Diamond Fire

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.

‘Have you had breakfast?’ her host asked briefly as he led the way through an arched doorway at the back of the hall, and down a half-spiral staircase. The staircase could only lead to the lower level of the house, Camilla realised, following him, and as she did so another figure appeared below them.

‘Padrone!’ he exclaimed politely, spreading his arms in obvious welcome. ‘Everything is ready, signore.’

‘Thanks, Lee.’ Alessandro descended the final few steps of the staircase, and turned to wait for Camilla to join him. ‘This is Wong Lee,’ he added, as she stepped down into what appeared to be a kind of indoor garden. ‘He and Mama Lu take care of us—me!’ The amendment was almost savage. ‘Lee, this is Miss Richards. She’s from England.’

No mention of the fact that she was his wife’s friend, Camilla noticed ruefully as she smiled at the little Chinese man. Well, perhaps that wasn’t so surprising in the circumstances, she thought. Virginia’s friends were rather thin on the ground around here.

‘So pleased to meet you, Miss Richards,’ Wong Lee greeted her, bowing from the waist. ‘Welcome to Hawaii.’

Camilla smiled in return, and then looked around the room. The scent of perfume from the various exotic shrubs that grew in planters around the walls was overpowering, and Camilla used her interest in the plants to relieve her nervousness.

‘I’ve never seen so many different varieties of flowers!’ she exclaimed, addressing her remarks equally to Alessandro and his servant, and Wong Lee’s expression grew animated.

‘The signore’s mother is a keen gardener,’ he said, spreading his arms as he had done before. ‘She loves creating beauty.’ He shook his head. ‘But I hear there are many beautiful gardens in England. Do you have a garden, Miss Richards?’

‘Oh …’ Camilla cast a diffident look in Alessandro’s direction, and then made a negative gesture ‘… no. No, I’m afraid not. I … live in a flat, you see. A window-box is the best that I can do.’

‘Aflat?’

Wong Lee seemed quite prepared to stand and debate Camilla’s circumstances, but his employer was growing restless. ‘She lives in an apartment, Lee,’ he told the little man rather testily. ‘The English call them flats, for some reason best known to themselves. Probably because they’re all on one level. No stairs, you see.’

‘Ah!’ Enlightenment dawned, and Wong Lee smiled again. But then, seeing that the other man was gazing at him with a decided lack of tolerance, he quickly stepped back and gestured towards long windows that opened out on to a sunlit patio. ‘Please, signore, sit. I will tell Mama Lu you are … both … here.’

‘Do that.’

Alessandro offered a tight smile, and then indicated that Camilla should precede him outside. She did so a little unwillingly, supremely conscious of him behind her, observing the sway of her hips, the pale legs, emerging from her shorts, that never tanned, no matter how long she sat in the sun.

In an effort to maintain an appearance of composure, however, she didn’t hurry. Instead, as she sauntered ahead of him, she made a leisurely appraisal of the pretty garden-room, admiring the basketwork furniture that was set at intervals between trellises of trailing vines, the bright cushions that covered them adding generous splashes of colour to the greenery.

She emerged on to a flagged terrace that spread in both directions and was liberally shaded by a frangipani-hung pergola. Bees buzzed among the fragrant blossoms, and the air was much gentler now, brushing her skin like warm silk. A table was waiting on the terrace, spread with a crisp white cloth and set for two. A jug of freshly squeezed orange juice, a steaming pot of coffee, and a plate of blueberry pancakes already resided on the table, together with butter on ice, a trio of preserves, and sweet maple syrup.

Camilla caught her breath and looked round at her host, but he was showing no particular interest in the waiting breakfast, and she quickly averted her head again. Obviously this was just a normal day for him, or at least as normal as it could be with his wife and daughter missing, but for Camilla it was all new and exciting. Even in the present situation there was an irresistible sense of anticipation to the day, and she didn’t need to look at the ocean surging on to the beach only yards away to feel the blood quickening in her veins.

Alessandro Conti waited beside the table, and, realising he expected her to sit down so that he could take his own seat, she subsided on to one of the cushioned plastic chairs. It was superbly comfortable, but now was not the time to say so. Instead, she accepted the jug of orange juice he proffered, and made a creditable job of pouring some into the stemmed glass that stood by her plate.

‘This … this is lovely,’ she said at last, wiping a film of juice from her upper lip. ‘Just like … just like …’

She had been going to say ‘being on holiday’, but the inappropriate words stuck in her throat, and instead she brought her glass to her lips again, trying desperately to think of an alternative.

‘Like … being on holiday?’ Alessandro suggested, a certain dryness to his tone, and Camilla managed to control her colour with a distinct effort.

