Gayle Wilson - Echoes in the Dark

The boat, too, fitted her image of the man at her side. It was sleek and fast, not new, but again classically styled, wood with brass fittings. She knew nothing of boats, but recognized the money and time it would take to care for something like this.

He controlled the boat with the same unthinking competence he had used to handle the convertible while the salt air finished the disorder of her careful hairdo. He had handed her in and out with that strong brown hand, and as she walked up the steep steps from the landing, she could still feel the strength in those steadying fingers tingling against her palm.

He had held her hand a fraction of a second too long, and she tried to ignore the long-forgotten messages such a gesture evoked, but she was attracted. She was honest enough, with herself at least, to admit it. She couldn’t remember when she had been so attracted to a man, and the irony of that thought wasn’t lost on her.

She took a deep breath as they neared the top of the stairs and the beginnings of the flagstones of the patio that stretched behind the modern house that commanded the summit of the island. It was nothing like the ancient family estate she had imagined. Instead it was sleek glass and cypress, but it was as imposing in its size as her imaginary mansion.

She shivered involuntarily, wondering where the sudden chill had come from in the warmth of the tropic sun. She must have paused because she felt his hand in the small of her back, a gentle movement of its thumb against her spine.

“It’s all right. Don’t be nervous. We’re very informal around here. It’s the ambience of the tropics, I suppose. All this lushness,” he reassured. When he laughed, she glanced up into that beautifully masculine face to find a look of real compassion for her nervousness. “No one’s going to eat you. I promise. No big bad wolf.”

She smiled at her foolishness and, unconsciously straightening her shoulders, started across the wide expanse of the patio. He followed, easily carrying both her bags, which he set down just inside the room they entered through the French doors. They waited a moment for their eyes to adjust to the pleasant dimness, so she missed the rise of the figure from the long coral couch across the room. The woman was halfway across the gleaming quarry tile, her hands extended, before she was clearly visible.

“Caroline? Of course. I was quite specific in my instructions. I wanted someone young and attractive and fun. I really do need help with those endless letters. God knows, I’m weeks behind, but that wasn’t my prime motivation. I just wanted someone to be friends with. I hope we will be. I’m Suzanne Rochette.”

By that time she was there, but instead of taking Caroline’s outstretched hand, she pulled her into a quick hug and then held both her shoulders to study her features.

Caroline’s first impressions were jumbled by the unexpectedness of the greeting. Nothing was as she had anticipated. The figure before her wore jeans as aged as her brother’s, a faded T-shirt and was barefoot.

Even given the ambience of the tropics her brother had talked about, the attire seemed strange for such wealth. Of course, she knew nothing about that. Who was she to judge? She realized that something was expected of her, so she smiled into the friendly blue eyes and was rewarded with a quick squeeze of those small, almost tomboyish hands on her shoulders.

“I’m so glad you’re finally here,” Suzanne said, smiling.

“I’m very glad to be here and very grateful that you chose me. I’m looking forward to helping you.”

“Well, I didn’t really choose. Paul did that, but I already feel that he made the perfect selection. Has Andre treated you nicely? I have to warn you. He is much sought after and far too sure of his attractions. He’s really a nice boy, but take everything he says with a grain of salt. It’s all too practiced. That’s not his fault, of course, but regrettably true.”

During the monologue on her brother’s character, she was guiding Caroline to the couch she’d been occupying when they arrived. Caroline glimpsed the genuine amusement on her brother’s face and was relieved that this, apparently, was an old joke between them, not something directed at her attraction to him, which she hoped hadn’t been that obvious.

“I’ll remember that,” she said, smiling. She glanced at Andre who winked at her and gently swatted his sister’s bottom.

“How am I going to succeed in luring young lovelies if you persist in warning them off? You’re supposed to be on my side.” He dropped a swift kiss on the blue-veined temple exposed by the dark gamin cut of his sister’s hair. “Why don’t you let me show Caroline upstairs for a rest. She’s had a long journey and would probably like to change and lie down before dinner. You can finish destroying my character later tonight.”

Suzanne released her hand and nodded. “You’re right, of course. I’ll finish my book, and we’ll talk after dinner. Slacks are fine. We only dress if there are guests. I’m very glad you’re here,” she finished, reaching to touch her lips gently to Caroline’s cheek.

“I’m very glad to be here.” Caroline’s answer was sincere, and she felt the prick of tears behind her eyes. She couldn’t have imagined a warmer greeting than she had been given. It was balm to the tension that had held her since the plane had touched down. “Thank you. I’ll see you at dinner, then.”

“Somebody will come for you so you won’t get lost. We eat around eight. If you’re hungry now, I can have something sent up. I didn’t think to ask if you’d had lunch.”

“I’m fine. I ate on the flight. I’ll be ready by eight.”

She smiled again into the friendly blue eyes and followed Andre up the stairs. He had retrieved her bags, and she found something reassuring about that, as well—about his carrying them himself instead of summoning some hovering servant. All her preconceptions and fears were dissolving in the ease of their welcome.

“I think you’ll like your room. Suzanne spent days deciding where you should be. You’re close to her, of course, and it looks down on the garden pool. The surf here is dangerously strong, so I wouldn’t advise swimming in the sea, but the pool is available at any time. There are light switches for the atrium in every doorway. I thought you might prefer looking out on the sea, but those rooms are too far from Suzanne to satisfy any urge for a quick nighttime conference, so she decided on this one.”

The suite was beautifully appointed, but not at all formal. The colors were the muted greens of the waters closest to the shore and the creams of the surf. The decorator had used a shell motif sparingly in the border and spread. Andre opened the floor-to-ceiling louvered windows, and the garden that the house surrounded was just below, lushly planted around the pool. The tiles of the pool were navy, the richness of its dark depths contrasting the sparkle of the sun on its surface and the colors of the flowers that surrounded it.

“It’s so beautiful,” she said, breathing in the fragrance of the blooms that were wide and drooping in the afternoon heat.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said, apparently assuming her comment to refer to the room rather than the tropical paradise she supposed he was too accustomed to even notice anymore.

“I like it very much. Thank you for everything, especially for taking time to meet me personally. I was a little concerned, despite all Monsieur Dupre’s careful instructions.”

“You’d have managed. Everyone’s very friendly. I wanted to meet you. It was my pleasure.” He smiled, the blue eyes warm.

The silence grew between them. She wondered if his words had been intended to convey the attraction she was attributing to them or if, as his sister had said, he was simply so practiced at flirtation that he did this intimate smile and meeting of the eyes automatically.