Diamond Fire

The fact that she now knew how wrong she had been didn’t alter the fact that Virginia had married this man, probably without knowing very much about him beyond the fact that he could keep her—and her mother—in the manner to which they had both become accustomed.

However, her chance to see Virginia’s proposed husband for herself had not materialised either. The precipitate arrival of Virginia’s wedding invitation had coincided with her own annual holiday, and by the time she had returned to London the wedding was over, and Virginia departed for pastures new. An interview with her mother, brought about by the fact that Camilla had not known where to send the handmade lace tablecloth she had brought back from Italy as a wedding present, had elicited an address in Oahu, but apart from a hurried note of thanks they had shared no further communication. For six years!

And then, just like the invitation to her wedding, Virginia’s letter had arrived without warning, sent on to Camilla’s present employer by one of the clerks in the office where she’d used to work. Evidently, Virginia had listened to some of what Camilla had told her, and although she had not remembered her address she had remembered where she worked.

Which was just as well, Camilla thought now. She had moved twice since those early days at Farquahar and Cummings, and there was every possibility that a letter sent to her previous address would have gone astray. Or perhaps it would have been better if it had, she reflected with some cynicism. At least then she would not have had to read Virginia’s impassioned prose, or flown out to Hawaii at the drop of a hat with the distinct impression that she was on a mission of mercy.

For Virginia had said some pretty damning things about this husband of hers in her letter. For one thing, she had implied that he was mistreating her, and Camilla had been half afraid she would come here to find her friend covered in bruises. The marriage had been a mistake, Virginia had stated passionately, the words she had used bringing her thin, agitated face to mind. Alex—she had called her husband Alex—didn’t care about her; she doubted he ever had, and she was going mad with no one to talk to. Could Camilla come to Oahu? She knew it was an imposition, but she had no one else. Her mother had apparently been taken ill some time ago, and was presently being cared for in a nursing-home in Surrey, and Virginia couldn’t burden her with her troubles. Please come, she had pleaded. For old times’ sake. She would be forever grateful.

But now Camilla was here, and Virginia wasn’t. For some reason—some final humiliation, perhaps—she had abandoned all hope of deliverance and run away, taking her daughter—Alessandro Conti’s daughter—with her. Camilla thought it was probably just as well she had taken the child with her. Otherwise, given what Virginia had told her about him, she might well have suspected her husband of being involved in her disappearance. After all, Alessandro Conti, by his own admission, had known nothing of the letter Virginia had sent to England, and so far as he was concerned there was no one who might question her absence. The servants were obviously devoted to their master, probably because he paid them well to be so, Camilla decided uncharitably. They wouldn’t raise a finger to help their mistress. Indeed, there seemed a distinct lack of concern for Virginia’s safety from everyone, including her husband. They wanted her—and the child—back again. But not, apparently, because of any great affection for her.

Camilla shook her head. It was hopelessly confusing, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to hold at bay the headache that had been plaguing her ever since Mama Lu, if that really was her name, had admitted her to the house. She wanted nothing so much as to lie down on the enormous bed and give way to the after-effects of prolonged jet lag, but instead she was supposed to wash and brush up, and join her host for supper. After convincing himself that Camilla really had no more idea of Virginia’s whereabouts than he had, Alessandro Conti had summoned the Polynesian woman again, and had had her show their guest to this apartment. Apparently he had decided that she should be offered their hospitality for tonight at least, and Camilla had been left alone, to unpack her suitcases and take a shower.

Shaking her head a little bewilderedly now, Camilla picked up her handbag and rummaged about in the bottom for the strip of aspirin tablets she kept there for emergencies such as this. Breaking the foil, she popped two tablets in her mouth, and then looked about her for something to swallow them with. There was no obvious container for the purpose, and, realising she could get water from the tap, she walked into the adjoining bathroom Mama Lu had indicated.

She stopped short then, momentarily stunned by its luxurious appointments. As well as a smoked-glass shower cabinet, there was an enormous sunken bath with whirlpool jets, and twin hand-basins of lime-green porcelain that matched the other fitments. Once again, there was a bulging skylight overhead, but right now the room was illuminated by long strips of light concealed above the smoked-glass mirrors that lined the walls.

