Paradise Found (5 page)

“Are you all right?” Daemon asked, concerned. He placed an arm around her shoulders
.

“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

Chapter 5

“You know, Victoria, you have been awfully quiet about what happened on Praslin,” Bessye Montcherry said, watching her daughter brew a pot of
sitronel
tea in the kitchen of the modest home.

“What is there to tell? I went over to purchase some land,” Victoria said, knotting the lemon grass strands and infusing them in a teapot of boiling water.

“Yes, and you came back to Mah’e in Mr. Well’s helicopter.”

“He owns a helicopter service. So?”

“Daughter, I am employed by one of Mah’e’s grand resorts and have friends working at other resorts on the Islands.”

Victoria spun around on her bare feet. “Can’t the gossips leave me alone?”

“The Eden chain is renowned. Mr. Wells is a familiar face. Familiar to you as well?” Bessye arched her thick brows and cast a knowing look.

“Yes, I know Mr. Wells and am aware of his father being CEO of Eden Resorts among other things. He also happens to be a very interesting man.” Victoria turned back to her tea.

“It is nice to see that you have met a man. I just hope your relationship isn’t
en passant,
temporary, as most are. Returning from the States, you may not be as comfortable with island ways when it comes to men drifting in and out of relationships, no?”

“I am not looking for a permanent relationship, if that’s what you’re driving at. I’m not interested in settling down.” Victoria poured the fresh tea into two mugs. “Tea?”

“You still have much to learn of love and the Islands.” Bessy took one of the mugs, bemusement in her gaze.

Of love, Victoria wasn’t certain. She thought she had been in love several times during her life but it always ended up being something less. Or something lost. She didn’t need to be burdened with love or with lust, especially with Daemon. She didn’t need to have her mind infiltrated with thoughts of his deep, hot kisses or the way his body molded perfectly against hers. She fought the fantasy of him undressing her, his long fingers caressing her flesh as he slipped off one article at a time. Of his lips searing kisses down her neck, circling the tips of her breasts, over her stomach and down to there. She could imagine him as a naked, golden Adonis holding her captive beneath his muscular frame as his large, had to be large, member dove into her. Her body pulsed at the mere thought of it. It frightened her.

As for the Islands, she decided she needed to become re-acquainted with her past. The time on Praslin at the Vallee showed her how much she had forgotten and missed.

Victoria decided to accompany her mother on the local transit bus to the resort. She respected her mother’s hard work and diligence but didn’t understand her mother’s fortitude in continuing to work when she should have been retired and relaxing at home. Victoria had enough money to support and pamper her. Bessye had too much pride in her own abilities and refused help.

Bessye had to take a local transit bus to and from her job. The government tended to the needs of its residents, providing homes, stipends, and medical care since the country’s
ample resources provided enough money to support every resident. Work brought in extra income for life’s little luxuries and a sense of self worth, especially to Bessye.

The local bus was an experience to behold and little had changed from the time Victoria had boarded a bus as a child. It was the most popular and economical mode of transport on the Islands. The rickety old bus chugged along the hairpin curves hugging the mountains and hillsides. The driver was heavy on the foot, considering the narrow, obstacle-laden roads. An occasional cow or pedestrian would appear in the road, causing the bus to swerve. Victoria joined other passengers in holding onto their seats to prevent sliding to the floor as she closed her eyes and held her breath in fear of a disastrous crash
.
The passengers, mostly women, still donned fine calico and linen dresses and straw hats for their journey. Victoria fanned herself with her hand. As if it would do any good. Though the windows were open, the heat was unbearable and the scent of sweat mingled with the ladies’ sweet perfume. Late arrivals stood in the aisles clinging to the top rails for balance. Irate voices shouted out, “
Deva
!” When the driver neglected to stop as requested, a war of Kreol words erupted. Victoria smiled at the familiarity of the scene. Time hadn’t changed.

Victoria saw her mother off at the resort with a promise of joining her later for supper, and continued her bus journey. She had navigated the subways in New York and the Tube in London, but there was something special about the Seychelles buses. They were primitive compared to other modes of transportation but were as much a part of the

Island culture as well as a way of life. Sometimes simple things were best. Just having that thought alone made Victoria swallow hard.

She exited the bus and, after reviewing a hand-drawn map obtained from an employee at her mother’s job, she spied a walking path toward Port Glaud. She strolled up the sandy path past the church, the mangrove swamps, the tree’s branches intertwined and knotted. Sand crabs scurried for cover as she passed. Nets of lacy spider webs cascaded from trees like crochet curtains, the palm spiders as big as her hand. Though harmless, she still shuddered at their intimidating appearance. She noted banana trees with tiny green fruit ripening in bunches.

She followed another dirt path through a dense grove of fruit and other tropical trees. Hand printed signs stated that this was a farm. Trees wore identification tags: papaya, avocado, passion fruit, lemon, lime, and black pepper.

A house stood at the top of the hill. Like most island homes, it had shutters but no glass on the window openings. The front door had beads dangling down to keep out insects and animals. Scrawny dogs wandered about and the cries of children wafted in the air.

