question, just as he had refused to explain his reasons from the beginning.
“Why? Why? Why are you putting yourself through this?” she asked, her small fist pounding an emphasis to each question against the corded muscles of his upper arm until he caught her hand and held it still with the tensile strength of his. His thumb massaged her knuckles, and he laughed.
“Expiation,” he said, and his voice was rich with the laughter that still lurked behind the word.
“Expiation?” she repeated, pulling her hand free. “Expiation.” This time it wasn’t a question. “Are you sure that’s the right word? Are you sure that’s what you mean?”
“What word do you think I mean?” he asked, still amused by her anger.
“Retribution,” she whispered, wondering as she had from the beginning if it were possible he had not told her the truth.
“Like some Old Testament injunction? An eye for an eye? Is that what you expect?”
“I don’t know what to expect. I thought I understood you. I thought I knew you, and then...” She shook her head in frustration.
“I need to understand why...after all these years...” The deep voice faded, unable to put into words what he felt.
“You always tried to understand. God, Julien, sometimes...”
The taut mouth relaxed at her anger for his sake, and he smiled. “Because there’s always a reason. I just have to determine what it is.”
“I don’t want her here,” she said, knowing the other was an argument she couldn’t win. “I don’t like this. I don’t want any part of it.”
“But it’s too late for that. She’s here. We’re here, and I think we need to find out what this is all about. Don’t you? Don’t you really believe that it’s time to finally finish whatever this is?”
“Is that what you intend? To put an end to it?”
She ran her hand through the dark hair that curled against her fingers. She rested her palm against his temple and finally bent to lay her cheek against the ebony curls. His lips curved again into a smile in response, and he raised his hand to touch the small, comforting fingers.
“Expiation,” he repeated. “I told you.”
“I just don’t want you hurt again,” she said.
“She can’t cause me pain. I promise you that. I don’t think—” he began and then paused.
“What?” She raised her head, moving so she could see his face. “What don’t you think?” she asked again and he smiled at her.
“I don’t think I want to talk about this any longer,” he answered truthfully, “but I don’t want you to worry. Let me worry about what’s going on. It’s not your concern.”
“You know that’s ridiculous. I don’t understand what you’re thinking. Talk to me. Who is she?”
“I don’t know who she is, but I damn well know who she’s not,” he said harshly, bitterly, and then deliberately modified his voice to hide the anger. “I promise you, that’s all I know. What Paul told us. Nothing else.”
“And in spite of that, you’re still...”
But she watched as his eyes moved away from her face to the sound of the surf that pounded against the volcanic rocks below the deck on which he was sitting. When he shook his head against her questions, she knew he had told her all he intended. She moved her hand down the back of his head, touching his neck again, and then silently, on bare feet, she left him to contemplate alone whatever it was he was planning.
She had never been able to change his mind, not once he’d decided on a course of action, and obviously he’d decided what to do about the woman who had just arrived.
“Expiation,” she whispered, and went to look up the word, to verify that it meant what she thought. In spite of her accusation, he would never use the wrong word. He was far too careful. When she found it, it meant exactly what she had thought, so she was left to wonder still what he planned.
* * *
CAROLINE WAS ASLEEP when the maid tapped lightly on the door. She awoke instantly in the tropical darkness, disoriented for a few seconds.
“Mademoiselle,” the maid spoke from beyond the doorway, “Madame asks that you join the family for dinner if you’ve rested enough.”
“Of course. I overslept. Please tell them I won’t be long, and then, if you would, come back for me?”
“Of course, mademoiselle.”
She felt drugged, too deeply asleep, but she knew that she had to rise and dress. She ran her fingers tiredly through the tangled strands of her hair, realizing with dismay that she hadn’t even unpacked.
She pulled one of the suitcases onto the bed, rummaging until she found a pair of white slacks and their matching top. They were slightly wrinkled, but surely everyone would expect that. She slipped them on with a pair of white sandals and pulled out her makeup bag to repair the ravages.
She wished she had time to remove her old makeup and start over, but she hated making everyone wait. She brushed her hair to untangle it and could feel the effects of the salt air. She left it loose, worrying that it might be too casual, but at least it was quick.
She was ready when the maid returned. She followed her down the long hall and the wide, freestanding central stairs into the room she had entered today, a room whose long windows looked out now only on dark sky and sea and moon.
Suzanne rose gracefully and took her hand. “You look rested. Did you manage to sleep?”
“I probably have sleep creases. I was still asleep when the maid knocked. I’m so sorry I made you wait.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Suzanne reassured. “That’s one art you learn in this climate. It’s fatal to hurry. No one does. We’re one drink ahead of you. What would you like?”
“Juice, soda, whatever you have. Nothing alcoholic,” Caroline requested, following the small figure to the bar.
Suzanne had changed into a turquoise silk jumpsuit that fit every curve of her perfectly shaped body. She made Caroline feel as tall and gawky as she had always felt as a teenager.
“A teetotaler,” Andre said, laughing. “We make our living here making rum, and you’ve invited a teetotaler.”
“Andre,” his sister chided, handing her a glass full of ice and some sort of mixed juices. It was very refreshing, its cold tartness chasing away the last of the grogginess.
She knew they were wondering if she had a problem with alcohol. Most people who didn’t drink at all were either alcoholics or had strong feelings about the use of spirits. She fell into neither category, but she couldn’t think how to phrase any explanation of her situation that would fit into this casual atmosphere.
She simply sipped her drink, watching Andre fix two Scotch-and-waters. He carried one to the fourth occupant of the room who had been sitting so quietly that she hadn’t noticed him in the low lighting. He had chosen the most shadowed corner, and she wondered suddenly if that might have been deliberate. It had certainly afforded him the opportunity to study her without her being aware of his scrutiny.
Suzanne spoke at her elbow, “You haven’t met my older brother. He’s the patriarch, the one who keeps us all in line. Come and meet Julien.”
Their footsteps sounded unnaturally loud against the stone tiles of the floor. She wondered suddenly if that’s why Suzanne had been barefoot this afternoon, to avoid this echoing parade across the room.
“Caroline, I’d like you to meet my favorite brother.”
They both heard Andre’s soft laugh behind