True Colours:The You Don't Know Me Trilogy Book 2(46)

I stare at him, and he stares right back at me.

At last, his lips part.

'So, what do you think of me now?'

I say nothing.

He nods, clearly understanding that I need space to process this new  information. For now, there's nothing more to say. I sit in silence,  watching as he leans forwards, moving the Kindle towards me and  switching it on. Reading? He actually wants me to read at a time like  this? I'm on the verge of telling him to piss off when I notice that  he's flicked to the front cover of a book. Leaving it in front of me, he  sits back and waits.         

     



 

I pick up the Kindle and focus on the screen. Jane Eyre? Why has he done that?

Isn't it obvious, you dope, a voice cries out at the back of my head.  The story of a man tricked into marriage, made miserable by deceit,  searching for his one chance of redemption.

'Read it again,' he murmurs. 'All the way through. And remember  …  it's got a happy ending.'





Chapter Twenty


I only manage a chapter or two, but that's hardly surprising: I can  barely concentrate. Curling up in my seat, I try to sleep, but sleep's  impossible in a world that seems to be fraying at the edges. Instead,  numbed by exhaustion and the evening's revelations, I simply lower my  eyelids, doing my best to ignore the fact that I'm whizzing across the  Atlantic at thirty thousand feet, caught up in a limbo while the  seconds, minutes and hours all merge into one. It's only when my ears  begin to pop that I'm jolted out of it, vaguely aware that the first  signs of fear are stirring to life in my brain. I have no idea how long  we've been in the air, but we must be coming in to land now.

When I open my eyes, he's watching me, concern ingrained into every  square inch of his face. He reaches out, offering me comfort, but I  don't want any. I shake my head, grab hold of the arm rests and stare at  the cockpit door for the duration. With every single drop in altitude,  my stomach tumbles and my lungs flounder, but through it all, even when  the engines decide to screech like a pair of deranged cats, I hold on  tight, willing myself to stay absolutely still. After all, if I'm about  to die, I'd rather do it with a scrap of dignity.

'Well done,' he whispers, when the jet finally comes to a halt.

'Thank you,' I whisper back, silently relieved that I still seem to have a pulse.

Refusing his help, I unbuckle the seat belt and choose to make my own  distinctly unsteady exit through the open door. It's dark outside, but a  wall of warmth hits me immediately and within seconds, I'm hot and  sticky in the evening gown. Careful not to trip over it, I struggle down  the steps and sink into the back of a car, waiting while Dan goes  through the process of border control. Before long, he joins me, his  tuxedo jacket crumpled on his knee. And with the luggage loaded, another  silent car journey ensues. Trying to get my first taste of Bermuda, I  spend the entire time peering out of the window, but it's impossible to  see anything. Apart from the occasional pin-prick of light, it's a pitch  black night.

It doesn't take long for us to reach our destination. A pair of  wrought-iron gates swing open and we edge forwards onto a drive, coming  to a halt in front of a bungalow. As soon as I get out of the  air-conditioned car, the heat hits me again, and my ears are assaulted  by a strange tinkling, singing sound.

'Tree frogs,' Dan explains, coming to my side. 'They go on all night  every night. You'll get used to it.' He turns to the driver. 'It was  good of you to pick us up. I haven't got any dollars yet. I'll have to  tip you on the way back.'

Dropping the suitcases by the front door, the driver joins us. An older man, ebony-skinned, maybe in his sixties.

'No need, Danny boy.' He grins. 'You're welcome.'

Danny boy? I'm about to burst into a fit of over-tired laughter when I  notice Dan tipping his head to one side, his eyes narrowing a little  shortly before he breaks into a wide smile.

'Charles?'

'The one and only.'

'My God.' He steps forwards, clasping the driver by the hand. 'Why  didn't you say? I didn't realise it was you. I'm just so tired. How are  you?'

'I'm good.'

'And Louis? Kathy?'

'Louis's married with two beautiful children.' For the first time, I  notice the curious lilt in Charles' voice, his accent almost American  …   but not quite. 'And you'll see my good lady in the morning. She's still  working for Bill, just like me.' His smile straightens. His voice  lowers. 'I was sorry to hear about your parents, Dan. They were good  people.'

'Yes, they were.' He glances into the shadows before he remembers that he's not alone. 'And this is Maya.'

He curls an arm around my waist and I wait for something more  …  but nothing comes.

