The Turtle Run

by Marie Evelyn

  ‘Whoever she is, she must have really loved him to do that week in, week out for twelve years.’

  Matthew gave her a grin as though he had reached the same conclusion earlier and was glad she’d finally caught up. ‘They probably made each other very happy,’ he said, softly.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Would you want to find out more about her?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Whoever she was she would have been left with nothing. I mean Mum got the widow’s pension. It might get too complicated.’

  ‘You may be right,’ said Matthew.’

  ‘I think so.’ She turned to him. ‘Thank you for taking me.’

  ‘But are you pleased you went?’

  ‘Definitely. I suppose it’s good to know that there was someone here who cared for him.’

  Matthew signalled left.

  ‘Do I sense a detour?’ said Becky.

  ‘Business,’ said Matthew, happily.

  ‘I’ll tell your mother on you.’

  ‘I want you to see what’s occupying my waking thoughts when I’m in Barbados.’ He gave her a look. ‘When I’m thinking about business, that is.’

  Becky had no idea what to make of that comment. She decided not to read too much into it for, although she now knew why Matthew was so driven to succeed, she hardly knew him well enough to guess what non-business thoughts occupied his mind.

  Matthew turned left up a small track and parked off to the side.

  ‘A short walk,’ he said.

  Becky got out and was delighted to find that she was already walking on sand. Although she sensed they couldn’t be far from the beach, all she could see ahead were casuarinas towering over stubby trees. As they kept going she could see palm trees and the sunlight sparkling on the water. Further to each side were gleaming white hotels, like huge teeth, facing the sea. Except there was a missing tooth where they were walking on a long, thin patch of earth, strewn with casuarina needles. Matthew stopped beside a small chattel house perched on a bed of rocks.

  ‘Ah, the chickens have gone,’ he said, sounding a little disappointed.

  ‘Chickens?’

  ‘The old lady who lived here all her life kept chickens and a goat. Every developer in the island beat a path to her door. They promised her anything she wanted: huge houses with swimming pools and heaven knows what. But she saw them all off.’

  ‘She wouldn’t sell?’

  ‘No. She liked her house, she liked her land and she said that her goat liked it here.’

  ‘Wonderful. But what changed?’

  ‘She died, sadly. Unfortunately her children don’t feel the same way about the land as she did.’

  ‘That’s a shame.’

  ‘Yes, it is. She was such a great old character. You could almost hear the gnashing of developers’ teeth every time she turned down another proposal. The bloody Carrington brothers really tried to put the pressure on. She told them to jump in the sea.’

  Becky groaned. ‘I’d forgotten. Richard’s picking me up this evening. Damn.’ She wondered if there was any way she could get out of it.

  ‘I hadn’t forgotten. I was going to wait until he turned up at seven-thirty and then set the dogs on him.’

  ‘Have you got any dogs?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Becky laughed. ‘What a shame this patch of land can’t stay as it is.’ Then she wondered if he would be offended since he was planning to build a hotel on it himself.

  ‘I know,’ he said to her surprise. ‘If I was an absurdly rich man I’d buy it and move a tenant on here with some goats and hens and a huge dog that she could set on the developers.’ He sighed. ‘Sadly, I’m not that rich. But at least if I build a hotel here I will make sure the beach stays public.’

  ‘You mean the hotels have private beaches? Are they allowed to do that?’

  ‘Not really but some will find ways to put off non-guests. Maybe the only way to access the beach is through the hotel, for example, and then you have to negotiate an obstacle course of the hotel’s furniture on the beach.’

  Becky laughed. ‘Matthew, I had no idea you had a conscience.’

  He looked hurt. ‘Of course I do. Well, a little one.’

  Becky looked out to the sea, indeed much calmer than the one she had glimpsed from Matthew’s hotel on the east coast. ‘When will you find out whether you’ve got it? It’s a sealed bid, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. The deadline is midday on Monday. I’ll submit it about an hour before. And we find out who wins on Tuesday morning. It’s all over very quickly.’

  ‘What will you do if you don’t get it?’

