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As the front door finally closed behind the older woman, Alain gave Claire a long, piercing look.
‘That was considerate of you,’ he said in a faintly puzzled tone.
Claire returned his gaze with undisguised resentment.
‘You sound as if that surprises you,’ she remarked.
‘It does,’ agreed Alain bluntly. ‘But never mind that now. Come and sit down before the coffee gets cold.’
In spite of her annoyance Claire joined him at the table and was soon enjoying an excellent breakfast. The croissants were warm and flaky and rich with butter, the raspberry jam was deliciously fruity and the hot coffee was fragrant and reviving. As they ate Alain began to talk about his new hotel on Moorea where Marie Rose would be living after the wedding and Claire found herself listening with unexpected interest.
‘It sounds heavenly,’ she admitted. ‘And, of course, we’ve heaps of cousins on Moorea, so Marie Rose certainly won’t feel lonely when she moves.’
‘You’re fortunate to have such a close family,’ remarked Alain. ‘I suppose you’ve missed them while you were away.’
‘Yes,’ replied Claire. ‘Of course, it was rather a blow when my grandfather died last year.’
Her face shadowed at the thought. A severe ear infection had made flying impossible for her at the time, so she had not even been able to attend his funeral. That was one occasion when even the risk of meeting Alain would not have kept her away from the island. As it was, she had spent the day of her grandfather’s funeral in tears, finding her exile more painful than ever.
‘I was sorry to hear about it,’ said Alain.
‘Oh, well,’ continued Claire, shaking her head. ‘He had a very happy life and lived to be eighty-one. It would be wrong to mourn him.’
‘He was French originally, wasn’t he?’ asked Alain.
‘Yes,’ replied Claire, brightening suddenly. ‘He came out to Tahiti to do his military service, fell in love with a local girl and lived happily ever after. Rather a romantic story, really. Although very common in the islands, of course.’
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ replied Alain. ‘Not every Frenchman who falls in love with a Tahitian girl manages to live happily ever after.’
Claire winced at the bitterness in his tone. Was Alain talking about himself? she wondered. But before she could say anything, he continued abruptly.
‘And your parents?’ he quizzed. ‘Do you think they’re happy?’
Claire frowned thoughtfully.
‘I think so,’ she said. ‘Although Papa does have some health problems now. But he has a new business venture going too and he seems very pleased about that. He’s taking four-wheel-drive tours to the interior of the island. I don’t know if you’ve heard about them.’
‘Yes, I have,’ said Alain. ‘Many of the guests at my hotels have been going on them. They’ve been very popular. My sister Louise went on one when she was here last year.’
There was a sudden deathly silence and Claire’s coffeespoon clattered loudly off the saucer and fell to the floor. For a moment she sat rigid, feeling as sick and shocked as if she were about to faint, then she bent down to retrieve it. But Alain was ahead of her, his fingers closing over the silverware before she could even reach it.
‘You look very pale,’ he said deliberately as they both straightened up. ‘Does the thought of my sister really upset you so much?’
Claire stared at him with a stricken expression, but his face was as cruel and pitiless as a Spanish inquisitor’s. His blue eyes seared through her like jets of flame.
‘Well?’ he taunted.
She drew in a long, agonised breath.
‘I asked you a question!’ he shouted, slamming his open hand on the table.
Claire leapt to her feet, feeling her legs shake beneath her, but she stared back at him defiantly. Then she let out her breath in a ragged gasp.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘It upsets me.’
Suddenly Alain too was on his feet, staring at her across the barrier of the table.
‘Oh?’ he challenged. ‘Really? It didn’t upset you six years ago though, did it?’
‘That’s not true!’ cried Claire.
She broke away, felt tears stinging her eyes and stumbled across to the window. Relentlessly Alain pursued her and his powerful hand closed on her wrist.
‘Isn’t it?’ he insisted, hauling her up against him, so that she could feel the tension in his hard, muscular body. ‘Well, if thinking about Louise upset you, it was never obvious. It didn’t stop you from going to bed with her husband, did it?’
‘Stop it!’ cried Claire wildly.