A nearby canopied pen contained giant land tortoises. Native only to the Seychelles and Galapagos, the gentle giants were kept penned and protected to prevent them harm from automobile and bus traffic. Some of the massive creatures were well over two-hundred years old. The tortoises always brought a smile to her face.

Victoria knelt by the pen and reached in to pet a nearby tortoise. She rubbed the underside of the tortoise’s neck briskly, the only part of the anatomy that was soft and fleshy. Its shell was concrete hard and its head like a helmet. In response, the creature stood tall on its four legs. Its eyes glistened and she swore she saw a smile when it opened its mouth to reveal tiny jagged teeth. After the dose of affection, the tortoise ambled on to join his mates in eating vanilla tree leaves.

The owner of the farm approached and the two women chatted in Kreol. Because Victoria was a native, she was exempt from paying a fee and signing the guest book in order to see the nearby waterfall, the only waterfall on Mah’e Island. The path to the waterfall was a steep climb down and worth the effort.

Victoria looked up at the water cascading down a tower of rocks to a pool below. For a better view, she climbed granite stones to a flat piece of granite facing the waterfall. The setting was lush, tropical and serene. She sat on the flat stone, breathing in the moist humid air, as the gentle roar of the water filled her senses. There was a great deal to be said for the therapeutic benefits of living at one with nature.

A strange realization came to her. What if a fancy resort were constructed overlooking the waterfall, with tourists frolicking in the pool below? Where would that leave the serenity of nature, the timeless beauty of the place? The farmer and her tortoises would be displaced, while the roar of construction equipment clearing her land would decimate the landscape. Fruit trees that had taken years to mature would be eliminated. In their place, a massive resort of granite and concrete would pave over nature. The waterfall and pools would be polluted with noisy tourists
.

Should wealth be measured in money or in preservation? By purchasing and developing island land to prove her self-worth, was she turning her back on her heritage and jeopardizing the future of the Islands? She shook her head. What was happening to her? She had been back only a couple of weeks and already the Islands were having an effect on her.

The Islands or Daemon Wells?

Chapter 6

Victoria stood on the jetty in Port Victoria watching a crane unload her new Volvo sedan off a cargo ship. The vehicle had arrived earlier than she had anticipated but she was grateful. Soon, she would have her freedom to come and go without reliance on taxis or buses. Watching the car dangle tenuously on steel cables gave her pause.
If
her automobile made it to the ground in one piece.

“Looks like someone is getting a new set of wheels,” a husky male voice called out.

Victoria turned to see Daemon coming toward her down the pier. “Are you also a magician, appearing at the strangest of times?”

Approaching, he chuckled. Did the man always have to wear that sparkling smile and clothes that accented his sensuality? The tight yellow polo and crisp white shorts made him look like a tanned tennis pro.

“I swear, don’t you ever work?” she asked. “Or do you have surveillance out on me?”

“Gee, Victoria, it’s wonderful to see you, too,” he mused.

She let out a loud sigh.

“You know, if I didn’t keep running into you, I’d never see you. You certainly haven’t given me your phone number and I don’t even know where you live. Strange way to be dating someone,” he said.

“Who said I was dating you, Daemon?” She planted her hands on her hips.

His brows arched. “Hmm, perhaps we should start.”

She tilted her head.

“Okay.” He stroked his chin. “How would you like to go out on a date with me?”

She met his steady gaze, surprised at the invitation.

“A real date,” he added. “You know, like the natives?”

“A real date?”

“Saturday night there’s a concert to benefit the preservation of Aldabra Island, a ‘spectacular’ to be held at Victoria’s
Stade Populaire,
stadium. Perhaps you’d like to join me?”

“Sounds like a good cause.”

“Some of the entertainers are from Reunion and are guests at The Shangri La. I can pick you up at nine.”

“I’ll meet you at the Shangri La.” She still wasn’t comfortable in having him visit her home or meeting her mother. She wondered if she ever would. A romance was not on her agenda.

The ‘spectacular’ was just that, three hours of non-stop island entertainment. Victoria had forgotten how multi-generational and peaceful stadium concerts were in the Seychelles. Nothing like the drugged, drunk, cursing environment of stadium concerts in the States.

Victoria scanned the crowded stadium. Unlike in the States, everyone stood in the grass soccer field watching the concert on a raised stage. All of the faces were shades of brown, hers and Daemon’s among the few white faces in attendance. Yet, unlike other countries, race was not considered in the Seychelles. Everyone was considered equal in the islands, all members of one race … the human race. She thought that there might be
ho
pe for the rest of the world –
one day. Faces in the crowd ranged from the wrinkled elderly to babes in arms. Though people swayed to the music and sometimes sang along, the mood was restrained and polite. Everyone was neatly attired and dignified. Seybrew was sold yet no one became drunk or rowdy
.

Victoria looked up at the stage with its professional lighting and sound system, impressed. The music began and memories of her youth returned with the Kreol lyrics and tropical-Zydeco beat with the strumming electric guitars, electronic keyboards, accordions, and thumping bongo drums. Sega dancers came out in colorful costumes. The low ruffled skirts and ruffled midriff-tied blouses swirled as dancers undulated and shimmied in beat to the music. The dance was part African, part Polynesian and part Middle-Eastern with provocative, unique steps native to the Seychelles. Victoria moved her feet and body from memory.

