had his house. She’d have been far more apprehensive if it was.
Abby was just admiring the Renaissance façade of the newly refurbished Gables Hotel when the chauffeur turned his head and spoke to her over his shoulder. ‘I guess this is your first visit to Florida, ma’am,’ he said, albeit with a heavy Spanish accent, and Abby was so taken aback that for a moment she could only stare at him.
‘I—my second,’ she got out at last, trying not to feel aggrieved that he’d waited so long before speaking to her. Also, being addressed as ‘ma’am’ took some getting used to, as well. She touched her hair defensively. Did she really look that old?
‘So you’ve been to the Esquivals’ house before?’ he went on, and she swallowed.
‘Is that where we’re going?’ she asked, gathering her composure with an effort. ‘What about my brother? Do you know how he is?’
‘No one told me anything about that, ma’am,’ responded the chauffeur annoyingly. ‘But as he’s staying with the Esquivals right now I guess you’ll soon find out.’
Abby’s jaw dropped. ‘He’s staying with the Esquivals?’ she echoed disbelievingly. ‘But—I understood he was in hospital.’
‘Guess he’s recovered,’ the man remarked laconically. ‘Like I say, you’ll soon see him for yourself.’
Abby realised she must look as stunned as she felt, and hastily pulled herself together. But all Ross’s misgivings were coming home to roost. She should have insisted on speaking to Edward’s doctor before she left England. She just hoped her brother hadn’t brought her here on a wild-goose chase.
Any further speculation was balked by the realisation that the chauffeur had halted the impressive limousine outside tall electrically operated gates. He barely had time to roll down his window and identify himself to the security cameras before the heavy gates started to open, and they drove up the curving driveway to the Esquivals’ sprawling residence.
Not surprisingly now, Abby was anxious, and she found herself moving to the edge of her seat. It was as if she hoped she could precipitate her arrival. For the moment all she could think about was seeing her brother again, and she barely looked at the beautiful Spanish-style house with its ornamental pillars and trailing vines.
The car braked before double-panelled doors, and almost immediately they opened to allow a uniformed maid to run down the shallow steps to meet them. Small and foreign in appearance, she seemed unusually eager to please, opening the door of the limousine, inviting Abby to step out.
‘Thanks.’
Abby did so, brushing down the slightly creased legs of her khaki pants. In fact, she was sure she must look distinctly travel-worn, and she wished she’d thought about taking a change of clothes onto the plane.
The khaki pants and cream shirt would have to do, though she thought about taking her jacket out of her haversack. But now that she was out in the sunlight again the heat was almost palpable. She certainly didn’t need a jacket. And it was only March.
‘Welcome to Miami, señora,’ the maid greeted her politely as the chauffeur got out to heft Abby’s suitcase from the boot. Then, with a distinctly flirtatious air, she added, ‘Hola, Carlos. Como esta?’ How are you?
As Abby digested the fact that she now knew the chauffeur’s name, he responded to the maid’s greeting with rather less enthusiasm. ‘Bien, gracias,’ he said, which Abby knew was usually followed by Y usted? but wasn’t in this case. Then, to Abby, ‘I’ll leave this here, ma’am.’ He put down the heavy case. ‘And I hope all goes well with your brother.’
‘Oh—thank you.’ Abby blinked, wondering if the house was off-limits to the other staff. But when he got back into the limousine and drove away she revised her opinion. She had probably taken him away from his usual work.
To her chagrin, the maid took charge of her case. Lifting the strap, she tugged it on its wheels up the steps, waiting rather impatiently now for Abby to join her.
‘Come,’ she said, leading the way into the wide entrance hall. It was cooler inside, and a huge urn of flowers spilled scarlet blossoms over the marble surface of a stone table.
Air-conditioning cooled the heat that had beaded on Abby’s forehead, and she ran a nervous hand over her hair, feeling the damp strands clinging to her cheeks. She probably looked as flushed and harassed as she felt.
Looking about her, she had to admit she’d forgotten exactly how beautiful the Esquivals’ home was. Cool and spacious, it epitomised all that was good about Spanish architecture. Long windows looked out onto an inner courtyard and hanging baskets edged an arching colonnade.
‘Mees Leighton—Abigail!’ The voice that accosted her was soft and feminine, and Abby turned to find Lauren’s mother emerging from the salon that adjoined the reception hall. Small and plump, but exquisitely dressed, Dolores Esquival matched her surroundings, her sleek chignon of dark hair putting Abby’s explosion of crinkled red curls to shame. ‘Welcome to Florida,’ she added, her high heels tapping across the polished floor as she came to meet her guest. Air kisses whispered at either side of Abby’s head as she continued, ‘I hope you had a good journey, cara.’
‘I—yes. Thank you.’ Abby felt a little bemused as she returned the greeting. Lauren’s mother was behaving as if she was here for a holiday instead of flying out to be at her brother’s bedside. ‘It’s very—kind of you to ask.’
‘Not so, querida.’ Was Abby mistaken or did Dolores’s mouth tighten a little. ‘We are very happy to have you here.’
‘Yes, but—’
Ignoring her now, Lauren’s mother switched her attention to the maid, who was hovering in the background, directing her to take their guest’s suitcase upstairs. At least that was what Abby thought she was doing. Her imperious signal towards the curving staircase seemed to indicate it was.
‘Oh, but—’ Abby began, eager to explain that she had no intention of presuming on the Esquivals’ hospitality, but Lauren’s mother turned to her again.
‘This way,’ she said, apparently deaf to Abby’s protests. ‘I am sure you are eager to see your brother,’ she added, heading into the salon. ‘Everyone is through here.’
Afterwards, when she was unwillingly installed in the first-floor suite she had occupied on her first visit to Florida, Abby marvelled that she had had no suspicion that Alejandro might be there.
Yet how could she have? she asked herself defensively. She’d believed that he was just a distant relative, invited to the wedding because family politics dictated as much. She’d had no idea that he was such a close friend of the Esquivals, nor that Lauren seemed to regard him with a distinctly possessive affection.
Still, when she’d followed Dolores into the enormous salon that seemed to stretch right across the back of the house, she’d had eyes only for her brother. Besides, she’d still been slightly dazzled by the change from sun to shadow. With spots of brilliance dancing before her pupils, she’d been in no condition to instantly register all the people in the room.
Edward was there, she’d seen with some relief, apparently confined to the cushioned divan where he was reclining. With one leg encased in plaster from hip to knee, he had apparently been incapable of coming to greet her. She had hesitated
