least it doesn’t have bullet holes,’ Lauren observed with a kind smile that might have been overdone.
‘Only because I had them taken out,’ he said blandly, opening the passenger door for her. ‘It probably has cockroaches, though.’
She gave him a repeat of her smile, and forced herself not to search for insects while she waited for him to get in. Because her father, a motoring enthusiast, had taught her to recognise a well-tuned engine, she was surprised when he switched on the key; the battered, dusty vehicle ran like a dream.
Guy Whoever—or Whoever Guy, she reminded herself scrupulously—was familiar to the locals; most waved cheerfully at him, flashing smiles as he tooted in return.
She turned around to gaze at two small boys, hand in hand on the side of the road. ‘Are they born with machetes over their shoulders? They look far too young to be carrying such dangerous implements around with them.’
‘They call them bush knives here, and yes, they learn to use them almost as soon as they can walk.’
Rebuffed by his indifferent tone, she concentrated on admiring the jungle and the range of mountains ahead, purple-blue in the distant haze that indicated the approach of dusk. When they arrived at the little town, some miles along the road to the mine and the airport, the empty streets gave it a disturbing, almost sinister atmosphere.
‘Dinner time,’ Guy said laconically, stopping outside the only block of shops in the scruffy main street. He cast her an enigmatic glance. ‘The women prepare the food while the men wind down.’
Refusing to rise to the bait, she shrugged and opened the door to get out.
‘My office is on the first floor.’ Guy indicated a flight of stark concrete steps rising from the street.
Noting the casually efficient way he examined the street and the stairs, Lauren decided that he’d know how to deal with any threat. His seamless air of confidence placated fears she hadn’t allowed herself to recognise.
A large, anonymous room, his office was at least clean and tidy, with everything locked away in steel cabinets.
‘To keep the insects and vermin out,’ Guy said when he saw her looking around.
When eventually they got in touch with the headman of the village, Lauren spoke to him for some minutes, straining to follow his heavily accented English. The sali nut scheme was coming along well; the chief told her proudly of the oil-extraction process, and the amount sent to be turned into soap and other toiletries in New Zealand, and the teacher who had come to live in the village once they’d built the school.
‘I’ll tell the person who sent me,’ she said. ‘I’ve been told it might not be a good idea to travel to the village just now.’
‘Not good, ma’am,’ he said somberly. ‘There are too many rascals around now. Come back next year, when it is quiet again.’
‘If I can,’ she promised.
From beside her Guy said, ‘I’d like to speak to him, please.’
Lauren handed over the receiver and walked to the window to peer down at the dirt road, still eerily vacant except for two small dogs glowering and posturing in a show of dominance. The buildings and trees were rapidly losing substance in the swift tropical dusk. Deep and thick and velvety, it softened the raw intrusion of the buildings on the timeless tropical landscape.
Covertly eyeing Guy as he rattled off what sounded like a set of questions, she learned nothing from his face. He was, she thought warily, big in every way—tall and lithe and powerfully muscled, his wide shoulders and long legs backed up by an overpowering air of strength, both mental and physical.
Conversation concluded, he put the phone in his pocket and said in his almost perfectly accented English, ‘Everything seems quiet there. The headman says the preacher is with his family high in the mountains—there has been a death.’
‘So we can breathe again,’ she said frivolously, shocked to realise how tense she’d been.
‘I hadn’t stopped,’ he returned on a dry note, and opened the door.
Unclenching her teeth, Lauren preceded Guy out into the darkness, tossing words over her shoulder like hand grenades.
‘I’m glad I can tell my friend that the nut-oil scheme seems to be working. It’s great that the villagers get a reliable income from their land without having to fell the forests for lumber.’ A little more steadily she added, ‘I wish I could have seen what they’re doing, though.’
Locking the door behind them, Guy responded with brutal frankness, ‘They’ve got enough to worry about without trying to keep you safe. What are your plans now?’
Lauren looked at the single naked bulb that lit the stairwell. Fighting back a highly suspect—and dangerous—temptation to linger a few days at the resort, she said too promptly, ‘I’ll leave for New Zealand as soon as I can. Tomorrow, if I can get a seat on an outgoing plane.’
Guy startled her by unlocking the door again. ‘You might, but don’t bank on it. There are only two a day, not counting the twice-a-week flight to Valanu.’
‘Where’s Valanu? I’ve never heard of it. Is it another town on Sant’Rosa?’
‘No.’ Back in the office he picked up a telephone and punched in a few numbers. ‘It’s a scatter of islands to the south, part of another small Pacific nation.’
‘The back of beyond, in other words.’
‘Or paradise, depending on your outlook. It’s a fair way off the beaten track,’ he conceded, a disconcerting thread of mockery running through each word as he surveyed her with unreadable eyes and a tilted smile. ‘But incredibly beautiful.’ His voice lingered half a beat too long on the final word.
Colour tinged the skin along her cheekbones and an odd sensation twisted fiercely in the pit of her stomach. Swallowing, she switched her mind to her half-brother’s holiday home in New Zealand, remote and lovely and utterly peaceful. Until she’d seen—until a short time ago, she amended swiftly, she’d been aching to get there.
And she still was. Jet lag had clouded her mind. As soon as she had some sleep she’d be her usual self. ‘Who are you ringing?’
‘The last flight to Atu will have just left, but someone should still be at the airfield. I’ll book you a seat on the first plane out.’
Oddly piqued that he was so eager to get rid of her, she said lightly, ‘Thank you so much.’
Someone was at the airfield, someone called Josef, with whom Guy conducted a conversation in the local language. When he hung up Lauren lifted her brows enquiringly.
‘You’ve a seat reserved on tomorrow afternoon’s flight,’ he told her.
Formally, her smile set, she murmured, ‘You’ve been very kind.’
His white teeth flashed in a grin. ‘My pleasure,’ he returned easily. ‘Now, as the Chinese restaurant seems to be closed, we can go back to the resort and have dinner or I can take you home and feed you.’
‘The
