chair. ‘What is it? What’s the matter? Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘He’s dying, Megan,’ replied the other woman tremulously. ‘That’s why I rang you, why I begged you to come. I’ve been carrying the burden alone for so long, and I—I need someone to talk to, to share the pain.’
‘But Remy—’
‘I’ve told you, he knows his grandfather is ill, but that’s all. I—I couldn’t tell him the truth. He and his grandfather are so close. He’s going to be devastated when he finds out.’
‘Oh, Anita!’ Megan got up from her chair then, and almost without thinking how her stepsister might react she went to her and put her arms around her. ‘Anita,’ she said again as the older woman clutched at her with desperate fingers. ‘I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do, you only have to ask.’
It was little wonder she had slept fitfully, thought Megan now, throwing back the sheet and sliding her legs out of bed. Such sleep as she had had had been punctuated by dreams of her father and mother, and her own encounters with Remy, who apparently was unaware of how ill his grandfather really was.
Biting her lower lip, Megan crossed the floor to the windows and, unlatching them, stepped out onto the balcony. Even at this hour of the morning the temperature was warm, and a little sultry, too, the clouds hanging over the horizon a lingering reminder of the rain that had come in the night. Megan had heard it pattering against the panes, and it had reminded her of how she and Remy used to go hunting for crabs after a storm when they were children. The pools that had dotted the shoreline had been a source of all sorts of exciting mysteries, with seashells and other flotsam capturing their attention.
Propping her elbows on the wrought-iron rail, Megan gazed out now at a view that was still disturbingly familiar. Beyond the paved walks and exotically planted gardens of the hotel, white coral sand edged an ocean that was fringed with foam. Seabirds swooped along the beach, always scavenging, and in the distance the tide turned to mist against the rocks. It was all inexpressibly beautiful—a tropical paradise that was no less magical than she remembered
Or was it?
Certainly, her father would have said it had its serpent. The wonderful holiday island he had found had turned into a nightmare for him. She knew he would not have approved of her coming here, consorting with the enemy. Even if Ryan Robards was a very sick man. That didn’t excuse his behaviour of years before.
Yet she couldn’t deny feeling a certain compassion for the man. She was not a vindictive creature by nature, and although she would not have chosen to see her mother’s husband again she did have sympathy for him. And, after all, before her parents had separated, she had regarded Remy’s grandfather as a kind of surrogate uncle. He had been kind to her in those days. Had his affection only been a means to get close to her mother, as her father had said?
Whatever, in the beginning, Megan had looked forward to their holidays in San Felipe with great excitement. She remembered the girls at the exclusive day school she had attended had all envied her those yearly trips to El Serrat. She hadn’t even been too upset when her father hadn’t always been able to accompany them, though later on she’d realised that that was when her mother’s affair with Ryan Robards had begun.
She’d been eight years old when she’d first come to the island, and almost fifteen when her parents had divorced. She had no idea how long her mother and Ryan Robards had been conducting their relationship; she only knew that her father had been the one who had been badly hurt.
What had always amazed her was how her mother could have allowed herself to become involved with someone like Ryan in the first place. All right, he was fun to be with, but compared to her father he was brash and insensitive, and lacking in any formal education. Indeed, in the early days of their relationship, Megan could remember her father laughing about some expression Ryan had used in error. He’d described the other man as a philistine, although Megan hadn’t understood then what he had meant.
Looking back, she conceded that there must have been more to what had happened than she’d imagined. No one gave up almost twenty years of marriage on a whim. She’d been far too defensive of her father to listen to any explanation her mother might have given her. She’d been totally prejudiced, she acknowledged, not prepared to give her mother a chance.
After the divorce, Megan had never gone back to San Felipe. She’d seen her mother from time to time, but always at some neutral location. Then, six years after Laura had married Ryan, she had developed an obscure form of cancer that was incurable. Although she’d been treated in a London hospital, and Megan had spent a lot of time with her, the looming presence of her new husband had prevented any real reconciliation being made.
Not that Megan had seen Ryan then, nor afterwards at her mother’s funeral service. She had been too distressed herself, too concerned about her father, who had taken his ex-wife’s death very badly, to pay any attention to either Ryan or Anita. Afterwards, after the cremation, she’d learned that Ryan had taken his wife’s remains back to San Felipe to be scattered in a garden of remembrance there. It had been the final bereavement so far as Giles Cross was concerned—the realisation that there was nothing left of the woman he had loved.
His death some six months later, in what could only be described as suspicious circumstances, had left Megan completely alone. She had been in her final year at college, and to learn that her father had died from an overdose of the painkiller he’d been taking for some time, and with whose properties he was perfectly familiar, had been the final straw. She’d dropped out of college after his funeral, and rented a cottage on the Suffolk coast, spending several weeks in total isolation. She’d been trying to come to terms with her life, trying to understand how a man who had loved God, and to whom he had professed such allegiance, should have become so depressed that he’d taken his own life.
Eventually, loneliness—and the need to get a job—had driven her back to London. The vicarage, where she had lived for most of her young life, had now been occupied by another incumbent, and the few possessions left to her had had to be rescued from storage. What little money her father had left had been used to furnish a small, rented flat in Bayswater, and she’d initially got a job in an advertising agency to try and put some order back into her life.
It was soon after that that she’d run into Simon Chater again, and their eventual collaboration had led to her leaving the flat and sharing a house with him. It suited both of them to project a united image, and the fact that they both had their own rooms was no one’s business but their own.
The sun had risen as she’d been musing, and, straightening, Megan stretched lazy arms above her head. There was no doubt she was feeling better this morning, but it was time to remove her scantily clad figure from public view.
She decided to have a shower and get dressed, and then take a pre-breakfast stroll along the shoreline. Anita was taking her to see Ryan at ten o‘clock, but that gave her plenty of space. She refused to admit she was looking for a diversion. Good Lord, Ryan wasn’t a monster, he was a very sick man.
By the time she had had her shower and dressed in cream silk shorts and a matching vest it was still barely seven o‘clock. Slipping her feet into soft leather loafers, she surveyed her appearance critically. She didn’t really want to wear make-up, but a touch of blusher and some lipstick seemed mandatory. She looked so pale otherwise, and she had no wish for her stepsister to suspect she hadn’t slept.
The lift hummed silently to the ground floor, and when she stepped out into the marble foyer she was surprised to see that there were already guests about Obviously, judging by their attire, they belonged to the indefatigable band of joggers who insisted