And perhaps that's not so surprising. He looks as shattered as I feel.  But more than that, he seems completely lost. Unable to cope, I've  simply blanked him, and now the poor man must be convinced that he's  about to be dumped on the back of his confession. Out of nowhere, my  heart swells, and suddenly I feel the need to let him know that all is  not lost.         

     



 

Far from it.

'I'm Dan's girlfriend,' I announce.

Charles takes me by the hand.

'Hey, that's wonderful.' He plants a kiss on my cheek. 'Welcome to Bermuda, Maya. I hope you like it here.'

'I'm sure I will.'

Still smiling, I turn to Dan. We gaze at each other for a few seconds.  It's long enough to reconnect. His eyes spark back to life.

'Now, let's get you settled in,' Charles says, sliding a key into the  lock and pushing open the door. 'Maybe you can grab a few hours' sleep.'



As soon as we're alone, Dan throws his tux onto a chair and buries his  hands into his pockets, obviously waiting for the discussion to resume.  But I'm too tired for big talk. It can wait until tomorrow.

'You've been here before?'

'A lot,' he confirms. 'Every summer. My parents were friends with Bill. We stayed here five years running.'

I wander through the hallway into a huge open-plan living area. With a  kitchen-diner at one end and a lounge at the other, it's edged by French  windows down one side and lit by a handful of lamps. In spite of the  fact that it's been modernised, it's clearly an old building, infused  with a colonial feeling: the ceilings are high; white shutters adorn the  windows; and a dark wooden fireplace, intricately carved with leaves,  dominates the room. But it's furnished with a modern touch, everything  solid and expensive. Before long, I find myself gazing at the art work  on the walls, noting that in amongst a smattering of oils, there's a  small collection of watercolours: exotic flowers, gardens, houses  –  all  Bermudian. I recognise the style. I've seen it before, back at the house  in Surrey.

'Your mother painted these?'

I find him standing close by.

'She did. She spent a lot of time painting here.'

'And you? What did you get up to?'

'I used to hang around with Charles and his son. Mostly we'd just swim, jump in off the rocks, that sort of thing.'

I smile, trying to imagine a young, carefree Dan.

'It's a lovely house.'

'It's the guest house. Bill's place is up the hill. You'll meet him tomorrow.'

My eyes must be the size of saucers. If this is just the guest house,  then God only knows what the main residence is like. Realising that I'm  close to collapse, I roll my shoulders.

'I need to go to bed.'

He hesitates. 'Shall I come with you?'

Holding out a hand, he watches me, and I wonder if that's fear in his  eyes. I have no idea, but as soon as I put my fingers into his, it melts  away. With a smile, he guides me out of the living area, down a  corridor and into the master bedroom. Again, everything around me is  solid and luxurious: the blinds that hang at the windows, the mahogany  furniture; the vast wooden bed that's draped with rich white cotton  sheets. At the centre of the ceiling, attached to the main light, a fan  circles slowly, and in the background, I can hear the quiet hum of an  air conditioning unit.

Without a word, I take myself into the bathroom, brush my teeth, let my  hair down and return to the bedroom where I find that Dan's already  slipped off his shoes and socks. Staring at another of his mother's  water colours, he's currently unbuttoning his shirt.

I stand absolutely still, staring at the bed, sensing him when he comes  behind me and begins to unlace the bodice of my dress, slowly, sliding a  palm under the material. Soft against my skin, it's warm in contrast to  the cooling air. He loosens the dress from my torso, letting it fall  from me, and draws me in to him, nuzzling his face against my neck. His  arms are around my waist now and I rest my hands over his, melting at  his touch. At last, he rouses himself, turns me round to face him and  kisses me slowly, tenderly, brushing his lips across mine before he  claims my mouth completely.

'Let's sleep,' he whispers.

With a nod, I peel his shirt away from his shoulders and run my hands  across his bare flesh. I have no intention of turning him on. All I want  is to reassure him. And he seems to understand. I get into bed, loving  the fresh smell of the sheets, the rich comfort of the pillows, and wait  while he undresses. Climbing into bed next to me, he clicks off the  lights. I feel the touch of a finger against my hip, put my hand over  his, and guide it further round. He readjusts his position, urging me to  move so that my back is against his chest. And then gently, very  gently, he strokes my hair, and I close my eyes in a strange land,  spiralling quickly into the dark.