Anne Mather - Treacherous Longings

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Quinn felt obliged to intervene, and, fishing a handful of dollars out of his pocket, he thrust them into the boy’s hand. ‘Buy some sweets,’ he said. ‘For all of you. And thanks for your help, Celestine. I really do appreciate it.’

‘But you don’t know where Jake lives,’ protested the little girl as the older girl, Em, took the notes out of her brother’s hand and started to count them. ‘It’s called Nascence Bay,’ she added, ignoring her brother’s fury. ‘Well,’ she added, turning to him and looking at the money clasped in Em’s hand, ‘it’s only fair.’

Feeling like the biggest sleaze around, Quinn decided it was time to leave. God, was this what he was reduced to? Quizzing kids for information? But he noticed Em didn’t give him the money back. Evidently her scruples didn’t stretch that far.

And, thanks to Celestine, he found the entrance to the Stewart property ten minutes later. The name on the postbox, Renaissance Bay, would have meant nothing to him without Celestine’s childish directions. Though, now he came to think of it, it really was quite apt.

There were no gates to bar his way, but the dark tunnel of trees that edged the drive was an obvious deterrent to uninvited guests. Besides, if he hadn’t known that there was a dwelling at the end of it, he might have thought the narrow track could lead anywhere. To Renaissance Bay, perhaps? he reflected wryly. After all, that was what the sign had said.

And, in spite of the determination that had brought him here, Quinn couldn’t help feeling a little uneasy now. What if her husband was there? What if he threatened violence? Would he still persist in his objective if he had to use threats to get her to talk to him?

There was something unpleasant about the whole deal—but he had known that before he’d left England. And if he hadn’t done it Hector would have found someone else who would. Someone without his fastidiousness, without his scruples. He was here to ease her passage, whatever that might be.

The trees gave way to a battery of thorn and hydrangea, and then, suddenly, a long, low bungalow came into view. The reason he hadn’t been able to see it sooner was because the land in front of the house sloped away towards the shoreline, and all but the roof of the villa was protected by the ridge that rose behind it.

Quinn’s nerves tightened. What a perfect place for a house, he thought. What an incredible hideaway. No wonder no one had found her. Without foreknowledge, he would never have known where to look.

A shadow moved as he parked the Moke in the shade of a clump of palms. But it was only a fat black cat, which fled away into the shrubbery. No watchdog, then, he decided drily. Yet he had the distinct feeling of being observed.

He cut the Moke’s engine and looked around. It was possible, he supposed, that she was expecting him. That comment yesterday evening about his being on holiday could have been a bluff. And he’d done little to dispel it, struck almost dumb by her appearance.

His first impressions were that someone had taken a great deal of trouble to tame this semi-tropical paradise. The gardens surrounding the house were smoothly lawned, with colourful herbaceous borders and crazy-paving. There was a prettily arched pergola that was covered with flowering vines, and the scent of lime and citrus from a cluster of fruit trees.

A footway led through the pergola, apparently round to the back of the villa. Quinn hesitated, wishing someone would come and confront him, but no one did. He felt uncomfortably like the intruder he was, but he couldn’t stay here indefinitely. For all his uneasiness, he had to make a move.

Behind the villa a paved patio was strewn with terracotta pots of scarlet geraniums. There were flowers everywhere, tumbling out of stone planters and suspended in hanging-baskets. Even the pillars of the veranda that opened from the house were liberally covered with bougainvillaea, its pink and white confection like icing on a cake.

Beyond the patio, and the garden that enclosed it, he could hear the muted thunder of the ocean. An almost white beach, flanked by palm trees, fringed the blue-green waters of a lagoon. The waves crashed on the teeth of a reef some way out, but only creamed in gentle ribbons on the sand.

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