“The first thing to do…” It was Vicky Towers who spoke suddenly and to the great relief of the three men in the room. “The first thing, is to clear out the fish, and repair whatever fault has occurred. Let’s not forget we may have live electricity still in the fish pool.”
Redmond grabbed the lifeline with alacrity. “Miss Towers is right. Smith and Pegg, you two get it cleared up and meet back here in say an hour. We can decide what needs to be done then.”
He didn’t add, “…and you two will be sorry if anything else goes wrong…” But they all felt the words in the air.
Cradled in each other’s arms, lying on top of the bed, the Toomey’s were sated and happy. She felt a warm glow, despite the ceiling fan, he was satisfied and was making her laugh with stories about his father and his business dealings. At times like this, when they were alone, and Stephen felt hidden from the pressures of his father’s expectations, he was nearly the man Grace had dreamed of as she was growing up in the village in Berkshire; when she and her friends had fantasised about what their future husband’s would be like.
Stephen felt safe with her, able to open up more than with anyone else he had met. Only with Grace did he feel confident enough to mock his father, to tell stories about him that did not paint the old man as a heroic knight. In many ways he knew Grace was like his mother. Both women were gentle and kind, and slightly in awe of Toomey senior. As Stephen was a lot in awe of him he welcomed the small deference Grace seemed to show to him, as it was echoed somewhat in the way she would act towards Stephen.
“The swimming pool looks fantastic,” Grace said. She was holding the brochure, high above both their heads as they lay on their backs on the bed. “Apparently it’s fed by pipes directly from the sea, and then the water is refined so it isn’t all salty.”
“I thought we could go for a swim in the morning. Get away from the others for a while.”
“We can go tonight.” Grace turned towards him, her robe opening fractionally. “After dinner, skinny dipping.”
Stephen started to think of a reason why not, but then decided to indulge her, knowing when it came to the act itself, she would be too aware of the possibility of others coming in and seeing them.
Grace only suggested it because she knew if it seemed remotely likely to become a reality Stephen would find a reason why they couldn’t.
Darkness was falling over the jungle outside, a liquid coating of black syrup, sweetly scented and sticky despite the onset of evening. Birds sang in the trees, beckoning in night, and with it the stars and the shadows.
Three shadows moved outside the Toomey’s bungalow. Long and sleek shadows, almost formless amongst the trees, almost shapeless amongst the puddles of shade created by the hovering moon.
There was a drone of mosquito wings in the air; each bungalow and all the rooms in the central building were fitted with electronic devices to keep them out. A staccato noise of crickets was barely audible through the closed door of the bungalow. Occasionally the shriek of a monkey would rent the shroud of serenity that was draped over the jungle and birds would fly irritably into the dark sky, their wings flapping like coat tails, and their cries like torment.
“It’s almost six thirty,” Stephen said. “I’m going to get dressed for dinner.”
He walked to the ceiling high wardrobe and opened the door to select his clothes. One of the local girls, who doubled as waitresses and as maids, had unpacked the suitcases earlier.
“I’m starving,” Grace said, stretching on the bed.
With pale yellow eyes glinting back in the reflection of the glass of the window, a tall grey shape peered in and surveyed the figure on the bed. It had seen creatures like these before, and knew the damage they had caused. The other shadows had moved to the back door of the bungalow, looking to seek entrance. The shape by the window communicated with them, in the ancient way they had evolved, to cease.
As Grace stood from the bed and theatrically removed her robe, she was unaware of the three pairs of yellow eyes that reflected from the window before merging back into the shadows of the trees.
“Thanks for getting me off the hook,” Redmond said to Vicky Towers.
She smiled but it was tense smile, and it somehow made him feel tired.
“We need to find out why the fish were killed. If it is a wiring fault then the whole circuit will need to be checked,” she murmured.
Redmond stood from behind his desk and went over to where Vicky was half standing, half sitting against a filing cabinet.
“I had to buy some of the materials at cut price or the budget would have been blown weeks ago.” Redmond sounded like a small boy wrapping up a lie in justification for his actions, and knowing his mother would have none of it.
Vicky knew what was coming and couldn’t decide if she had the energy to play along or not tonight.
“Pegg and Smith are no fools. They know the difference between good and bad material.”
Redmond had moved one hand to rest it on Vicky’s shoulder. He was massaging his fingers into the area near her neck. “Just so long as they do as they are told, and don’t argue.” He manoeuvred his body behind Vicky’s and used both hands to manipulate her neck.
“What do you think of the three couples?” Vicky asked, and hoped the business like attitude would penetrate.
Redmond winced as her tone rebuffed him, but his fingers kept up their gentle kneading, their compliant pleading. “The Toomey’s are a typical honeymoon couple, no money themselves, but their purchase has already been underwritten by his father. He runs that textile conglomerate out of Wokingham. The other two are not so easy to guess. The Grant’s are what, mid-thirties? no kids, so perhaps this is a kind of investment for the future for them. Their finances are sound, they both have good careers. They’ll buy. The Martin’s I’m not so sure about.”
Vicky took the opportunity to reach for the Martin’s file in the cabinet, the action of which separated her neck from Redmond’s fingers. He gave no indication it mattered at all.
