The Eden Inheritance (55 page)

‘He was a little better this afternoon,' she said. ‘It's difficult to tell with him, though. He's a fighter. He hides the way he's feeling if it's at all possible – he hates to be fussed over. But then, I expect you've noticed that.'

‘I've never met your father.' He took a pull of his drink, then added conversationally: ‘I wish I had. He's quite a character, I imagine.'

Lilli nodded.

‘Yes, he is. He has always seemed to me to be the epitome of power and strength. It's very hard to see him the way he is now.'

‘Doesn't he have any yearning to go home and see Germany again before he dies?'

‘He's never said so. I told you – his home was destroyed in the war and his family killed, or so I imagine. None of them have ever come to visit and certainly he has never talked of having anyone left in Germany.' She broke off, biting her lip, and wondering for the first time just why she knew so little of her paternal roots.

‘He must have fought in the war, I imagine,' Guy said.

‘Oh yes, of course. He was a general.' She was aware suddenly of the slight tautness of his features and felt a rush of embarrassment. ‘He was an army man, though,' she added swiftly. ‘Not SS or Gestapo or anything like that.'

‘A general. Ah! Where did he fight then? The Russian front? The desert, with Rommel?'

‘I think he was in France for most of the war.' A slight pink flush was spreading from the area of her cheeks that had taken the brunt of yesterday's sun. ‘ Not really fighting at all – more, well, administration.'

‘It's a small world then. Actually my family is French.' He said it lightly, coversationally, but he was watching her closely.

‘Of course – your name – I never thought!' she said, a little too quickly, but he could see there was no recognition, simply that edge of awkwardness that was only natural in a girl whose German blood made her vulnerable to inescapable, guilt for what her countrymen had done. She was obviously totally in the dark regarding the origin of her father's treasures.

‘His family were in the coffee trade, I think you said?' he said, changing tack.

‘Yes. They were importers on a huge scale.' She was relieved to be on a less emotive subject. ‘Their coffee was drunk in the best coffee houses in Vienna, Daddy always said.'

‘Brandt. I don't know that I've ever heard of a firm of coffee importers of that name.'

‘Well you wouldn't have, would you?' Lilli said ingenuously. ‘Since they were all dead and their business destroyed before you were even born.'

‘Not before I was born.' He smiled at her look of surprise. ‘ I think I may be a little older than I look, Lilli. Not everyone is as young as you, you know.'

She felt foolish suddenly. She had not really thought about Guy's age, simply placed him on a par with herself as we often do with those we feel comfortably at ease with. Now she looked at him more closely, noticed the small crow's-feet at the corners of his eyes and the way his hair was receding slightly at the temples. He was, of course, older than she was – he had to be. But compared with Jorge he looked very young.

Guy drained his glass. ‘Another drink?'

‘Oh, I don't know. I've still got some left …'

‘Not a lot though. I'll get you another one. Don't look so worried. Pimms won't hurt you – if you want the same again, that is.'

‘Yes, all right. Thank you.'

He took her glass and walked back towards the bar. She sat watching him, watching the easy sway of his shoulders, the lithe athletic way he moved, and liking what she saw. Strange how it was possible to feel so comfortable with someone one scarcely knew when some people inspired only awkwardness even if one had known them all one's life. And it had been like that from the very first, she realised, remembering the rapport they had struck up when he had flown her in. Guy de Savigny. She savoured the name and decided she liked that too. Strong, simple yet far from ordinary. Very like the man himself.

‘Well, well, Lilli! What are you doing here?'

Shocked, she jerked her head up, jarring a tendon in her neck as she did so, recognising those sultry dark tones instantly and feeling herself beginning to tremble.

Jorge.

He was standing at the edge of the circle of light, a white-clothed figure against the dark mass of the palm trees. He was smoking a cigar and though his voice sounded amused she could see he was scowling.

‘I didn't realise you still frequented Johnny Shovelnose's dive,' he said, coming towards her and placing one hand carelessly on the back of her chair.

‘I don't' she said, ‘but I think I have a perfect right to do so if I wish.'

