Tropical Getaway Page 3

  “Yes. Once. Right after we met.”

  “Then you know that I’m the one who needs forgiving.”

  Ava swallowed hard, tears blurring the brilliant colors of the scenery. Cassie’s warm hand touched her bare arm, gently, in comfort. When she turned, Ava was surprised to see Cassie’s own lashes spiked with wetness.

  “Marco had a good life here. He probably would thank you for getting him out from underneath his father.”

  Yeah, right.

  “I’m sorry for what happened. I mean in Boston. Years ago,” Ava said. “I can’t change it now.”

  “You’re not going to change it with a lawsuit, Ava. You’ll just tear Utopia apart.”

  Ava grabbed Cassie’s hand on the gearshift. “Cassie! Dane Erikson had a lot to gain by leading that ship astray. Forty million dollars is a pretty compelling motive, don’t you think?”

  Still stopped at the light, Cassie leaned her head back and closed her eyes with a sigh. “You don’t know Dane.”

  “Then explain to me how Paradisio happened to go straight into a hurricane, when the captain was taking orders from Dane Erikson?”

  “The captain is in charge of a ship, Ava.”

  “Grayson Boyd makes a very persuasive argument that if the last person to speak with the captain is in a position to influence him—”

  “No one knows what happened on the Paradisio, Ava. Something…” Cassie’s voice trailed off.

  “What, Cassie? Something what?”

  Cassie’s eyes flashed open and she lifted her head. “Don’t pursue this lawsuit, Ava. Don’t rip our little family apart.”

  “These families live in abject poverty. They deserve some of Dane’s millions, not a settlement of one month’s pay. And as Marco’s fiancée, you deserve more than that.”

  Cassie snorted and threw the Gurgel into first gear as the light turned green. “You’ve been fed a bunch of bull from that scum-sucking attorney. No Utopians live in abject poverty. They live better than most other islanders. True, that’s not like middle-class Americans. But they wouldn’t know what to do with a million dollars. It would ruin their lives.”

  “That’s not up to you to decide for them.” Ava felt the sweat trickle down her neck. “I, for one, don’t believe Paradisio’s fate was an accident, and I owe it to Marco’s memory to find retribution and justice.”

  “Find out the truth, first.”

  The truth of what? What happened to the ship, or how these people lived? “I intend to. And to be perfectly honest, Cassie, I’m going to try and persuade people to do the right thing.”

  “Fine. You just be sure you know what the right thing is, okay?”

  Ava had to smile at her spunk. No wonder Marco liked her. No, loved her. “I will.”

  “All right, luv, here’s the turn.” Cassie raised her eyebrows in question. “Up to your hotel, or to Dane’s house to meet all the Utopians who adored your brother?”

  Dane Erikson’s house was no place to start her campaign, and she had no right to join the mourners. “I think the hotel, please.”

  Cassie shrugged and flipped the gearshift into first to start up the hill. “You’re not as much like Marco as I thought. He loved an adventure.”

  And died having one.

  “Okay. I’ll go.”

  The villa Dane Erikson called home looked as if it should have a name. Ava studied the rambling pale pastel stucco, graceful columns and arches reaching out from its perch over the sea. It should be called something French and grand. La Belle Plantation. But also inviting and imposing. Xanadu. Something tropical and lush. Poinciana. Because it was all those things.

  But it had no name, Cassie informed her.

  “It’s just Dane’s house.” Cassie shook her strawberry blond curls. “The cruise business has made him wealthy, but not spoiled. Really.”

  Wealthy. Unspoiled. A lover of luxury, for sure. The handsome head of a family of islanders who depended upon him for their livelihood. The only son of the renowned Erikson Hill Hotel magnates, who evidently opted out of the family business for the challenge of making his own mark in the world. Reported to be aggressively building his luxury cruise business by adding the biggest, most glamorous sailing ships to his fleet.

  That exhausted what she knew about Dane Erikson.

  With tingling nerves, she passed through the carved wooden double doors and stepped into his private world.

  He appeared immediately. He still wore the linen shirt and dress slacks, but he looked far more relaxed than on the docks in Gustavia. His feet were bare. Bare and, like the rest of him, staggeringly male.

