farther from the house. Beyond them, a midnight-dark band signaled deeper waters. Overhead, the sky was a blaze of blue so bright it hurt. The scene was framed on either side by fronds and feathers of lush plants. It was a perfect noonday paradise, its soundtrack the song of cicadas. In spite of Sylvester’s strange reaction to her, she felt a sense of peace washing over her, as if the island itself was welcoming her.
“It is beautiful.” She turned to look over her shoulder at Vega.
“I have always thought so,” the housekeeper replied in her serene way. “You will be careful, won’t you? It is a sheer drop down onto the terrace from there.”
She was referring to the waist-high, wrought-iron balcony rail on which Connie was leaning. The words made Connie feel suddenly nervous and she turned back into the room itself. It was dominated by a vast bed with a carved head, and legs as thick as tree trunks. A colorful, embroidered quilt in shades of gold and blue covered the mattress. The pictures on the walls and the rugs on the floor reflected the same scenes depicted in the embroidery.
“This is the Sea Shell Room,” Vega explained. “The quilt is a copy of one that was in the de León family many centuries ago.”
Connie ran a hand lightly over the intricately patterned needlework. A faint tremor, reminiscent of a slight static shock, tingled through her fingertips and she withdrew her hand with a frown. That sort of friction was something she associated with man-made fibers, not the cotton of this bedspread. Whatever it was, she really didn’t want that sort of irritation associated with her bedding for the duration of her stay. If I stay here at all. She was still undecided about that. The comfortable atmosphere of the island might have swept over her, but the welcome party hadn’t exactly been encouraging. And she hadn’t forgotten that other, deeper, feeling she had experienced. It had faded now but, like a bad taste, the memory of it lingered. You are so used to sensing evil, you’ve forgotten how to stop, she told herself firmly.
The embroidery showed a series of scenes of people engaged in a variety of activities, all of them featuring beaches, boats, shells or water. “Who are they?”
“The Calusa. They were the original inhabitants of this chain of islands.”
It somehow felt wrong to visit a new place and not have taken the time to learn something about it. But life on the run didn’t exactly allow for research, and Connie had only had seven days to get ready for this unexpected journey. Even so, she felt uncomfortable with the confession she was forced to make. “I know nothing about the Calusa.”
“They were the Shell Indians, the people who lived along the sandy shores of this part of Florida.” Vega, seeming untroubled by the static electricity that had affected Connie, traced the embroidered pictures with one fingertip. “These are scenes that show their daily lives. Fishing, boating, collecting shells. Although the Calusa tribe died out completely in the eighteenth century, they had already been driven out of many of these islands long before then. The arrival of the Spanish brought chaos to their lives.”
The mention of the Spanish prompted Connie to ask another question. One her mother, because of her prohibition about the de León family, had been unable to answer. “Is it true Sylvester is descended from the conquistadors? Or is that just a fairy tale?”
“Ah, the master tells the history of his family so much better than I ever could.” The master? It was like stepping into a black-and-white movie. Or someone else’s privileged lifestyle. One in which Connie didn’t belong. “I’ll leave you to unpack. Dinner is at eight.”
When Vega had gone, Connie returned to the balcony. Her thoughts were in turmoil and even the idyllic view couldn’t soothe them. Could she remain here on Corazón and face Sylvester again after that devastating first encounter? Surely the right thing—the only thing—to do would be to leave? Just turn around now, steel her boat-induced nerves, and ask Roberto to take her back to Charlotte Harbor on the launch? If she did, she would have to return the money Mr. Reynolds had given her, including the amount she had already spent on clothes. She had no savings on which to draw.
No money. No job. Nowhere to go. It wasn’t exactly a new situation. In fact, it pretty much summed up the last four years of her life. But Mr. Reynolds—or, through him, Sylvester—had given her a little glimmer of hope, a brief respite from loneliness and running. Just for once she had the chance to break out of her discarded, unwanted and unloved life. He had offered her safety and he would never know—how could he?—what that had meant to Connie. Then, with one glance and one shattered wineglass, Sylvester had cruelly dragged that vision of security away again.
What if I stay anyway? We have an agreement. It doesn’t say Sylvester has to like, or even tolerate, me.
The thought made her straighten her shoulders. Could she spend the next few weeks on his beautiful island and enjoy the luxury of this house without having to spend time with her host? Accept this sanctuary as a much-needed breathing space from which to plan her next steps? If she could hang on to that remaining money, it might just get her a plane ticket to Europe. A new life could be within her grasp. All she needed to do was to be Sylvester’s invisible guest for the next month. It seemed like a plan. As far as she could see, there was only one problem with her idea...
Dinner was at eight.
Mindful of Mr. Reynolds’s comments, Connie had dutifully purchased some new clothes. She had been reluctant, however, to spend too much of the cash he had given her on expensive outfits. Those crisp notes were her insurance policy, the cushion between her and the harsh reality of a job scrubbing floors. She wasn’t going to part with a single one of those dollar bills for frivolous reasons unless she absolutely had to. So the week between her meeting with Mr. Reynolds and her journey to Corazón had been spent visiting vintage clothing stores and dressmaking outlets.
Connie’s mother had been a talented seamstress, with an eye for color and style. After her husband’s death, she had supplemented her income by doing alterations and making clothes for friends, including one who had won a luxury cruise holiday. Once the excitement about the prize had died down, a panic about purchasing expensive cocktail dresses on a limited budget had followed.
“What you need—” Connie could hear her mother’s calm voice as if it was yesterday “—is a few simple, neutral gowns. Then you change the trimmings on them so people are fooled into thinking you’re wearing a new dress each time.”
She had demonstrated by swiftly pinning a length of cream silk around her friend. One minute it was decorated with a spray of tiny crystal flowers curling lovingly over one shoulder; the next, two rows of diamanté decorated the scooped neckline. “Two different dresses. You see?”
For that first dinner Connie chose a white gown of Grecian simplicity, in a draped style that left one shoulder bare. When it came to hair and makeup, she knew she wouldn’t be able to compete with Lucinda’s expensive sophistication. Shrugging, she decided she would have to rely on the novelty of simplicity instead. Arranging the glossy length of her hair in a single thick plait over her exposed shoulder, she finished the look with a touch of coral lip gloss.
Simplicity seemed to work. When she appeared in the doorway of the salon, every eye turned her way. Guthrie actually did her the honor of choking slightly on his drink. Lucinda looked thunderous but, for once, had nothing to say. Instead she rearranged the folds of her designer gown and patted her immaculately styled hair before whispering behind her hand to the woman who sat beside her.
“You look stunning,” Matt said, coming forward to greet Connie.
“Stunning in a good way?” She winced at how needy the words sounded. Four years ago she had made a vow never to cover up the scars on her neck. They were proof that she was a survivor. But on a night like tonight—wearing a dress that attracted rather than deflected attention—she needed all the reassurance she could get.
“Definitely in a good way.” He guided her into the room. “Let me introduce you to Ellie and Jonathan