His hand moved from her chair to her shoulder.

‘Why are you fighting me, sweetheart?'

Her eyes blazed up into his.

‘You know perfectly well why! It's over, Jorge. It has been over a very long time now,'

‘But you came back.'

‘Because my father is dying.' She shrugged her shoulder, attempting to dislodge his hand. ‘Leave me alone, Jorge.'

But his fingers still bit into her flesh.

‘Is that what you really want, Lilli? I don't think so.'

‘It is what I want! And I should tell you, Jorge, I'm not here alone. I'm with someone.' To her relief she saw Guy making his way back towards the table. ‘He's here now. Please go!'

‘What's the rush? I'd rather like to meet the man who is taking my place … Wait a minute. It's my new pilot, isn't it?'

Guy had reached the table now, standing with the drinks still in his hand, looking somewhat sternly at the man whose hand lay so proprietorially on Lilli's shoulder.

‘It
is
my new pilot,' Jorge drawled. He extended one hand, leaving the other on Lilli's shoulder. ‘ Perhaps I should introduce myself. Jorge Sanchez.'

Guy set the drinks down, completely in control of himself, and took the extended hand.

‘Guy de Savigny. Yes, I'm the new pilot. I'm only surprised we haven't met before.'

‘I'm a very busy man, de Savigny. I hope you are too, since it's my operation you are working for. But not too busy to entertain Lilli, I see.'

‘I do have to have some time off,' Guy said easily. ‘I met Lilli when I flew her in two days ago.'

‘Ah, so you scarcely know her yet. I expect she enjoyed the flight. Lilli loves flying, don't you, darling? Amongst other things. We must get together sometime and I can tell you all Lilli's little likes and dislikes. It could save you some time, couldn't it? Such a help, knowing a lady's fetishes.'

‘That is very kind of you but I don't think it will be necessary,' Guy said smoothly. ‘Were you intending to join us? If so, perhaps I could get you a drink.' His tone was courteous yet pointed and Lilli grasped the opportunity it presented her.

‘Jorge was just leaving, weren't you, Jorge?' She shrugged her shoulder again, more decisively, and this time Jorge released his hold on it.

‘Unfortunately, yes. But I expect we shall meet again, de Savigny. When perhaps both of us will be ready for a longer conversation.'

He turned, walking towards the bar. Guy looked at Lilli. She was visibly shaken and when she lifted her glass, draining what was left in it in one quick swallow, he saw that her hand was trembling.

‘So that was Jorge Sanchez,' he said reflectively. ‘Not the most agreeable person I've had the pleasure of meeting.'

Lilli said nothing.

‘Are you all right?' he asked. ‘He upset you, didn't he?'

She nodded, not looking at him.

‘Jorge always upsets me. Stupid of me, really, to let him.'

‘Would you like to go home?'

‘No!' She said it quickly, without thinking, the instinctive response wrenched from the turmoil within her. No, she didn't want to go home, to the oppressive atmosphere of a house where a man lay dying and she would have to make small talk with Ingrid. She didn't want to be alone with nothing to do but dwell again on the revelations that had turned what was left of her world upside down. And she did not want to leave this man who was somehow a buffer between her and Jorge, whose strength and niceness and lack of involvement with the whole bloody mess made her feel safer than she had felt at any time since she had returned to Madrepora. But neither did she want to remain here. The atmosphere of conviviality was stifling, adopting psychedelic proportions, blowing her mind and setting her nerves on edge. And besides, Jorge was still here, somewhere close by. She did not think he would bother her again tonight but she would be happier to put some distance between them.

‘I don't want to go home, but could we … we couldn't go back to your house, I suppose?'

‘Well, yes – if you like.'

She got up quickly, leaving her fresh Pimms untouched, and waiting while he tossed back his own drink. The tension was there in every line of her body, in the way she held her purse, tucked tightly beneath her arm, and in her hands folded around her waist as if to protect herself from some unseen evil. Instinctively he placed an arm around her shoulder and felt a small tremor run through her before she leaned against him, seeking support.

They walked, not talking, until they reached his house.

