“I might get in touch with him,” said Danielle. “His name is Earl. He’s a life guard on the beach at St James’s. You may have seen him around.”
So Danielle could get in touch with him, a life guard on one of Barbados’ many beaches. Perhaps she had his mobile phone number. Everyone in Barbados seemed to own a mobile.
“I’m going for a swim,” said Holly, desperate to get away.
“Look at the photographs from the hairdresser first. Do you like any of them?”
Holly flicked through the brochure of wedding hair-dos. They were impressive for any bride. Elaborately piled hair with flowers or diamonds, ringlets and curls. They hired out coronets and tiaras. Nothing was plain and simple. It was all big hair.
“Wow,” said Holly, starting to gabble. “Quite a choice. I like that one. Both would suit your golden angel hair. If you still have your angel hair. Are you planning to change it? This one looks good too. Very elegant.”
“What about your hair?”
“Lily is going to help me.”
“Heaven forbid. You’ll end up with braids and beads.”
“How about this design for you?” Holly was not going to get into an argument.
“That’s exactly the one I thought,” Danielle beamed. “Great minds. Now be careful. Don’t swim out too far. Remember the rip tide. I can’t find a chief bridesmaid so late before the wedding,” Danielle laughed.
Holly hurried down the steps through the garden. Danielle might have to find a replacement bridesmaid if she got a flight cancellation. The beach was deserted, a glorious space of untouched white sand. A few sandpipers paddled in the baby wavelets brushing the shore. The takamaka trees whispered their sad lullaby.
She threw off her towel. She needed this swim to clear her mind. She would not go out too far. No stupid heroics. No handsome Earl around to rescue her. Not a single lifeguard on a private beach. No Hello! magazine taking life-saving shots.
Holly found a smile as she waded through the shallows. She was going to survive. She would leave Barbados as soon as possible. Someone else could heave that billowing train over the sand to the arbour of takamaka trees.
She dived into the waves letting the water take the heat out of her mind. She opened her eyes under the water to enjoy the flying fishy shapes in their ballet.
Holly returned to the terrace, wet and bedraggled but refreshed, to find Luke sitting with Danielle. He stood up as she appeared at the top of the steps.
“Thank you for the hurricane contact,” he said. “He sounds just the sort of person I want to interview. Do you think he might let me film him?”
“You must ask him yourself,” said Holly, wrapping the towel round her for modesty.
“Would you like to come with me?” he asked. “You could take a few notes.”
“Like a little slave?” said Holly, reminding him again of those London television days.
“More like an efficient production assistant,” he said. He had a feeling that both women were getting at him. Danielle did not look in the least interested.
“Go on, Holly,” said Danielle. “Keep the big man happy. Go and talk to this old survivor. Luke wouldn’t even look at these photographs. I’ve masses to do. We’re going to a ball this evening at the Grant’s house.”
This was the first Holly had heard about it. “Am I invited?”
“Of course,” said Danielle. “We are all invited. And Luke, if he can tear himself away from his work.”
Holly thought of the contents of her holiday wardrobe. “I don’t have anything suitable to wear. I didn’t bring a long dress, only that black cocktail dress.”
Danielle looked at Holly shrewdly. “And none of my clothes will fit you,” she said. “You are so tall.”
“Maybe a long skirt…?”
“You can’t go to a ball in a skirt,” said Danielle flippantly. “It would look ridiculous. I can’t have my bridesmaid looking ridiculous. Everyone would be laughing at me.”
“I’ll stay here at Tiger Bay House. Write postcards, send Sadie an email.”
“OK. Do what you like.” Danielle flounced upstairs. It would take her several hours to get ready for a ball.
“I think we’ve time to go and see this old gentleman before it gets dark,” said Luke. “I’d like you to come with me. I’ll wait by the car while you get changed.”
“Thanks,” said Holly, escaping upstairs. She wanted to know more about life on Barbados, the hardship, the hurricanes. Life was not all barbecues, parties, balls.