  “I thought Ava should meet the Utopia family.” Cassie’s firm tone deflected any objections before they were voiced.

  That mesmerizing smile blinded her again, along with an unreadable expression in his eyes. “An excellent idea, Cass,” he agreed.

  His hand settled on her back. Ava shivered as his fingers touched the flesh of her bare shoulder.

  “Allow me to introduce you.” He led her through a massive entryway across polished marble and under a sweeping archway flanked by fat columns. The veranda could seat sixty in its various groupings of plush rattan furniture overlooking a panoramic water view. Ava tried to take it all in but couldn’t get beyond the sensation of his self-assured touch, searing her bare skin. She stepped aside to escape it, and his open appraisal of her.

  An old demon of insecurity nearly forced her to back away. Surely this physically flawless man would find her blend of Italian and Irish features less than extraordinary. Not that she gave a damn about what he thought of her, but the intense assessment made her uncomfortable.

  “Mr. Erikson—”

  “It’s Dane.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No.” He said the word slowly, as though it had two syllables. “Not at all.” His gaze traced a line from her eyes to her mouth and back again. What a damn cool son of a bitch he was.

  An older black woman materialized by his side, resplendent in a flowered print dress. She greeted Ava with a wide smile.

  “Lord above,” she whispered, staring at Ava. “It’s de eyes of Marco as I live and breathe.”

  “Close, Marj. His sister, Ava. Ava, this is Marjory Hemingway. Her son, Mitchell, was the first mate of the Paradisio and a good friend to your brother.”

  The woman radiated an inner peace in spite of the red-rimmed eyes of mourning. As Ava began to express her sympathy, another young man came over. Someone’s cousin. And two more women, other crew members, both married to lost sailors.

  Dane disappeared in the house and the time passed in a haze as Ava spoke to small groups of people about her brother. She couldn’t keep their names and faces straight, a mix of islanders, Brits, and Frenchmen. A festival of accents and pigeon English sharing stories of Marco’s sailing prowess, his renowned good looks, and his universal appeal.

  Marjory put her hand on Ava’s arm and pulled her closer. “Have you talked to de lawyers yet, Miss Ava?” The small group clustered tighter to hear.

  “That’s one of the reasons I’m here,” Ava responded. “To find out what happened and to talk to all of you.”

  “We donno what to do,” Marjory admitted, her Jamaican tones sounding more like singing than speaking. “Dis man, dis lawyer, he offer us a million dollar, maybe more. But Mr. Dane and Utopia been our life since he came to de islands.”

  “I think it’s important that you meet with Grayson Boyd this week,” Ava told them quietly. “You owe it to yourselves to hear what he has to say.”

  “A lot of people are getting very greedy now,” said Trinia, one of the widows, shaking her beaded braids. “And no one even knows how much Utopia is planning to offer in settlements.”

  “Whatever it is, it won’t be a million dollars apiece,” said a native man. “The only people who see that kind of money work for the Colombians, huh?”

  A sharp look passed among several of them and deep lines formed across Marjory Hemingway’s fo
rehead. “No money will bring my Mitchell back, Miss Ava. And I clean dis house and I work for Mr. Dane”—her chocolate eyes swept the veranda with love and familiarity—“since he come to St. Barts. We donno.”

  Ava studied the round face of Mitchell’s mother, marveling at her open warmth despite having lost a son. It was not the time or place to push these people. “You have to do what’s right.”

  Marjory leaned closer and whispered, “De ship was marked, Miss Ava. De Paradisio was marked.”

  Ava shuddered at the pronouncement. Marked? For what? But Marjory backed away, shaking her head. “Ill-gotten gain,” she mumbled softly and quietly slipped into the house.

  Shivering in the evening air, alone for the first time since she arrived, Ava wandered into the living room of the luxurious villa.

  A contrast of light and dark cherry woods, eclecticantiques, and rich, colorful Oriental carpets decorated the room. Modern art and classical paintings blended side by side on the coral stucco walls, but Ava couldn’t help but notice a complete lack of anything personal or sentimental. It was professional, superb decor lifted from the pages of Architectural Digest, with not a single clue to the inner workings of the occupant.