  ‘I haven’t really thought about it. It will be a blow to be honest, if I don’t win. It would be really helpful to have a hotel on the west coast. Then I can offer people a week at each: experience the wild Atlantic, experience the tame Caribbean Sea. I’m sure that would be attractive to many people.’

  ‘It would appeal to me.’ Though Becky was really fantasising about living in the little chattel house and running out into the blue water first thing every morning.

  ‘Anyway, I should get it,’ continued Matthew. ‘Loads of people will throw in their bids for a few thousand dollars – nothing to lose really with a sealed bid. There’s just a handful of us who will be talking serious amounts.’

  ‘And that chap at the party, Frank, was it? Is he really a contender?’

  Matthew sighed. ‘He’s serious in terms of the money he can bid but I can’t imagine his plan would get anywhere. He thinks he can build a golf course though, as you can see, it would mean golfers having to shout “Fore!” every time someone swims past unless they’re scoring points for hitting other tourists. On the plus side I suppose it would give some employment to the locals to snorkel round looking for all the lost golf balls.’

  ‘You’re quite funny, actually.’

  He looked at her. ‘Funny good or funny bad?’

  ‘Good, obviously.’ She could hear the waves swishing invitingly on to the beach. ‘Can I just get my feet wet?’ She saw a slight line of concern cross his forehead. ‘Or aren’t we supposed to be here?’

  He laughed. ‘Technically we’re trespassing but if you can do a quantum leap over the high water mark and onto the beach, then you’re legal again.’

  ‘How do I know where the high water mark is?’

  ‘That line of seaweed there. That’s as far as the tide gets.’

  Becky ran and did a series of jumps until she had cleared the seaweed line. Then she rolled up her trousers and paddled. He soon joined her – barefoot – his own trousers rolled up.

  ‘Something I’ve been meaning to ask you,’ Becky called out above the gentle chanting of the waves. ‘Why does your mother sometimes call you Mr R?’

  ‘My second name is Randerwick. As was my father’s and my grandfather’s. And if I ever have a son apparently the poor little bugger will have to have Randerwick as his second name too. My father made me promise.’

  ‘Wow, that’s amazing,’ said Becky.

  Matthew looked comically pained. ‘My mother hates the name. There’s nothing amazing about it.’

  ‘Yes there is,’ said Becky. ‘Randolph Randerwick was one of the rebels who came here in 1686. You must come from a long, long line of Randerwicks.’

  ‘God help me,’ said Matthew.

  ‘And you are infuriating.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘I asked you this morning if there was anything related to the rebels handed down in your family and you said no, nothing at all.’

  Matthew looked surprised. ‘Sorry, it never occurred to me that the name was anything but a family joke.’

  ‘So your great, great, lots of greats grandparents were Randolph Randerwick and Sarah Thomas.’

  Matthew laughed. ‘If you say so. Then where does Darnley come from?’

  ‘Possibly Randolph Randerwick took the name of the plantation owner he was assigned to, which was William Darnley.’

  ‘Really? I’m a Randerwi
ck rather than a Darnley?’

  ‘Afraid so.’

  ‘How on earth did you solve that puzzle?’

  ‘It was Cook’s idea, actually.’

  ‘Cook?’ He shook his head with admiration. ‘Congratulations to you both for finding out more about my family than we ever knew.’

  ‘And you’ve been associated with Copper Mill for over three hundred years. Isn’t that amazing?’

  ‘That is amazing. I knew it was old but I assumed it was eighteenth or early nineteenth century.’

  ‘Your family probably didn’t get to go inside back then. Wonderful irony that you own it now.’

  ‘Yes.’ He grinned. ‘I suppose you could say that it’s pretty cool.’

  Becky marvelled that they were alone, with no tourists wandering by; the beach in front of the chattel house was naturally adorned with seaweed, while the sands in front of the hotels on either side were pristine. In the distance it looked as though a pod of miniature whales had beached themselves on deck chairs. Maybe the plump tourists had eschewed this patch of land because the sand wasn’t a sterile yellow.

