stared at him uncomfortably, and then before he could say anything she moved quickly away. She had the distinct feeling that he intended buying the oil for her, and she didn’t want that.
A ripple of apprehension running along her spine, she walked swiftly to the edge of the market area and waiting until the road was clear went quickly across. The noise of the traffic was deafening after the peace of the villa, and the sights and sounds of the city took some getting used to. As did the smell of dried copra that hung over the harbour on hot, humid days with intensity.
She had left the car parked in a side street. She knew the city area quite well, and had no fears for her safety among these big friendly people. From time to time she exchanged a greeting with a shopkeeper who was sitting outside his store, cross-legged in the sunshine. Many of these shopkeepers were Indians, and there was a variety of costume to be seen, from the calf-length sulus, worn by men and women alike, to the exotically draped sari, that seemed to enhance the femininity of all women, no matter what nationality. At this time of the year, too, Suva was thronged with tourists, and the tourist attractions did good business. Rebecca smiled to herself, as her surroundings temporarily banished all anxieties about Piers St. Clair, and she thought how lucky she was to live in such a paradise.
Reaching the car, she bent to unlock it, and then straightened to find the man she had been escaping from beside her. Containing her annoyance, she said: ‘Are you following me?’ in rather a tight little voice.
‘Yes,’ he said, almost negligently, and leaned against the car’s bonnet, his arms folded.
Today, in navy shorts, that drew attention to the brown muscular length of his legs, and a cream silk sweater that was unbuttoned almost to his waist, he looked somehow dark and alien, yet infinitely attractive. His thick dark hair was smooth against his head, and long sideburns darkened his cheekbones, while dark eyes surveyed her with enigmatic arrogance.
Rebecca, conscious of the formality of her uniform, was glad she had worn it. Somehow it added to the composure that seemed to be deserting her as it always did when he was around. Why did he persist in disturbing her in this way? Did it amuse him to make fun of her? Or was she a novelty to a man satiated by women of his own set? Whatever his reasons it could only spell disaster for her. Now she turned to him and said:
‘Exactly why are you following me, Monsieur St. Clair?’
He shrugged indolently. ‘To give you this,’ he said, offering her a parcel wrapped in coloured paper.
Rebecca did not take the parcel, but after putting her shopping bag into the car, put her hands behind her back. ‘Thank you, but I don’t want anything from you,’ she asserted jerkily. ‘Now—if you’ll excuse me—–’
Piers St. Clair regarded her coolly. ‘What do you suppose is in the parcel?’ he queried sharply.
Rebecca coloured. ‘I’d rather not say.’
‘You think it is the flagon of sandalwood oil, don’t you?’ he demanded.
Rebecca felt terrible. ‘Well? What if I do?’
He toyed with the wrapping on the parcel. ‘And what if I tell you you dropped something in the market—something I found and re-wrapped in this rather—well—colourful paper?’
Rebecca’s eyes went immediately to her shopping bag. Without taking it out and checking over the contents she could not be certain she had everything she had bought. Pressing her lips together for a moment, she said: ‘I’m sure I didn’t drop anything, monsieur.’ She ran a hand over her hair, checking that the chignon was secure with nervous fingers. ‘I think you are deliberately baiting me, for some twisted reason of your own.’
He raised his dark eyebrows, and with a deft movement he allowed the parcel to unwind in his fingers until a container of talcum powder fell into his palm, free of the wrapping. Rebecca stared at the talcum powder with disbelieving eyes. It was the cologne-scented talc she had bought for Adele. Her eyes lifted to his, but still his were guarded, revealing nothing.
Rebecca swallowed hard, and then said: ‘That is mine?’
‘If you say so,’ he remarked lightly.
Rebecca took a deep breath. ‘I couldn’t have dropped it without hearing it fall.’
‘What? In the noise of the market area? Don’t you think so, mademoiselle?’
Rebecca sighed. ‘I’m not sure.’ She ran her tongue over her upper lip. ‘Perhaps you took it from my bag.’
He shook his head impatiently. ‘What have I done that you have such a low opinion of me?’ he questioned. ‘What has my inestimable sister-in-law been telling you?’
Rebecca opened the car door wider. ‘She has told me nothing, monsieur. Now, if you’ll excuse me—–’
‘Don’t you want your talcum powder, mademoiselle?’
‘Oh—oh, yes, I suppose so.’ Rebecca almost snatched the container from his hands and thrust it into the back of the car with the rest of her shopping. ‘Now I must go. Adele—I mean Miss St. Cloud—will wonder why I’ve been so long.’
He gave a negligent lift of his shoulders and straightened from the car’s bonnet. ‘Very well, mademoiselle. If you insist.’
Rebecca got behind the steering wheel and then looked up at him almost appealingly. ‘I—I don’t understand you, monsieur.’
‘Non! I would agree with you there.’
Rebecca hesitated, biting her lip. ‘Are you—I mean—will you be coming to dinner before—before you leave?’
He regarded her with intense dark eyes. ‘Do you want me to?’ he asked softly.
Rebecca’s stomach contracted. ‘I—I—it’s nothing to do with me,’ she stammered.
‘Is it not?’ He shrugged. ‘Yes, I will come. I will ring Adele and arrange a time.’ His expression grew brooding. ‘And afterwards? Will you go for a drive with me?’
Rebecca’s eyes were wide and startled. ‘I—I—I am Adele’s employee. I cannot make arrangements like that. Besides,’ she fumbled for the ignition, ‘Adele would never agree.’
‘Adele need not know—need she?’ His eyes held hers.
Rebecca took a rather shaky breath. ‘I—I really think you—you are wasting your time, monsieur,’ she murmured unsteadily. ‘I—I am not like the—the women you know …’
‘I recognise that,’ he replied coolly. ‘I do have some perception.’
Rebecca shook her head helplessly. ‘I—I must go,’ she said. ‘Good—goodbye.’
‘Au revoir,’ he answered, and stepped back as she put the small saloon into gear, and drove rather erratically away.
Outside the city limits the road stretched straight for some distance, cutting between the blue waters of the Bay of Islands. It was unbelievably beautiful, but this morning Rebecca had no heart to appreciate it. She was sick and shaken, terrified
