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“We’ve all sustained a shock. I think a drink is in order,” Guthrie said. “I’ll go and fetch us something.” Eagerly, he hurried away.
“What is Sylvester worth, do you think?” Ellie glanced around each of them in turn.
“Billions.” Jonathan’s voice was calmer than the others. “The exact amount would be speculation.”
Ellie’s eyes sparkled. “So all we have to do is sit tight, and we each get a share of that. And one of us will inherit this island, as well.”
“When Sylvester dies,” Matt pointed out. “He’s a young man.”
“But as his heirs, we would be entitled to some sort of privileges during his lifetime, surely?” she insisted.
“That would be entirely up to Sylvester.”
“This is ridiculous!” Lucinda had been pacing the length of the terrace but she paused now, her face suffused with fury. “This should be done properly. Mr. Reynolds should have been given the task of finding Sylvester’s closest relatives. That would be Guthrie and me. We should be his heirs. We could challenge this—”
Matt’s calm tones cut across her heated ones. “I hope you won’t. You’d look very foolish. It is up to Sylvester to decide who he leaves his money to.”
Before Lucinda could reply, Guthrie returned with a tray laden with drinks and proceeded to dispense these. The interruption lightened some of the tension. “It’s like an old-fashioned horror story,” Guthrie commented cheerfully.
“Don’t be absurd.” Lucinda frowned at him.
“No, I mean it.” He lowered his voice dramatically. “Who will be the first to succumb to the curse of Corazón? The first one to go is usually the quietest. My money’s on you, Jonathan.”
“Thank you.” Jonathan raised his glass in a mock salute.
“Connie won’t be first,” Guthrie continued. “The prettiest girl always lasts until close to the end.”
“It’s interesting that no one wants to leave,” Matt said. “Which means none of us are taking the story seriously.”
“Do you think Sylvester believes so strongly in the curse he is convinced he will die young? Is that why he has never married?” Ellie turned to Matt for answers.
Matt shrugged. “I’m not in his confidence. Sylvester doesn’t strike me as an overimaginative person, however.”
“If we chose to stay and don’t remain pure of heart, surely we risk becoming victims of the second part of the curse?” After remaining quiet for so long, Jonathan seemed to have found his voice. It was laden with doom.
“You mean there’s a chance we could die young? Within the next few weeks?” Ellie’s voice became more high-pitched with each word. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
“We’ll just have to think pure thoughts and do pure deeds for the next three weeks,” Guthrie said as he drained his glass. “Who’s for another?”
Since Jonathan’s words had cast a gloom over everyone’s spirits, no one took him up on his offer and Guthrie was left alone among the bottles as the others wandered away.
Matt caught up with Connie as she strolled along the edge of the beach. “You were very quiet back there. Everything okay?”
She turned her head to smile up at him. “I’m not sure what to make of it all. Do you believe the curse story?”
“No, but I think those sorts of things can have a powerful influence. Once they take hold of an individual’s imagination, they can do some damage. If anyone back there actually believed their darker traits might be enhanced by this island—that they will develop a heart of malice while they are here—then the power of suggestion could be strong enough to make it happen.”
There was enough light cast by the moon and from the house itself for her to see his expression. A mischievous smile lit up his features. “So we might see Lucinda change from the dear, sweet girl she is now into someone altogether more unpleasant.”
Connie couldn’t help laughing. “When you put it like that, it does sound foolish to think a place can change someone’s personality.” She looked at the house. It was so beautiful; how could it possibly be bad?
“Do you believe the past can influence the present?” His voice was suddenly different. Some of the humor had gone, to be replaced by a sudden urgency.
Connie shivered slightly. Wasn’t she living proof it did? Every day? “It depends. Are you talking about living memory or the distant past?” She’d spent so long worrying about what the next ten minutes might bring, tonight was the first time she’d thought about the past in a true historical sense—beyond the pages of a book—in a very long time.