  ‘Do the hotels clean the beaches? I mean of seaweed?’ asked Becky.

  ‘Yes, by hand or with a special machine. Obviously they left this bit alone.’

  ‘It’s nicer.’ Becky looked up at the casuarina trees, which were whispering in the sea breeze. ‘I wish I could legally walk down to the beach just here, every day.’

  ‘Well, come Tuesday I’ll be the new owner and I might let you.’

  ‘But it’s Saturday, so as soon as I cross that line of seaweed I could be locked up in a Bajan prison?’

  ‘Yes, you would be a common criminal,’ agreed Matthew, cheerfully. ‘Whereas I could just about get away with it by saying that, as a serious bidder, I was coming down to inspect the site.’

  ‘That seems so unfair, especially when you brought me here.’

  Matthew laughed and picked her up, carrying her out of the water and up over the line of seaweed. Becky assumed he would abandon the grand gesture once they were screened by the trees but technically they were still trespassing and she was happy that he seemed in no hurry to set her down. He paused by the chattel house to sigh – though whether this was in homage to its former owner or to his own ambivalence about building a hotel on this unspoilt area Becky couldn’t tell; either way it was very endearing. He seemed oblivious to her weight in his arms, the only clue to any exertion being a lock of hair falling over his eyes. Becky automatically reached up and swept it back. Matthew grinned at her and resumed the walk to the car. He gently put her down next to the passenger door and stayed close while she found her balance but, just as Becky was wondering if it was more than a line of seaweed that had been crossed, he got out his keys and went round to his side.

  ‘You need to get a haircut, Mr Darnley,’ she said.

  ‘Mr Randerwick – according to you. Yes I probably do need one. Do you have any talents in that direction, Miss Thomson?’

  ‘I’m very good with secateurs.’

  ‘Hmm. I’ll book an appointment at the barbers.’

  Matthew was quiet on the way back and Becky sensed that his mood was turning more sombre. God knows what was going on in his head: he could be deep in thought about buying the land or thinking about being a Randerwick rather than a ‘real’ Darnley. Or maybe he was thinking about her and regretting his lack of action back at the beach.

  ‘When is your next Casino Night?’ she asked, to break the silence and test his mood. Matthew ducked his head so he could look through the windscreen at a higher part of the sky. Becky did the same. The moon was a dumpy pearl in the sky, almost fully round.

  ‘Monday night,’ said Matthew. ‘I’ll probably start them again on Monday.’

  He had said he would take her ‘next time’ and, while she had zero interest in an evening of cards or throwing dice, it would be nice to know he had meant it. Becky waited but he didn’t repeat his previous offer.

  ‘What is it with gambling and the full moon?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  If that was an invitation, it certainly wasn’t an inviting one.

  Becky didn’t bother attempting conversation again but sat back in her seat, baffled and a little hurt by his gloomy silence. They were still travelling up the west coast and she recognised the odd house in a field or the occasional signpost. Of course, she’d been this way with Francesca and Clara. They drove through Holetown and, later on, through Speightstown with its mix of brightly painted rum shops and decaying old colonial buildings. It was only after Matthew had turned right, heading north-east into St Lucy, that he spoke.

  ‘Exactly where is Richard taking you?’

  ‘I don’t know. For a meal so I guess a restaurant somewhere.’ Was he jealous? Or was this about a wider rivalry with Richard?

  ‘You could cancel,’ Matthew said, a few minutes later.

  ‘It’s a bit late. He may have booked somewhere.’ Two hours ago she had been thinking of excuses to cancel her date but Matthew’s moody behaviour was starting to make an evening out with Richard seem quite pleasant.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve any idea when Richard’s bringing you back?’

  ‘No. I’m sure he’ll bring me straight back if I say I want to go to bed.’

  ‘If you say you want to go to bed then he won’t bring you back at all,’ Matthew said darkly.

  Becky gave him a look. ‘You need to talk to me. Is there a reason you don’t want me to go tonight?’