  The sense that she was being watched drove her out of the room, back to the fresh air of the patio to take in the lights of the neighboring island and perhaps find Cassie. The feeling of being watched didn’t lessen. In a moment, as though a chilly breeze blew over her skin, she felt a cool presence at her side.

  “Am I the only person here who hasn’t met the long-lost Santori sister?” The woman’s voice was low and earthy, with the sound of money and class. Ava turned to see that the face and body matched it.

  Ava had to look up several inches to meet the gray eyes and restrained smile directed at her. They definitely hadn’t met. Ava wouldn’t forget this country club blond.

  “I’m Genevieve Giles. Executive vice president of Utopia Adventures.”

  Ava shook the delicate fingers extended to her, dimly aware of precious gems and well-manicured nails. “Did you know my brother well?”

  “Mmm.” Genevieve nodded and sipped a goblet of chardonnay. “Dane and I discovered Marco. Oh, you were at the service, you heard the story. We adored him from the day we met him.” We. No doubt this gorgeous creature made a perfect companion for the handsome owner of Utopia Adventures.

  “I didn’t realize Dane had a partner.”

  “Unofficial partner.” Her pale gray eyes narrowed, but she smiled, revealing perfect teeth and only the tiniest laugh lines. “I’ve known Dane since childhood, nearly twenty years now. When can I meet the rest of the elusive Santori clan?”

  “Not in the near future, I’m afraid.” Once again, Ava was left to wonder who knew what about the family.

  Genevieve took another sip of wine. “I understand your father is something of a celebrity.”

  “He has his fans,” Ava said wryly. Dominic might be an unforgiving tyrant, but his well-known name, his beloved cooking show, and his best-selling cookbooks held a remarkable amount of cachet. Fans loved him. Critics adored him. Everyone else just walked softly around him.

  “And what’s your claim to fame?”

  Ava shrugged. “No fame. Just food. I’m head chef at my father’s restaurant.”

  “Then you must meet Maurice while you’re here.”

  “Maurice?”

  “Maurice Arnot, the head of Utopia cuisine.”

  “Maurice Arnot?” Surprise jolted her. “Maurice Arnot is here? On this island? I thought he never left his restaurant in Paris.”

  Genevieve shook her head, her blunt platinum strands dancing over bare shoulders. “Like your father’s restaurant, Beausoleil is run by underlings.”

  The comment stung, but Ava decided to let it go, far more interested in finding out more about one of her professional idols. “How long has Arnot been here?”

  “A few months. It took a few trips to Paris, but I managed to lure him here to oversee Utopia’s culinary operations.”

  Ava tried to imagine the French master Arnot plying his trade on a cruise ship. “I’ve heard Utopia’s cuisine is the best of any cruise line. Now it makes sense.”

  Genevieve’s laugh turned heads in their direction. “Utopia is not just any ‘cruise line,’ and we like to think we’re known for excellence. Maurice seals the deal in the area of cuisine.”

  “I’m surprised I hadn’t heard of this. In the trades—”

  “Oh, he’s kept it very quiet.” Genevieve leaned closer to Ava. “Food critics are fickle, as I’m sure you know, and might downgrade Beausoleil’s five-star rating.”

  From the opposite end of the veranda, Dane watched Genevieve in hushed conspiracy with Ava. Genevieve had never been very good at disguising her dislike for Marco. He decided Ava might need rescuing.

  “I see you’ve met Genevieve,” he said as he approached them from behind.

  Ava jumped, twisting her whole body away from him in one quick movement. For all her bravado she was a bit like a skittish kitten. What did she think, he was going to nudge her over the railing and get rid of yet another pesky Santori?

  “Dane, I was just telling Ava about the coup of getting Arnot to join us.”

  “I’ve studied his work for years,” Ava said. “He’s a genius.”

  “He’s a pain in the ass,” Dane shot back with a smile. “Would you like to meet him?”

  “Oh, yes!” And then, as though embarrassed by her enthusiasm, she asked casually, “Is he here?”