“Their money situation is sound as well.” Vicky read from the file. “This is probably a second home, a holiday home, possibly for retirement – he’s a lot older than she is.”
There was a knock on the door and Adam Pegg entered.
“Where’s Smith?” Redmond asked.
Adam frowned. “Still finishing the fish job.”
Redmond sat at his desk. Vicky resumed her position of interested onlooker by the filing cabinet.
“What’s the verdict?” Vicky said.
Looking at each of them in turn, Adam shrugged but said quietly. “The wiring was sound.” Redmond started to say something but Pegg continued. “Or should have been. It had been chewed through. That was what caused it to short out, and kill the fish.”
“Chewed?” Redmond offered. “Rats do you mean?”
Snorting with a burst of mirthless laughter Adam said, “Not rats. Something bigger.”
The main building was centred around the glass-domed dining room. Discreet lighting allowed it to be bright without glare, to have space without seeming soul-less, to be intimate and yet afford privacy. It was perfectly done; the Corporation had spent the majority of the budget on image and style. If some of the actual construction was like a house built on sand, it was at least expensive sand.
Four local girls, and two local men were hovering as the client couples began to emerge from the night. Drinks were proffered, and canapés were enticed before them, possibly fresh ones since the afternoon.
Jack and Emma Grant were the first to emerge from the privacy of the night. They had spent the afternoon reading the literature about the complex, relaxing, and generally trying to avoid the subject they both wanted to talk about.
As the bright lights washed over them, Emma held firm to Jack’s arm, squeezed it even tighter. “We’re the first,” she hissed, under her breath, very conscious all the waiters were looking at her.
“Someone’s got to be first,” Jack said, so
unding more confident than he felt, but not really caring.
He took two glasses of champagne from the nearest tray and gave one to Emma. “Drink it quickly, the first will always make you relax.”
“I am relaxed.” But she drank it quickly all the same.
Jack did the same and took two more glasses. “Let’s hover by the bar, it seems a logical place for people to congregate.”
One of the local girls was serving behind the bar, and she gave them a beaming smile as they approached. Vicky Towers was already there, nursing a long orange drink, with a cocktail umbrella and swizzle stick in it. She offered them a drink, but with an inclination of his head Jack indicated they were fine. Jack had always revelled in the company of females, much preferring the way they were open about their feelings. Just recently though he had found this clarity too honest, the need to shield his thoughts more prevalent.
“So what do you think of your bungalow?” Vicky Towers addressed herself to Emma, sensing that Jack had already switched his attention away.
Emma was glad of normal conversation. Much too often recently her talk with Jack had been of serious subjects, emotional content high. She felt the need to relax and talk trivia.
“Really nice. We liked the space; it’s all so light and airy.”
Vicky smiled, genuinely pleased. It was her trademark, one that set her apart from the more businesslike Redmond. It would stop her progressing to the top of the management tree in her career jungle, but it made her a nicer person.
“We spent a lot of time, before a single brick was laid, even before a single tree was cleared, making sure the design was right. We want this complex to be homely but with every luxury.”
“It’s expensive though.” Jack was up at the bar already ordering another drink.
If Vicky was annoyed, she didn’t show it. “Only if you can’t afford it.”
The diversion was elegantly timed. The Toomey’s walked into the dining room. Emma, who hadn’t spoken to them before looked up and waved them over. Jack stared fixedly at the rows of bottles shining like angel’s tongues behind the bar.
“Hi,” Grace Toomey beamed as Stephen checked the others were all right for drinks before ordering two gin slings. “We just adore the bungalow.”
“That’s great,” Vicky said. “Did you enjoy the fruit basket we left for you?”
“Oh, we enjoyed everything,” Grace said with a blush in her voice. “It’s so quiet here.”
“The island is virtually uninhabited, as I mentioned before.” Vicky made sure she included both women as she was talking. “Fishermen still use the beach on the south west side of the island. It’s about half a mile from here. There’s good swimming there as well.”
Stephen Toomey handed his wife her drink and sauntered across to where Jack was staring at the huge dining table that was laid out with a king’s splendour.
“How’s it going?” he began conversationally.
Jack took a long swallow from his drink. “Getting better.”
Stephen looked into his own drink, and then raising his head slightly, said, “You don’t mind me saying but you seem to be here under sufferance. Aren’t you keen on the bungalow idea?”
A dozen responses jostled in Jack’s mind, but he had no wish to share his private life with a stranger. Even if he and the stranger may end up as neighbours in adjoining properties. “The bungalow is fine, I don’t enjoy the hard sell that goes with it I suppose.”
Stephen laughed. “That Redmond sounds like a quote from a commercial the minute he opens his mouth.”
“Would you buy a used car from this man?”
“Get one while stocks last.”
“The opportunity of a lifetime.”
Both men sipped their drinks between raucous laughter. For Jack it was the first time he had opened up and had a carefree laugh for as long as he could remember. The noise of their merriment drew amused looks from the three women at the bar, although Emma’s amusement was tinged with some jealousy.