*
Hephzibah Jones was waiting for them in a rocking chair on the veranda of his painted home on Coffin Street. He was a grizzled old man, hair as white as snow, so many wrinkles on his face that it looked like a road map. He was smoking a pipe, his bright eyes twinkling behind a cloud of smoke.
“Welcome, welcome,” he said, coughing through the smoke. “My grand-daughter, Eva, told me you were coming. It’s real nice to see you. So you’re making a television programme about our hurricanes? That’s some job, if you ask me. Not many of us left who remember the really bad ones.”
“It’s really kind of you to see us, Mr Jones,” said Luke. “This is my assistant, Holly Gray.”
Holly shook his hand, smiled at him. He grinned back, almost toothless.
“Call me Jonesy. No one can pronounce my first name. I think it was a joke. My papa was one for jokes. Welcome, Miss Holly. Take a seat. Eva will be bringing us out some refreshments. I don’t get many visitors.”
“That’s very kind, but we don’t want to be any trouble.”
Holly barely recognized the travel clerk. Eva had changed out of her smart agency uniform and was wrapped in a colourful sarong. Her black hair was loose round her shoulders. She carried a tray with a jug of home-made rum punch and plastic glasses. There was a plate of fruit and biscuits.
Jonesy looked at the tray with relish. “I’d better put out the fire in this pipe while you good folks help yourself.”
Jonesy’s story was one of a terrified little boy, cowering from one of the worst hurricanes in history. Luke and Holly were entranced by the story that poured from the old man. Jonesy had the gift of reliving every moment and emotion as if it happened only yesterday. Holly could see that Luke would use the boy’s dramatic survival in his programme.
“I’z was terrified in that hole. I could hear debris flying about. I could hear trees falling. My mouth was full of earth. I couldn’t get no breath, I could hardly swallow. I didn’t know where my gran’pappy was. Time grew longer and longer.”
Holly made notes. She knew Luke would use every detail and every detail had to be correct. She wondered if she would ever see the programme. She could hardly ask Luke to keep in touch when she was about to walk out on his wedding.
“It was a miracle,” said Jonesy, throwing up his hands. “A miracle.”
“It was a miracle that you survived,” said Luke. “How did they find you?”
“Now that’s another story, man. I dug myself out with my bare hands.”
Holly drank some of the home-made punch. It certainly had a kick. Maybe her notes would be a little garbled. It was so perfect being here with Luke.
“Come again, folks,” said Jonsey. “I got lots more stories to tell.”
*
Back at Tiger Bay House, Holly went straight to her bedroom. She would spend a quiet evening reading. Luke had little time to change for the ball, unlike Danielle, who was still getting ready. If this was how long she took to get ready for a ball, how long would it take her to dress for her wedding?
Holly took a shower and wrapped herself in a big towel. Maybe she would go down to the kitchen later and scrounge a sandwich. Lily might not have gone home yet. She lived with her family, only a bicycle ride away.
There was a knock on her door. “Come in,” said Holly.
Lily came in, her arms laden with clothes. Folds of satin and silk fell over her arms, some trailing on the carpet.
“Miss Holly? I hea
rd that you couldn’t go to the ball with Miss Danielle because you did not bring a ball gown. You know that Tiger Bay Plantation House was built by a French sugar trader for his wife who loved the sea? But Miranda died quite young and he was distraught. He could not throw anything of hers away. All her clothes were stored in herbs and lavender and left in the attic.”
Lily came forward and began to lay the most beautiful evening gowns on the bed, shaking out wrinkles and creases. The lace work and embroidery was intricate and delicate. The muted colours of lilac, primrose, and rose pink were still glowing and unfaded, shrouded from daylight for years.
“I wondered if you might like to wear one of these gowns,” Lily hesitated. “It would not take me long to press it. Only a few minutes.”
Holly touched the fine workmanship and wondered if she dare. Any one of these dresses would outshine anything couture that Danielle wore.
“What a wonderful idea, Lily. Thank you. Which do you think?”
“The lilac dress, miss. It would look good with your hair. Not pink with your hair. Not the primrose, too pale. Miss Danielle is wearing yellow.”
“The lilac, then. I’ll go to the ball in lilac.”