Matt ran a hand through his hair. “To be honest, I don’t know what I’m talking about, or where the hell that question came from. I’m going to blame Guthrie for mixing an overly powerful drink and go in search of a strong coffee. I’ll leave you to your stroll.”
Slipping off her shoes, Connie stepped up to the water’s edge, feeling the grains of sand crunch and slide between her toes. She wondered if she was the only person who felt safer here, despite the curse. Or did the other five all have equally powerful reasons for staying? I have faced the prospect of dying young every second of every day for the last four years. What does another few weeks matter?
Sylvester’s proposition meant nothing to her, except as a means of escape from fear. If she was still here in three weeks’ time—and she’d become used to thinking of her future in much shorter time scales—she’d deal with the implications then. Perhaps Mr. Reynolds could help her? If she survived and emerged as one of Sylvester’s heirs, surely she’d have more options. She smiled. One of Sylvester de León’s heirs. The thought was too ridiculous for words.
The thought that she was here at all, thinking about Sylvester, imagining that there was something in his eyes when he looked at her, was all too far-fetched to be true. Perhaps that was another reason why this talk of curses hadn’t affected her as much as it had the others. Her heart rate had still not recovered from the intensity of that magnetic blue gaze. Unlike everyone else, her biggest challenge would not be to withstand the effects of the curse; it would be to resist the lure of the island’s owner.
As she turned and walked back, the view of the house, golden and welcoming in the darkness, was stunning. It beckoned to her as nowhere in her life had ever done, stirring emotions she didn’t understand. Sweet wistfulness twined its way around her heart, slowing her limbs and softening her gaze. Decorative arches were lit by lamps and light shone from each of the windows. The walkways through the gardens were also now lit and Connie caught glimpses of pretty fountains shimmering with reflected color. As she walked toward them, she experienced the oddest feeling of déjà vu. The thought amused her. Because my life has been all about spending time in the garden of a billionaire’s island mansion. Moving closer still, the feelings persisted. It was much more than a brief sensation of having been here before. It was an emotional pull accompanied by a strange, proprietorial pride.
There were four identical Spanish-style fountains, each hexagonal in shape with mosaic tiles in green, white and blue decorating their bases. The walkway between them was lined with fragrant blue sage flowers and a stone bench had been set at the end, affording a perfect view over the whole area. Connie surveyed the scene with her head to one side.
Perfect. Just like the old house at Valladolid.
The strange thought, quick and fleeting, was gone as soon as it had entered her mind. Connie shook her head. What did she know of old houses in Valladolid? This strange night was getting to her in more ways than one.
As she drew closer to the fountains, she could hear two men talking. They were walking toward her. Recognizing Sylvester’s voice, she pulled back into the shadows. She wasn’t ready for a conversation with him yet. She might never be ready for that.
The other man was Matt. Clearly he had been sidetracked from his coffee, and he was the one speaking as they drew level with Connie.
“Sylvester, this plan of yours is ridiculous. You’ll marry and have children of your own. There is no need for this—” Connie could hear the frustration in Matt’s tone as he ground out the words, then paused to seek the right one to come next. “Theater.”
“No, you couldn’t be more wrong. I will never marry. No child of mine will inherit Corazón.”
“I don’t wish to pry, but are you ill, Sylvester? Is that what this is all about?” Matt sounded concerned. “Because we can get you the very best doctor money can buy.”
As the two men continued on their way, Connie heard Sylvester’s laughter. It was a bitter, mirthless sound, carried to her clearly on a warm island breeze together with his words. “I wish it was that simple, Matt. Really, I do.”
Chapter 5 (#ua57f949a-2487-573a-96b1-8e6c15eb1c1c)
Connie slept well in her shell-themed room, although her slumber was plagued by odd snippets of dreams. These were fanciful glimpses into another time when there were shells to be gathered and fish to be speared. She had never before had a dream in which the sense of heat was so real. Connie could taste it in the sand-blasted, flower-scented air. It shimmered around her as she walked, clinging to her bare legs and plastering the strange garment she wore against her body. It seemed to be a short dress made of tanned deerskin decorated with interwoven grasses, moss and shells.
