why?’
‘Does there have to be a reason?’ Reverend Fielding looked impatient. ‘The man’s living on the island, Lily. Perhaps he felt in need of spiritual guidance.’
‘And did you give him spiritual guidance?’ Lily couldn’t hide her scepticism.
‘As most of my energies were taken up with finding you, then no, our conversation was correspondingly brief.’
And, as if reminded of her transgressions, her father’s scowl deepened. ‘But I will not be made to feel guilty when we both know you were in the wrong.’
Lily caught her breath. ‘I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, Dad.’
‘It sounds like it to me. Trying to shift the blame, at the very least.’
Lily shook her head. ‘I just don’t understand why that man would come to see you. You’re an Anglican minister. He’s Spanish. He must be a Catholic.’
‘Dee-Dee supports another religion entirely, but she comes to my church on Sundays,’ declared her father, showing he wasn’t half as ignorant of what was going on as she’d imagined. ‘Has it occurred to you that his own church may have let him down?’
Lily blinked. ‘Let him down, how?’
‘Well…’ Her father looked a little reluctant to continue. ‘We don’t know how it happened, do we?’
‘How what happened?’ Lily was impatient. ‘There is something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?’
‘Only that we shouldn’t judge anyone lest we ourselves be judged in return,’ replied her father pedantically, resorting to one of his texts instead of giving her a straight answer.
He shuffled the papers on his desk and gave her a nod of approval. ‘At least you’re home safely, my dear.’ He rescued his prayer book from beneath the pile of notes. ‘Shall we offer a little prayer of thanks?’
‘THAT FEMALE IS here again,’ said Steve Bellamy, putting his head round the door of Rafe’s study after the most perfunctory of knocks. ‘Do you want me to deal with her?’
Rafe, who had been examining a nautical map showing all the shoals and reefs present in the waters surrounding the island, looked up with a blank expression. ‘Qué?’
‘Laura Mathews,’ Steve prompted, coming further into the room. ‘Grant Mathews’s daughter.’ Steve regarded him enquiringly. ‘But I see you’re busy.’
Rafe met the man’s challenging gaze with a slight smile playing about his lips. ‘She is very persistent.’
‘She is.’ Steve shrugged. ‘What would you like me to tell her?’
Rafe shook his head. He didn’t feel like dealing with a possibly hysterical woman. ‘Tell her I’ve gone sailing,’ he said, throwing his pen down on the desk and getting to his feet.
Steve’s eyebrows rose. ‘But you don’t have a sailing vessel at present, Mr Oliveira. Your boat is still moored in Newport.’
‘She doesn’t know that,’ retorted Rafe, refusing to acknowledge why the prospect of looking at sailing craft suddenly filled him with such a feeling of anticipation. ‘As far as Ms Mathews is concerned, I will be away for the rest of the day.’
* * *
Lily was sitting at her desk, sorting through a pile of invoices to see which needed paying first, when she heard the outer door open. Ray was manning the agency this morning so she didn’t bother to leave her seat.
But, hearing Ray’s gruff voice interacting with one that was all too familiar, she felt a film of perspiration dampen her upper lip. A thread of moisture trickled down between her breasts and she sucked in a nervous breath. She had hoped it might be some time before Rafe Oliveira came into the agency again.
Shifting a little uncomfortably on her chair, she tried not to listen to their low-voiced exchange. She wasn’t interested, she told herself. The reasons for Oliveira being here had nothing to do with her.
Her thighs were sticking to the plastic seat, however, thanks to the cotton shorts she was wearing. She wanted to move, to conceal herself in the restroom but, when she tried getting up, the legs of her chair scraped noisily over the wooden floor.
She almost groaned aloud. Now Oliveira would know she was there, eavesdropping on their conversation. Spying on him! Gritting her teeth, she got up and switched on the radio, tuning in to a Southern States reggae station that successfully drowned out any other sound.
She wondered if Oliveira knew Cartagena Charters was in trouble. Obviously Ray had contacted him. That was why he’d come into the agency a week ago. But the notion that he might decide to invest or even become a partner in the firm was something else. It was looking more and more likely that the man did have some interest in the company.
‘Lily, have you got a minute?’
Before she could continue with that thought, Ray interrupted her. She had no choice now. She had to show herself.
She paused a moment, examining the open neckline of her shirt, checking that the hem wasn’t displaying any revealing wedges of skin. Then, resigning herself in anticipation of Rafe’s dark-eyed appraisal, she came round the screen to the front of the agency.
Rafe sensed her reluctance to speak to him again as soon as he saw her. She had her glorious mane of sun-streaked brown hair skewered in a precarious knot this morning and she was wearing a simple white shirt and coffee-coloured shorts.
Nothing glamorous, but she looked stunning even so. And probably didn’t realise it.
‘Yes?’ she said, deliberately not looking in Rafe’s direction. ‘Did you want something, Ray?’
‘Yeah.’ Myers glanced at his companion before continuing amiably. ‘You’ve met my assistant, Lily, haven’t you, Mr Oliveira?’
Rafe inclined his head as Lily was obliged to acknowledge him. ‘Por supuesto,’ he said smoothly. ‘It’s good to see you again…um… Lily.’ The hesitation over her name was deliberate, she was sure.
His slight yet unmistakable accent scraped across her nerves, like sandpaper over raw skin. His dark eyes were surveying her with their usual intentness, making her aware of her shortcomings, making her aware of herself.
She managed a polite smile and then, turning to her employer again, she arched an enquiring brow. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Hell, no!’ Ray was far too eager to dismiss that idea, in her opinion. ‘I want to show Mr Oliveira the layout of the marina, that’s all. To show him what a successful business we’ve got here. Could you delay your lunch break for another—oh, say an hour?’
‘Of course.’
Rafe thought there was a trace of doubt in her agreement. But an element of relief, too. What was troubling