  “No. He’s on Valhalla, one of the ships we have in port right now. Perhaps you can visit him before it sails tomorrow evening.”

  She hesitated. Studying the slight shadows under her dark eyes, he wondered just how much sleep she’d lost in the past three weeks. Probably as much as he had.

  “You can come early, before the passengers arrive. Watch the preparation for a sail.” He realized how much he wanted her to see it. With an inviting smile, he added, “It’s quite a memorable experience, I assure you.”

  “Perhaps it would be too difficult for her.” Genevieve spoke as though Ava weren’t standing there, and Dane wanted to throttle her. The thought of getting her on the ship appealed to him. A chance to get her alone, to convince her of his innocence. Genevieve might scare her away with her sarcasm and condescension.

  “How do I get on board?” When she asked, he could have sworn her dimple deepened in challenge.

  “All you need is my permission,” he lobbied back, liking her spirit and the impulsive response. Just like her brother, all wrapped up in a pretty package.

  Genevieve cleared her throat, breaking their eye contact. “You should find Cassie, Ava. I’m sure it’s been a long day.” She gently tapped Ava’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “Again, I’m so sorry for your loss, dear.”

  Ava raised her eyebrows slightly, causing Dane to doubt Genevieve had showered her with sympathy. “Thank you. It was a loss for everyone,” she responded gracefully and turned to retreat to the house.

  He followed her. “Would you like a ride to your hotel?”

  “No. I would not.”

  So much for grace. He put both hands on her shoulders and deliberately turned her to face him. He could see Marco’s fire in the almond-shaped eyes, although delicate arched brows topped hers. She had the same arrogant nose and deep V at the bow of her lips. Her skin tone was lighter, as though the Irish mother had thrown in just a few more genes on this one, but her eyes and the soul they reflected were pure Mediterranean. Rich and dark and full of the same passion that drove Marco. Passion for life, for music, for food, for family. Perhaps his best course of action was to tap it.

  “Come with me.”

  She started to shake her head, but he intensified the pressure on her shoulder and drew her down the hall to his study.

  He couldn’t remember a woman being in this room. Maybe Genevieve, to pour over numbers and profits, but those he entertained for pleasure weren’t invited into this
sanctuary. He strode past a rosewood desk buried under navigational charts, files, and a partially opened laptop computer, to the far end of the room.

  There, a framed five-by-seven photo stood out from the reference books and novels. The blood drained from her face as she stared at the image of her brother.

  In the picture, two men stood side by side, Marco’s hands on the polished and splendid helm, Dane’s splayed on his own hips. The moment remained vivid in Dane’s memory. Not just because it was the maiden voyage of Valhalla under the Utopia flag, but also because of the bone deep sense of contentment Dane had experienced that day.

  Everything had come together, every plan and dream realized. The business flourished, and with Valhalla, he could boast ownership of six of the most magnificent clippers in the world. Utopia Adventures had become synonymous with luxury and attracted the most discriminating and adventurous travelers in the world.

  On that day Marco had been promoted to second mate and assigned to Paradisio. He’d just graduated from the officers’ program in England, and they were celebrating his twenty-fourth birthday. Dane remembered the silver compass he’d given him, engraved with his initials and the words Find your way. An artist had etched the word Utopia on it.

  Find your way. The compass, and his friend, had lost their way.

  Ava remained riveted on her brother’s face. “He changed. A lot.”

  Dane gave into the temptation to look at her instead of the picture, his gaze drawn to her smooth complexion and the curve of her full lips as she almost smiled.

  “Ava,” he said softly, liking the way her name felt on his lips. “I have as much reason to blame you as you have to blame me—”

  She stepped back from the picture, blazing dark eyes replacing the near smile she’d had a moment earlier. “Our family problems may have hurt Marco, but they didn’t kill him.”

  “I didn’t say they did.”

  She swept him with a demanding glance. “So, what happened? If you didn’t direct that ship into the hurricane, then how did it get there?”

  He looked at the photo, away from her accusing glare. “Some ships are unlucky. Did you know that the first captain of the Paradisio died during her maiden voyage in 1927? Many sailors believe that’s a curse.”