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‘That you have so much when others have so little? Kids like Gemma and Blake?’ She raised a hand. ‘Don’t get me wrong—I know you’ve earned your money fair and square, that you set up Alrikson Security and made it a global success, but you also had the benefit of a privileged upbringing.’
Also common knowledge. He’d been educated at a prestigious school, had hobnobbed with royalty, no less. Her words tapped into his reservoir of guilt, took him back to the questions that had always dominated his life.
If a fire hadn’t ended his parents’ life, where would he be? If he’d gone back into the flames and rescued them, would he still have achieved success? Or would he be in prison? Would he have learnt to fly only in his mind, with the aid of drugs?
‘Yes, it does bother me. But it wouldn’t really benefit Gemma and Blake if I handed my entire fortune over to them. What will help them is change—social change, governmental change—but also I want to give them choice. Because there is always choice in life—an instant where you make a decision. An opportunity when you can say yes or no.’
‘What if you make the wrong choice?’
Her question was quiet, and he sensed it held a wealth of meaning—regret, wistfulness, despair—and somehow he knew that at some time she, too, had made a decision that caused demons to eat away at her soul.
‘Then you have to live with it, and live your life to the very best of your ability.’ As he had done for Elvira’s sake—his need to make his sister’s life worthwhile had always ruled his actions.
Her head tipped to one side as she considered the words, and he wondered what thoughts were crossing her mind. Whatever they were, it seemed she had no intention of sharing them.
Instead she pulled out the notebook. ‘Any other hobbies?’ she asked.
‘I don’t really have time for much more than boxing and flying. What about you?’
‘No.’ As if realising the paucity of the syllable she continued, ‘I used to play tennis and the guitar.’
‘Did you sing?’
‘A little.’ She made it sound as if it was so far back in a dim and distant past that she couldn’t really remember it. ‘But I’m meant to be interviewing you, remember?’
And he was here to assess this potential honeymoon location’s security risk.
With a nod of acknowledgement he unclasped the seatbelts and they clambered out onto the Tarmac helipad. The heat hit him, enveloped him in a sultry blanket, and next to him April caught her breath.
‘It’s...incredible. It’s every stereotypical island paradise rolled into one. It’s got the works—white sand, turquoise waves, palm trees and glorious sunshine.’
Marcus nodded, but in reality all he could see as he stared at the swathes of sun-baked sand broken up by clusters of palm trees were the potential security risks. Frederick’s plan was to bypass security altogether—which was clearly not viable. There was nothing to prevent any would-be assassin from simply tooling up in a boat. As for the admittedly less dangerous threat of paparazzi—he might as well put up a welcome banner and serve refreshments.
He glanced around, suddenly uneasy... The heat was almost too oppressive—a reminder of the possibility of an impending storm.
‘Let’s go and check out the house.’
As far as he was concerned there would need to be a minimum of three security officers patrolling the helipad and any place where a boat could dock. Plus they’d have to rig up some extra temporary accommodation.
April looked at him with curiosity. ‘You look distinctly grumpy. Surely when you see a place like this it makes you feel appreciative of its sheer tranquillity?’
‘Not right now. Right now all I see is a potential security risk and a forthcoming argument with Frederick. He wants no security, and that is not possible.’
‘Well, you can hardly blame him for wanting privacy on his honeymoon.’
‘Unfortunately privacy and royalty rarely go hand in hand.’
They reached the house—an idyllic beach villa on stilts, with whitewashed stone walls, a thatched roof and vast windows.
They stepped inside and April gazed around. ‘Wow!’
She had a point, and he wasn’t surprised that she had her notebook out and was scribbling notes at breakneck speed.
Marcus had known what to expect, but even so the interior impressed him. The front door opened onto a spacious lounge area that led out to a covered veranda, where a woven hammock stretched invitingly next to a two-seater wicker swing chair. The furniture was simple, but solid, and it oozed comfort.
The lounge led into a corridor, from where one door led to a well-equipped white-walled kitchen. As he circled the room he noted that there was egress from this room as well as the front door. He checked the locks and sighed at their simplicity, then opened a door to a huge and well-stocked larder before leading the way back to the corridor and through another door.
The bedroom. They both halted. There was little point in trying to avert his gaze from the four-poster bed that dominated the room—it was a glorious, decadent piece of furniture. White lacy gauze hung from the top and sumptuous pillows beckoned. The whole damn thing positively screamed, Use me, please!
