The Marriage Merger Page 5

  She didn’t ask. She waited for him to tell her, since he was going to anyway.

  ‘You’ll be playing tourist.’

  ‘There’s only one site I’m interested in at the moment.’

  ‘You heard Dr Myan. It’s off limits.’ There was a warning note in his voice. ‘Dangerous. I’m sure there are other places worth a visit.’

  ‘What’s the matter, Bram? Put off by his talk of a long walk? Uphill?’

  ‘I didn’t bring my walking boots,’ he reminded her.

  ‘No.’ But she wasn’t about to give up. She was going to look at that tomb whatever it took. Since Bram Gifford wasn’t volunteering to help her—and why should he when his only interest was Claibourne & Farraday business?—she let it go with a shrug. ‘Well, I’m sure you’re right. There’ll be plenty to see.’

  ‘Why don’t you start this evening? Take a taxi into Minda, soak up a little of the local atmosphere. Try out a restaurant, perhaps.’

  She noted the ‘you’. Was he finally getting the message that he was free to amuse himself?

  ‘Don’t you want to come along and take notes?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve seen you eat. You do it very well. Mouth neatly closed, good technique with the fork. But I don’t think I’d buy tickets.’

  She deserved that. She had told him he could follow her or not, as he pleased. More than once. It would be churlish to be cross now if he chose to take the hint, although she didn’t much relish the thought of wandering around a strange city after dark by herself. But she wasn’t about to admit it. Instead she shrugged and said, ‘Fair enough.’

  She gave her full attention to the distant seascape. A freighter leaving the island. A couple of fishing boats out in the bay. Then her gaze strayed to the blonde and it occurred to her that she might have met Bram earlier, that he might already have arranged a more interesting diversion.

  ‘Will you eat here?’ she asked.

  ‘I shouldn’t think so. There’s not much in the way of atmosphere.’

  ‘No? Well, if you want to share a taxi into town, just say the word. I’m sure there’s more than one restaurant.’

  ‘Bound to be.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll find all the…um…atmosphere you want there.’ And this time she looked directly at the other woman. Behind dark glasses, it was difficult to judge where Bram’s gaze was directed.

  ‘That’s true. Of course since you will be on Claibourne & Farraday business—’

  ‘I always try to combine a little business with pleasure,’ she agreed.

  ‘—maybe I should come along.’

  He’d been winding her up? ‘Don’t worry about it, Mr Gifford. I’ll make notes. You can look at them when you have a spare moment. You just go and find some congenial—’

  ‘Bram,’ he said, before she could tell him what he should find. Then, to make his point, added, ‘We’re colleagues after all. Flora.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Bram,’ she finally conceded, ignoring his slight stress on the word ‘colleagues’. The ‘Mr Gifford’ had been her own little wind-up, after all. ‘Find a bar, some congenial company,’ she added, turning the key a little tighter. ‘Do whatever you’d usually do.’ She paused. ‘Just enjoy yourself.’

  ‘I think maybe I should tag along with you, instead.’

  Flora turned to look at him. There was winding up and there was just plain damn rude.

  ‘After all, when the Farradays regain control of C&F at the end of June,’ he continued—and the smile that went with this remark was not calculated to take the sting out of his words, ‘I’ll be the one briefing the travel department.’

  Flora, about to remind him that this wasn’t by any means a foregone conclusion, and he shouldn’t stress himself, was struck by a thought of such brilliance that she discovered she didn’t have to pretend to smile any more. She was doing it for real.

  ‘Well, if you insist.’ She shrugged, as if she didn’t care one way or the other. ‘But tomorrow I’d better get in some serious sightseeing—’ she flapped again at a persistent insect ‘—since I won’t be able to do anything else. I’ll hire a car or something.’

  ‘Or something?’

  ‘Maybe a Jeep would be better.’ His expression suggested something air-conditioned would be a lot more comfortable. ‘Something fairly rugged, anyway. The roads might be a bit…’ she faltered under his unwavering gaze, which was made all the more unnerving by the dark lenses that shadowed his expression. ‘A bit, um, rough.’