*
“Sir, sir, I’m afraid you cannot dine with the Colonel this evening.”
“Why not? I always dine with the Colonel. Table 43, port side.”
“Have you not heard? The Colonel has had an accident. He fell down the stairs to the treatment room. He is in the medical centre. He is being flown back to England by air ambulance.”
“Ye Gods, how awful. Is there anything I can do?” He fingered the Rolex on his wrist. It was worth a cool £20K. It felt good, it looked good. It was streets better than the one he had bought in London.
“No, the steward will be packing up his cabin so that his belongings can be taken back to Southampton..”
So he had been in time. He had the Colonel’s boarding pass in his pocket. He could use it to get into the cabin, to drink at the bar, to get off the ship. He only had to get off once. He would not be returning. He had people to meet, a problem to sort out. Holly was certainly a problem. She had to be sorted.
In the meantime, while the stewards were turning down the beds, putting chocolates on pillows, he might as well see if anything interesting had been left in the cabins. These wealthy passengers were so careless. He’d already found a wallet full of dollars left by the washbasin in the men’s room. No point in handing it in. Those dollars would be useful in their next stop, Bridgetown.
Those fraudulent cheques presented in London. Clearly a mistake. No trouble with bail. His court hearing was not till next month. He had plenty of time to silence Holly.
Chapter Nine
The dress had a distinctly Edwardian look. The lilac gown was made of heavy silk so that the folds of the skirt swept gracefully towards the back. The décolleté neckline was swathed in tulle, scattered with hand-made lilac silk roses. This had once belonged to Miranda, the beloved wife.
Holly simply pinned her hair back with her Pound Shop diamante slides. The dress made the most elegant swishing sound as she walked down the main stairs. Her heart was pounding. She, who was usually so calm and collected, was actually nervous of her reception.
She could hear Danielle and Luke in the hallway, getting ready to leave for the ball. Luke had hired a big limousine. His working Land Rover was hardly the right transportation for Danielle to a ball in her dress.
Danielle’s dress was a masterpiece of modern design. She needed a big car because it was a big dress. Holly recognised Dior’s romantic and gleaming gold taffeta gown with a miniscule, gold sculptured top that barely skimmed Danielle’s shoulders. Her angel hair was piled high in dramatic ringlets.
“Wait for me,” Holly called from the stairs, beginning to descend.
Danielle looked at Holly in amazement. “Where did you get that dress?” she asked sharply. “I thought you hadn’t brought anything.”
Holly wasn’t going to get Lily into trouble. “No, I hadn’t. This is island magic,” she said.
“There’s no such thing as lilac roses,” said Danielle, staring.
“There are now. It’s more island magic,” said Holly.
Danielle went rigid with envy. Holly’s elegant lilac dress was beautiful beyond words. It made Danielle’s dress look a little too opulent.
Luke came over to the rescue, immediately. “You look lovely, Holly,” he said. Then he added, under his breath, “As always. We’ve room for you in the car.”
She pretended not to hear those two words. But the limousine had arrived and Danielle was being helped into it. Her skirt took some negotiating.
The Grant’s plantation house was out on the road to Holetown. Holly sat in the front passenger seat next to Luke as Danielle needed the whole of the back seat for her huge dress.
Holly knew Danielle was annoyed. Her remarks were peppered with allusions to Barbadian magic and people who lied. Holly hadn’t lied. She had merely kept quiet. There was a difference. Holly knew the difference was slight.
The Grant’s plantation house was a blend of French and Bajan styles, using Brazilian hardwoods. It had landscaped gardens with lawns running down to the sea. Orchids, heliconias, ginger lilies, hibiscus and other flowering trees filled the night air with their perfume. The house was called Sun Crest Plantation. The money had come from sugar. Guests were arriving in droves. A swarm of houseboys were ready to park the cars
“Will you be able to get out of the car?” Luke asked Danielle. “Or do you need help?”
She had recovered her good spirits at the sight of the large white house and the mass of well-dressed guests arriving. “Yes, please, I need help,” she said sweetly. “Then we can go up the front steps together. Make a grand entrance. You and me, Luke. After all, we are the happy about-to-be-married couple.”