The mood changed as Oliver Redmond came around the end of the bar and announced rather formally that dinner was served.
“What about the Martin’s?” Grace queried.
“They’re already in their seats.” Redmond indicated with an imperious wave of his hand.
Seated at the splendid dining table Leo and Sybella Martin gave every impression that they were the only diners at an intimate corner table in a low lighted, discreet restaurant, instead of the first guests at a sumptuously laid, lavish table with the other diners looking on as they approached.
Redmond began to make a fuss that the Martin’s were sitting next to each other, whereas the elegantly embossed place settings indicated that couples were separated. Sybella’s look, as Redmond mentioned this to her, made it obvious she thought such an arrangement foolish. The others kept to the seating plan as best they could, with Jack ending up next to Leo, and Emma next to Sybella.
Although the waiters and waitresses were local people the chef had been lured away from a top Paris hotel, and as such the meal was rich, varied, and delicious. Wine flowed easily and despite the newness of the group to one another, or perhaps because of it, conversation was loud and animated. Even Redmond began to loosen his pomposity a little, as though the intake of food made it too tight for comfort.
“Where did you two meet?” Vicky Towers asked Grace Toomey.
As with so much Grace deferred her reply until her husband had spoken. “Will you tell them or shall I, love?” he said.
“I was Stephen’s secretary at work,” Grace began by way of answer. “It was the classic looks over the filing cabinets, fingers lingering just a moment too long when we passed a piece of work to one another.”
“How romantic,” Sybella purred.
Stephen wrested the attention back, though inelegantly. “My father owned the company and he was a bit concerned that Grace and I weren’t suited…”
“You mean he thought you weren’t good enough for him.” Leo spoke softly to Grace.
“Not at all,” Stephen bridled. “It was just he knew I would take over the firm one day, and wanted…anyway, we soon convinced him we were in love and he relented.”
“Good of him.” It was Jack who intruded the note of sarcasm. Emma gave him a withering look but he pretended not to notice.
To change the subject Emma asked Redmond, “The pilot isn’t joining us?”
“No, he will have arranged re-fuelling and then flown back tonight.”
“Is the helicopter the only means in and out?”
Redmond poured some more red wine into his glass as the desserts were served. “It’s the mode of transport we use the most. There is a beach on the south side where you can land a boat, and the fishermen bring their boats up quite close to the complex, but they are pretty shallow bottomed.”
“The boats, not the fishermen.” Vicky Towers laughed.
A companionable silence settled like a familiar scent over the group as they admired their desserts. Behind the bar was empty, adding to the eerie atmosphere of isolation that was creeping up on them, an uninvited guest at the banquet. A parody of cordiality, with false cheer, and unwelcome intent.
“My mother was born here,” Sybella suddenly announced.
Nobody quite knew what to say. Redmond’s first thought, fortunately unspoken, was that she didn’t have the look of a local. The islanders were dark skinned, a rich rum colour, with skin that glowed with an eternal sheen. Then when he studied her more closely he could see some local characteristics. The rich black hair, the slight oval shape to the eyes, the golden glow of the skin. Not for the first time he wondered how a man like Martin had attracted such a beauty, and how he kept her.
“My father was a marine biologist and came here in the fifties on a project. My mother was the eldest daughter of the king of the ruling tribe and there was quite a scandal about her and dad. Permission had to be sought from the ancient gods before the king would let his daughter marry a white man.”
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“Now that is romantic,” Grace said emphatically.
“On the day of the wedding there was a partial eclipse of the sun and the tribesman took it as a sign that the marriage was evil. Mother and father managed to escape back to the project’s ship, moored offshore, but the king was overthrown; which meant he was sacrificed as an apology for allowing an unholy union.”
“Is that why you’ve come back?” Emma asked quietly. “To see where your parents met?”
“Partly. Partly that, and partly to say my own apology to the gods. You see I was conceived here, just before the wedding. My mother always believed it was that sin that angered the gods and brought about her father’s death.”
“Anyone want more wine?” Redmond lifted a new bottle high into the air.
Sybella swivelled in her seat so that she was facing him. “Those standing stones you moved were the ones my grandfather was tied to and left as a sacrifice.”
“Well let’s hope I haven’t angered the gods too much,” Redmond countered, his gaze dropping away before Sybella blinked.
There was a smash of glass and Leo moved his chair back as quickly as he could. His wineglass was lying in shards on the floor. “Damn!”
Sybella was comforting him before anyone else was aware his fingers were bleeding. She cradled his hands to her chest, whispering in his ear, stroking his face.
The others were to varying degrees embarrassed. At the tenderness the couple showed to one another, and at the attention that had been drawn to Leo’s hands. Cloaked in thin white gloves, that the hands were misshapen was obvious. Probably arthritic most of them had guessed. Little wonder, they thought, that he dropped a glass.
Two of the waitresses cleared up the spillage and the diversion was sufficient for the party to break up. Sybella led Leo away in the general direction of the bathrooms, while Emma went across to the open French doors, “to watch the night.”
“I’ll get some coffee organised,” Redmond announced, and Vicky began to chat to the Toomey’s about office romances.
Echoes of Darkness Page 2