It was all a bit too much for her to cope with at the moment, and, collecting a smoked-glass tumbler from beside the array of bathroom accessories and cosmetics that were arranged in a hand-woven basket between the basins, she filled it from the tap and swallowed a mouthful of water along with the aspirin tablets. Then, setting the tumbler down again, she stood for a moment studying her reflection in the mirror above the basin.

She looked tired, she thought critically, but that wasn’t really surprising. Yesterday she had flown from London to Los Angeles, a journey of some ten hours, and this morning she had caught a delayed flight to Honolulu, which had added another five and a half hours to her travel time. That, combined with a ten-hour time change, made staying awake at any hour of the evening a distinct effort. After all—she glanced at her watch—her body-clock was still working, at least partially, on British time, and right now it was about five o’clock in the morning in London.

The Polynesian housekeeper had told her that Mr Conti usually ate his evening meal at around nine o’clock, which gave her plenty of time to take a shower—or a bath, if she chose—and rest for a while before having to face him again.

Which was just as well, she reflected, pulling the remaining pins out of her hair. The expensive perm she had had before leaving England had not tamed her hair, as she had hoped, and now it tumbled about her shoulders, an uncontrollable mass of crinkles. Of course, the sea air on the journey from the airport hadn’t helped. After reading about the sophistication of American cars she had expected the taxi to have air-conditioning, but if it had the driver had found no use for it. He had driven along with the windows wide open and the invading breeze had been as destructive as it had been welcome. What Alessandro Conti must have thought of her, she couldn’t imagine. Even her suit was crumpled, and, together with the lines of fatigue around her rather pale eyes, she looked altogether unprepossessing.

She was simply not one of those women who looked good in any circumstances, she decided, turning away from the mirror. Her features were acceptable, it was true, but she needed make-up or she looked washed out. Another consequence of having such violently coloured hair, she thought impatiently. Still, in her own world, and her own time, she managed quite successfully, and there had been one or two men over the years who had seemed to find the combination of a mobile mouth and a bubbling sense of humour sufficient compensation. Not men like Alessandro Conti, she had to admit. But then, men like Alessandro Conti didn’t look for their women among career-minded individuals who didn’t regard sex as the be-all and end-all of existence, Camilla reminded herself defensively.

Half an hour later she emerged from the bathroom wearing the towelling bathrobe she had found on the back of the door, and feeling a little better. With reckless abandon she had taken both a bath and a shower, using the latter to wash her hair and cleanse her body of the expensive gel that had created a storm of bubbles in the jacuzzi. It was only afterwards she had realised that she probably shouldn’t have used the bubble-bath in conjunction with the jets, but by then it was too late. Besides, she thought defiantly, Alessandro Conti could afford to have it repaired if she had caused some damage. Clearly, a shortage of material assets was not the reason Virginia had decided to leave home. If hers was just an example of a guest-room at the house Camilla could imagine what the master suite must be like.

Padding, barefoot, across the velvet carpet, she switched on the television set that resided on a bureau opposite the bed, and then padded back to sit on the satin coverlet. She had at least half an hour to fill before she needed to start getting ready, and watching television would take her mind from the chaotic jumble of her thoughts. Time enough later to consider what she was going to do, she decided, settling herself back against the pillows. For the time being she was not going to worry. In spite of her claims to the contrary, Virginia had proved she was not a prisoner, and until Camilla heard differently she would have to assume she could take care of herself.

CHAPTER THREE

CAMILLA awoke to unfamiliar sounds—the call of doves from the nearby trees, the shrill cry of a sea-bird, the muted roar of the ocean. For a moment she couldn’t remember where she was, or how she came to be here, and she came up on her elbows, blinking as she looked about her.

And then recollection returned to her—or a selective part of it did anyway. She was in Hawaii; on the island of Oahu; and in Alessandro Conti’s house, Kumaru, to be precise. She had arrived there the previous afternoon, only to find Virginia wasn’t here; but she had been shown in to this room, to relax and refresh herself before supper.

