island. But that was before Kittrick’s Hotel had received its five-star status. These days, they probably used Rolls-Royces or Cadillacs to ferry their guests around.
The plane had stopped next to a white-painted building that served as both immigration area and traffic control. All guests were registered as they arrived on the island, and he was relieved to see that, apart from a coat of paint, the place looked little different from what he remembered.
‘I hope you enjoyed the trip, Mr Kittrick,’ the stewardess said, after the door of the aircraft had been opened, and the flight of steps unfolded. ‘Have a nice day!’
‘Thanks.’
But as he shook hands with the pilot, he noticed her tunic was now sedately buttoned. Perhaps she had been acting on her own behalf, her reflected drily. They all must know that he was the new owner of Pelican Island. And it was his own fault for dressing so casually, and maybe allowing her to think he might be flattered by a little healthy provocation. New owners sometimes meant new staff, and it was incredible to think he had the last word on her employment. He could almost feel sympathy for the core of her dilemma.
But experience had taught him that nothing came for free, and, hefting his overnight bag, he descended the steps without looking back. God, the sun was hot, he thought, feeling the tight jeans sticking to him like a second skin. He should have changed on the plane. He had some shorts in his bag. But he had been too pre-occupied with his thoughts to give any real consideration to the climate.
He stood for a moment at the foot of the aircraft’s steps, gazing about him. There was always a breeze on the island, which moderated the heat and made the temperature so delightful. And it was particularly evident here on Green Turtle Hill, a warm breeze that lifted his hair from his sweat-dampened neck and plastered his shirt against his body.
‘Nathan.’
He hadn’t been aware of anyone’s approach. He had been staring at the sun-bleached air-strip, at the fluttering tops of the flame-trees and at the lush vegetation that sloped away towards the beach. His eyes had settled on the ocean cresting like lace upon the sand, and his ears had been filled with its muted thunder as it splintered on the reef.
But now his gaze was drawn to the young woman standing patiently beside him, a tall, slim, striking woman, with cool, sculptured features and long straight hair that was presently caught back with an elastic band. Her eyes were blue, her nose was straight, and her mouth was full and generous. But it was the brilliance of her hair that gave her away, the glorious fall of bright red silk, and the delicate pale skin that went with it.
‘India?’ he said, half incredulously, and her mouth tightened almost imperceptibly.
‘Nathan,’ she repeated. ‘Welcome home. I’m sorry it’s in such unhappy circumstances.’
‘Yes.’ Nathan couldn’t get over the change in her. When he had gone away, India had been five feet two at most, and, although she hadn’t deserved her mother’s description of her as being overweight and spotty, she had been suffering the usual pains of adolescence. ‘I’m sorry, too.’ He paused. ‘It’s good to see you again, India.’
Her smile was perfunctory. ‘Shall we go?’ she suggested. She glanced at his canvas holdall before gesturing towards the back of the building. ‘The buggy’s just over there.’ She turned to the pilot, who had been observing their reunion. ‘Raoul, will you fetch the rest of Mr Kittrick’s luggage off the plane?’
‘No,’ Nathan intervened before the pilot could speak. ‘That is—I don’t have any more luggage.’ He tapped the canvas holdall. ‘This is it.’
India’s brows, which were several shades darker than her hair, drew together in obvious confusion. ‘You mean—it’s coming on later,’ she said, evidently not enjoying having her arrangements thwarted in front of the staff, and Nathan shook his head.
‘I’ve got everything I need,’ he assured her smoothly. He gave the pilot and his companion a faintly mocking salute. ‘Thanks, Raoul. It was a very—enjoyable trip.’
He didn’t look at the stewardess, but he guessed she was relieved he hadn’t chosen to mention her. All the same, it made him wonder about the kind of stories that were circulating about him. What kind of man did they think he was? What other lies had Adele been spreading since she had learned she was not to inherit Pelican Island after all?
He felt a surge of irritation, not least because he didn’t like the idea of India hearing that her stepbrother was some sort of sex animal. She might already think it, of course. Goodness knew, she had been brainwashed into believing he had no scruples. He wasn’t a monk, and he’d never pretended to be one. But he’d spent most of his energies these past years in making a success of his business, not feeding his libido.
‘Oh, well …’ India lifted her slim shoulders in a dismissing motion, and started towards the black- and white-painted buggy parked in the shade of the building. ‘Let’s go.’
Nathan took a moment to observe the spectacle of her trim rear, tightly encased in black close-fitting shorts, before following her. He already knew her breasts were full and round and strained against the white silk of the vest that completed her outfit. The shadow of her bra had been clearly visible as he’d looked down at her, and he guessed she was one of the hotel’s less obvious assets.
This thought irritated him, also. He didn’t like the image of some rich banker feasting his eyes on India’s slender body. She was his sister, for God’s sake! He didn’t want anyone looking at her but him. He knew a sudden urge to protect her. Was Adele exploiting her daughter, as well as everything else?
India was sitting in the buggy when he reached it, her hands on the wheel, and the motor running. Nathan tossed his bag into the back, and swung himself into the seat beside her. ‘Right,’ he said, giving her a brooding sideways glance, and she put the gearstick into drive, and pressed her booted foot on the accelerator.
The road had been much improved, he noticed at once. The rutted track he remembered had been repaired and edged with coral, but it was an ongoing problem. It was impossible to control all the vegetation on the island, and trailing vines hid the road in places. On top of that, grass was pushing up among the coral, and here and there the heads of periwinkles nodded as they passed. There was a glorious inconsistency about the landscaping here, he thought ruefully. Tropical shrubs grew in the most unlikely places, and, despite the frustration, their beauty was unsurpassed.
‘Did you have a good flight?’
Her question took him by surprise, and he had to check the urge to ask her if she cared. Her attitude towards him—polite, but superficial—was not what he’d anticipated, not what he wanted. Didn’t she feel any emotion, for God’s sake? He’d expected anger, or resentment, but not indifference.
But it was too soon to voice his feelings. Particularly as he wasn’t entirely sure what those feelings were. At the moment, he was still assimilating his reaction to her appearance, reminding himself that this was the wide-eyed kid who’d once hung on his every word.
So, ‘Pretty good,’ he responded, half turning in his seat towards her, and resting one arm along the back of hers. He hesitated, and then, ‘How’s your mother? Was she here when the old man bought—er—died?’
‘Of course she was here.’ With the first flash of spirit he had seen, India answered him. ‘He’d been ill for several weeks. The local doctor thought it was just over-work. He wouldn’t go to see a specialist. He was