  He didn’t answer but his grip suddenly tightened on the wheel. ‘Hang on. How did you know about the sealed bid? Did Alex tell you?’

  Becky sighed. ‘No he didn’t.’

  ‘Did you speak to Frank at the party?’

  ‘I’m afraid I accidentally saw it on your screen.’

  ‘I see.’ There was a long silence. ‘And does Richard know this?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she snapped. ‘Richard hasn’t asked me anything about your business. And even if I did know something, I wouldn’t tell him.’

  ‘But you do know something,’ muttered Matthew.

  So it wasn’t that he was jealous that Richard liked her; this was really about his concern that he would be wrong-footed by a business rival. Feeling annoyed she remembered what she had learnt over the last twenty-four hours: although it was near impossible to imagine Matthew’s relatives working for the Carrington family it must make the situation very difficult. The trouble was she couldn’t think of anything to say that would make Matthew feel better about it. They drove the rest of the way in heavy silence.

  It occurred to Becky she might be being naïve. Maybe Richard’s invitation did have a more sinister intention but she thought it unlikely. Richard was basically shallow and frivolous; she just couldn’t imagine him having the guile to plan a dinner date with an underlying business motive. All the same she would make sure she stayed in control – no drinking.

  When they reached Copper Mill she got straight out rather than risk more uncomfortable exchanges in the sealed world of Matthew’s car. He got out too, looking murderously at the ground.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, politely, ‘for helping me find my father’s grave.’

  ‘And after that? Did you enjoy the afternoon?’

  She nodded. ‘I did. It was a lovely fantasy.’ She turned away quickly and went up the veranda steps. Fortunately Clara was not around as she would have been naturally interested in the cemetery visit and Becky really couldn’t face talking about any aspect of the day.

  She went to her room and lay on her bed for twenty minutes, her mind rambling and blundering around like a clumsy trapped animal. Eventually she decided whatever the history between Matthew and Richard it was nothing to do with her. She had done nothing wrong and she would make sure she did nothing wrong tonight.

  Chapter Twenty

  Becky had just finished getting ready when she heard a car coming at speed up the mahogany-lined lane. She closed her bedroom door (or was
it Richard’s old bedroom door?) and reached the veranda just as a silver Italian sports car turned into the yard, provoking the security light into announcing the arrival of an intruder. Becky watched while Richard did a similar spinning-wheel manoeuvre to Francesca, turning the car so it was ready to depart promptly.

  He got out into the security spotlight and shouted a cheerful ‘hello’ and Becky was surprised to hear Matthew answer with a terse ‘Richard’. She stepped forward and saw Matthew sitting on a chair, staring at Richard in a manner that could not be described as friendly. All that was missing was a shotgun across his knee. Beyond the light that illuminated the two men, the night throbbed with darkness as the frogs whistled warnings.

  ‘So,’ called Richard lazily. ‘Got your bid in yet?’

  ‘Not yet. You?’

  ‘No, I’m not in a rush.’ Richard turned to look at Becky and even from where she was standing she could see he was running his eyes over her appreciatively. ‘Well, hello.’

  ‘Hi,’ she said, evenly.

  Matthew rose and walked over to Becky. ‘Before you go, do you have my mobile number?’

  Becky shook her head.

  ‘Do you know the number of the landline?’

  Becky had only answered the phone; she’d never had to dial the number. ‘No.’

  Matthew grunted as though exasperated. ‘I wrote both down in case you need them later.’ He handed her a piece of paper, which she put in her handbag.

  ‘You are a fusspot, Matthew,’ drawled Richard. ‘Why on earth would she need to ring you?’

  Matthew didn’t answer but Becky could feel his eyes on her as she went down the steps and got into Richard’s car. She deliberately didn’t look back. The sight of Matthew staring balefully at their departing car would not put her in the right frame of mind for what she still hoped would be a light-hearted evening.

  ‘Yee hah!’ cried Richard, delightedly, as he pulled out of the yard. ‘I feel like I’ve rescued you from the clutches of the Prince of Darkness. He’s always such a grim man.’