He asks for two espressos, which the bartender produces at a pace that would never be tolerated in the UK. I notice new tables and chairs have arrived since last summer, the place increasingly polished. Dex and I finally chink our espresso cups, toasting each other’s good health. I can feel the man’s gaze assessing me as he takes his first sip. Dex is one of those people you can never quite read.
‘There’s not much to report,’ he says. ‘The scenery doesn’t change. People still come here for a good time. How about you? Why have you neglected us for so long?’
‘I went home for the princess’s funeral. There were things to sort out.’
Dexter nods at a framed picture of Princess Margaret above the bar. It was taken in her thirties, when she looked more like a movie star than a member of the royal family. ‘This place came alive when she was here, dancing with you and Lord Blake.’
‘What’s happened to her house?’
‘Les Jolies Eaux sold a few months ago, to a French businessman. The guy lives like a monk.’
‘Pity, that place is built for entertaining.’
‘The whole island’s excited about Miss Lily’s party, in two weeks’ time. I hear they’ve laid on extra staff to get the beach ready and rig the stage for music. She’ll have the time of her life. Not every girl gets a serenade from Mick Jagger when she turns twenty-one.’
‘He’s written a song for her, apparently.’
‘Mr Jagger’s another one that makes this place buzz.’ He studies me again. ‘I hear Miss Lily’s project’s going well. They talk about it on the radio, saying it will help the local economy.’
‘Is everyone behind it?’
‘Some fishermen in Lovell say they’ve been tending that reef their whole lives, then the Revival project starts up again, and the girl takes all the credit for doing her mother’s work. It sounds like stupid bitterness to me.’
‘It could explain why someone painted die like the coral on the side of her boat.’
Dexter blinks at me in surprise. ‘Anyone with a brain knows she cares about it, just like her mama. She’s using her science knowledge to put things right. I see how much good she’s doing whenever I dive.’
‘They left the graffiti last week, before Amanda Fortini went missing.’
‘I heard rumours about that. Hasn’t she been found?’
‘Not yet. You’ve been on the island all summer, Dex. Have you ever seen anyone bothering her?’
Dex hesitates, like he’s weighing up the pros and cons of telling the truth. ‘Tommy Rothmore, one time. The boy came in here shouting abuse and swinging his fists, steaming drunk. He’s normally so serious and polite, but he’s been out of control since his parents went back to the UK. I felt sorry for him, so I walked him home. He’s kept his temper ever since, but he watches her sometimes.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Like a child looking at the sun. You want to remember that golden beauty forever, even though it will send you blind. It might be worth the pain, just to look for one more second.’ He looks troubled.
‘You’ve got hidden talents,’ I tell him. ‘That sounds like poetry.’
‘He should move on, but he can’t tear himself away.’
Our conversation ends abruptly when Dex’s party of novice divers arrive, all clutching wetsuits and snorkels, keen to get started. I move outdoors to the shade of a cabana, sipping my ice-cold water. Dex Adebayo’s words stay in my mind; I’ve known the Rothmores for years. They were one of the first couples to buy a villa from us in the early days, so it will take a lot of convincing to persuade me that their only son would hurt his ex-girlfriend, or scrawl a vicious message on Lily’s boat. It’s just possible the boy has lost his senses. A mixture of curiosity and concern churn in my stomach as I hurry home to ring the Rothmores’ villa.
I don’t know why tension hits me when I walk through a thick stand of trees. I normally love inhaling the sweet scent of decaying leaves, with overgrown ferns brushing my calves as I follow the path, but I can tell someone’s watching me. It’s a sense I developed from looking after Princess Margaret, my antennae always raised, in case she received unwelcome attention. When I come to a standstill, there’s no one on the path in either direction, no breeze to disturb the undergrowth. I see him only when I stare into the jungle’s depths, spotting his face in a sea of green. Jose Gomez is gazing at me intently, but when I call out his name, he vanishes like a puff of smoke.
