Rachel pointedly didn’t ask any questions as Adam drove along the narrow lanes; she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Instead she sat and watched the scenery pass. It was surprisingly like rural England: hedgerows, stone walls, cute little whitewashed farmhouses; they could have been in Devon or Somerset, except that all the road names were in French. Rue de la Mare, Route des Landes.
They drove into the capital, St Helier. Adam parked on yellow lines and told her to wait in the vehicle. ‘So we don’t get a ticket,’ he said, opening the door and hopping on to the pavement.
‘Where are you going?’
‘In there.’
‘A bank? What are you doing? Staging a heist? I wouldn’t put the whole Thomas Crown thing past you.’
‘If you must know, I have to go and sign some papers. I shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes.’
‘But what if a traffic warden comes? I don’t speak French . . .’ but he had already run up the stone steps into the building.
He was back in the car within ten minutes.
‘Well that was an awfully long way for nothing.’
‘Actually, I was just securing a loan for seventy-five million euros. Are you hungry?’
‘Famished. I slept through breakfast on the plane. Those business-class beds are actually pretty comfy. But I thought you wanted to talk.’
‘I do want to talk, but I thought we could do it over food.’
They crossed the island to its north-westerly tip. As they rounded a bend, the green-blue of the sea glistened in front of them, framed on either side by the plunging sides of a headland.
‘Wow,’ said Rachel. ‘Look at that.’
‘Plemont,’ said Adam. ‘One of the prettiest spots on the island.’
He drove down a single-lane black-top road until it simply disappeared into a sandy turning space, fringed with yellow gorse, only the cliffs beyond.
‘This way,’ he said, jumping out and heading for a little footpath.
‘Where the hell are you taking me now?’ Rachel muttered under her breath, worrying that she was going to turn an ankle over in her city-girl heels. The thought did cross her mind that Adam could simply push her into the sea; there was no one out here to witness it, save a few squawking seagulls.
She came up beside him, standing in front of the view: the dramatic cliffs plunging into the waves, a tiny strip of yellow beach just visible below.
‘This is amazing,’ she said with a gasp.
‘Glad you like it. I’m going to buy it.’ He pointed back up the hill. ‘See those buildings? Used to be a holiday camp, but it’s been derelict for years. The hotel division is in negotiations to buy this whole stretch of land and build a hotel.’
‘Another holiday camp?’
‘Deluxe private villas, each with uninterrupted views of the headland. Can’t you see it?’
‘Actually I can.’ She nodded. ‘It reminds me a little of the Scilly Isles. I used to love going there when I was a kid. It was so exotic, but homespun at the same time. And I guess this place is more accessible than the Scillies.’
Adam nodded. ‘It’s less than an hour from London, five airlines fly here every day and it’s the sunniest part of the British Isles by far.’
‘Actually I think the Scillies holds that honour.’
‘Do you have to challenge me on everything?’
‘I expect you’re about to have a go at me, so I thought I’d simply get a headstart.’
They walked along the headland to a small, bustling café at the top of the cliff. They ordered two mugs of tea and some Victoria sponge, and sat on a wooden picnic bench outside.
‘So,’ said Adam, poking at his sponge. ‘What do you want to discuss?’