  ‘They seemed perfectly adequate on the way from the airport,’ he said. ‘Or did you have somewhere particular in mind for this exploring? Somewhere off-road, perhaps?’

  She laughed a little self-consciously. ‘How could I? I don’t know anything about the place. There must be interesting historic sights, though.’

  ‘There always seem to be,’ he said, without much enthusiasm.

  ‘And they won’t all be placed conveniently next to a good road. Did you notice if the shop has map of the island?’ She dropped her napkin by her plate and stood up, not liking the speculative twitch of his brows. ‘Why don’t you order some coffee while I go and have a look? Unless you really intend to follow me everywhere,’ she added quickly. ‘Though I’m not sure what you could learn from watching me shop.’

  He slid the dark glasses down his long, straight nose and for a moment considered her washed-out khaki shirtdress. It owed nothing to style and everything to utility, and was remarkable, she knew, only for the size and quantity of its pockets. It was why she’d chosen it.

  ‘Nothing very useful,’ he said, after an epic pause.

  She didn’t actually smile; it wasn’t a remark that warranted pleasure. But it pleased her, nonetheless. She didn’t dress to lure the opposite sex, but for her own comfort and convenience. She’d tried it the other way and it had caused her nothing but pain.

  Instead, she scooped up her now dry hair, twisted it into a knot and, jamming on her hat in order to keep it in place, went in search of a map. A treasure map. And with a bit of luck someone who could mark the spot with an X…

  CHAPTER FOUR

  BRAM signalled a waiter, ordering coffee without taking his eyes off Flora as she made her way around the pool to the resort shop. She moved with a fluidity and grace that belied the prickly exterior, the terrible clothes.

  He just knew that she would look a lot more appealing out of her clothes than in them.

  She was, he decided, a woman of hidden depths. She’d never be beautiful; her features were too bold for that. But she wasn’t as plain as first impressions would suggest either. The image she projected was just a front, a disguise. Why did she feel the need to hide?

  He already had a pretty good idea why she didn’t want him with her while she bought a map, listening while she made enquiries about ‘interesting historic sites’.

  She’d have to be a lot more careful if she wanted to keep secrets from him. A map, a Jeep and a ‘eureka’ smile—a smile that had lit up her face in a way that exposed anything that had gone before as a total sham—could only mean one thing.

  She had a free day on her hands, a day with nothing to do but twiddle her thumbs, and it didn’t take a genius to work out that thumb-twiddling didn’t come naturally to Flora Claibourne. Or that she wouldn’t be sidetracked by the suggestion of danger. She wanted a look at this mysterious tomb and if Dr Myan wouldn’t take her there then she was quite prepared to make enquiries, seek it out and go there on her own.

  Correction: not on her own. She wasn’t that stupid. She wasn’t stupid at all. No wonder she’d smiled. She was going to use his promise—his threat—to stay with her every minute of this trip. Use him. His presence was the one thing that made an unauthorised visit to the mountains possible. Which meant it was up to him to make sure she didn’t get there.

  He might be wrong, but, for all his smiles, he didn’t think the Minister of Antiquities would be exactly thrilled to discover that his tame academic had gone exploring b
y herself. Why that should be was not his concern. His only problem was keeping her from harm’s way. It shouldn’t be difficult. Unless, of course, she turned out to be the one woman he’d ever met who could read a map. Or understand the basics of the internal combustion engine.

  How likely was that?

  The blonde sitting a few tables away finally managed to catch his eye. He had the impression she wanted to talk. She had no chance. He liked the company of women—most women—with one unshakable exception. He avoided lonely women of a certain age, a certain style, staking out holiday resorts.

  Just to make the point that he was fully occupied, he turned a full-blown smile on Flora as she rejoined him. ‘Did you find what you were looking for?’

  Startled by the warmth of his welcome, she fumbled her bag as she dropped it on the table, spilling out a tourist map and a guidebook.

  ‘What’s this?’ He picked up a flat, perspex compass. ‘What kind of sightseeing requires the use of a compass?’ he asked, looking up, inviting her to confide in him.