Snatching herself free from Alain’s grip, she covered her face with her hands. A violent shudder went through her. But Alain was totally merciless. Seizing her hands, he pulled them away and glared down at her. He was so close that she could feel his swift, thudding heartbeat through his thin shirt, smell the spicy odour of his cologne, see the muscle twitching in his left temple.
‘You didn’t care how much you hurt Louise, did you?’ he insisted savagely. ‘Did you? All you wanted was to have a wild roll in the hay with Marcel and to hell with the consequences!’
‘That’s not true!’ protested Claire.
‘Isn’t it?’ sneered Alain. ‘You seem to forget that I found you in bed with him in my own house, you lying little schemer!’
Claire’s face flamed.
‘I haven’t forgotten,’ she choked.
‘Neither have I!’ growled Alain. ‘Every detail of that day is burnt into my mind like acid and I wish to God it weren’t. Because then I wouldn’t have to recognise you for the heartless, destructive troublemaker that you are.’
‘You’re being totally unfair!’ cried Claire.
Alain gave a harsh laugh and thrust her aside contemptuously. Striding across the room, he came to a halt and turned on her with uncontrolled vehemence.
‘Am I?’ he demanded. ‘So you deny that I found you naked in my own bed with Marcel, do you?’
Claire let out a low groan.
‘No, I don’t!’ she cried. ‘How can I? You know perfectly well that it’s true, but you’re still being unfair, Alain! I didn’t know that Marcel was married, I swear to God I didn’t! I never even knew that Louise existed.’
‘I’m sure!’ jeered Alain disbelievingly.
‘Look,’ insisted Claire, ‘whatever you say, that’s the truth, Alain! And you couldn’t possibly feel worse about what happened than I did. But I never intended to hurt anybody. You know what Marcel was like as well as I do—handsome, glamorous and full of charm. And a film director into the bargain. And I was nineteen years old and very, very gullible. I believed him when he told me he was in love with me, I even believed him when he said he wanted to marry me. But he certainly never told me he had a wife already tucked away in Paris!’
Alain’s only response was an incredulous lift of the eyebrows. That small, contemptuous gesture goaded Claire into action. With an inarticulate cry, she flung herself at him and seized him by the arms.
‘It’s the truth!’ she cried. ‘You must believe me, Alain!’
Her impetuous rush caught him off balance and almost sent them both toppling. Instinctively he reached out to steady her and she found herself imprisoned in those hard, unyielding arms. She gave a low, distraught gasp and her body quivered under his touch. Her involuntary movement sparked an unexpected response in Alain. For a moment he stared down at her, his blue eyes glazed with anger, or possibly something else. Then, like some savage bird of prey, he suddenly swooped.
Claire uttered a startled squeak as his mouth came down on hers in the fiercest and most enthralling kiss she had ever experienced in her life. For an instant she stood rigid with shock, then molten fire seemed to flow through her veins as Alain took violent possession of her mouth. There was a strange roaring in her ears and she felt dizzy with longing as his hard, urgent fingers traced sensual patterns on her back. His ferocity woke an answering urgency in her and without any conscious intent she kissed him back with equal force. His male strength was warm and insistent against her and she was shocked to hear the soft, whimpering sounds that rose in her throat as she let herself lean wantonly against him. Time lost all meaning as they swayed in that warm, pulsing embrace. Then suddenly Alain thrust her furiously away from him.
‘You haven’t changed!’ he exclaimed bitterly. ‘You’re still throwing yourself at men without thought for the consequences, aren’t you, Claire?’
The unfairness of it took her breath away. She stood staring at him with her shoulders heaving and her mouth gaping open. Then suddenly she regained her voice.
‘You swine!’ she breathed. ‘There’s no possible way I can get along with you for the next week. No way on earth!’
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_c0b3147b-63e0-57fb-bed6-420b24c61e22)
AS THE gleaming Citroën turned into the road leading to Acajou Beach, Claire leaned eagerly forward to catch the first glimpse of her parents’ house. For the present even her hostility towards Alain was forgotten as she scanned the dense thickets of scarlet bougainvillaea, yellow hibiscus and flapping green banana trees that hid most of the houses from view. Then, as they neared the last few buildings near the turquoise water, she let out a low cry of delight.
