so right,’ applauded Howard warmly, and the duplicity of his behaviour made Joanna feel physically sick. ‘But Joanna knows all about it now. I’ve put her in the picture, so to speak.’ His eyes flicked insolently in the girl’s direction. ‘Isn’t that right, Joanna?’
Joanna’s lips felt stiff, but she knew she had to speak. She would not—she could not—let him get away with it. ‘I don’t know that Marcia would agree with you,’ she retorted contemptuously. ‘I’m sure she’s totally in the dark about what you have in mind.’
Marcia’s blue eyes darted swiftly up at the man within whose arm she was nestling. ‘Howard?’ she murmured questioningly. ‘What is she talking about? What do you have in mind?’
Later, Joanna realised she had played right into Howard’s hands by accusing him outright. But just then she could only stare at him in outrage as he expertly negotiated this unexpected attack. Instead of rushing to his own defence as Joanna had anticipated, he took a leaf out of Marcia’s book and assumed a rueful expression, answering her reluctantly, as if betraying a confidence.
‘I’m afraid—well, Joanna doesn’t entirely approve of the place I’m taking you for our honeymoon,’ he conceded with a convincing sigh. ‘I suppose—the villa was her father’s, and—–’
‘The villa!’ exclaimed Joanna, doing the unforgivable and losing her temper. ‘The villa wasn’t even mentioned! He made a pass at me, Marcia! He told me that if I’d been Daddy’s heir instead of you—–’
‘That’s enough!’ With a muffled ejaculation Marcia pulled herself away from the solicitor and regarded her stepdaughter with cold loathing. ‘That will do, Joanna. I will not listen to any more. How dare you? How dare you stand there and vilify the man I intend to marry?’
‘It’s the truth,’ protested Joanna wearily. ‘For Heaven’s sake, Marcia, it’s not you he’s interested in, it’s Daddy’s money! He virtually told me—–’
‘Be quiet!’ Marcia’s hand stung across Joanna’s hot cheek, successfully silencing her stepdaughter. ‘I think you’d better leave,’ she went on icily. ‘I’ve known for some time that you hated me, Joanna, that you were jealous of me. But I never thought you’d stoop to telling lies to get even with me—–’
‘I’m not lying.’ Joanna looked at Howard, as if hoping to find some betraying emotion she could reveal to her stepmother, but his face was calm, sympathetic even. He looked as if he could think of no reason for this unwarranted attack, and only his eyes showed any real evidence of his feelings. ‘Marcia, please—–’
‘I want you to leave us,’ repeated her stepmother coldly. ‘I will not put up with your selfishness a moment longer. Get out! And I don’t just mean out of the library. I mean out of this house!’
JOANNA drove south through miles of open swampland, alert to the danger that some unwary alligator might step into the road in front of her. The man at the car-rental agency in Miami Beach had warned her that alligators were now protected by law, but Joanna suspected his aim was to inspire interest rather than warn of any serious hazard. She rather hoped she would meet an alligator, so long as she was safely inside the car, of course, but all she had seen so far were herons and wild geese, and, once, the long-necked beauty of a stork in flight.
She had spent the last couple of days in Miami Beach recovering from her jet-lag and endeavouring to get her bearings. She bought some maps and spent some time plotting her route to the Keys, but the temptation was to linger, and she was loath to leave the security of the hotel. Her room overlooked the salt-water creek at the front of the hotel, and beyond, the colour-washed villas of some of Miami Beach’s wealthier inhabitants made an ideal backdrop to the luxury yachts that moored at the hotel overnight. At the back of the hotel, a soft sandy beach stretched to the ocean, and Joanna had swum in its translucent green waters, feeling the warmth and relaxation of the sun unloosening the nerves that were wound tight within her.
She didn’t want to think about England. She didn’t want to remember that awful scene she had had with Marcia, or recollect that when she returned to London she would have to find somewhere to live. Mrs Morris had been marvellous, of course, but she couldn’t continue to depend on her help. Nevertheless, she had been grateful when the housekeeper had found her temporary accommodation with her sister and her husband in Fulham, and for the present that was where all her personal belongings were stored.
Evan had been delighted when she had rung him and confirmed that she would accept his offer. She didn’t bore him with her reasons for accepting. She simply let him think she was doing it for the money, which she supposed, if she was honest with herself, she was. But there was more, so much more, to this escape from England. It seemed as if, since her father died, she had been living in limbo, and only now was she beginning to take a hold of her life. For so long she had let things slide, waiting for Marcia to make a move. Well, she had made the move instead, albeit impulsively, and it was up to her now to make a success of her future. She tried not to feel bitter; bitterness was a negative emotion. But even so, it was painful to think of Howard Rogers living in her father’s house, using her father’s things, sleeping in her father’s bed …
Thirty miles south of Homestead, the swamps gave way to the blue waters of Florida Bay, and the highway swept over its first bridge on to the island of Key Largo. Although Joanna was intrigued by the signs indicating the John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park, she pressed on, following the highway as it leapfrogged its way over a series of long bridges to other islands with names like Islamorada and Long Key and Bahia Honda.
The cooler morning when she had set off gave way to the heat of noon, and Joanna was glad that the car had air-conditioning. Just now, she would have been sweating, even in the cotton vest and shorts which were her only attire, and although there was usually a breeze to offset the higher temperatures, sitting on a sticky car seat was not the most comfortable way to travel.
It was after one o’clock when she reached Mango Key. The main highway intersected the island at the newer commercial quarter, but having read her guide books well, Joanna took the road that led to the older part of town. Her route took her along streets with a distinctly Spanish air, grilled balconies overhung with vines and bougainvillea, and pastel-tinted walls guarding inner courtyards where fountains played. At this time of the afternoon the streets were quiet, only an occasional horse-drawn vehicle meandering its way between rose-covered pergolas, carrying energetic tourists on a journey round the island. Joanna was able to stop and read the road signs without being harassed by other irate motorists, and she found the Hotel Conchas without too much difficulty.
She parked the car on the forecourt, and leaving her luggage in the trunk, walked the few yards between the parking area and the cool, air-conditioned freshness of the hotel. But even in those few yards she could feel the heat of the sun on her bare shoulders, and was glad her hair was thick enough to protect her head. She was glad, too, she had caught it up in a knot on top of her head. Already the back of her neck felt sticky, and its weight about her shoulders would have been unbearable.
The receptionist was Cuban, a dark-eyed, dark-skinned young man who eyed Joanna’s long slim bare legs with appreciation as she crossed the marble-tiled foyer. Not for the first time since coming to Florida, she was made aware of her own femininity, and she adjusted her spectacles firmly, as if disclaiming any desire to draw attention to herself.
‘I—good afternoon,’ she murmured in a low voice, and then, clearing her throat, went on: ‘My name’s Holland, Joanna Holland. I phoned you from the hotel in Miami.’
‘Ah yes, Miss Holland.’ The young man’s eyes assessed her as he consulted his ledger. ‘You are a visitor from England, am I right? You are booked with us for two weeks.’
‘Provisionally, yes,’ agreed Joanna, moistening her upper lip and concentrating her attention on the entry in the book open on the desk. ‘But I may