She knew it was madness to agree to spend the afternoon with him, but if she had refused she guessed he would have persuaded Chris to play tonight and Chris would have lost again. Lissa was certain of it. Chris hadn't got a hope against Luc Ferrier.
She left Fortune at the desk with the day clerk and went to her room. She showered and changed into a plain blue shift in glazed cotton. It was sleeveless, with a low scooped neckline, quite short, exposing most of her body to the sun. Brushing her long blonde hair, she thought about the problem facing her. How was she going to spend several hours with Luc Ferrier and still keep him at a safe distance? In the past her innocence
had protected her. All the men who worked at the hotel kept their distance without her having to do anything about it. They might smile, eye her admiringly, but they had never stepped over the line they drew for themselves.
She did not need to guess that Luc Ferrier was going to be much tougher to handle; everything about him made it blazingly obvious.
She drew her hair behind her head and anchored it with a small black velvet bow. The change of hairstyle gave her face a pure outline, very young, very innocent. She regarded herself assessingly. Yes, she decided, that was better. She did not put on any make-up. Quite often in the summer she didn't bother. Her tanned skin did not need it and spending so much time in the ocean she just forgot to put make-up on except in the evenings when she was going to work.
When she joined Luc Ferrier she felt the quick, all-seeing shaft of his glance. The blue eyes were sardonic as she looked up into them. He knew she had dressed carefully and deliberately and he knew why.
'Very demure,’ he murmured softly. 'Sweet and innocent. You look like a daisy.'
She flushed, not liking the comparison.
'Shall we be on our way?' Luc asked, and she turned reluctantly to walk out with him.
Rebecca was crossing the foyer with a clipboard and sheaf of papers in her hand. Lissa felt her staring and avoided her eyes. Rebecca would tell Chris, she realised with a quiver of alarm. What would Chris say when he found out she had gone off with Luc Ferrier?
She took Luc to the best restaurant in town. It did not look much on the outside. Housed in one of the frame buildings on the front, it had a ramshackle air, leaning crazily in the wind, creaking like an old boat. Inside it was elegantly furnished and the food was superb. It was island cooking at its best-tinged with that distinct French flavour which centuries of French dominance had given the islanders. The ingredients were alien, but the cooking and serving gave the meal a classic simplicity.
'What's in this sauce?' Luc asked her, looking with pleasure at his plate.
'Local honey, spices, pineapple, vinegar,' she said.
He was eating octopus with rice and baked bananas.
His brows had risen as he read the menu, but she could see that he was enjoying the odd combination and Lissa knew from experience that it was delicious.
She herself was eating chicken sliced very thinly and served wrapped in slices of local molasses-cooked ham.
Their waiter knew her and hovered politely within earshot-she wasn't sure whether he did it out of a desire to be some sort of protection for her, or whether he was merely eager to please. Whenever she looked round she caught the white flash of his teeth as he smiled at her.
Luc saw her smiling back and glanced over his broad shoulder. He crooked a long, brown finger and the waiter sprang forward. 'Sir?'
'If we want you, we'll call you,' Luc said very softly, meeting his eyes.
The waiter bowed and silently vanished.
'They all know you, don't they?' Luc asked, and Lissa nodded, smiling faintly. 'How old were you when you first came here?'
She told him and he listened with interest. 'So you were born in England?'
She nodded, and he pushed away his plate and leaned back in his chair, his thumbs in the pockets of the waistcoat of his light blue suit. It was one of the things about him that betrayed his money-the cut of the suit had London stamped all over it. The design was modern without being aggressively in fashion and the tailoring was first class. He wasn't wearing a tie and the collar of his shirt was casually opened.
'Have you ever wanted to go back to England?' he asked, studying her coolly.
Lissa shook her head. 'Not to live-for a visit, perhaps. I think I'd find it a bit cold.'
He lowered his thick lashes. 'Not necessarily,' he answered, and she saw the edge of his mouth curl upwards in a secret little smile.
Glancing up again, he asked: 'So you've known Brandon most of your life?'
Lissa nodded. She felt his eyes probing into hers, the razor-sharp edge of his face tilted as he leaned back.
'What gave you the idea you could sing?' he asked, and she didn't like the way he phrased that, flushing.
'Chris thought…'
'Ah,' he said. 'It was his idea, was it?'
'I know I'm not the greatest singer in the world!' she flared in defensive annoyance.
'You're not even in the third league,' he drawled.
Her colour deepened. 'Thank you.'
He grinned at her stiff voice and angry face. 'But you're worth listening to,' he soothed. 'That little girl voice is rather fetching. You're such a contrast to the sort of singers you usually find in places like that.' He watched her push her own plate away, only half-touched, and asked: 'Would you like a dessert?'
She shook her head, her eyes down. Although she knew she wasn't a very exciting singer she did not much like being frankly informed of it.
'Coffee?' He didn't wait for her to answer that, but clicked his fingers. The waiter appeared and Luc ordered coffee. When their plates had been removed he asked if she would mind if he smoked and, when she shook her head, he lit a cigar.
'The song you sang the other night,' he began, studying the end of his cigar thoughtfully. 'Whose idea was that?'
' Pierre 's,' she said. 'He runs the band. He arranged the song and did the modern words.'
The dark blue eyes shot to her face. 'You weren't happy singing it, were you? You got through it okay, but you looked like someone who was in acute discomfort.'
Lissa did not answer that. The waiter arrived with their coffee and left the tall pot of coffee on the table when he vanished again to get the brandy Luc had demanded for himself.
Lissa watched the pale spirals of cream sink into her coffee. Luc watched her, but he wasn't saying anything. The brandy arrived and when the waiter had gone again Luc picked up his glass and sipped the drink in silence for a moment.
'Girls of your type have gone out of style in England,' he told her as he put his glass down on the table.
Lissa ventured a look at him and flushed at the wicked amusement in his eyes.
'What do you mean, girls of my type?' she asked crossly. 'What type am I?'
'I haven't got long enough to tell you,' he said softly, and her colour flared.
She picked up her coffee and drank it to cover her disturbed sense of threat. The way the blue eyes caressed and teased made her want to get up and bolt like a frightened rabbit.
She was very relieved when they had finished their coffee and could leave. It would be less intimate and more bearable for her when they were viewing the old fort, she decided, but when they strolled down the road and went in through the open gate they found the place empty. The young man selling tickets waved them through cheerfully. 'You know the way round, Liss,' he beamed.
The walls were broken in places, the jagged masonry worn by wind and sea mists, the ground littered with tumbled stone. Lissa showed Luc the guardrooms with their deepset chimneys, the cells beneath the fort which had once held chained prisoners, the narrow winding corridors running darkly off the steep flights of stairs. A colony of bats lived in the ruined tower at one end of the fort. Luc insisted on climbing the stairs to stare down over the town from the wide parapet. Long ago French soldiers had stood here, watching for trouble either from land or sea, but the fort had not been in use for many years.