‘That’s it!’
Like Alain’s house, it had a hedge of red ginger plants in the front garden, but there the resemblance ended. While the Beaumonts’ home might be casual and welcoming, it was undoubtedly rather shabby. The paint was peeling, weeds grew almost as profusely as flowers around the boundary fence and there was a large rusty bath sitting like a wrecked ship on the front lawn. Claire felt herself tensing uncomfortably as Alain turned into the uneven driveway. It was bad enough that he disapproved of her so violently, without the added humiliation of having him despise her home and family. She could only hope that he would drop her off quickly and make his departure. Unfortunately Alain did nothing of the kind.
As the car came to halt, there was a sudden flurry of activity from within the house. Marie Rose, a large, buxom girl with a resonant voice, burst out of the front door, shrieking joyfully ‘They’re here! They’re here!’ She was almost tripped up by a tan-coloured mongrel of doubtful parentage that surged down the steps, yelping wildly, and hurtled towards Claire like a prize steeplechaser. There was an outburst of hugs and kisses, barks and licks.
‘Oh, Claire, it’s so good to see you!’ cried Marie Rose. ‘I’m sorry Paul couldn’t be here. There are some problems with the new hotel buildings on Moorea, but you’ll meet him tomorrow. Oh, I’ve got so much to tell you!’
From inside the house there was the sound of slamming doors and more hurrying footsteps. Then suddenly Claire found herself in the midst of a human—and animal—throng with everyone talking at once and hugging her warmly, while the dog pirouetted around like a demented ballerina. When at last she was able to draw breath, she tidied her hair with one hand and held down the lunging family pet with the other.
‘Oh, it’s so good to see you all!’ she cried. ‘You can’t imagine how I’ve missed you.’
‘We’ve missed you too,’ a little girl without any front teeth assured her earnestly. ‘But I’ve missed you the most of all, because I’ve never even met you!’
That made everybody laugh and Claire was quick to fall to her knees to give the child another hug.
‘Then you must be my cousin Nicole,’ she said. ‘And it’s very nice to meet you at last.’
‘It’s nice to meet you too,’ agreed Nicole pertly. ‘And we’re having barbecued pig for dinner because you’ve come home. A whole pig!’
‘Cooked the traditional way in a pit,’ agreed Claire’s father. ‘Just the way you always liked it best, chérie.’
His hands rested warmly on Claire’s shoulders and he smiled down at her. She felt an uncomfortable tremor of emotion pass through her as she looked up at him. For there were so many coils of silver in Roland Beaumont’s hair, so many extra wrinkles that hadn’t been there when she left home. And, although he was still as massive and powerfully built as ever, the faint bluish tinge around his lips and the slight wheeze when he breathed, alarmed her considerably.
‘Oh, Papa!’ she exclaimed with a catch in her voice. ‘How kind of you! Thank you.’
‘You will stay and help us eat it, won’t you, Alain?’ continued Roland as warmly as if Alain were a member of the family. ‘You’ll be very welcome.’
‘But Papa!’ protested Claire. ‘I just wanted a quiet family gathering.’
A sudden hush fell on the group and Claire was instantly conscious of her father’s frown and her mother’s horrified pantomime of disapproval. Realising how rude she had sounded, she stammered a reluctant apology.
‘S-sorry. I didn’t mean it quite like that. It’s just that I’m exhausted from the flight and I’m sure Alain has better things to do. Although naturally I’d be delighted if he would stay.’
She fixed her gaze steadily on Alain, willing him to decline. But his blue eyes met hers with cruel amusement and a small, taunting smile played around the corners of his mouth.
‘Well, if you’d be delighted for me to stay, Claire,’ he murmured, ‘I can hardly refuse, can I? Thank you very much for the invitation.’
As Claire’s mother ushered them all into the house, she gave her elder daughter a warning look.
‘I’ll just help Claire get settled in her room,’ she said brightly. ‘Then we’ll all come out on the patio and have a drink together.’
