Garden of the Moongate (11 page)

"You look wonderful as usual, Chantel," he said softly. "It's been a long time, though, hasn't it?"

"Three years and two months, to be precise, my love," Chantel chided throatily. "And only two letters from you in all that time. And I thought you were going to love me forever, you heartbreaker."

Ric laughed softly. "Don't give me that. No one's ever broken your heart, Chantel. And if anyone did, I imagine you'd soon find someone else to mend it for you."

Chantel shrugged, her lazy brown eyes drifting over him. "You know me, my love—I can't stand to be alone. But there are men and there are men, and you were something very special. You still are…"

Unwilling to hear the rest, Allendre walked across the gallery, pretending to study a large oil seascape with an astronomical price typed on the card tucked into the corner of the frame. After a moment, though, her curiosity could no longer be contained. She glanced around surreptitiously, dismayed to find Ric and Chantel standing even closer together. As she turned back to the painting she berated herself for the unjustifiable disappointment she felt. After all, she had known that Ric Shannon was way out of her league. Undoubtedly he had many girls just like Chantel in his life, but she had supposed that all along. So why did it upset her so much to see proof?

Unwilling to delve into her mind for an answer to that question, Allendre made herself as inconspicuous as possible as Ric and Chantel conducted their little reunion. Though she could hear them talking softly, their actual words were incomprehensible, and she refused to look around to see how close they were now. Feeling very much
de trop
, she wished she could think of an excuse to make a graceful exit, but Ric himself solved her dilemma by calling her name and suggesting it was time for them to go.

"But come here and meet an old friend of mine first," he prompted. "Chantel, this is Allendre Corey. Allendre, Chantel Fucilla."

When Ric held out his hand to her, Allendre took it automatically and allowed him to draw her closer to his side. Then, when she nodded a greeting to Chantel, she noticed with rather grim amusement that the dark-haired beauty apparently hadn't even noticed her until Ric had asked her to join them.

"Miss Corey, a pleasure to meet you," Chantel uttered, a certain hardening of her eyes belying her words. "I didn't realize Ric had brought someone with him this trip."

Blushing at the blatant insinuation, Allendre hastily denied it, or at least she tried to. "Ric didn't bring—"

"What Allie means is that we didn't actually arrive here together. I came first, and she flew in a couple of days later. It's her first time in Bermuda. And you're enjoying it very much, aren't you, love?"

Love
? Allendre stared up at him in nearly open-mouthed disbelief until the increasingly crushing pressure his hand was exerting on hers caused her to agree hastily. "Oh, y-yes, I love Bermuda."

"How nice for you," Chantel said stiffly, her perfect porcelain-doll face tight with displeasure. Her brown eyes darted down to the watercolor and sketch Allendre carried. "You are interested in making a
small
purchase?"

The deliberately insulting emphasis irked Allendre slightly, but she gave the girl the friendliest smile she could muster. "I'd like to buy these, yes."

"Why don't you browse around some more while I pay Chantel?" Ric interposed incredibly, removing a slim black leather wallet from his pocket. "Maybe you'll find something else you'd like."

"But you're not paying for these!" Allendre protested, unwilling to carry the charade quite that far. "I'll pay for them myself."

Undaunted, Ric only smiled at her indulgently and stroked the tip of one long finger across her high cheekbone. Then he turned to Chantel with a shrug. "She's such an independent little thing, but I must admit that's part of her appeal."

"Indeed," Chantel muttered with a sniff as she nearly snatched the pictures from Allendre's hands.

Five minutes later, as the door of the gallery closed behind them, Allendre balked, refusing to move another step when Ric's hand cupped her elbow. "What was that all about? Why did you want her to think that we… that we're…"

"Lovers," he finished for her, his voice low and faintly provocative. "I hope you don't mind that I gave her that impression."

"But why did you?"

Something like regret flitted across his face as he shrugged. "I think of Chantel as a friend, that's all."

"But she'd like to be much more than that. Is that it?"

He didn't seem to want to say so outright. Instead, he murmured evasively, "She's a dear friend and I wouldn't want to lose her friendship, okay? Let's just leave it at that."

Nodding as they walked on up the stairs of the arcade, Allendre felt a growing respect for him. His discretion was admirable. At least he didn't talk about his conquests behind their backs. And it was quite obvious he didn't have any difficulty finding females willing to be conquered. He was attractive, fairly wealthy, and intelligent—an unbeatable combination. Women probably chased after him all the time; she had realized that before. But now that she had seen a stewardess plus Deb and Chantel throw themselves at his feet, she was beginning to truly understand how he could have assumed she was chasing him, too. It was a sobering realization. Convincing Ric that she
hadn't
been chasing him might prove to be much more difficult than she had imagined. Especially when she couldn't seem to prevent herself from responding with total abandon whenever he chose to touch her.

Keeping conversation strictly impersonal again, Allendre and Ric shared a peaceful, friendly drive back to Shannon House. Yet as soon as they walked into the hotel lobby the ambience of peace was lost. Debra Hopkins bustled across the maroon carpet to meet them, reaching out to cling to Ric's hand.