  She didn’t. What she did was take it from him and put it in one of her copious pockets. ‘I never travel without a compass.’

  ‘And you had the nerve to call me a boy scout?’ Then, ‘Why didn’t you buy a proper map of the island to go with it?’

  ‘Isn’t this a proper map?’ she asked, all innocence, as she opened up the simple tourist map that showed main roads and routes to tourist sites, with the mountains no more than a series of cartoon-style peaks.

  ‘It’ll do,’ he admitted. ‘Just so long as your idea of sightseeing doesn’t include a trek through the jungle in search of this “lost princess” of yours.’

  ‘The princess has been found. It’s the tomb that’s missing.’

  ‘Not missing. Just off-limits,’ he reminded her.

  ‘You don’t think I should try to find it?’

  ‘What part of “off-limits” didn’t you understand?’

  ‘I understand the words. It’s the reason that baffles me.’

  ‘You heard Tipi Myan. It’s unsafe.’

  ‘So it’s a bit shaky—but I’m not stupid. I wouldn’t go scrambling over something that’s about to fall on me. I just want to see it for myself.’

  ‘Forget it, Flora.’ He waited for some reassurance that she would do just that. When it didn’t come he said, ‘Please tell me that you know I’m right.’

  She adopted a pose, her hand lightly touching her breast in a manner that implied faint astonishment. Then, with the faux mockery of a flirtatious woman of certain type, said, ‘But you’re a man, Bram. How could you be anything other than right?’

  He knew it was just a distraction to avoid giving him the assurance he sought. Beneath the mockery, though, he caught a glimpse of that other Flora Claibourne—the hidden woman, the touch of steel obscured by her tedious hair and clothes. And he was more distracted than he would have believed possible.

  ‘A simple affirmation will do.’

  “‘Yes” is the word every man wants to hear,’ she replied, dropping the act as quickly as she’d adopted it. ‘But, if it makes you happy, I’ll promise you I wouldn’t dream of trekking through the jungle. How would I know where to start?’

  How indeed? Was it the sun or a guilty blush that had turned her cheekbones a faint pink?

  He didn’t press it, though. Instead he picked up the guidebook and flipped through it. ‘I don’t see any mention of your treasure or the tomb.’ There were just the usual tourist traps: ornate pagodas, dancers, craft centres.

  ‘No? Well, it’s too recent, I suppose.’

  ‘Have you any clue to its location?’ he asked. Abandoning the guidebook and pushing back the coffee cups, he laid out the very basic tourist map she’d bought. ‘Didn’t Dr Myan tell you anything?’ She’d need some idea where to start if she wasn’t hoping to ‘stumble across it’.

  ‘You heard him. A long walk. Uphill.’

  But she’d discovered something, he could see. Beneath that dreary dress she was fizzing like a hangover cure on New Year’s Day. It seemed that Flora Claibourne couldn’t keep a secret to save her life, which was promising. He wondered how much she knew about India Claibourne’s plans to repel their claim on C&F. And what it would take to loosen her up, crack the façade.

  ‘It’s a valuable heritage site,’ she continued. ‘I imagine they want to protect it from treasure-hunters. They could do a lot of damage if they hoped to find more gold.’

  ‘If the ruins don’t damage them first,’ he countered. ‘By falling on them.’

  ‘That, too.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s well guarded.’

  ‘Why? The gold is locked up in the museum. Remoteness and secrecy are its best protection.’

  ‘When two people know something, it’s no longer a secret.’

  ‘No? Well, anyway,’ she said, changing the subject, ‘I’ve organised the rental of a four-wheel drive for the whole of our stay here.’

  ‘A Jeep?’

  ‘Don’t look like that,’ she protested. ‘It’s not army surplus. It’s brand-new, built for the luxury end of the market and fully air-conditioned. If you want to drive it yourself you’ll have to give details of your licence at the desk.’ She glanced at him. ‘But maybe you’d rather arrange your own personal transport?’

  ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘So that you can do your own thing.’

  And she could do hers? Had he underestimated her? Would she really go off on her own?

  ‘I may be wrong, but I don’t get the impression that visiting the local tourist traps is high on your list of things to do on holiday.’