She frowned then. For that was as far as her recollection took her. She clearly remembered being shown into this room, and she also remembered taking a bath and washing her hair.

She put up a wary hand to her hair, but apart from a faint slickness, which could have been caused by sweating as she slept, it felt quite dry. But—and it was at this point that a wave of embarrassment swept over her—she was naked beneath the sheet, which was all that covered her. And that simply wasn’t usual. She never slept in the nude. Indeed, she invariably wore old, baggy cotton T-shirts to sleep in, but for this trip she had bought herself two rather glamorous nightgowns from Janet Reger. She had not known if Virginia might still want to indulge in bedtime confidences, and, guessing the kind of nightwear she would favour, Camilla had invested in something she need not feel ashamed of. That was why she felt so uneasy now. She was sure that on this occasion particularly she would not have put herself to bed without her nightgown.

Which meant …

A flush stained her cheeks. The conclusion was obvious. She must have fallen asleep watching the television, and someone else—Mama Lu, probably—had decided not to disturb her. Instead, the bathrobe had been whisked away, she had been covered with the sheet, and her hair left to dry on the pillow.

So what?

Refusing to allow herself to continue down this avenue of thought, Camilla threw back the sheet and slid her legs over the side of the bed. Her nakedness disturbed her, but a swift rummage in one of the suitcases still residing at the foot of the bed produced the satin dressing-gown that matched one of the nightdresses. Wrapping the robe about her, she immediately felt more in control of her destiny, but the memories still rankled.

God, she thought, pushing back the weight of her hair with a frustrated hand, as if the situation hadn’t been complicated enough, without her behaving like some first-time traveller. For heaven’s sake, it was bad enough that she had arrived here unexpected and unannounced, without falling asleep at a time when she was supposed to be having supper with Virginia’s husband!

She sighed. Well, he didn’t have a particularly flattering opinion of her anyway, she consoled herself. It was obvious he had originally believed that Virginia had sent her here to intercede on her behalf, and when she had finally convinced him that this wasn’t so he had still regarded her with some suspicion. With some suspicion! Camilla shook her head disbelievingly. As if he had any reason to be suspicious of her! She was a solicitor, for God’s sake. She was paid to deal with other people’s transgressions, not to be accused of transgressions of her own.

Still, he had seemed to accept her story—or at least an edited version of it—by the time the housekeeper was summoned to show her to this room. Indeed, he had been unexpectedly courteous once he had satisfied himself that she was not actually lying to him. She hadn’t been given the impression that he totally trusted her story, but he certainly hadn’t rejected it.

But now she had undone all the good work she had achieved the night before. Alessandro Conti was hardly likely to remain convinced of her professed concern for Virginia’s whereabouts if she could drop off to sleep as if she hadn’t a care in the world. He might even see it as proof of her complicity, and her heart sank at the probable outcome. If he insisted that she left here now she might never find out what had happened to Virginia, and, for all her helpless loss of consciousness, she was worried.

However, there was nothing she could do about it. Virginia’s husband would decide what course her stay in Oahu was going to take, and for the present she could only prepare herself for the worst.

But the sun was shining, filtering in through the printed silk curtains that someone had drawn over her windows, and Camilla would not have been human if she hadn’t felt a sense of curiosity about her surroundings. Stepping down on to the lower level, she crossed the delicately patterned rug, and drew the drapes aside.

She startled a brightly coloured bird that had been breakfasting from the tumbling branches of an azalea, whose rose and lilac-coloured blossoms spilled over the balcony; but Camilla scarcely noticed. Her widening eyes were drawn to the brilliant waters of the Pacific surging on to a stretch of almost pure white sand just a short distance away. From a creamy whiteness, caused by the reflection of the sand through the water, to the deepest blue on the horizon, the water shaded from lime to jade, from robin’s-egg pale to sapphire, an ever-changing carpet of shifting colours.

Camilla caught her breath. She had never seen such a delightful sight before, and for a moment she forgot everything in the sheer pleasure of just looking. It was so unbelievably beautiful, and the isolated prison of Virginia’s letter seemed far from this enchanted place.

