city streets became cool canyons of shade, and, in spite of his internal turmoil, Alex couldn’t prevent the sense of relief he felt to be back on the island. Increasingly hectic though Honolulu was becoming, it was his home, and he loved it.
Carlo didn’t do him the injustice of bothering to ask if he had learned anything new. He knew that if Alex had heard anything he would have told him, and he remained silent as his employer drove north along Kapahulu Avenue. The roads around the capital were busy with a mixture of tourists and home-going commuters, but, once beyond the city’s limits, Alex could relax. The powerful Mercedes would have eaten up the miles, but he kept it within the speed-limit. He was in no real hurry to reach home, whatever he had told his father.
He took the main highway across the southern flank of the island, and then drove north again along the coast road. The scenery here was spectacular, but although Alex saw the long golden stretches of sand, with the pale aquamarine water creaming on the shoreline, he was in no mood to appreciate them. He was remembering his daughter’s fear of her mother’s moods, and that without Mama Lu to intercede on her behalf she was vulnerable.
The Conti estate lay just beyond the Waiahole Valley, where orchids and anthurium blossoms grew in such profusion. It was a farming area, with fruit orchards and quiet meadows grazed by handsome horses, defying the hand of the developer. But Alex’s home was on the seaward side of the road, and the curving track that led from Kamehameha Highway resisted any efforts to infiltrate his privacy. Besides, at the gates to the estate he employed a very efficient security staff to ensure that no unwelcome visitor got in. The pity of it was, he thought now, that they had had no jurisdiction to prevent anyone from getting out.
A lush jungle of palms and wild hibiscus formed a natural barrier between the private road that led to the estate, and the manicured lawns beyond. Alex noticed that the white flowers had come into bloom in his absence; combined with the more familiar red blossoms of the hibiscus the effect was startling. Like blood on white linen, he reflected fancifully, and then dragged his thoughts from the precipice where they were heading. Virginia wasn’t going to defeat him, he told himself grimly. But the knife turned just the same.
Kumaru, his house—the house that had once belonged to his father, but which Alex’s parents had moved out of when Vittorio had retired—stood on a rise, with the ocean at its back. It had been Alex’s home for as long as he could remember; firstly as a much-loved only child, and then later, after his marriage to Virginia, they had occupied the self-contained wing that his father had had built on to the main building. Alex suspected that his mother and father had not originally intended to move out of their home. But circumstances had changed their minds. Although they had never criticised Virginia in his presence, it had become increasingly obvious that the two households could not exist side by side. Virginia had made no secret of her dislike of his parents, and, although they loved their only grandchild, when Vittorio had given up his active role in the corporation they had moved into a smaller house, nearer the city.
The house itself was a long, sprawling, ranch-style dwelling, with most of the rooms on the ground floor. But, as the house was built on sloping land, a lowerground floor gave space for what had used to be his mother’s garden room, a sauna and gymnasium where Alex expunged much of his frustration, and a play-room for Maria. Mama Lu’s quarters were there, too, next to the play-room. The old Hawaiian woman, who had been first his nurse and was now Maria’s, also acted as unpaid housekeeper, for Virginia had never been interested in looking after her family. It was all ‘too boring’: her words, not his. Besides, why should she bother about such things, when that ‘stupid old woman’ was perfectly willing to do it?
Things had changed a lot since the days when his mother had taken a pride in supervising the running of her home, Alex thought now, bringing the car to a halt on the pebbled forecourt. Although she had been a haole, or a newcomer to the island, having been brought up in New England and coming to the island for the first time when she married Vittorio, Sonya Conti came of good middle-European stock. In consequence, she had never been prepared to leave her household in the hands of servants. She had been there, ever vigilant, caring for her home and her family, creating the comfortable ambience her husband had needed after a day at the office.
Not so Virginia. Alex had invariably been greeted by some complaint about himself, or Maria, or one of the servants, and her ever-present craving for excitement had soured the whole atmosphere of the house. Indeed, were it not for the fact that she had taken with her the one person Alex loved more than anyone else in the world, he might have welcomed her disappearance. Though, he conceded wearily, knowing what he did about her mental condition, he doubted he could have abandoned his responsibilities completely. Family ties were too strong, and his upbringing had been such that he would not, in all conscience, have left her to her fate.
Now he thrust open his door to get out, but before he could pull his jacket from the back seat a small baldheaded man came rushing out of the house. Dressed in baggy black trousers and a dark green mandarin jacket, his olive-skinned face alight with animation, he came crunching across the pebbled drive towards the car. It was Wong Lee, Alex’s steward and Mama Lu’s husband, and Alex felt his stomach tighten at the probable cause for his excitement.
‘Padrone!’ he exclaimed, skidding to a halt beside the car. ‘Padrone, you have a visitor.’
Alex endeavoured to control his quickening heartbeat. ‘A visitor?’ he echoed, as Carlo, too, got out of the automobile. ‘What kind of a visitor?’
‘What kind of a visitor?’ Wong Lee’s eyes registered his confusion. ‘What kind of visitor were you expecting?’
‘The padrone was not expecting a visitor,’ snapped Carlo shortly, his superiority of service giving the edge of impatience to his voice. ‘What the padrone means is—is his visitor on business, or pleasure?’
‘Thank you, Carlo, I can handle this,’ Alex inserted swiftly, sensing the potential for conflict and in no mood to encourage it. The fact that Mama Lu was still apt to spread her favours rather freely sometimes created other problems, and, although both Carlo and Wong Lee were in their sixties, sexual rivalry knew no age limit. ‘Who is the visitor, Lee?’ His palms felt damp. ‘Is it someone from the mainland?’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Wong Lee, giving Carlo Ventura a triumphant look. ‘She says she’s Mrs Ginia’s cousin. She says Mrs Ginia invited her to come visit.’
Alex’s brows descended. ‘Virginia’s cousin?’ he echoed disbelievingly, and then, before either Wong Lee or Carlo could make any further comment, he tossed his jacket over one shoulder and strode towards the house. Virginia’s cousin, he brooded as he mounted the two shallow steps that led up to the veranda. He couldn’t remember Virginia ever mentioning any female cousin, and he was pretty sure he hadn’t met her at the wedding. The marriage, which had taken place in London, had been a fairly large affair, it was true, and it was possible that there had been cousins of Virginia’s there that he had never been introduced to. But, as far as he knew, Virginia’s mother had been an only child—much the same as Virginia, he reflected now, with similar characteristics—and her father had supposedly died in the dim and distant past. Indeed, so far as Virginia’s relatives had been concerned, they had been rather thin on the ground, and the majority of the guests had been friends and acquaintances, and his own rather large circle of relations.
So, who was this woman? he wondered grimly, tossing his jacket on to a polished Japanese chest in the hall, and raising questioning eyebrows at Mama Lu, who had heard the car and was making her own, less energetic way to greet him. At something approaching two hundred and fifty pounds in weight, the elderly Polynesian woman was not disposed to hurry anywhere, and Alex had sometimes wondered at her apparent irresistibility to both Carlo and her husband. In Alex’s estimation, she could have crushed either of them between her massive thighs, but evidently he was not privy