Waking the next day, she felt the oddest sense of loss, as though her dreaming self wanted to cling to something that never was. The feeling persisted as she showered and dressed.
These strange imaginings must have been prompted by Sylvester and his talk of the deeds of long-dead de León ancestors. After all the talk of history and curses, it was probably only natural her subconscious mind should have taken her on a journey away from this beautiful house that gazed out onto calm seas. Behind the luxurious façade, there was drama and legend enough to sweep her back through the centuries to the point in time when Spanish conquistador and fierce Calusa had collided.
She was relieved to find she was the only person at breakfast. Vega informed her that Sylvester, always an early riser, had already eaten and gone for his customary morning run. No one else had emerged from their rooms. Vega imparted the news with a vague air of condemnation.
“Are there any books about the Calusa in the house?” Connie asked when Vega brought her coffee and eggs. “I’d love to learn more about them.”
“You should ask the master. He knows more than anyone alive about the ‘fierce people,’” Vega told her with a trace of pride. “But I think he does have some books in the den.”
The day stretched ahead of Connie, the first one she could remember in which she had no plans. It was a strange feeling. No work. No furtive, over-the-shoulder glances. No raised heart rate. It was too soon to say there was no fear. She had been conditioned to feel fear. Her hand went to her throat. He has brainwashed me to be afraid. The way a master trains his dog. The thought roused a flicker of anger deep within her and she welcomed it as a sign she wasn’t completely under his control.
When she had finished eating, she took a second cup of coffee into the den. As with every room at Corazón, it was both luxurious and comfortable.
Connie found the Spanish style that pervaded the house soothing to her nerves, and that feeling was more apparent in this room than any other. The huge fireplace dominating the room was decorated with a brass plate. When she stepped closer, Connie saw it depicted scenes of the conquistadors’ battles. The den had a high, arched ceiling of light oak paneling with the wood continuing halfway down the walls. This had also been used to build the bookcases that lined one wall.
Vega was right, and Connie discovered several books about the Calusa on the shelves. Taking these down, she placed them on a side table and, kicking off her shoes, curled into one of the huge, cushioned chairs at the side of the fireplace. What heaven! A chance to read without having an eye on the clock and the other on the door. Within minutes she was completely lost in the world of the Shell Indians. Her ears, accustomed to listen for changes, picked up on movements within the house without allowing them to disrupt her concentration. She tuned out Lucinda’s complaints about the noise of the cicadas, Ellie’s inquiry about whether the coffee was decaf and Guthrie’s good-natured banter with Vega about the size of the breakfast and his fears for his waistline.
It was some time later that the door clicked open and she finally glanced up from her book, reluctantly leaving behind a world when shells counted as currency and the word of the king and his high priests were the laws that mattered. The smile faded from her lips as she encountered the blistering blue of Sylvester’s gaze.
“Oh.” Connie snapped the book closed. He looked annoyed. Shouldn’t she be here? Perhaps he didn’t like people helping themselves to his books without asking first. She felt the blush burn her cheeks and her hand stole to her throat. “I’m sorry. I wanted to find out more about the Calusa. I should have asked...” Her voice trailed off and she rose to her feet, gathering up the other books and turning to the shelves, preparing to replace them.
“No.” Sylvester strode into the room, stopping when he was a few inches away from her. His eyes raked her face hungrily and Connie held her breath. Was he going to say something about whatever it was that existed between them? This nameless, aching longing that gripped them both? Was he going to acknowledge it so they could talk about it, even do something about it? Because those inches separating them were alive with a crackling intensity that made her want to reach out a hand just to see what would happen. Would blue sparks leap between them? Would they both be engulfed in flames?