Fumbling with the catch that secured the sliding glass doors, she eventually discovered how to open them, and stepped out on to the iron-railed terrace. The air was surprisingly cool, but only cool by Hawaiian standards, she reflected dreamily. Even at this hour of the morning, the inherent warmth, which would invade the atmosphere later in the day, was already a sensuous promise against her legs. The playful breeze had parted the skirt of her robe, and was exposing her long slim legs to the strengthening rays of the sun, and because she was alone with the morning she let it do its worst.

What time was it? she wondered. She had removed her watch before her bath, and now, reluctantly, she turned back into the room and climbed the steps again to the sleeping-deck. She found her watch on the table beside the bed, and discovered it was only half-past six. Evidently, the time-change had worked to her advantage this morning. The household wasn’t yet stirring, but she was wide awake.

She discovered, when she went to take her shower, that fresh towels had been placed on the rack in the bathroom, and new phials of bath gel and shampoo had replaced the ones she had used the night before. She shook her head in wonder. It was like staying at the very swishest hotel, she thought, remembering an article she had read about a chain of hotels in New York that actually employed somebody to anticipate the guests’ every whim. She had the feeling that if she had arrived without her suitcases that would have been taken care of as well! Alessandro Conti probably left nothing to chance.

But then, she reflected as she dropped her robe on to the laundry basket and stepped into the shower, she was obviously not the usual sort of guest he entertained. She could imagine politicians coming here with their wives; congressmen, or senators, perhaps; people well known in the arts and education; scientists; maybe even a judge. And also, perhaps, some people who operated outside the law. Alessandro Conti was clearly of Italian descent. He might even belong to the Mafia.

Deciding she was allowing her imagination to run away with her, Camilla abandoned this train of thought and concentrated on what she was doing. The shower was strong and invigorating, pummelling her scalp and the tender skin of her breasts, flowing in rivulets down the lower contours of her body. Watching the water disappear through the grill at the bottom of the shower, she was reminded of the scene in the film Psycho, when the erstwhile heroine of the piece was invaded by the deranged owner of the motel. She remembered the shadow through the curtain, the knife blade raised and then falling with such horrible intent——

‘Aloha! Miss Richards!’

Camilla nearly jumped out of her skin. The shadowy bulk beyond the shower screen was much too close to what she had been thinking, and she dropped the shampoo, and had to scrabble about in the bottom of the shower to find it again.

Then, realising it was only the housekeeper, she straightened. ‘Y … yes?’ she called, annoyed to find her voice betraying the shock she had had. ‘Wh … what do you want?’

‘I have left a tray of coffee in the bedroom,’ Mama Lu replied imperviously, and Camilla could see her reflection through the glass, moving round the bathroom, picking up her robe and folding it over her arm. ‘I guessed you might wake early this morning. If you would like me to bring breakfast to your room I will, or you might wish to take it outdoors.’

Camilla swallowed her resentment that the housekeeper should come into her room without knocking, and cleared her throat. ‘Um … I think I’d like to have breakfast outdoors,’ she said, wondering if Alessandro Conti would like to join her. ‘Er—thank you for the coffee. I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.’

‘You’re welcome.’

The housekeeper drifted out again, and, expelling a trembling breath, Camilla completed her toilet. She had washed her hair again, deciding it would be easier to style damp than dry, and after drying her body she put on the fresh towelling bathrobe Mama Lu had left in place of her own.

It would have been easy to feel some impatience with the housekeeper for taking her own robe away, but she supposed Mama Lu was only being helpful. Camilla simply wasn’t used to having servants lay out her clothes for her, or provide her with her own pot of coffee that tasted just as delicious as it smelt.

