Surprised by relief, Guy picked up his beer and took another long swallow, welcoming the cool bitterness before realising that she hadn’t actually said she wouldn’t try to go. ‘Give me your promise that you won’t leave the resort.’
She looked at him with stony dignity. ‘You have no right to demand any promise from me, but I’m not stupid; I don’t want to put anyone in jeopardy and neither would my friend. I wish I could get in touch with the headman, though, just to ask how the scheme is going.’
That he could give her. ‘As far as I’m aware, it’s doing very well, but if you want to contact him, I have a mobile phone in my office,’ he offered.
She sent him a glance, cold as moonlight, from beneath her lashes. ‘Thank you, but I’ll ring from here,’ she said politely.
‘You can’t.’
When her brows shot up he explained, ‘After the civil war each village chief in this area was supplied with a mobile phone. Their link isn’t connected to the ordinary telephone system, which doesn’t extend much beyond the towns.’
After a moment’s pause she said, ‘I see.’ And added on a sigh, ‘It’s so beautiful here, like paradise. Why can’t it be peaceful too?’
‘There’s always a serpent,’ he told her laconically, getting to his feet. ‘And usually what it wants is power and money.’
‘Do you think this has anything to do with the fact that there’s a huge copper mine in this part of Sant’Rosa—and that the area has been under claim by the Republic for fifty years or so?’
‘You’ve done some research.’
‘I always research,’ she said calmly, thick lashes hiding her thoughts.
When they flicked up again she gazed at him with a limpid innocence that sent suspicion bristling through him.
He jibed, ‘And now you know its limitations.’
She ignored that. ‘It seems interesting that the preacher started destabilising the border area just after the international peacekeeping force left. If I were cynical, I might wonder whether the Republic hopes that perhaps they can use the cargo cult to foment trouble, then invade under the excuse of preventing yet another civil war.’
He nodded. ‘I’d call that realistic rather than cynical. Especially as the Sant’Rosan army is very small, and made up of units that still don’t trust each other after fighting on opposite sides in the war. How they’d fare in battle no one is prepared to say.’
‘Do you expect war?’
‘No.’ He drained his beer and set the bottle down on the table with a sharp clink. ‘Come on, we’ll go into town.’
‘Town?’ Lauren asked foolishly.
His brows lifted. ‘You wanted to use the telephone, didn’t you? It’s in my office in town.’
When she didn’t immediately answer he added with mocking amusement, ‘You’ll be perfectly safe with me. I have a reputation to uphold.’
And because she didn’t suspect him of anything more than an overdose of testosterone, she shrugged slightly and got up to go with him—although not before stopping at the reception desk to tell the woman where she was going.
That done, she hitched her bag over her shoulder. ‘I’d better go and get some money,’ she said brightly. And after she’d extracted her money from the safe that held her papers, she’d sling a shirt over her shoulders.
With an amused glance he opened the door for her. ‘Why? I don’t expect payment, and the shops aren’t open so late in the day. Even if they were, I doubt very much whether you would find anything to buy in them.’
Bother. She summoned her most dazzling smile, recklessly glad when she saw his eyes darken. ‘You’d be surprised,’ she said sweetly, going through the door ahead of him.
GUY’S vehicle could probably take the terrain on Mars in its stride. An elderly Land Rover, it possessed only the most basic conveniences and had never had air-conditioning, but that was all right; it didn’t have any windows either.
‘At least it doesn’t have bullet holes,’ Lauren observed with a kind smile that might have been overdone.
‘Only because I had them taken out,’ he said blandly, opening the passenger door for her. ‘It probably has cockroaches, though.’
She gave him a repeat of her smile, and forced herself not to search for insects while she waited for him to get in. Because her father, a motoring enthusiast, had taught her to recognise a well-tuned engine, she was surprised when he switched on the key; the battered, dusty vehicle ran like a dream.
Guy Whoever—or Whoever Guy, she reminded herself scrupulously—was familiar to the locals; most waved cheerfully at him, flashing smiles as he tooted in return.
She turned around to gaze at two small boys, hand in hand on the side of the road. ‘Are they born with machetes over their shoulders? They look far too young to be carrying such dangerous implements around with them.’
‘They call them bush knives here, and yes, they learn to use them almost as soon as they can walk.’
Rebuffed by his indifferent tone, she concentrated on admiring the jungle and the range of mountains ahead, purple-blue in the distant haze that indicated the approach of dusk. When they arrived at the little town, some miles along the road to the mine and the airport, the empty streets gave it a disturbing, almost sinister atmosphere.
‘Dinner time,’ Guy said laconically, stopping outside the only block of shops in the scruffy main street. He cast her an enigmatic glance. ‘The women prepare the food while the men wind down.’
Refusing to rise to the bait, she shrugged and opened the door to get out.
‘My office is on the first floor.’ Guy indicated a flight of stark concrete steps rising from the street.
Noting the casually efficient way he examined the street and the stairs, Lauren decided that he’d know how to deal with any threat. His seamless air of confidence placated fears she hadn’t allowed herself to recognise.
A large, anonymous room, his office was at least clean and tidy, with everything locked away in steel cabinets.
‘To keep the insects and vermin out,’ Guy said when he saw her looking around.
When eventually they got in touch with the headman of the village, Lauren spoke to him for some minutes, straining to follow his heavily accented English. The sali nut scheme was coming along well; the chief told her proudly of the oil-extraction process, and the amount sent to be turned into soap and other toiletries in New Zealand, and the teacher who had come to live in the village once they’d built the school.
‘I’ll tell the person who sent me,’ she said. ‘I’ve been told it might not be a good idea to travel to the village just now.’
‘Not good, ma’am,’ he said somberly. ‘There are too many rascals around now. Come back next year, when it is quiet again.’
‘If I can,’ she promised.
From beside her Guy said, ‘I’d like to speak to him, please.’
Lauren handed over the receiver and walked to the window to peer down at the dirt road, still eerily vacant except for two small dogs glowering and posturing in a show of dominance. The buildings and trees were rapidly losing substance in the swift tropical dusk. Deep and thick and velvety, it softened the raw intrusion of the buildings on the timeless tropical landscape.
Covertly eyeing Guy as