Once she was happy with the effect and had sprayed her hair, she opened her make-up drawer. She wore very little make-up, just a dab or two of blusher, a touch of mascara and a shimmery coating of pale pink lipstick Rosie had given her. With Rosie’s help she had experimented with false eyelashes but had hated the effect. She didn’t hold with too much artifice; she preferred a more natural look.
Which was what Billy said he liked too. But what if he’d grown bored of that and fancied something on the side that was a bit more . . .
No! she told herself firmly. Under no circumstances was she to start thinking there was any truth in that anonymous letter. Do that and Ruby would have won.
Chapter Twenty-Two
La Vista, Palm Springs
October 1962
Romily
The sky was the clearest and strongest of blues; there was not a cloud to be seen. High above Romily’s head, and hidden within the foliage of the palm trees, birdsong rang out.
From where she was standing on the paved terrace, she could hear Red speaking on the telephone inside the house. He’d taken the call just a few minutes after she’d arrived. He’d wanted to ignore the ringing, but Romily had insisted he answer the phone. His doing so gave her the chance to explore the garden, just as he had suggested she might like to do.
While driving her back to Casa Santa Rosa late last night, Red’s invitation to visit him this morning had not surprised her. What did surprise her was what she was seeing now; this was unlike any garden she had seen before. It had none of the stiff manicured splendour of Casa Santa Rosa, but was instead a joyous blend of natural form and colour.
With a choice of gravel paths in front of her, she selected the one that led to the right. It took her through what felt like tropical vegetation, such was the density of trees and bushes. Majestic palm trees towered overhead, and oleanders showed off every shade of pink. In turn, she then came to an area that was more open and planted with cacti and succulents, some of which were in colourful bloom with jewel-like flowers.
Following the path yet further, it led her down a series of steps hewn out of rock with yucca trees either side. There were large prickly bushes too that she didn’t recognise, then rounding a corner, she suddenly found herself in a clearing overlooking a long thin swimming pool. It looked the sort of pool that was designed for somebody intent on swimming lengths to keep fit, rather than for merely cooling off in. Beyond the pool was a spectacular view of the mountain range that seemed to be within touching distance. It was one of the most impressive views she had ever seen.
When the taxi had delivered her here and she’d commented to Red how much she liked the location – his nearest neighbour was half a mile away – he had explained that he preferred to be on the edge of things, rather than in the middle of the town that was becoming too built up for his liking. She suspected that being on the edge of things was his modus operandi.
Taking her time over retracing her steps in the arid heat, she had just reached the terrace when her host reappeared.
‘Sorry I abandoned you like that,’ he said. ‘Now then, let me fix you a drink. How about some iced tea? Or being British, would you prefer hot tea? If you trust me to make it properly, that is.’
‘I’ll put you to the test another time,’ she said with a smile, ‘for now iced tea would suit me very well.’
He indicated a comfortable-looking sofa in front of a glass-topped coffee table in the covered area of the terrace that stretched the full width of the house.
Painted white and built on one level with large windows, the streamlined property was everything she might have supposed she wouldn’t like. But she did like it. She approved greatly of the strong clean lines of the architecture, and the boldness of the progressive mind that had created it. Sitting down in the shade, glad to be out of the sun, her back resting against the downy softness of a plump cushion, she thought how Stanley would love to design something so modern.
The rattle of ice cubes heralded Red’s return. When he was seated on the sofa next to her and had passed her a tall glass of iced tea with a sprig of mint, she said, ‘Thank you for inviting me here, and for last night; it was fun.’
‘It was my pleasure, I enjoyed sharing the desert with you. If it wasn’t for this damned leg of mine right now, I’d be off for a hike, as well as camp out overnight. There’s nothing better than waking up to watch the dawn break when you’re in the desert. It’s the best tonic I know.’
‘Is your leg troubling you today?’
He shrugged. ‘A new prosthetic always takes some getting used to. Give me a couple of weeks and I’ll be fine. But never mind that, we need to talk about you.’
She groaned. ‘Must we? I find myself so very dull.’
‘I’ll wager you’re the only one who does. I, for one, find you extraordinarily interesting.’ He raised his glass. ‘Here’s to you. One of the most fascinating women I’ve met in a long time.’
She tutted. ‘I advise you not to waste your breath on smooth-talking me. You won’t come out of it well.’
He tipped his head back and laughed. There was something so free and uninhibited about the way he laughed.
‘Is that what you thought I was doing,’ he asked, ‘smooth-talking you? Now why on earth would I do that?’
‘To convince me we should work together. It’s why you’ve invited me here this morning to see your home and to—’
‘Hey, you mean a guy can’t show some bona fide all-American hospitality without there being an ulterior motive? Whatever is the world coming to?’
‘You know exactly what I mean.’
‘I do. But I believe the woman doth protest too much and really you just want me to cajole you some more, and then,’ he clicked his thumb and forefinger together, ‘we’ll be in business!’
‘Evidently I have not protested enough,’ she said, amused at his chutzpah. ‘As otherwise you will have given up trying to persuade me.’
He leaned against the back of the sofa and crossed one leg over the other. ‘Something you should know. I never give up on what I believe in. I’m relentless in that respect.’
She turned to look at him and held his gaze. ‘I’m sure you are.’
‘I’m told it’s one of my finer qualities.’
‘And what of your less commendable qualities?’
‘That would be telling.’
‘It would. That’s why I’m asking.’
He cocked his head. ‘Are you flirting with me, Mrs Devereux-Temple?’
She continued to meet his gaze, determined not to blink or be the one to look away. ‘Certainly not.’