LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER TWO

      RAFE DROVE BACK to Orchid Point, cursing the impulse that had made him embarrass the girl.

      He only knew who she was because his cook spoke of the girl’s father with such derision. But then, Luella, like many of the other inhabitants on the island, paid lip service to the Anglican church while secretly attending other forms of religious ceremonies after dark.

      He scowled, annoyed with himself for baiting her. Didn’t he have enough complications in his life as it was? An ex-wife who persisted in stalking him; a reputation that was in ruins, despite the fact that all charges had been dropped; and the knowledge that living on Orchid Cay, unless he could find something to occupy him, would soon begin to pall.

      He swung the four-by-four round a tight curve where hedges of scarlet hibiscus brushed against the side of the Lexus. Nevertheless, his eyes were irresistibly drawn to the blue-green waters of the ocean, creaming on sands that had been bleached a palest ivory by the tropical sun.

      It was beautiful, he thought. He’d missed sights like these while he’d been living in New York. His father still lived in Miami, of course, and he’d visited him fairly regularly. But he’d been so busy building up his business, he’d forgotten all about the simple delights of his childhood in Havana.

      That was the excuse his ex-wife had given when he’d discovered she’d been cheating on him. He was never home, Sarah had complained, and she’d been lonely. But their marriage had been a mistake from the start, and he’d certainly not been too distressed when he’d had reason to sue for divorce.

      Unfortunately, Sarah had fought him every step of the way. Despite the very generous settlement he’d given her, she’d wanted him to forgive her, to take her back, to move back into their penthouse apartment as if nothing had happened.

      But Rafe had considered the loss of the luxurious duplex a small price to pay for his freedom. Even when, some months later, Sarah had bluffed her way into his new home and trashed his bedroom, he hadn’t brought any charges against her. He’d believed that sooner or later she’d accept that their relationship was over.

      But in the last few months Rafe had realised that wasn’t going to happen. He’d been arrested for drug smuggling. And, although he’d never had any dealings with the South American cartel Sarah had accused him of joining, it had meant serious lawyer’s bills and a court case that had drained him of any enthusiasm to remain in New York.

      The experience had made him think seriously about his life. He was almost forty, and for the past twenty years he’d concentrated all his energies into his work.

      That was why, when the opportunity to sell out came, he’d taken it. He’d retained only a nominal interest in the Oliveira Corporation and bought land and property from a man who’d won it playing poker in Las Vegas.

      For the next couple of years, however restless he became, he intended to take a break, to do some sailing and fishing, and to generally chill out. He need never work again, but he didn’t think he could stand that prospect. Nevertheless, in future, he intended to invest in small enterprises. Like Cartagena Charters, for example.

      Rafe drove through the village of Coral Key. His home, a sprawling villa made of coral and limestone, occupied the cliffs overlooking a private sandy cove. Rafe had taken to swimming there most mornings, usually before most of his household was awake.

      Perhaps the Fielding girl should follow his example.

      The gates to the property swung open at his approach, thanks to the electronic pad Steve Bellamy, his butler-cum-assistant, had installed in the car.

      As well as vetting all visitors, the ex-policeman acted as chauffeur, computer programmer, and gourmet chef, if required to do so. Though this was a skill he’d sworn Rafe never to divulge to any of his erstwhile colleagues on the New York force.

      Rafe parked the Lexus in one bay of the six-car garage and, leaving the keys in the ignition, he strolled around to the back of the villa.

      A swimming pool lay basking in the noonday sun and, on either side of the pool, tubs of hibiscus and fragrant oleander tumbled exotically onto the painted tiles. Beneath a striped awning, a teak table was already laid for lunch. Just in case he should choose to eat outdoors.

      His housekeeper appeared as he was standing gazing out towards the ocean. Carla Samuels had worked for him for over fifteen years, since long before the breakdown of his marriage. And, although his ex-wife had threatened her with all manner of retribution, she’d insisted on going with Rafe when he’d moved out of the apartment and ultimately to Orchid Cay.

      ‘What time will you be wanting lunch, Mr Oliveira?’ she asked, and Rafe turned to her with a lazy shrug.

      ‘I cannot say I am particularly hungry, Carla,’ he confessed ruefully. ‘Maybe later, hmm?’

      ‘A man needs to eat,’ insisted Carla staunchly. ‘Wouldn’t you like a delicious fillet of grouper, cooked simply with a little butter and lemon?’ And when this aroused no apparent interest, ‘Or a salad? Luella has got some shellfish, fresh off the boat

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