nodded, then handed her a slip of paper. “His name is Peter Shelton. He’s some bigwig for the Shelton Hotel chain. They’re looking for a new location to build some fancy-schmancy new resort and they want to buy a whole island, make it real exclusive. You need to meet him at eight tomorrow morning at Faaa. At the hangar.”
Sophie stared down at the name and phone number written on the scrap of paper. “Quelle chance,” she murmured. “Peter Shelton. Shelton Hotels.” He sounded like a pretty important guy. Anyone who worked on Christmas Eve and paid more than three thousand dollars a day for a charter had to be important. “Why would he choose us?”
“Probably because no one else would take the job on Christmas Eve,” Jack replied. “Here,” he said, pointing to the map. “Fly him up here to this little atoll. There’s a nice-size island with a decent lagoon.”
“Suaneva? Didn’t they try to build a resort there once?”
“About thirty years ago. But the developer ran out of money. The lagoon is a little tight for landing and taking off, but a good pilot should be able to get in and out. Hell, if he decides to build there, I can fly his workers in and out. We’ll haul freight, and later the guests. We could work out an exclusive long-term contract and maybe buy a few new planes. I want you to really impress this guy, Sophie girl. Make him see that a partnership with Madigan Air would be good for both of us.”
Sophie rested her hand on his shoulder. “Yes, Papa.” She knew it was all just a pipe dream. Or maybe he did expect her to spend the rest of her life flying for him. She’d found a doctor in Sydney who’d promised a simple but expensive surgery for her father’s sight problems, but when she’d mentioned this to him, Jack had completely discounted the option, preferring to stick to the herbal remedies a local tahua woman had prescribed.
Besides, it wasn’t as if they had the money for the operation. Though ten thousand American dollars would go a long way toward paying for it, it still wasn’t enough. Sooner or later, she’d have to accept the fact her life was here, caring for her father and eking out a living for them both as best she could.
She glanced around the small fare they called home. Built onto a hillside overlooking the water and perched on stilts, the interior of the cottage was small, just enough room for a few bedrooms and a parlor. But most of their living was done outside, on the wide lanai that circled the house.
Tourists would say she was living in paradise, but to Sophie, it often felt like a prison. Unable to enjoy the beauty that surrounded her, she longed for the excitement of living in a city, the noise and the people, never knowing what was around the next corner.
Slipping out of the house, she walked across the small lawn to a point that overlooked the bay. People paid thousands of dollars to come and admire a view like this, she mused. The steeply raked crags covered with lush vegetation, the turquoise water and white sand, the little fare, surrounded with flowering vines and bushes.
Perhaps she might convince her father to sell and find a place in Pape‘ete. Maybe then she could meet some people her own age, maybe even find a man to distract her from her troubles. She flopped down onto the lawn and stared up at the sky, the dampness from the rain soaking through her pareu.
Though she was emotionally exhausted, something inside her couldn’t seem to rest. She felt as though she was ready to jump out of her skin. She smoothed her hands over her body and closed her eyes as the rain pelted her face. The sensations her hands evoked were enough to remind her how long it had been since she’d been touched by another.
It had been nearly a year since she’d enjoyed the pleasures a man’s body offered. Though her Irish-American father would be more than happy if she decided to enter a convent, her French mother had given Sophie a very practical and healthy attitude about sex. One must accept that a woman has desires, her mother had told her, and they must be fulfilled. There is no sin in acting upon these feelings. As long as both parties agree there will be no promises the next morning.
After she finished flying Peter Shelton around the islands, she’d take a little bit of the money, buy herself a new dress and find herself a man, Sophie decided. There were always tourists at the resorts on Tahiti and Bora Bora, handsome men who’d offer a temporary diversion.
She’d make it her goal to ring in the New Year in the bed of a sexy man. “I’ll make it happen,” Sophie muttered, stretching her arms above her head and arching her back. “A lover for New Year’s Eve. And for New Year’s Day.”
But would a few nights in a man’s bed really satisfy her? Or would she still have to make some more drastic changes in her life in order to be happy? “I’ll start with the lover,” she said, sitting up. “Then we’ll see what happens.”
TREY SHELTON GLANCED at his watch then cursed softly. He was already an hour late and the taxi he’d hired at the hotel had managed to get him to the airport but no farther. “Are you sure you don’t know where Madigan Air is? It’s a well-known charter company.”
The native driver peered at him in the rearview mirror. “Non. Maybe this way?” he said in heavily accented English, pointing to a small cluster of hangars on the periphery of the Faaa airport.
“Let’s try there,” Trey suggested. “Someone should know.” He’d hired the plane for three days, but he hoped to get his business settled early so he might enjoy a short vacation in paradise. He’d spent last night with an attractive Polynesian dancer from one of the local clubs and he’d promised to meet her that evening for dinner. Though she’d been interested in spending the night in his suite, Trey had begged off, explaining he had an early morning.
Since he’d begun working for his father a year ago, Trey had been forced to leave his jet-set Casanova lifestyle behind. Six months ago, he’d ended a relationship with a somewhat crazy, but sexy, English actress. Since then, he’d had a few one-night stands, but they’d left him more confused than satisfied.
He’d spent his adult life indulging in one whim after the other, all of it fueled by a seemingly bottomless trust fund. But now, at age twenty-nine, the money was almost gone and the lifestyle with it. His father’s job offer was his only option.
“Ah!” the driver cried, pointing at a rusty sign dangling from above a hangar door. “Nous sommes ici! Madigan Air. Voilà!”
Trey paid the driver in colorful French Pacific franc notes, then grabbed his bag and slid out of the cab. He slowly walked through the huge overhead door into the interior of the hangar. The place was a wreck, parts strewn everywhere, a bent propeller dangling from the ceiling, an old girlie calendar hanging on an open office door. A small amphibious plane was parked inside. Either the guy on the phone had oversold the company, or Trey was in the wrong place.
“Hello?” he called. “Anybody home?”
“Bonjour!”
The female voice came from the direction of the plane.
“Is this Madigan Air?”
“Oui. This is. You’re late,” the voice said. “When you didn’t come, I decided to do some maintenance. We’ll be ready to go in about fifteen minutes. Just find a seat and relax. I won’t be long.”
Though she spoke flawless English, Trey could detect a French accent. He approached the plane, circling around the front until he came upon a slight figure standing on a small ladder, her head bent over an open engine compartment. He expected her to be cleaning the windows
