Moondrift. Anne Mather

      Jordan allowed her breath to escape unnoticed. ‘You—you could be right. So—where did you see them?’

      ‘In the market.’ Karen tucked her hands into the pockets of her shorts. ‘He was buying her a sun-hat. One of those hand-made palm things that weigh a ton until they’ve dried out.’ She paused. ‘He hasn’t changed much.’

      ‘Well, I have.’ Jordan tried to make it sound like a joke, but it didn’t quite come off. ‘I—where did you leave the avocados? Not out in the sun, I hope.’

      ‘No.’ Karen gave her an impatient look. ‘I’m not stupid. Willy took them down to the cellar.’

      ‘Good.’ Jordan managed an approving smile. ‘Josef will be pleased anyway.’

      She hoped Karen would go now, but her sister hovered in the doorway, evidently wanting to say something else. Jordan’s fingers tightened convulsively round her pen as Karen tried to catch her eye, and she wondered how long her new-found composure would last if it was subjected to these pressures.

      ‘Do you think he’ll come here?’ Karen asked at last, when it became obvious that her sister was not going to make things easy for her, and Jordan laid down her pen.

      ‘Why should he?’

      ‘To thank you, of course.’ Karen hunched her shoulders. ‘You have looked after the house for him, haven’t you?’

      Jordan sighed. ‘Tomas and Rosa have looked after the house.’

      ‘Yes, I know. But you know they wouldn’t have been as diligent as you have.’

      ‘Oh, Karen!’ Jordan drew an unsteady breath. ‘Can’t we just forget about Rhys Williams? Please? I don’t want his thanks, I just want to get on with my life. Now, can I do that?’

      Karen’s lips compressed. ‘Well, I think the whole affair stinks,’ she declared rudely, going out of the room and slamming the door behind her, and Jordan was left to face Mary-Jo’s knowing gaze as the room resounded with the sound.

      The remainder of the morning passed without incident, and during the afternoon Jordan had to contend with other problems about the hotel. The shutter on the window in one of the bathrooms had broken, and she had to summon the carpenter to deal with it. One of the guests had trodden on a sea urchin, and the doctor had to be called to remove the spines. And finally, one of the waiters in the restaurant slipped and sprained his ankle, leaving them short-staffed at the busiest time of the day.

      By the time Jordan took her evening shower, she was feeling decidedly frayed at the seams. It had been one of those days, she thought, as she towelled her hair dry before picking up the hand drier to complete the process. Ever since Karen had told her about Rhys Williams, her nerves had been on edge, and she had to force her hand to remain steady as she directed the hot air on to her head.

      She was applying a pale gold eye-shadow to her lids when the internal phone rang. ‘Mr Ferris is here, Miss Jordan,’ Raoul’s laconic voice announced in her ear, and she acknowledged the news with an emphatic: ‘I’ll be right down.’

      Thank goodness for Neil, she thought, as she hurried into a raw silk skirt and a full-sleeved blouse. Without his help and encouragement, she might never have succeeded in carrying on after her father died, and his knowledge of the hotel trade had been invaluable. It had been particularly kind of him, considering he owned the only other hotel of any size on the island, and by supporting Trade Winds he had halved the business he could have done. Jordan had known him for years, ever since her father came back to the island, bringing his wife and young daughter with him. But it wasn’t until her father died that she learned to appreciate his friendship, and the growing bond of affection that was gradually developing between them.

      He was waiting for her in the lobby when she went downstairs, tall and tanned and handsome in his black dinner jacket. He was leaning on the desk, talking to Raoul, who took over the switchboard after Mary-Jo had gone home, and Jordan felt a wave of gratitude sweep over her in his warm familiar presence.

      ‘Hi,’ she said, her sandalled feet making little sound on the tiled floor, and he turned and straightened and came to greet her.

      ‘Hi,’ he responded, his hands on her shoulders marvellously reassuring. ‘You looked flushed. Have you been hurrying?’

      ‘It has been quite a hectic day,’ she conceded, as his lips brushed her cheek. ‘Thank goodness you were at the end of it. I can’t wait to get away from the hotel for a few hours!’

      Neil regarded her intently. ‘Really?’ He tucked her arm through his. ‘Well, don’t let’s delay. I’ve got some cocktails cooling over ice, and a fillet of beef cooked with herbs and brandy.’

      ‘Mmm, it sounds delicious,’ murmured Jordan, giving Raoul a wave of farewell, and then Neil was tucking her into the front seat of his sleek convertible, and the cares of the day just melted into space.

      Unlike Jordan and her sister, Neil did not live in his hotel. He had had a single-storied villa built alongside; adjacent to, and yet separate from, the main buildings. Unlike Trade Winds, the accommodation at Coral Cay was provided in a series of beach bungalows, and in consequence, the area it covered was much greater.

      Tonight, Jordan could hear the sounds of a beach barbecue as they neared Coral Cay, and the leaping flames of a fire on the sand gave the night an added illumination. Fortunately, it was cooler now than in the heat of the day, but Jordan had no objections when Neil suggested they had their drinks on the verandah.

      Because Coral Cay was at the southernmost point of the island, the view was different from the one Jordan was used to. The sea was not so gentle here; there were breakers splintering over the jagged horns of the reef, and although the bathing was adequate, she much preferred the smoother shores of home.

      Neil emerged from the house carrying a flask of cocktails and setting two glasses down on the glass-topped table beside her chair, he poured the bubbling liquid. ‘Daiquiris à la Ferris,’ he said teasingly, handing her a wide-lipped glass. ‘Just what you need after a tiring day.’

      ‘Is it ever!’ murmured Jordan fervently. ‘Beautiful! You’d make a good barman, Neil. If you ever need a job, come and see me.’

      Neil subsided into the cushioned chair beside her, depositing a kiss at the corner of her mouth before stretching his legs out before him. ‘The very best part of the day,’ he averred, tasting his own drink. ‘So, tell me: why are you so feeling so drained?’

      ‘Oh——’ Jordan was glad of the shadows on the verandah to hide her sudden colour. ‘You know—this and that. The usual ups and downs of an hotelier’s life.’

      ‘And that’s all?’ Neil turned his head to look at her. ‘Just the usual pitch and toss?’

      ‘What else?’ Jordan lifted one foot to rub her instep lightly against her leg. In the dark, the whiteness of her skirt was a sharp contrast to the brownness of her skin, and she reflected how lucky she was never to need tights or stockings. ‘One of the French girls stood on a sea urchin, and Carlos chose tonight of all nights to go and sprain his ankle.’

      ‘And that was it?’

      ‘Well …’ Jordan lifted a slim shoulder, feeling the weight of her hair as it coiled against her neck, ‘there were one or two other irritations, but yes, I guess that was all.’

      ‘Oh, Jordan!’ Neil leant forward to pour more of the pale liquid into his glass. ‘You’re not telling me you haven’t heard that Rhys Williams is back, are you? According to Karen, she virtually ran into him in town today, and I know she wouldn’t keep that piece of news to herself.’

      Jordan stiffened. ‘You’ve spoken to Karen?’

      ‘Sure. She was in the lobby talking to Raoul when I arrived. As soon as she mentioned Williams’ name I guessed how you’d react. Damn the fellow! What’s he come back here for?’

      Jordan