"I'm so glad you're back," she announced in her silliest helpless-little-girl voice. "There's a problem I just can't seem to handle. I need you to help me with it."

"And I want to talk to you about some of the policy changes I hear you've made," he responded flatly, easing his hand from her tight grip. "I have to see Harrison for a moment, though. Wait in my office until I get there." Ignoring Deb's sudden petulant pout, he turned to Allendre. "I'll see you later, okay?"

She nodded. "Thanks for the ride into town." He was gone almost before she could say the words. Not at all eager to talk to Deb, Allendre walked on to the elevators, but she barely had time to push the button before the older girl came rushing up to join her.

"So you went to Hamilton with Ric today," she commented casually, though there was a hint of cattiness in her tone. "Enjoy yourself?"

Nodding as they stepped together into the elevator, Allendre answered, "Yes, I enjoyed it very much."

"Holiday romances can be fun… if they aren't taken seriously," Deb drawled, a thin, knowing smile curling her lips. "Two people meet, have a few days of excitement together, then go their separate ways back to people they really know and love. Ric's had his share of brief flings here, none of them the least bit serious, of course. There was one little French girl who thought something lasting would come of it, and naturally she was hurt when it ended. Naive of her to expect anything, don't you agree?"

It was an obvious word of warning. When Deb got off the elevator on the third floor, Allendre drew a deep, shuddering breath as the doors closed again. Though the older girl's motive was suspect, the warning she had issued made sense. Holiday romances rarely evolved into permanent, meaningful relationships, and that was a fact Allendre couldn't afford to forget.

"I'm telling you, Deb, all this ridiculous corner cutting has to stop," Ric was saying emphatically. "Our guests shouldn't have to tote little cards around just to get towels at the beach and pool. It's an absolutely tacky policy, and it's ending as of today, is that clear?"

"But a lot of the other hotels on the island have that same policy," Deb protested plaintively. "It's only practical. You just can't let people take towels, then return them whenever they please. God only knows how many won't ever be brought back. I think you're making too much of this. The other hotels—"

"I don't care about the other hotels. Shannon House is different! We're not going to harass our guests with silly rules and regulations about towels. If we lose a few, I'm sure we can absorb the cost, and that's my final word on that subject. Now, about the beach bus. As I said last night, it will start running regularly. Understood?"

"But, Ric, I…"

Standing at the front desk, Allendre pretended not to overhear the discussion going on in the office while Loretta turned to discreetly close the partially opened door.

"You're going to the beach, miss?" Loretta asked politely, coming back to take the room key Allendre handed her. "If you wouldn't mind waiting about five minutes, I'm sure the beach bus will be making a run."

Smiling at the clerk's newfound efficiency, Allendre shook her head. "Thanks, anyway, but I don't really mind the walk down so much. I have to admit, though, I wouldn't mind riding the bus back up. Those stairs are murder."

"They
are
steep, miss," Loretta agreed. "But the beach is so nice. By the way, they say the water's even clearer than usual today."

"Then I'd better get down there. I've been meaning to go snorkeling, and it sounds as if this would be the perfect day for it."

"Have a nice swim," Loretta called as Allendre walked away.

Walking down the steeply graded road to the beach two minutes later, thinking about the hotel's problems, as usual, Allendre decided that Loretta might do a better job of managing Shannon House than Deb had done thus far. At least the younger woman had the graciously pleasing personality needed to deal with the public, while Deb was too wrapped up in finding ways to increase the total in the profit column. She seemed to assume that guests would tolerate a few irritating policies simply because other hotels practiced them, too. And Ric obviously wasn't making much progress in convincing her that Shannon House had a reputation for being different, that a great deal of the hotel's appeal had always been its dignified atmosphere and tasteful coddling of the guests. Once it became like many of the other island hotels, there would be no real reason for people to want to stay there. That assumption seemed logical enough to Allendre; she couldn't understand why the older girl didn't see it, especially since her uncle had never compromised service in order to make a higher profit. Perhaps he would be well enough soon to come back and take charge again.

Allendre knew Ric must be hoping he would, because until that time it seemed fairly obvious that he himself would need to constantly look over Deb's shoulder so she couldn't damage Shannon House's reputation any more than she already had.

Slipping off her sandals, Allendre padded across the warm, powder-fine sand on the beach, seeking as usual a fairly out-of-the-way spot to spread her towel. She found one near the still sturdy wall of what had once been a cannon rampart and settled herself with a rather dejected little sigh. Her job here was nearly finished; she had no doubts that Ric would raise the hotel's standard of service back up to its former superior level. She would be able to explain that to Mr. Meredith and recommend that he still rate Shannon House as super deluxe. That meant there was only one question left unanswered. Was there any truth in the allegations that Shannon House sometimes overcharged guests when they checked out? Somehow, she had to discover whether those allegations were justified or completely unfounded; but at the moment she had no idea how to go about such an investigation. It crossed her mind to simply tell Ric that she had heard rumors about overcharging, but she soon dismissed that idea with a shiver of unadulterated fear. She was too cowardly to be the one to give him news like that. He was dangerous enough when he was only slightly angry; infuriated, he might be as volatile as a vial of nitroglycerin.