Sylvester looked like a man whose very soul was in torment. He drew in a breath and tore his eyes from hers. “It’s fine—help yourself to any books you want. I’m sorry I interrupted you.”
Turning abruptly away, he walked out of the room, leaving Connie staring after him with her hand half-raised.
* * *
Connie arrived late for lunch, having lost track of time. Murmuring an apology in Sylvester’s general direction, she slid into a seat. It seemed there was a determined effort taking place to get this strange house party fully under way. Connie’s introverted soul withdrew further at the idea. Ellie seemed to have appointed herself group leader and Guthrie was happily assisting her in planning a number of entertainments. Matt caught Connie’s eye a few times, his droll expression causing her to hide a smile.
“We must do all the things Sylvester’s other house guests do,” Ellie decided. The subtext was clear. We must behave the way celebrities do when they visit Corazón. “The weather is perfect, so there is no excuse for staying indoors.” She directed a frown in Connie’s direction. It was clearly a condemnation of the person who had remained buried in her book most of the morning while the others socialized on the terrace. “There are any number of activities to occupy us.” She began to list them on her fingers. “Swimming, sailing, walking, fishing, water sports—”
“Are you trying to wear us all out?” Lucinda asked. “I’m more in favor of lounging by the pool.”
“I think we’ll quickly end up at each other’s throats if anyone feels obliged to do anything he or she has no inclination for.” It was a lengthy speech from the generally quiet Jonathan.
“What do your guests usually do?” Ellie appealed to Sylvester for help.
“Whatever they choose. My home is at your disposal.” He cast a glance around the table. “You should remember that, apart from the brothers and sisters in the group, none of you know each other. In the unusual circumstances that brought you together, enforced exposure to strangers might be difficult. I think you should take care to respect each other’s privacy.”
Did Connie imagine it or did he cast a brief, sympathetic glance in her direction?
“Following that wise advice, I’m going for a swim. Anyone care to join me?” Guthrie rose from the table.
Ellie jumped up enthusiastically. “Swimming is my passion. I do it every day. I’m a competitive long-distance swimmer...” Her voice faded as she left the room and Connie felt a sense of relief at the prospect of being spared any more planned amusement.
Matt caught up with her as she left the house. “Any plans for the afternoon?”
“I want to explore the island.”
“Care for some company?”
She agreed readily, although her conscience troubled her slightly as they followed a path that led them inland. Was she consenting to his company because she liked Matt or because of his closeness to Sylvester? She hoped it was the former.
She didn’t think of herself as a manipulative person, but that raised its own set of problems. She felt safe in Matt’s company and he was the first man close to her own age about whom she had been able to say that in a long time. He alleviated some of her fears over this strange holiday and took away some of her nervousness around the others in the group. But she’d seen the admiration in his eyes when they’d rested on her. That was something she didn’t want to encourage. The idea of a new friend was an unlooked-for pleasure. Anything more, even without the complication of her feelings for Sylvester, was out of the question.
Matt glanced down at her once or twice, but remained silent until they reached the top of a small hill. Looking back, they could see the house and the beach, ahead of them another tiny bay and a cluster of small buildings.
“It looks like a miniature village,” Connie said.
“I suppose it is, in a way,” Matt agreed. “Looking after an island like Corazón takes some work. This is the staff quarters. It was where the landscapers, house maintenance staff, boat keepers, fishermen, dive experts lived. The list used to be a long one.”
“Used to be?”
“As technology has advanced, the number of staff has reduced. Many services are brought in. Now there are just four permanent, live-in staff. Vega and Roberto, whom you’ve met, and two others who do more general roles,” Matt said. “I know so much about it because my father’s firm oversees a lot of Sylvester’s contracts.”
“And the curse doesn’t bother the staff who live here?”
“The curse was aimed at the family, remember? Also, Sylvester pays well, which takes some of the sting out of the old legends.”
