CHAPTER THREE
IT HAD been a dull overcast morning when they’d left London but Nassau was basking in the heat of the afternoon sun. Ally estimated that the temperature outside the airport buildings was hovering somewhere close to ninety. Heat shimmered above the tarmac of the runways and the breeze that stirred the flags hanging limply from their poles was barely enough to temper the humidity that drifted into the Arrivals Hall.
She and her fellow passengers were waiting for their luggage to be unloaded onto the carousels, and, exchanging a rueful smile with a young mother who was trying to appease two fretful children, Ally tried to rekindle the optimism she’d felt when she’d left Newcastle the afternoon before. She was almost there, she thought determinedly. According to Suzanne, it was just a short flight from New Providence to San Cristobál, where her friend and her husband ran a small hotel. Suzanne had said someone would meet her here at the airport and escort her to the small plane that would take her on the final leg of her journey, and, apart from her own foolish feelings, everything was going according to plan.
Only it wasn’t, Ally reflected unhappily. Nothing had gone according to plan since she’d allowed Raul—if that really was his name—to pick her up in the hotel bar the night before. Ever since then everything had gone anything but according to plan and she was having a hard time fighting the suspicion that perhaps this holiday wasn’t such a good idea, after all.
Which was defeatist, perhaps, but it was how she felt. Last night she’d done something totally reckless, totally irresponsible, and all she’d really wanted to do this morning was get on the train again and go home. She wasn’t the kind of woman who could do what she’d done and not get a conscience about it. She’d acted completely out of character, and she dreaded to think how her daughter would feel if she ever found out.
Of course, there was no reason why Sam should find out, she assured herself. No matter how much she’d wanted to do it, she hadn’t cashed in her air ticket or cancelled her trip, and surely by the time she got back she’d have forgotten all about last night. She doubted if Suzanne would blame her, if she confided in her, but then Suzanne was a woman of the world whereas, for all her modern outlook, Sam could be incredibly old-fashioned when it came to the people she loved.
‘Mrs Sloan?’
The voice came from behind her and when she turned Ally found a man in a short-sleeved shirt and khaki shorts gazing cheerfully at her. He was very tanned, with a fan of creases at each side of his blue eyes that seemed to indicate he spent a lot of time outdoors. Grey-blond hair escaped untidily from the sides of the baseball cap he was wearing back to front and his smile revealed white, but slightly crooked, teeth.
‘Yes, I’m Mrs Sloan,’ she said, and he nodded.
‘I thought you must be.’ His grin deepened. ‘Suze said to look out for a tall good-looking woman and she wasn’t wrong.’ He pulled off his cap and held out his hand. ‘Mike Mclean at your service, Mrs Sloan. I’m here to fly you over to Saint Chris.’
‘Saint Chris?’
Ally arched an enquiring brow and he gestured towards the carousel. ‘San Cristobál,’ he explained. ‘D’you want to point out your bags and we’ll be on our way?’
‘My bags?’ Ally turned back to the conveyor belt that was now moving. ‘Oh—yes.’ She shook her head a little dazedly. ‘I thought—that is, I assumed that whoever Suzanne had sent would be waiting outside.’
‘In this heat?’ Mclean grimaced. ‘No. So long as we go through Customs together no one objects.’ He saw her move forward. ‘That’s one of them?’
In a short while, Mclean had the sports holdall she had borrowed from Ryan and her own suitcase on a luggage trolley and was propelling them towards the exit. Although he wasn’t a particularly tall man, he was obviously strong and capable, and Ally felt no qualms about putting herself into his hands. Indeed, it was a relief to be free of the responsibility for getting to her destination, and she fanned herself a little weakly when they emerged into the sunlight.
‘It’s this way,’ he said, directing her along the walkway that led towards the commuter terminal. ‘Did you have a good journey?’
‘Um—fairly good.’ Ally was loath to tell him that she’d slept most of the way. But she’d been exhausted and, after lunch had been served, she’d flaked out.
‘Marvellous things, these big jets,’ commented Mclean amiably. ‘Makes my little Piper look like a kid’s toy.’ He grinned again. ‘I guess you’d know about kids. Suze tells me you’ve got two of your own.’
‘They’re hardly kids,’ murmured Ally. She paused. ‘Do you have children, Mr Mclean?’
‘The name’s Mike,’ he said at once. ‘And, no. I’m afraid I’ve never had that pleasure. I’m what Suze calls a crusty old bachelor. More’s the pity.’
Ally smiled. ‘Hardly crusty,’ she said. ‘And please call me Ally. Mrs Sloan makes me sound like my mother-in-law. My ex-mother-in-law, I mean,’ she added hastily. ‘I’m divorced.’
‘Yeah. Suze told me that, too,’ he admitted, his tone sympathetic. Then, ‘But you’ve done the right thing coming out here. Smuggler’s Cove is a beautiful spot.’
‘Is it?’ Smuggler’s Cove was where Suzanne and her husband, Peter Davis, had their hotel. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing it. To seeing the whole island,’ she appended. ‘Is it very big?’
‘Nah. About eight miles long and five across at best.’ He saw she was flagging and waited for her to catch up. ‘Of course, Suze will have told you that the Ramirezes own most of the island, but what’s left is pretty damn spectacular, I can tell you.’
Ally frowned. ‘Why would Suzanne have mentioned—who was it you said?—the Ramirezes to me?’
‘Well, because Julia is going to marry their son,’ explained Mike carelessly. Julia was Suzanne’s daughter, Ally recalled. He pointed at the single-engined aircraft that awaited them on the tarmac. ‘There’s my pride and joy. And don’t worry; I’ve got an icebox on board. I bet you could murder a cold drink?’
He hastened ahead so that by the time she’d reached the small Cherokee he’d already stowed her bags in the back. ‘Welcome aboard,’ he said, helping her up the short flight of steps into the cabin. ‘You’re going to feel a whole lot better when we get off the ground.’
Ally hoped so. Right now, she felt hot and uncomfortable, the shirt and denim trousers that had felt too thin in London now damp and sticking to her skin. She’d removed the jacket she’d worn to travel in as soon as she’d got off the plane but she was still sweating. She should have brought a change of clothes in her hand luggage, she thought ruefully. But then, this morning she’d been too bemused to think of things like that.
This morning…
Pushing that thought aside, she settled into the seat beside Mike and sipped a cola as he completed his pre-flight checks. Then he adjusted his earphones and she heard the static buzz as the control tower responded to his request for clearance for take-off.
‘Not long now,’ he said, covering the mouthpiece with his hand. ‘These guys are pretty efficient.’
Ally
