-air deck—I swear it’s larger than my whole house put together! And it’s smothered in bougainvillea and I look down on banana trees and coconut palms with little yellow birds flitting around—’

      ‘Bananaquits,’ he supplied with a languid air—but watching her intently.

      ‘Bananaquits!’ she repeated in delight. ‘And the black birds like starlings on stilts?’

      ‘Grackles.’

      Mandy laughed—a gurgling chuckle that welled up from her great happiness. But, instead of smiling back at her as people usually did, Pascal remained neutral, as though he found her joy a little childish. She didn’t care. If she was unsophisticated, so be it. Right at this moment she could have hugged everyone in sight.

      ‘I’m going to buy some biscuits to feed the birds,’ she said contentedly. ‘They’re amazingly tame. I think I’ll spend quite a bit of my time on my deck. The view is stunning. I look across that valley to the hill,’ she said, waving expansively at the jungle. ‘I can see the ocean and the two mountains—Herbert, the minibus driver, said they were volcanic cones or something—’

      ‘The Pitons,’ provided Pascal lazily, his eyes as sharp as glinting knives.

      ‘Yes,’ she said, in a voice tinged with awe. ‘Aren’t they something? Two triangles—just like the mountains that kids draw! Herbert lives near them—can you imagine having that view every morning? We had a long chat. He showed me his family photos,’ she added softly, her eyes glowing at the memory of the man’s friendliness.

      ‘Herbert got chatty with you?’ he asked in a tone of mild surprise. ‘Herbert?’

      ‘Yes. Do you know him? I love talking to people, don’t you?’

      Pascal lifted a hand and rubbed the nape of his neck thoughtfully, his brows angling to meet in a frown over his nose. ‘He’s wary of strangers.’

      Mandy laughed again. ‘But you can’t sit next to someone for an hour and a half and remain strangers! I’m going to visit his family some time. Won’t that be lovely?’

      ‘Lovely,’ Pascal said faintly.

      ‘Oh,’ she said, remembering, ‘if that fits in with your father’s schedule, that is,’ she amended.

      ‘Do what you like.’ He paused, his mouth set in lines of barely concealed triumph. ‘Your time’s your own. He’s ill.’

      ‘Ill!’ The news brought her up sharp. ‘Oh, dear. Poor man.’

      Pascal’s sky-blue eyes seemed to cloud briefly and then his expression became sunny again. Sunny...with clouds imminent, she thought apprehensively, because there was a reserve about the man’s manner which she couldn’t quite understand. And why the triumph?

      ‘He’s quite sick,’ he drawled with a mystifying relish.

      ‘I see,’ she said slowly. ‘What a shame! I was so looking forward to meeting him today.’ She put a hand to her head because it was still buzzing from the effects of the journey and she couldn’t think clearly. ‘I’m awfully sorry,’ she said sympathetically.

      ‘How kind. I’ll tell him. You look a little tired. You’d better sit down,’ Pascal said soothingly, taking her arm. ‘Come right under here, next to me. You’ll burn that tender skin if you don’t take proper cover. You don’t want to go home red-raw, do you?’

      ‘Er...no.’ Uncertainly she allowed herself to be drawn down to the soft, warm sand.

      ‘Drink?’ he asked politely, shifting into the full glare of the sun so that she could take all the shade.

      ‘Thanks. I’d love one. Something fruity and cold, please.’

      ‘Certainly. Simon will be along in a while, I expect.’

      The worries were crowding back into her mind. ‘How ill?’ she asked anxiously, slipping off her shoes and wriggling her bare pink toes.

      He gave the scuffed, much repaired condition of her shoes a detailed scrutiny and then looked sideways to meet her troubled gaze. ‘Too ill for you,’ he said softly.

      She frowned. Either her imagination was running riot or he’d just been rude. ‘I am very sorry to hear that,’ she said sincerely, ignoring his lapse. ‘Anything serious?’

      ‘There’s always hope,’ Pascal said with a grave expression.

      ‘That ill?’ Mandy soberly sifted sand through her toes. ‘It sounds as if he won’t be able to see me for a while,’ she said a little tremulously.

      ‘If at all,’ agreed Pascal placidly.

      ‘No!’ Her hand fluttered to her mouth, his words throwing her into total confusion. And then she put aside her own needs and thought of the poor man, fighting some dreadful illness. ‘That’s terrible!’ she exclaimed in sympathy.

      ‘Isn’t it?’ Pascal’s eyes filled with silvery lights. ‘Father will be deeply touched by your concern.’

      She bristled at the slicing edge of sarcasm. ‘I meant what I said,’ she said huffily. ‘You think I’m mouthing platitudes, but of course I’m sorry! I feel sympathy for anyone who’s ill.’

      Pascal’s gold-tipped lashes swept down to veil his eyes. ‘How nice. Life has made my cynical.’

      ‘That’s a shame.’ But suddenly she wasn’t thinking about Pascal at all—or even his father. Her own troubles were looming too large. ‘It’s left me with a bit of a problem,’ she said slowly. ‘My air ticket has to be used by the eighteenth of February. That’s less than two weeks away. And your father only paid for my accommodation at Anse La Verdure till that date. What shall I do? I can’t possibly afford to stay any longer—’

      ‘Shame,’ he echoed insincerely.

      Mandy stiffened and flushed at his mocking tone. He wasn’t exactly being helpful. Quite at a loss, she stared at the sand between them, watching a tiny crab laboriously hauling itself out of a hole and dumping a clawful of sand onto a small heap at the entrance. She sighed, identifying with the crab’s efforts. She’d СКАЧАТЬ