The moment the bedroom door had closed behind them, Eve Beaumont shook her head in dismay.
‘Whatever came over you, Claire?’ she demanded. ‘How could you make Alain feel so unwelcome? What a dreadful thing to do, especially when he’s been so good and kind to us!’
‘What do you mean, good and kind?’ muttered Claire.
Eve sighed. Watching her closely, Claire saw that her mother’s blonde hair was fading imperceptibly to silver and that there were lines of strain around her mouth.
‘Well, he and Marie Rose’s fiancé are like brothers,’ she explained. ‘And even though we haven’t seen much of Alain, he’s always been very kind when we have had dealings with him. Nothing is ever too much trouble for him. You know I don’t drive and he’s been wonderful about taking your father to the hospital for his medical check-ups. And when your Papa was too sick to take a four-wheel-drive tour into the mountains, Alain arranged for a substitute driver for two weeks and wouldn’t accept any payment for it. So I think the least you can do is be polite to him.’
Claire bit her lip guiltily. However much she might resent Alain herself, the quarrel certainly had nothing to do with the rest of her family. Setting down her bag, she gave her mother a quick, awkward hug.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said with more sincerity than she had shown earlier. ‘I didn’t mean to cause trouble and I promise I’ll be nice to Alain.’
‘That’s my girl!’ replied Eve, catching her in a warm embrace. ‘Now, come on, let’s go out and see if we can produce a decent party!’
By lunchtime everyone agreed that they were producing a very decent party. A homecoming was always a good excuse for celebrating in style and nobody in Tahiti was ever foolish enough to rush a celebration. Here in the islands nearly everybody lived in large, extended families and a daughter’s homecoming was a big occasion. Two sets of aunts and uncles, half a dozen cousins, all the neighbours on the block and ten or twelve of Claire’s old schoolfriends provided a good basis for a guest list. And, since nobody arrived empty-handed, there was plenty to eat and drink while they waited for the pig to finish cooking. By noon there was a dull roar of conversation, counterpointed by children’s laughter, the clink of ice-cubes in glasses, some lively ukelele music and the faint rustle of banana leaves in the tropical breeze. Overhead white puffs of cloud drifted lazily in a soft, blue sky and beyond the wall the lagoon glittered jade-green under the midday sun. It was impossible to go on feeling tense in such a setting.
Claire, who had been temporarily deserted by her affectionate clan, closed her eyes and let herself relax in a deck chair on the patio. It felt marvellous to enjoy the steady warmth of the sun beating down on her bare arms, the scent of flowers and salt air and the distant swish, swish of the waves lapping on the sand…until the scrape of another chair on the paving bricks intruded on her reverie. Her eyes flew open.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said bleakly.
Alain gave a short laugh.
‘Don’t sound so overjoyed,’ he warned. ‘I might feel tempted to stay and chat.’
This sarcasm made Claire bristle and yet she could not help noticing the smoky, rather hoarse quality of his voice. As a teenager she had found it unbearably seductive, but now it filled her with panic. In any other man she would have thought it very attractive, but not in Alain Charpentier.
‘What do you want?’ she demanded, sitting rigidly upright as she watched him move the chairs and peer underneath.
‘A pair of canvas gardening gloves,’ he replied. ‘Your father assures me that he left them somewhere over here. I need them to help lift the pig out of the pit.’
But a joint search beneath the deck chairs and around the pot plants that bordered the patio failed to locate the missing gloves.
‘Try the flowerbed near the African tulip tree,’ suggested Claire. ‘Unless Papa has changed dramatically, he’s probably left them out there when he got sick of weeding. Over there, see? Where the women are setting up the tables.’
Alain’s gaze followed her pointing finger to the spot where a group of chattering, laughing women were leisurely draping tablecloths and arranging dishes on a battered collection of garden furniture.
‘Why aren’t you helping them?’ he asked.
Claire stiffened, wondering whether he was attacking her. Then she remembered her promise to her mother. She was going to be nice to Alain Charpentier, even if it killed her.
‘I was helping,’ she protested. ‘But I dropped a glass bowl of green salad and they decided I was more trouble than I was worth.’