‘Well … yes,’ she said, deciding there was no point in lying to him. ‘This is a … heavenly spot.’

Alessandro inclined his head. ‘I like it.’

‘Oh, but surely, Virginia——’ Camilla realised she had put her foot in it once again, and finished somewhat lamely, ‘Virginia must, too.’

‘No.’ He was very definite about that. ‘My … wife … finds Kumaru boring.’

‘Kumaru.’ Camilla liked the way he said it. Until then it had just been an address, but suddenly it had assumed an identity all its own.

‘Yes, Kumaru,’ replied Alessandro shortly, and she realised she must have spoken her thoughts aloud.

Mama Lu’s arrival precluded any further discussion, and for once Camilla was relieved to see the housekeeper. In a long flowing gown that was patterned in exotic island colours, she came across the terrace towards them, her dark face split by a white-toothed smile. Camilla couldn’t help wondering if she was remembering how she had had to put their guest to bed the night before, and whether she was comparing Camilla’s skimpy body with her own generous curves. After all, there was no denying that, for all her size, Mama Lu swelled in all the right places. Fat she might be, but unshapely she was not.

‘Is everything OK here?’ she asked, and Alessandro glanced up at her, his expression gentling amazingly. If he had been attractive before the smile that tilted his rather thin lips now gave his face a startling sensitivity, and for all her staunch resistance Camilla felt an instinctive response.

Then he looked at her, and she pressed her palms down on her knees, under the level of the table, feeling their dampness against her legs. ‘What do you want for breakfast, Miss Richards?’ he enquired politely. ‘Just say what you’d like, and Mama Lu will do the rest.’

‘Oh …’ Camilla surveyed the table, and then lifted her slim shoulders. ‘I … generally just have coffee at home. This is fine, really. I’m not very hungry.’

Which wasn’t strictly true. It was almost twenty-four hours since she had had a decent meal, and, although she didn’t look as though she did, she had a fairly healthy appetite.

‘Not hungry?’ exclaimed Mama Lu now, clearly not believing her. ‘But you had no supper!’

‘I know.’ Camilla gave her a rueful smile, hoping she was not going to make a big thing of that, and Mama Lu snorted.

‘Don’t you like pancakes?’ she asked, a frown drawing her dark brows together, and, although Camilla was sure Alessandro Conti didn’t allow the housekeeper to browbeat all his guests like this, she wasn’t a normal visitor.

‘I … love pancakes,’ she replied defensively, and then caught her breath when the housekeeper picked up her plate and ladled a generous helping of the blueberry pancakes on to it. She smothered these with maple syrup, and then set the plate back in front of Camilla.

‘Enjoy,’ she said, pouring both her employer and his guest some coffee. ‘And you let me know if you want any more.’

She ambled away again, and, while Camilla didn’t expect her host to make any comment, he surprised her yet again. ‘Leave them if you don’t want them,’ he said, eyeing her with mild amusement. ‘Mama Lu thinks everyone should eat generously. It’s her way of justifying her appearance.’

‘Hmm.’ Camilla acknowledged his explanation with a rueful grimace, but the smell of the pancakes was so delicious that she couldn’t resist taking up her fork and trying them.

‘So …’ he said, after pouring himself more coffee, ‘d’you want to tell me why you really came here?’

Camilla’s mouth was full, and she had to empty it before she could speak. But his words were so disturbing that it was difficult to swallow the sticky pudding, and her eyes were watering by the time she was able to answer him.

‘Why?’ she squeaked, and then, clearing her throat, ‘You know why. Virginia … Virginia invited me.’

‘Yes. But why did she invite you?’ Alessandro asked steadily. ‘Why now? And why hasn’t she mentioned you to me before?’

That hurt. It really did. She would have expected Virginia to have mentioned their friendship to Alessandro. If it had meant as much to Virginia as she had always said then she should have talked about her to her husband.

‘I … don’t know,’ she said now, taking another mouthful of the pancake almost automatically. ‘I really don’t.’

‘No.’ Alessandro seemed to believe her, and she breathed a little more easily. But then he spoiled it by adding, ‘And you didn’t know she wouldn’t be here when you arrived?’

‘No.’ Camilla swallowed again, and forked another mouthful of pancake into her mouth. ‘Why would I?’ she demanded, her voice muffled by the food. ‘I thought she was happy here.’

‘How do you know she wasn’t?’ he shot back at her, and Camilla felt indignation at his attitude taking hold of her.

‘You said she was bored,’ she reminded him in the clear, concise tones she used in court, and now it was his turn to look discomfited.