9
DS NILE IS stuck inside the police station again. His air-conditioning unit is still making a loud coughing sound, but producing no cold air. The noise is so irritating he feels like tearing the machine from its shelf and hurling it outside, but that would end his probation period in dramatic style. He’s been knocking his head against a wall of frustrations. The first person he wants to see is Tommy Rothmore; if anyone has hurt Amanda Fortini, her angry ex-boyfriend is the best place to start, but the young man isn’t answering his phone.
Nile has spent the last hour waiting for his boss in St Vincent to email a search warrant for the yacht that’s still moored in Britannia Bay, but none has arrived. He studies the vessel’s details again. The Aqua Dream was built in Monte Carlo. It’s sixty metres long, an elite-class mega-yacht, fully ocean-worthy, with an immense fuel tank, eliminating the need for frequent shore stops. It sold two years ago for thirty million dollars, registered to a company called Aqua Dream Ltd, with a South American business licence, but no Internet presence. He’s checked the boat licences for the Bayrider speedboats owned by Dr Bunbury and Basil’s Bar, but the launch Mama Toulaine saw the morning Amanda Fortini was swimming in Britannia Bay may well have come from the yacht. It may even have travelled out to meet her, and she could be on the vessel right now, but he’s powerless to act. Nile’s shoulders twitch as he stares at the printout again. He needs to question the ship’s crew as to whether they saw Amanda Fortini on the morning she disappeared. He can hear the Layton brothers braying with laughter through the closed door, and feels certain he’s the butt of their joke. There’s no point in twiddling his thumbs until the warrant arrives, so he sets off to speak to the island’s only priest.
The church lies on the plain at the centre of Mustique, close to the airport. Nile envies the pastor his workplace when the Bamboo Church comes into sight. It’s overshadowed by the elephant tree, which appears in every guidebook. The baobab must be hundreds of years old, its massive trunk listing steeply to one side. Its bark is grey and powdery with age, and a long branch skims the ground, like an elephant drinking from a pool. Nile remembers climbing the tree as a child, pretending to be a mahout riding his elephant through a jungle, until the old pastor chastised him for fooling around on the Sabbath. The church is a simple open-sided structure, roofed with bamboo poles, to keep the congregation dry if a tropical rainstorm hits during services. The only furniture it contains is a simple table used as an altar and thirty or forty wooden pews.
Nile spots the pastor straight away, in a clearing beside the church. He’s applying varnish to one of the benches. Pastor Boakye has abandoned his black suit and dog collar, dressed now in shorts and a paint-splashed T-shirt. He looks awkward when the detective approaches, as if he’s embarrassed to be caught doing a menial job. Nile doesn’t know him well, but they’re around the same age, and he’s listened to several of his evangelical sermons, because his father can no longer make the journey here alone. Boakye has spoken about arriving from Lagos six months ago, his bishop requiring him to leave Nigeria and travel to far-flung places as part of his mission. The priest’s manner is so effusive and eager to please, he seems determined to prove his worth.
Pastor Boakye approaches with hand outstretched like he’s planning to draw him into the fold, but Nile is a lost cause. The detective has concealed his atheism until now, but it’s only a matter of time before Hosea guesses the truth.
‘Good to see you, Solomon. Have you come to help me smarten this place up?’
‘Not today I’m afraid. I need your help
, Father, if you have a minute.’
‘Of course, all the time in the world.’ The priest leads him to a shady bench.
‘I’m looking for Amanda Fortini. I understand she came here recently, to speak to you.’
The pastor gives a rapid nod. ‘She’s dropped by several times, even though she’s a Catholic and the church is Baptist. Amanda asked for spiritual guidance, but I can’t break her confidence, I’m afraid.’
‘Please talk openly; her friends are very concerned.’
‘I can only say that she’s been having difficulties.’
‘Amanda’s been missing around forty-eight hours, Father. She may be in danger.’
‘I want to help, but she’ll be upset about me discussing her secrets.’ The priest looks uncomfortable. ‘Amanda was worried about her relationship with a man. She’d rejected a boyfriend who cared deeply, because she was drawn to someone else. She said he’s unpredictable, even dangerous. She was trying to find the courage to stop seeing him.’
‘Did she say his name?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ The priest shades his eyes, his expression regretful.
‘This place must seem tiny to you, after Lagos.’