Holly said nothing. She could arrive by herself. No problem. She had been by herself for a long time since Jake Furrows vanished into thin air. She didn’t need male help to walk up a flight of steps.
A houseboy held open the car door and Holly got out. Her dress was no trouble. She was wearing her kitten-heeled silver sandals.
“Thank you,” she said with a smile.
“You have lovely evening,” said the boy.
“I’m sure I shall,” she said. “Thank you.”
Holly found she knew quite a few people from other occasions. Barry, the best man, looked uncomfortable in a crumpled white dinner jacket. Holly kept out of his way. He was probably still wearing jeans. This was a far cry from surfing. The Bridgetown dressmaker was sporting a voluminous dress of sequin speckled emerald satin. She looked like a hedge in full foliage. But she spotted the Edwardian lilac.
“Is that dress vintage?” she asked, sliding up to Holly. “I’d like to show it in my boutique window. Can I borrow it one day?”
“It is very old,” said Holly. “It might fall to pieces before the evening is out.”
“Now that would cause a sensation at any party. At least you are not wearing gold taffeta. Taffeta is quite out,” she sniffed. “And that sculptured top. Ridiculous.”
Danielle had obviously bought her taffeta ball gown elsewhere, not in Bridgetown. Perhaps she had it flown over from a Paris couture house or New York. Did they do mail order? Madame Latisse was not pleased. She flounced away to greet another client.
Luke came over with two flutes of champagne. “You’re not drinking,” he said. He handed one to her. “Surely we should be drinking a toast. Shall we drink a toast to successful shopping?”
“I’m scared off by the crowd at the bar. I’m not good with crowds. Where’s Danielle?” Luke looked very handsome in his white tuxedo. He was good at quick changes. There was no sign of Danielle.
“She’s chatting up the Grants. They are into real estate, you know. I expect she is dipping a toe into the current market. We can’t live at Tiger Bay Plantation House for ever. We shall have to move.”
“Why not? It
’s a beautiful house,” said Holly. “I thought it was rental.”
“Can you imagine Danielle running it? I’ve rented the house for six months. After the wedding, we’ll have to move to something smaller, more manageable.”
“Does Danielle know this?”
“I’m not sure. I’m not sure that she ever listens to what I say,” Luke suppressed a sigh. “But I believe she thinks that all she’ll have to do to run a house is sit on the patio and drink iced tea.”
And get pregnant, added Holly to herself.
“Would you like to dance?” Luke went on. There was a small dance band playing on the terrace. Couples were dancing to the beguiling beat. The music was dream-like, a breeze cooling the hot evening air.
“Shouldn’t you ask Danielle?” Holly asked.
“Problems with the dress for dancing. It’s not exactly a dancing dress,” said Luke. “And she’s talking to Barry, out famous best man.”
“Ah, rule number one in the ball gown handbook,” said Holly. “Make sure you can dance in your dress.”
There was a tiny silk loop sewn under the hem of Holly’s dress. She hooked it onto her little finger, lifting the folds of the skirt off the floor. It was a sweet agony, dancing with Luke, feeling his hand on her waist, feeling him so close, almost touching. She stared over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of strands of dark hair curling into his neck, breathing in the sweet freshness of his skin.
“Are you still going to do your programme on Barbadian music? You know, calypso and reggae?” Holly asked, trying to bring her mind down to earth. “Or have hurricanes taken precedence?”
“The money men want both so it looks as if I shall be stationed in Barbados for some months yet. We’re looking through footage of the last hurricane. There’s some good stuff that we can use. But I want more than pictures of rough seas and howling winds. I want to show how it affected people’s lives, not just in the days after but for months and years afterwards.”
“So you are going to be busy after your wedding,” said Holly. “Perhaps Danielle will be able to help you. She likes music.”
“I look forward to that.” It was a comment without expression. Holly felt a chill breeze on her bare shoulders and shivered. It came from the sea, the breeze was touched with ozone.
Dangerous Shadows Page 9