“Do you dance?” Daemon asked, turning to her. He stood at her side with a Seybrew in one hand.

“I loved to dance as a teen,” she admitted, with a sensuous sway of her hips, raising her own Seybrew. “All women dance.”

He raised his brows and sipped his beer.

A young woman in a dress that left little to the imagination was the next act. As she sang, male Sega dancers joined her. They undulated, bounded across the stage and did handstands. One male dancer performed in a lion mask, golden claws in his hands.

Other acts from Kreol rappers to trios sang and danced. The mood was fun and festive and had a positive joyful tone. The audience smiled, laughed and chatted.

Victoria grasped Daemon’s arm as they exited the Stadium, leaving early to avoid the crowds that would jam through the narrow exits later. They licked ice cream cones purchased from a street vendor. She smiled, an inner peace enveloping her.

At The Shangri La, she stood in front of the main building with Daemon, the moonlight veiling them in a pale blue glow.

“Thank you for a wonderful evening,” she said, standing up on her tiptoes, wanting to kiss him.

He stepped back. “This is a first date, remember? No kisses on first dates.”

She laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“Now, on a second date …” He winked.

“Are you asking me out again?”“After tonight? Of course. Friday night, how about joining me at the resort’s disco? It’s the hottest date spot in the Islands,” he asked.

“Sounds good. Nothing like a Seybrew and dancing.”

“The natives’ pastime.”

What was she doing, Victoria had to ask herself over and over. Why had she agreed to a first yet alone a second date with Daemon? She had returned home to reconcile with her past and to secure her future. Having a man in her life was not part of her plan.

She sat on her bed the night before their next scheduled date pondering her previous relationships. Didn’t she know that when playing with fire you get burned? Every relationship she ever had ended miserably.

Her first lover was a charming, manipulative tourist who returned home soon after wooing her into his bed. What about her college crush? Quarterback of the football team,
an All American, preppie all the way. Of course, after he discovered that Seychellois meant mixed race, he ran out of her life as fast as he had run in. Living white in a white world had its disadvantages when a dab of minority blood made you an outcast.

The one man who understood her, who had loved her, had died. Evan Warshawsky was vice president of a prominent brokerage house, a direct competitor. Opposites attract and he was hers.

Though she had worked in finance, her pleasure involved perusing museums and art galleries. She’d collected antiques and funky clothing. Evan preferred playing bridge and joining philosophical clubs. His attire had been Armani and his passion running marathons. He had been tall, lean and handsome in a sort of Jewish preppie way. Yet, they compromised with him escorting her to gallery openings and she running foot races. He had accepted her for who and what she was. Accepted her like no one else had ever done before or after. Together they were like a well-worn pair of slippers. Cozy. Comfortable. When he asked her to move into his Park Avenue apartment, there had been no hesitation. He had even accepted her antiques, merging them with his contemporary pieces to create an eclectic home. Home. Home was with Evan. He had given her a diamond engagement ring during dinner at Windows on the World in the World Trade Center, their favorite haunt. Evan had been her present and her future.

Tears formed in her eyes. She let them roll down her cheeks and catch in her throat. Memories of Evan and what might have been still hurt though years had passed. She worked hard to suppress the pain but whenever she thought of another man, the grief returned. Letting go was difficult when she knew that she must move on. Life was reserved for the living. She just didn’t know if she could handle another relationship and the prospect of being hurt again
.

Victoria thought that the disco craze had ended in the 1970’s in America. In the Seychelles, disco had a life of its own. Going out for a beer and dancing was the hottest date there was. Dinner dates were for Americans. In the Islands, everything was simpler. Nothing like some pulsating foreign music, flashing strobe lights, mist from fog machines, musty-scented air and enthusiastic dancers to create atmosphere. Age wasn’t a factor. Everyone from teenagers to seniors danced into the wee hours of the morning.

As Victoria danced with Daemon she thought they looked like the creamy white center of an Oreo cookie amidst the darker skinned natives. Victoria thought that for a white American, Daemon did have a sense of rhythm. She laughed when he twirled her around and caught her in his arms, dipping her. For the evening she felt like a teenager again. Coming back to the Islands was like traveling back in time. She wondered if that was good or bad.

After the dance date, Daemon brushed her lips with his.

“There,” he said, drawing away.

“That’s it?”

“I’m being a proper date, a gentleman,” he said and winked. “I think this dating idea was a good one, don’t you?”

She shrugged. “I’m not so sure.”

“It’s said that third dates set the course of a relationship.”

“A third date? What do you have in mind?”

“I happen to have a lovely boat docked in the harbor yacht club and an invitation for you to spend the weekend on La Digue. That is, if you’d like to spend the weekend with me?”

“Sounds like there might be some strings attached?”He winked. “I sure hope so.”

Victoria floundered, unsure of her reply. A tingle
rose from her toes up to her …,
Oh why was
the man so damn provocative
? And why did she prefer him that way?