Pastor Boakye smiles. ‘Everyone deserves God’s love, no matter where they live. Shall we say a prayer for Amanda together, to bring her home safe?’
Nile freezes in his seat. ‘I’m not a believer. I bring my father to services, but I stopped attending church years ago.’
‘Is there a reason for that?’
‘I lost my faith overnight.’
‘That sounds painful, Solomon. Remember I’m here if you ever want to talk.’ The priest leans forward in his seat. ‘Would you like me to request God’s help on your behalf?’
‘If you wish, Father. I have to get back to work.’
‘Come again, any time, if the past burdens you.’
The detective rises to his feet, blurting out a quick thank-you before he leaves. The reason for his loss of belief is too ugly to explain. It’s easier to hunt for Amanda Fortini than revisit the past.
10
THE ATMOSPHERE FEELS peaceful when I get back to Eden House, and I’ve already pushed my gardener’s odd behaviour to the back of my mind. Wesley manages a professional smile when I announce my intention to freshen up before lunch, but I call the Rothmores’ villa from the landline first. There must be a simple explanation why Tommy doesn’t pick up, because people are easy to find on Mustique. The manager at the Cotton House sounds apologetic when she explains that the young man hasn’t visited for ages. The last time he ate in their restaurant was with his parents, before they flew home last month.
I intend to enjoy my lunch with Phillip, whatever happens next. There’s a danger that Amanda’s absence will overtake my life, when I should focus on organising Lily’s party, but I hate abandoning a puzzle before it’s solved. I put my concern aside when I go upstairs I’ve always enjoyed applying make-up, like an actor preparing to go on stage; my favourite Chanel lipstick is a great morale boost. I’m satisfied with the results once my makeover is complete, hiding my anxiety from view.
Phillip is waiting when I go back downstairs. He’s still my most glamorous friend, even now. No wonder women and men, young and old, still fall at his feet. His black linen shirt, grey trousers and beach shoes may look relaxed, but they probably cost a fortune. The man’s wardrobe heaves with Balmain suits and Italian merino jumpers. He is leaning on the balustrade, watching the sea, his face lighting up at the sight of me. The actor’s arrival has restored Wesley’s spirits too; my butler arrives with both maids following him like a retinue. He places a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket with a flourish, then discreetly backs away. I’ve realised over the years that Wesley only gets angry because he’s a perfectionist, which involves meticulous planning, so spur-of-the-moment changes trigger full-scale panic. Phillip seems wonderfully relaxed by contrast, lounging back in his chair.
‘It’s great having you here, Vee. Everyone else bores me senseless, or forgets I exist. Never leave, will you?’
‘I’m tempted, but my roots lie deep in Norfolk soil.’
‘I won’t let you board a plane for months. Have you seen Jose yet?’
‘He was wandering round the garden last night. I spoke to him this morning, but it hasn’t made a jot of difference. He followed me to Basil’s just now.’
‘What’s got into him? He’s always been so reliable.’
‘Let’s hope it ends soon. Tell me what’s been happening here, Phil. I’ve been away so long.’
His eyes glitter, my friend’s expression suddenly darkening. ‘All manner of strange antics, my dear. Affairs, spats, illicit business deals. Did I mention that I’ve taken up yoga?’
‘Is this a mid-life crisis?’
‘Mine ended years ago, thank God.’ He looks amused. ‘Come and join me. There’s a class every Friday morning at Keith Belmont’s place.’
‘I’m surprised he’s got the energy; his last bride was sixteen, wasn’t she?’
‘The man’s got even more skeletons in his closet than me.’
‘You never talk about yours, but I’d love to hear.’
‘I’d never burden you with the sordid details. I was an ugly, obnoxious child. My poor siblings had a hellish time.’
‘Nonsense, I’m sure you were adorable.’
‘I was a monster, believe me. Heaven knows why my parents waited until I was sixteen to reject me. I don’t blame them for one minute.’
I remember Phillip telling me that he was estranged from his family at a young age, but I know it hurts him to discuss it, so I revert to our earlier topic of conversation.
‘It still baffles me why you spend time with Keith Belmont.’
