A Lesson In Seduction. Susan Napier
Читать онлайн книгу.
stretched woollen jumper.
‘Now, Sean, stop sucking Daddy’s sweater; you’ll get fur balls,’ he scolded. ‘You too, David; you don’t have to do everything your brother does...’
As usual his twin sons ignored his stern command and continued to gum the soggy wool, until their mother gently uttered a word and they began to crawl obediently in her direction. Richard watched them go with a rueful smile that acknowledged a higher domestic authority. He scrambled to his feet, wincing slightly at the pressure on his lame knee, and turned his attention back to Rosalind.
‘If you genuinely want to deflect press interest the simple solution is to remove yourself as a potential source of information. Disappear completely for a while...at least until the initial feeding frenzy is over. It’s not as if you have to worry about walking out on your job,’ he added with cheerful malice, ‘since you don’t happen to have one at the moment...’
‘I’m currently resting between engagements,’ Rosalind informed him loftily. It was a point of pride that she had hardly been out of steady work since she had left drama school. ‘I’m considering several offers—it’s just a matter of deciding which one to accept.’
‘But you said yourself that none of them start for a few weeks, darling.’ Her mother pounced. ‘So why not make the most of your free time until then? Your father and I know the perfect place for you to go—peaceful, warm, exotic and—best of all as far as you’re concerned—wonderfully remote.’
‘It’s not an island, is it?’ said Rosalind with deep suspicion. ‘I think I’ve had enough of remote islands for one lifetime.’
The film she had just completed was supposedly set in just such an idyllic-sounding location. However, the cast and crew had found themselves virtually camping out on an extremely rugged dot in the South Pacific, in wretchedly primitive conditions and beset by all manner of hardships, including erratic delivery of supplies, a subtropical cyclone and Rosalind’s terrifyingly close encounter with a shark while filming the underwater scenes.
Needless to say, the budget had been horrendously overrun, and Rosalind had been relieved to get back to New Zealand with body and soul intact, only to walk slap-bang into a situation of almost equal peril.
‘Oh, you’ll love this one,’ her mother assured her. ‘Your father and I had one of our honeymoons there a few years ago. We simply adored it. A jewel of a place. Gorgeous scenery, gorgeous weather. A perfect refuge from reality.’
‘And exactly where is this perfect jewel?’ asked Rosalind morosely, unwillingly tempted.
‘Tioman Island!’ announced her mother with a vocal flourish that invited applause.
She must have forgotten that geography had always been Rosalind’s worst subject at school.
‘Is it somewhere around the Great Barrier Reef?’ she guessed, thinking that if she had wanted to wimp out and hide from her avalanching problems Australia would hardly be far enough!
Joanna, the teacher, looked pained. ‘It’s in the South China Sea,’ she said helpfully.
‘Oh, right...’ Rosalind closed her eyes as she tried to visualise Asia in her head, but her overtaxed brain refused to co-operate. All she could see against the blackness were wretched images from Room 405 at the Harbour Point Hotel in Wellington... Peggy Staines’s anguished, pleading face, her body writhing in pain on the crumpled double bed, the frantic actions of the ambulance crew and the avid curiosity of the hotel staff and guests who had seen Rosalind in her bathrobe dazedly gathering up the scattered banknotes from the floor.
‘Off the east coast of Malaysia, north-east of Singapore.’ Her father gently reorientated her.
‘You must have heard of it, darling!’ her mother urged. ‘It’s quite famous. They shot parts of South Pacific there. Remember Bali Ha’i... remember the waterfall? That was filmed on Tioman. Just imagine being able to visit it for yourself...’
Rosalind’s eyes flew open. She loved vintage musical movies. She had a good singing voice and had appeared on stage in a number of musical productions, South Pacific included. She vividly remembered the waterfall scene from the movie and her interest quickened, much against her will.
‘If it’s famous then it’s probably packed to the gills with tourists,’ she said stubbornly. ‘I hate tourist traps.’
‘Funny how I couldn’t drag you away from Disneyland when you came and stayed with me in LA,’ murmured Richard, who had lived and worked in the film capital for several years before he’d turned from acting to directing.
Rosalind poked her tongue out at him. ‘Disneyland’s different.’
‘So is Tioman,’ her mother said hurriedly, before sibling raillery could subvert the conversation. ‘There are a few resorts but the island’s still pretty much uncommercialised, and the pace of life is very slow. There’s no stress, there’s no crime...it’s somewhere you can feel wonderfully safe and anonymous. Even a free spirit like you, Roz, wouldn’t feel hemmed in. You really need to see it to appreciate it. I think I just happen to have some brochures around here somewhere... Now where did I put them...? Michael, do you see them?’
She looked around vaguely, absently retucking a loose strand of red hair into her elegant French twist. Rosalind watched suspiciously as her father obediently took his cue and ‘discovered’ the large stack of travel folders conveniently on hand under one of the newspapers on the coffee-table.
Her suspicions were strengthened by the flagrant enthusiasm with which everyone fell on the glossy brochures. Alluring descriptions of virgin rainforest and white coral beaches were read aloud with typical Marlow panache, the delights of scuba-diving in limpid tropical waters and the merits of Malaysian cuisine discussed. Even the babies drooled in ecstasy over the bright, colourful pamphlets that Richard thrust into their pudgy fingers, although that was probably more to do with the fact that they were teething!
‘It says here that there are references to Tioman in Arabic literature that date back two thousand years...’ murmured Hugh, perusing a hard-back book that had a stamp on the cover indicating that it had come from the library. Something else her mother had just happened to have on hand? Rosalind didn’t think so!
‘You know, you don’t even need a visa to visit Malaysia,’ said Olivia, reading the fine print on the back of a brochure. ‘Your passport’s current, isn’t it, Roz?’
‘Of course it is. Roz is used to travelling light. She can take off at the drop of a hat, can’t you, darling?’ her mother encouraged.
Rosalind thought it was time to put her foot down and inject some reality into the situation.
‘Even if I was thinking about taking a trip, if this place is so wonderful there’s no way there’d be vacancies for spur-of-the-moment travellers,’ she said firmly. ‘And flights up to the East have wait-lists for their wait-lists. Anyway, I haven’t budgeted for any extravagances this month...’
Although Rosalind had inherited a considerable trust fund several years ago, she preferred to live mostly off her own earnings. Large amounts of money made her uneasy. She had no head for figures and small amounts slipped far too easily through her fingers for her to trust herself with serious sums.
Besides, the theatre had a strong historical tradition of poverty amongst its acolytes and it went against the grain to flaunt her unearned prosperity when most of her fellow actors were eking out their meagre pay cheques in a noble state of self-sacrifice for their art. So apart from the occasional rush of blood to the head Rosalind lived a life of cheerful self-sufficiency, content in the knowledge that when she was too old and decrepit to tread the boards she would be able to retire in dignity and comfort.
‘Credit me with a little forethought, darling,’ said her notoriously disorganised mother. ‘As soon as I realised you might need a quiet little bolt-hole I got Jordan to use some of his family’s muscle. He still has pull in the Pendragon Corporation and he’s made all the arrangements for you through