Pale Orchid. Anne MatherЧитать онлайн книгу.
her sister confessed that Mike was no longer using the address he had put on his letters, there had seemed no alternative but to ask Jason’s assistance. She had reassured Pamela with the conviction that if Jason could help, he would, but she had not really believed it. Still, she was prepared to do anything to take that look of desperation from her sister’s face, and if it meant humbling herself before Jason Montefiore—and his brother-in-law—she would do it.
Unable to stand the inactivity any longer, Laura gathered up her bag and left the room. It was obvious Jason was unlikely to call this evening. Even if he got her message, which was by no means a foregone conclusion, he would evidently be in no hurry to contact her. If Phil Logan’s attitude was anything to go by, he might not even acknowledge her call, and the prospect of having to tell Pamela she had failed was not something she wanted to contemplate.
The coffee shop was crowded and deciding she couldn’t stand to wait, Laura left the hotel and headed towards the floodlit brilliance of Kalakaua Avenue. After the comparative quiet of her room, Waikiki’s main thoroughfare was decidedly noisy, but she welcomed the activity to numb her anxious brain.
Finding a fast-food establishment, she ordered a burger and some coffee, and then carried her tray to a plastic booth and tried to swallow the sandwich. It wasn’t easy. She realised belatedly a bowl of soup or some salad might have gone down more smoothly, but it was too late now to have second thoughts. Picking sesame seeds from the roll, she wondered if Phil Logan would tell her how she might get in touch with Mike Kazantis if Jason’s whereabouts were verboten. Or had he orders to avoid any awkward inquiries? It was always possible that Jason had known of Mike’s involvement with her sister, and obviously he would not want his sister to be upset. Laura cupped her chin on one hand. Whatever happened, it was unlikely that either Mike or his wife lived in the islands. Mike worked for Jason’s father, and so far as she knew, Marco Montefiore’s interests did not encroach on his son’s territory.
Laura’s lips twisted. How on earth had Pamela got herself involved with the Montefiore family? The brief conversation she had had with her sister had not elicited that kind of information. Besides, so far as she knew, Pamela did not know of Mike’s connection with the Montefiores, and it was possible, that as Mrs Goldstein’s private therapist, they could have met socially. Even if her sister had known the truth behind Laura’s own break-up with Jason, she could still have become infatuated with Kazantis. There was nothing to connect him with Laura’s abortive liaison, and if Kazantis had known of the association, he was unlikely to mention it to Pamela, for obvious reasons.
Pushing the burger aside, Laura lifted the plastic beaker containing her coffee and thoughtfully sipped the fragrant brew. American coffee was always so good, she mused inconsequently. Even the unimaginative container could not spoil the taste of its contents.
Gazing blindly out through the open doors on to the busy street beyond, she wondered again what she would do if her efforts to reach either Jason or his brother-in-law proved useless. And why—even if by some chance she did get to speak to Jason—did she think he might be able, or willing, to help her? What did she really expect him to do? What could he do? Mike Kazantis was his sister’s husband. Surely, it was the height of arrogance to believe he might put Pamela’s well-being before that of Irene.
It seemed an insoluble problem, and her brain ached with the effort of trying to solve it. She was not at all convinced that approaching Mike Kazantis was the right thing to do. If Pamela had been more reasonable, if she had been prepared to go back to England, as soon as she was fit, Laura was sure they would have found a way to sort things out. One parent families were not so unusual these days, if Pamela wanted to keep her baby. And if not, there were always adoption agencies eager and willing to find the child a good home.
But Pamela had not been reasonable. Her unwilling return to consciousness to find her sister at her bedside and, it transpired, in possession of all the facts of her case, had elicited an entirely different response. ‘There must be some mistake,’ she had insisted, the faith she had lost so drastically returning now that Laura was there to listen. ‘Mike wouldn’t just abandon me. He wouldn’t! Something must be wrong. Perhaps he’s been taken ill, or had an accident. If only there was someone we could ask. Someone who could give us a clue to his whereabouts. Is there no one you know, Laura? No one you met while you were over here?’
Whether Pamela knew exactly what she was asking, Laura had no idea. Certainly she had never confided the true facts of her relationship with Jason Montefiore to her sister. But perhaps Pamela sensed, or suspected, that there had been more to Laura’s abrupt return to England than the casual explanation that she had grown tired of living so far from London. Whatever, Laura had felt compelled to use what influence she had to try and set her sister’s mind at rest, and that was why she was here in Hawaii, facing the increasing conviction that she was wasting her time.
The situation seemed hardly brighter in the morning. Laura had not slept well, and after ringing the hospital and ensuring herself that Pamela was still making progress, she considered what her next move should be. She could ring the club again, she supposed, although the prospect was not one she favoured. Besides, only the cleaning staff were likely to be there at this hour of the morning, and none of them would risk their jobs by giving out private information. And perhaps she was being overly pessimistic anyway. Jason might telephone. There was still time.
The telephone rang while she was in the shower, but although she dashed out of the bathroom to take the call, a towel wrapped hastily around her dripping body, it was an early morning call meant for someone else. ‘Aloha, this is your wake-up service,’ announced the mechanical voice, and Laura slammed down the receiver, feeling the painful ache of tears behind her eyes.
Dressed again, in the cotton pants and shirt she had worn the evening before, she stood in front of the mirror to plait her hair. She had no particular desire to look at her reflection, the evidence of the disturbed nights she had spent since Pamela’s call a visual depressant. But she couldn’t help assessing her appearance with Jason’s critical eyes, and her conclusion was not flattering. Too tall, too thin, and too plain, she thought bitterly, wondering, not for the first time, whatever it was he had seen in her. She was certainly nothing like the girls who had worked in his club or hung around the bar, hoping to attract his attention. They had all had one thing in common: an unswerving faith in their own desirability, whereas Laura had always doubted her appeal.
She sighed now, her hands falling limply to her sides. From the very beginning, she had been bemused by Jason’s interest in her, and perhaps that was why he had succeeded where other men had failed. If she had not been so naïvely flattered by his attentions, she might have recognised him sooner for what he was, instead of learning too late how easily she had been deceived.
She shook her head. It was too late now to change the past. And in spite of her experiences, she had succeeded in making a new life for herself with Pierce. There had actually been days when she had not thought about Jason Montefiore and the devastating influence he had had on her. Until Pamela’s ‘phone call, that was, and the inescapable connotations it had aroused …
It was barely eight o’clock when she went down to the coffee shop and ordered some coffee. The menu didn’t interest her, but realising that starving herself would help no one, she chose scrambled eggs and toast. Trying to do them justice, she surveyed her fellow diners enviously. How nice it would have been to have nothing more momentous on her mind than what bikini she would wear to the beach, Laura mused wryly. With her pale skin, she was definitely a rarity, and it was not a distinction she enjoyed.
After the waitress had taken away her half-eaten plate of eggs, Laura sipped her third cup of coffee and wondered what she ought to do now. She supposed she should stay around the hotel, if only to be on hand should Jason make an attempt to contact her. On the other hand, if he had not ‘phoned by lunchtime, she could surely discount his doing so, and then she would have to decide whether or not to try the club in person.
Her decision made, she told the receptionist at the desk she was expecting a call, and then joined the other holidaymakers congregating beside the small pool. Seated in the shade on a padded lounger, she made an effort to appear as nonchalant as the other guests, but she was acutely