‘God knows what sort of a mess it's in,' he said, opening the door. ‘I'm not the world's tidiest.'

But the house was, of course, immaculate, thanks to the maid who had been in to wash up the dishes from the meal she had prepared for him earlier and had spared time to rearrange furniture, books and discarded clothing whilst she was about it. Guy switched on some lights, strategically placed table lamps which illuminated the soft darkness with a gentle glow, and opened the doors of an old-fashioned sideboard.

‘I can't offer you Pimms, I'm afraid, but I do have rum or cognac.'

‘No gin?'

‘Sorry, no. Oh – wait a minute, I do have some champagne. It was in the fridge when I took over the house – left by the previous occupant, I imagine. But I don't suppose they'll be back for it.'

‘Champagne would be very nice.'

He opened the bottle and set out two glasses.

‘I suppose I might as well join you. I'm not a champagne man, really, but it would be a pity to let it go to waste.'

She sipped the champagne – a good one, whoever had left it there had expensive tastes – and began to feel some of the tension leaving her.

‘I'm really sorry,' she said. ‘You must think I'm a total neurotic.'

‘No, I don't think that.'

‘Oh come on, you must do! First yesterday, then tonight … I don't normally behave like this, honestly!'

‘I'm sure you don't. You are under a lot of strain.'

She nodded.

‘I am, actually. Far more than you know. I feel very … alone.'

‘You don't have to.'

She looked up quickly.

‘Don't have to – what?'

‘Feel alone. Oh, I know I'm more or less a stranger to you, but if I can be any help, well, you know where I am.'

‘Oh Guy, thank you!' Whether it was the champagne chasing the Pimms on a virtually empty stomach, since she had been unable to eat properly for days, or whether it was the gentleness of his tone, Lilli could not be sure, but suddenly her eyes filled with tears.

Ashamed, she turned her head away. What the hell was the matter with her? She hardly ever cried and when she did it was in private. Now she seemed totally incapable of controlling any of her emotions any more.

She bent her head, fighting back those treacherous tears, and he came up behind her, taking her gently by the elbows and holding her so that the rigid line of her back rested against his chest. For a few moments she could think of nothing but the effort not to break down completely, then, slowly yet surely, she began to be aware of him. His hands felt good on her arms, his touch firm and supportive, and the tiny nerve endings around her shoulders and spine had begun to tingle slightly, as if responding to an unseen magnet.

The sundress she was wearing was halter-necked; above the niched waist her back was bare. She felt the slightly rough cotton of his polo shirt rasp against her skin and instantly new areas became sensitised. She stood motionless, savouring the sensation and enjoying, without even realising it, the fact that briefly at least, something was obliterating all those chaotic and depressing thoughts from which she had begun to think there was no escape.

The nearness of him felt so good, a comfort and a promise magically combined. Lilli thought she would be content to stay there forever, losing herself and her problems in this swimmy, dreamlike trance that was not unlike, in some ways, the one she had experienced floating in the arms of the sea. But the sea had lulled her further and further inside herself, sapped not only her will but her very consciousness, whilst there was an urgent restlessness buried somewhere within this soporific state, a restlessness which was an almost unrecognised desire. Just when she thought she could stay there, unmoving, for ever, it was not enough for his touch to be confined to her upper arms and back. The rest of her body was aching to feel it too.

She turned towards him, the champagne glass still in her hand, and buried her face in his neck. It smelled faintly of soap and the salt which was carried on the sea breeze. His arms were around her now and a warmth began to suffuse her body, punctuated by the tiny sharp shivers emanating from the deepest parts of her and the tingling in her veins. She pressed against him, giving herself up to a barely recognised need, believing she sought only refuge yet responding to those deep primal urges he had stirred in her, and he held her close, allowing her to discover for herself that she wanted more, more … Only when she raised her head did she realise his mouth had been in her hair and suddenly she wanted to taste it. His face was close to hers, strong lines of cheek and chin almost touching her own. She tilted her head further back and saw his eyes, dark and burning with a reflection of her own desire, and then his lips were on hers, kissing her, gently at first, then more deeply and urgently.