Forgotten Passion. PENNY JORDAN
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wear, another expensive and exclusive casuals. Lisa glanced over her shoulder. Rorke was still deep in conversation with the hotel manager. On a small spurt of rebellion she opened the door to the boutique. She knew Rorke had intended to hand her over to Helen and leave it to the older woman to choose her new clothes, but during her time in England Lisa had often visited the homes of her friends, and had gone with them on shopping expeditions. She had a natural sense of taste and flair, her mother had always said, and her initial qualms were quickly stifled as a charming and pleasant girl stepped forward to help her.
Quickly explaining what she wanted, Lisa watched the girl riffle through the packed racks of clothes, unerringly selecting half a dozen or so outfits which she piled on to a chair.
‘You’re lucky,’ she told Lisa, as she handed them to her. ‘We’ve only this week received this lot—Jane, my partner, ordered them the last time she went to America—I promise you they’re the very latest thing—and quite exclusive.’
They were lovely, Lisa admitted, alone in the cubicle, running her fingers over the fine silks and cottons. A Benny Ong two-piece in vibrant blue and emerald silk caught her eye, and she quickly pulled off her own clothes and slipped the slender sheath of a dress over her shoulders. The colours brought out the deep blue-green depths of her eyes, and the soft golden glints of her hair. The dress was supported by tiny shoestring straps and over it there was a thin matching silk jacket that tied softly in a knot. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, Lisa was astounded at the transformation. The outfit might have been made for her—a verdict fully endorsed by the salesgirl as she came to see how she was getting on.
‘It’s definitely you,’ she pronounced. ‘But don’t commit yourself until you’ve tried the others.’
Taking her advice, Lisa tried on everything she brought, and when she eventually emerged from the boutique she had bought the Benny Ong outfit plus an attractive range of cotton separates that she could mix and match for maximum effect; some brilliant magenta cut-off jeans, and a French bikini so brief that she had blushed to see herself in it, until the salesgirl had assured her that it was absolutely stunning.
There had still been quite a lot left from the money Leigh had given her, so on the salesgirl’s advice she had purchased some new underwear—feminine Italian satin and lace that she was sure she would never wear, but which felt so pleasurable against her skin that she hadn’t been able to resist it.
Rorke was waiting outside as she opened the boutique door, glowering at his watch.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he pounced when he saw her.
‘Shopping,’ she told him, proud of her calm voice. ‘Leigh told me to.’
‘I was going to take you to see Helen.’
‘I’m perfectly capable of buying clothes for myself without the advice of your mistress,’ Lisa told him rashly.
‘I hope you’re right,’ Rorke threatened, ‘because we’re dining here tonight with Helen and some friends of ours. Helen and Sandra are both very elegant women.’
‘In that case I’d better make an appointment to have my hair done,’ Lisa told him with commendable aplomb. ‘I don’t want to let you down.’
‘I’ll get someone to take you up to your room,’ Rorke told her without responding. ‘I’m going to see Helen.’
If only her hand wasn’t shaking so much, Lisa thought, tongue protruding slightly between her lips as she applied the eyeshadow she had bought on the advice of the girl in the beauty salon. Her hair lay softly sleek against her shoulders, the unruly curls tamed; the herbal rinse the hairdresser used gave off a delicate fragrance that perfumed the air. If Rorke thought she wouldn’t compare favourably with Helen and her friend he was going to be proved wrong!
In addition to having her hair done and getting the advice of the girl in the beauty salon Lisa had found time to buy a pair of sandals, striped in emerald and blue leather to tone with her dress.
At last she was ready. She peered anxiously at her reflection. Had she blended the eyeshadow enough? She didn’t want to look like a clown! A glimpse in the mirror reassured her. Her own face stared back at her, familiar but subtly different. Her eyes looked larger and darker, the careful blending of blue and green eyeshadow adding a hint of depth and mystery. A coat of mascara added thickness to the luxuriance of her dark lashes, and the coral lipstick she had carefully painted on emphasised the full lower curve of her mouth and the honey translucence of healthy young skin.
She was ready when Rorke tapped on her door, strangely unfamiliar in formal evening clothes, and her heart thumped unevenly as she stared up at him, wondering how on earth she had managed in the past to miss the overt sexuality he exuded.
‘Ready?’
His glance swept her dismissively, and Lisa felt anger burn up inside her at his indifference. Surely he must see how different she looked? Why, she even felt different, but he was still treating her as the same little girl who had tagged after him in the past.
Helen and her friends were already in the bar waiting for them, Helen elegant and sophisticated in a white sheath dress that privately Lisa thought a shade too revealing, her elongated cat-like eyes skimming with barely suppressed hostility over Lisa’s silk clad figure as she cooed, ‘Poor Rorke has to babysit this trip. Leigh insisted that he bring Lisa with him. Never mind, darling,’ she comforted Rorke, ‘there’s always later.’
‘You mustn’t mind Helen,’ Sandra Wilkes murmured understandingly to Lisa as Rorke signalled a waiter. ‘She’s always been a mite possessive where Rorke’s concerned.’
‘You certainly don’t look much like a baby to me!’ Peter Wilkes added with heavy gallantry, giving her an admiring glance. The Wilkes were in their early thirties and seemed a pleasant enough couple. They had two children, Sandra told Lisa over dinner, both at school in England.
‘I miss them dreadfully,’ she confided, ‘but needs must, I’m afraid. Still, Peter’s hoping to get a London posting soon, so we should all be reunited. Tell me about the island,’ she encouraged. ‘According to Helen it’s virtually the back of beyond, although I must say it sounds so exciting—one’s own island!’
‘It’s been in Rorke’s family for generations,’ Lisa told her, ‘and I can’t see him ever parting with it.’
‘He will if Helen has anything to do with it,’ Sandra laughed. ‘She’s told me she’s aching to get back to London.’
‘I don’t think Rorke would agree to that. He’d want his children to grow up on the island as he did,’ Lisa told her, surprised when Sandra’s eyes widened. ‘Have I said something wrong?’ she asked uncertainly.
‘Not exactly—it’s just that Helen can’t have children—can’t, and wouldn’t anyway—she loathes them.’
‘But Rorke…’
‘Will want a son to come after him?’ Sandra supplied. ‘Yes, I got that impression too. Still, it’s their business, not ours. Personally I’ve always thought of Helen more as a mistress than a wife. Perhaps Rorke will come to think so too. He could find a dutiful little wife to bear his sons, and still have his fun with Helen.’
‘Oh no, surely not!’ Lisa protested, thoroughly revolted by the picture Sandra was drawing.
The older woman laughed. ‘You’re such a baby,’ she teased, ‘but then how old are you?’
‘Seventeen—almost,’ Lisa told her.
‘Is that all? I thought you were nineteen at least.’
Lisa found her words wonderfully uplifting after Rorke’s apparent unawareness of the change in her appearance, but it was hard not to notice how Helen constantly touched Rorke’s arm when she spoke to him; their low-voiced murmurs wafting across the table, making Lisa long to get up from the table and run as far and as fast as she could to escape the evidence of their intimacy.