They continued on the downward path, reaching the bottom of the hill and finding themselves among a group of small, thatched huts and a larger, wooden building that was open to show kayaks stored inside. Two men at the water’s edge were working on a traditional-looking canoe and, as Matt approached, they greeted him with pleasure.
“Stranger,” one of them said in a teasing voice. He was younger than the other man, but the likeness between them meant they could only be father and son. “We thought you’d lost your directions for how to get here.”
“Connie, this is Juan and his son Nicolás. They are responsible for all things water-sport-related on this island. If you want to try water-skiing or kayaking, you know where to come.” Seeming unaware of her look of horror, he looked over the craft they were working on. “What model is this?”
“Mark four.” Juan eyed the canoe with pleasure. “We think this is the one.”
“You said that about the last three.”
“Care to put your money where your mouth is?” Nicolás challenged.
“No, because when you sink between here and Cuba, how will I collect my winnings?”
Connie looked from one to the other. “You are going to Cuba in this?” Her surprise cut across their banter.
“That’s the plan.” Nicolás laughed at her expression. “How long has it been your ambition to do this, Dad? Thirty years?”
“At least. And it has been done before. We are trying to replicate the voyages undertaken by the Calusa in their hollowed-out cypress logs. There is plenty of evidence to show that they reached Cuba and even possibly Mexico in vessels such as this one.”
“Dad likes to think he’s a Calusa at heart.” Nicolás quirked an affectionate brow at his father.
“Were they your ancestors?” Connie remembered the book she’d been reading that morning and the fascinating stories it contained. Could these two men with their weathered, brown skin be descended from that ancient tribe?
“No.” The voice came from behind them and they swung around. None of them had heard Sylvester’s approach. Not even Connie, who prided herself on having a sixth sense for people approaching her from behind. “There are no living descendants of the Calusa.”
“We’re from Cuba,” Juan explained. “Where some people like to claim they have Calusa blood. They think it makes them sound fierce and interesting. What do you think, boss?” He pointed to the boat.
“I think you’re going to die.”
Juan certainly did look fierce as he turned away with a scowl, Connie decided. That was about the only thought she had to spare, since Sylvester’s presence instantly took up every part of her awareness, her senses, her very being. She remembered a solar eclipse when she was young, and her father telling her solemnly that she mustn’t look directly at the sun because it would burn her eyes. I can’t look directly at Sylvester. He burns my heart. Just as they had done with that long-ago eclipse, her eyes refused to listen to the instruction. They kept finding their way back to the source of the danger.
Sylvester had taken Juan aside and was talking to him about sporting equipment. No doubt warning him there were some very persistent guests who might not necessarily put their own safety first. Matt was still teasing Nicolás about their bet.
Connie wandered a few feet away along the edge of the water. The shells were plentiful here and she stooped to pick a few up, examining them, marveling there was once a society built upon their fragile beauty. There are no living descendants. Sylvester’s words saddened her way beyond anything she should feel for a people to whom she had no connection beyond one book she’d browsed a few hours earlier. It made her feel unbearably sorry to think such a proud people no longer existed. The closest feeling to which she could compare it was one of mourning.
She was turning back when Sylvester fell in step beside her. Okay, I can do this. I can ignore the pounding of my heart and make polite conversation. He is just being a considerate host. She reminded herself Sylvester had no idea of the impact he had on her. Or perhaps he did? Perhaps he knew women became fluttery and tongue-tied whenever he approached them? “It’s sad to think of a whole complex civilization being wiped out. How did it happen?”
“They were mighty warriors, and they fought the Spanish bravely. But they were not equipped to fight the diseases the Europeans brought with them. When the Spanish arrived in South Florida in the 1500s, it is estimated there were twenty thousand Calusa here. By the time the English gained control in 1763, their number had been decimated and only a few hundred of the Shell People remained. It is believed those survivors left Florida for good, following the Spanish to Cuba. So, perhaps Juan is right and there may be a few descendants in his country...your country, too. Wasn’t your father Cuban?”