Phillip stifles a laugh. ‘He may not be your cup of tea, but I adore the old roué. He’s been my partner in crime while you’ve been away, although the guy’s turned over a new leaf. He wants to help Lily’s coral project. He’s promised a big donation if he can get more involved.’
‘I’d take that with a pinch of salt. I don’t trust his motives.’
‘Keith’s the same as me, always looking for entertainment. Old rock stars become obsolete like actors,’ he says, his voice suddenly tinged with bitterness.
‘Aren’t you going to the States soon? I read that you’re doing something huge in Hollywood?’
‘It fell through, which is a pity, even though star billing is a thing of the past. The director cast me as the star’s dad.’ His smile fades suddenly. ‘It’s the same here; I seem to be going out of fashion at a rate of knots, but it means I can stay till the end of the year.’
‘Can’t you make the film yourself?’
‘I can’t rely on the film industry any more, so I’m staying put until an Oscar-winning script lands on my doormat. I’m not having some bastard director casting me as an old fool.’ Phillip’s eyes gleam with anger, reminding me of his sensitivity; a single unkind remark can cut him to the quick, but he soon regains his composure.
‘I’ve noticed something interesting. You normally have a pack of cigarettes on the table, to fondle, if not actually use. Did you finally give up?’
‘Three months ago, but I still keep a packet at home, in case of desperation. I’ve cut down on the booze too.’ He touches my wrist. ‘Tell me about you, Vee. You’re free at last, no longer a lady-in-waiting. You can step into the limelight.’
‘It doesn’t feel real. I keep expecting a summons from the palace.’
My old friend’s shrewd gaze assesses me again. ‘What did the job teach you?’
‘Observation skills, mainly. I had to read situations fast, to make sure the princess had the right type of coffee, white cotton gloves, and her favourite whisky. I even introduced her to Roddy Llewellyn.’
‘Do you ever regret sacrificing all that time?’
‘It was a pleasure most days. We were friends since childhood, and she gave me so many adventures. I visited dozens of obscure countries on royal
tours, and she could be tremendous fun.’ My friend’s gaze remains serious. ‘Can we swim this afternoon, Phil? I’ve been for a dip already, but I’m aching to get back in the water.’
‘I’ll come to the beach gladly, but only to sunbathe. I’ve had a wretched ear infection for weeks. The doctor’s keeping me on dry land, and banished me from long-haul flights.’
‘That sounds miserable, you poor soul.’
‘Life’s changing too fast, Vee. I’m not ageless like you, more’s the pity. Whenever I go to parties I feel ancient. The youngsters see me as a washed-up old dinosaur.’
‘Nonsense, darling. Men grow distinguished as they age.’
He suddenly relaxes again, releasing his infectious laugh. ‘You’d make a great diplomat.’
Our lunch becomes fun after another glass of champagne, with plenty of flirtation and laughter, but I can tell Phillip’s below par, so I keep the conversation light. He’s the island’s best gossip, telling me about affairs between villa owners, their misjudged financial ventures, and the plans for the island. The island’s enchantment lies in its tranquillity; I hope it will keep its charm forever.
The conversation shifts back to Amanda Fortini as we finish pudding. ‘Have you seen much of her this summer, Phil?’
‘I’ve been giving her French lessons; she’s planning a big trip to Paris, to buy art for her gallery. I’m sorely tempted to tag along. She’s getting quite fluent, the girl’s a smart cookie.’
When I tell Phillip about trying to get hold of Tommy Rothmore, his eyes widen. He witnessed the ugly scene Dexter described in Basil’s a few weeks ago, when the young man staggered in drunk, yelling abuse, and throwing punches. His relationship with Amanda had ended several weeks before, yet he still seemed furious.
‘Tommy would never hurt a woman, surely?’
Phillip looks away. ‘Anyone can lash out under pressure.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘His parents expect him to manage the Rothmore Foundation, which is worth billions. It’s a heavy burden for such a young guy. Maybe that’s why Amanda broke up with him. She enjoys her inheritance, but Tommy’s weighed down by responsibilities. Plus, he’s just lost the girl he loved. I know from experience that heartbreak can turn us all into monsters.’
Murder On Mustique Page 6