  She would.

  Terrific.

  ‘Why do you persist in this illusion that while you’re working I’m on holiday?’

  ‘It’s okay. Really. I won’t tell if you’d rather spend tomorrow by the pool…recovering from jet lag.’ Her glance flickered towards the blonde.

  ‘You’ve got me all wrong,’ he said, abandoning any idea of a relaxing day at the beach. She was wrong if she thought he could be diverted by a poolside romance. But not that wrong. He avoided manufactured tourist sights like the plague, but the small still voice of lawyer’s intuition warned him not to let her out of his sight. They were a long way from home in a place where tourists were something of a novelty and, whatever either them of thought of the situation, they were still partners. ‘I love sightseeing,’ he assured her. ‘Let’s make a day of it.’

  Flora shrugged. Bram Gifford, the lawyer, was lying through his teeth. He didn’t want to play tourist any more than she did, but was apparently determined to keep her from playing ‘hunt the tomb’. No problem.

  She was happy to indulge him by making plans to spend the following day sightseeing with him, if that was what made him happy.

  ‘Okay. What about the primate orphanage?’ She showed him a picture of an appealing infant monkey in the guidebook. ‘They rear orphans and then, when they’re old enough, move them up here—’

  ‘To the mountains?’

  ‘Where they can live in a semi-protected environment.’

  ‘That’s very admirable, but I thought you’d be eager to get a taste of the local culture.’ Taking the guidebook from her, Bram countered with a picturesque palace. It was on an island, by a lake, in a valley. ‘I’d have said this was more your cup of tea. All that gilding. And the Royal Botanical Gardens are not to be missed.’

  ‘Really? How do you know?’

  ‘It says so. Right here,’ he said, pointing to a ‘Not to be Missed’ flash over the picture. Flora leaned closer to get a better look and her shoulder brushed against his. She moved back slightly, but not before he caught a trace of her scent. Warm and spicy. And very faint. As if she was declaring that she was a woman, but doing it very, very quietly.

  Like keeping her long hair, but putting it up in those hideous combs. Painting her toenails blue. Wearing sexy knickers. A private statement of her femininity.

  ‘I wonder if
they’ve considered the tourist potential of weddings?’ he went on. ‘I was best man at a wedding in the botanical gardens in Singapore last year. It’s a big tourist market,’ he reminded her.

  ‘In that case we must certainly visit the botanical gardens. And this weaving centre, too. I want to look at the local cloth. And there are temple dancers…’ Then, almost as an afterthought, ‘It might be best if we started at the primate centre, since that’s the furthest from here. Then we can work our way back, ticking off the attractions as we go.’

  ‘You think so? It’s a bit predictable, don’t you think? You’ve seen one monkey, you’ve seen them all. My vote—as a potential tourist—goes to the palace,’ he said.

  ‘Excuse me, but I’m not running a democracy here. You don’t have a vote. We start at the monkey sanctuary. And, since it’s going to be a long day, I think we should ask the hotel to put us up a packed lunch. There’s a beach starred here,’ she said. ‘It’ll make a great place to stop for a swim and a picnic.’

  ‘Really? How do they feel about skinny-dipping in this part of the world?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You didn’t bring a swimsuit,’ he reminded her. ‘Oh, no. Well, there’s a boutique in the hotel; I saw it just now when I bought the map,’ she said, quickly, with a reprise of the blush. ‘I could buy one from there.’

  ‘So you could.’

  ‘You don’t sound exactly eager.’

  ‘Was I supposed to be eager? I’m sorry. Let me try that again. You could buy a swimsuit from the boutique. Or maybe a bikini,’ he added. The eagerness with which he said this wasn’t entirely fake.

  There was something about the secretiveness of her sexuality that awakened his interest. Something about the thought of stripping away her body armour that seemed to bring out the caveman instinct in him. His fingers itched to pluck that hat from her head and watch her hair tumble around her shoulders, down her back. To peel away the layers one by one until he’d got to the heart of the woman. Found the true Flora Claibourne.

  ‘I meant eager for a picnic on the beach,’ she said, with assumed boredom.