Abandoning any hope of remaining businesslike in these surroundings, Camilla dressed in cream cotton Bermuda shorts and a collarless silk blouse. The elbow-sleeved blouse was patterned in shades of cream and green, and was cool without looking too holidayish. The last thing she wanted Alessandro Conti to think was that she was regarding the present situation as a holiday. She might have told him she had come here with that intent, but obviously now that was not the way it was. On the contrary, in the clear light of day Virginia’s disappearance was no less disturbing. Camilla couldn’t understand why she should have done it. She must have expected her friend to respond to her summons, and, as soon as she had received Virginia’s letter, Camilla had made arrangements to do so. She hadn’t sent a cable, for obvious reasons. But there had been no reason for Virginia to lose hope so quickly.

Perhaps she hadn’t run away. As Camilla plaited her hair down the back of her head and finished with a short braid that nudged her shoulder she wondered if it was at all possible that Virginia had simply decided to take a trip without telling anyone. It was irresponsible, of course, but when they had been at school together Virginia had been irresponsible sometimes. Looking back, Camilla had to admit that her friend hadn’t always done what was expected of her. So why shouldn’t she have arranged this trip and taken her daughter with her?

Deciding it was at least something she could suggest to Alessandro Conti, Camilla finished her coffee, took one last, rather resigned glance at her reflection, and left the bedroom.

The hall outside was bathed in sunshine. Long windows that overlooked the lawns at the side of the house had not yet had their blinds slatted, and the floor was striped in bands of gold. As in the lower half of her room, the floor itself was made of wood, polished around the heavy fringed rugs that were laid at intervals along the corridor. Camilla looked to left and right, and then started in what she hoped was the direction of the wide arching vestibule she had entered the night before.

The house was huge, but she had known that before she had started out. Arriving yesterday afternoon, she had had some intimation of its size from the windows of the taxi that had brought her from the airport, but inside it was even more daunting. Halls and passages led off in all directions, and, while initially she had the side of the house to guide her, when she turned a corner even that reference was denied her.

The corridor ahead of her now ended in a pair of double-panelled doors, and, although she gazed at them with some expectation, Camilla was almost sure she hadn’t come this way the night before. She was lost, and she decided to make her way back to her own room and start again.

But as she turned away she heard the sound of a door behind her opening, and when she cast a hopeful glance over her shoulder she saw Alessandro Conti striding towards her. Immediately her heart sank. For heaven’s sake, she thought irritably, he would probably think she was searching the house, and she briefly closed her eyes against a fate that decreed she should meet this man again in difficult circumstances.

However, there was nothing she could do about it now. He had seen her, and, watching him come towards her, Camilla was again struck by his disturbing personality. Wearing a pearl-grey suit of some fine material that moulded the powerful lines of his strong body like a glove, he looked every bit as compelling as he had done the night before. And, although she didn’t want to notice how the close-fitting trousers accentuated his physicality, she couldn’t help it.

‘Lost?’ he enquired, after wishing her good morning, and Camilla mentally smoothed her ruffled senses and glanced up at him.

‘I … Yes,’ she answered, obliged to fall into step beside him. ‘I’m afraid I must have come the wrong way.’

‘It’s easily done,’ he assured her, his tone not half as brusque as she had expected. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Very well.’ Camilla swallowed. ‘Which reminds me, I must apologise about last night. Falling asleep like that. I expect Mama Lu told you.’

‘Mama Lu?’ Alessandro arched an enquiring eyebrow. ‘Oh—yes.’ He inclined his head. ‘You were obviously tired.’

‘Even so——’ Camilla caught her lower lip between her teeth ‘—it was unfortunate. I … don’t suppose there’s any … news?’

‘About Virginia?’ A perceptible hardness entered his tone as he spoke his wife’s name. ‘No. No, I’m afraid not.’

Camilla shook her head. ‘I don’t understand it.’

‘No.’ The look he gave her was enigmatic. ‘No, I don’t suppose you do.’

They had reached the main hall, and Camilla looked about her in some surprise. They seemed to have bypassed her room altogether, and were now in the enormous vestibule with its exquisite crystal chandelier suspended above a mosaic-tiled floor. The marble tiles were in direct contrast to the maplewood floor of the corridor and the velvet carpet that had cushioned her feet in the parlour, she thought. Yet they all blended together beautifully, creating an attractive asymmetry of styles. That was one thing Camilla had noticed the night before: the elegant mingling of opposites.