by Ruby Soames
‘Not yet. I’ll just see what comes along.’
‘Who was it that said, “adventure is just bad planning”?’
‘Amundsen. Ferdi, this fruit salad looks delicious.’
He smiles. ‘The first time I ever went abroad was to Paris, I was eighteen and was accompanying an uncle who was on business. The morning we woke up he said we were going to have a “Continental” breakfast – I was so excited! Continental breakfast – I had visions of yachts sailing into the Cote d’Azur, the Alps, milkmaids ambling along the Rhine, bullfights in Seville and cathedral bells ringing out over the traffic of Rome – and all I got was a stale croissant, shop-bought orange juice and a hot chocolate.
‘The disappointment! Ever since that day, I always try to make sure that my guests have a breakfast that lives up to their expectations!’
‘Well, you’ve succeeded with me!’ I say.
‘Excellent.’ He smiles widely and leaves the room. Something tells me he already knows about my evening with Peter.
I chew on a slice of fresh coconut. The sweetness of its flesh reminds me of the shirt Peter was wearing. I’m starving.
‘Sarah, I want to know all about you,’ Peter had teased when I’d managed to evade most of his questions. ‘But we’ve got a week, I know you English girls, always worth it in the end. Filthy.’
‘Go on then, you first.’
‘Well, I’m thirty-two years old. My family originated from Virginia but I was brought up in a brownstone apartment on Fifth Avenue, with weekends in the Hamptons. I studied Law at Princeton, then a stint at the Sorbonne in pursuit of a model who was also a princess and cum laude student. Huge heartbreak. This was cut short by 9-11 – I won’t go into why and how but I found myself in Afghanistan when the Americans invaded. And that’s where I found my true love: war reporting.’
We’d finished our drinks and were rocking in his hammock while looking up at the stars.
‘I’m a danger junkie, Sarah. That’s my problem. I can never marry, never have a home and I’ll die before I’m forty. But it’s the best life I could ever wish for. Now, when I’m not on the front-line, I’m bored out of my mind. I’ll probably head back to Syria but I wanted some time off to work on a book, so part of this holiday is to kick back and let ideas turn over in neutral while I get my body into shape,’ he said, examining the contours of his arms.
11
After a shower, a walk along the beach and a re-read of the first five pages of my paperback, it’s time to have a snack by the pool. The hotel’s gardens include waterfalls, an orchid house, lines of gazebos, a heated pool which curls around the bar, two fresh-water lagoons and a salt-water infinity pool. If guests don’t want to venture out for water sports or tours around the island, there’s always the little secreted enclaves for tennis, golf, archery, yoga or billiards.
But the Paradise Beach Club’s focus point is around the pool where a steel band plays easy-listening classics. So far we’ve had Feelings, Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head and now Rihanna and Jay-Z’s New York. I sit people-watching, noticing that those who’ve been here some time acknowledge one another with either cursory nods or somewhat vaudevillian repartee, ‘What are they laying on for us tonight, eh? Naked dancing girls jumping out of the turtle soup? Watch where he’s putting that sun cream Mrs Harris!’
There’s a distinct poolside etiquette regarding respect for each other’s privacy. I think I’m getting it. Once we’ve staked our territories with towels, books or hats, we then relax knowing that the other bathers will leave us wrapped in creams and warm solipsism. The smell of coconut tanning lotion and rum rockets us beyond the ozone layer where we float around the pure, vacant air. It is utterly self-indulgent – even lifting one’s head to attract a passing waiter is too aerobic, so many of the personal butlers will dip their ears to the sun-bathers’ lips to take the next commands.
One corner by the bar, however, is not behaving like the rest. There’s movement, loud conversations and the party frequently erupt into laughter. An occasional ‘tut-tut’ marks the other bathers’ disapproval, though few can resist looking over the tops of their magazines to see where the noise is coming from. Even though some disgruntled individuals pad off to their rooms shaking their heads, the fun goes on.
I try to engross myself in reading, but the laughter breaks my concentration. While my sunglasses slip down my nose, I try to see what’s going on through the slats in my sun lounger, but I can’t actually make out the faces hidden by the shade. I can, however, hear the clinking of ice and the bubble of good humour fizzing above the hotel’s band. The anthropologist in me is fascinated, but I keep to myself, dipping in and out of the pool and reapplying sun lotion. I’m about to order a sandwich, when I hear my name being called.
I look up to see Yuleka standing on the other side of the pool in an orange wrap, flowers stuck in her hair and large gold chains around her neck which, which when she moves, throw off the sun’s reflection like laser lights.
‘Yo!’ she waves, standing with both hands forming a sunshade over her eyes. The group turns to see the object of her summons.
I wave back but it’s clear she isn’t asking me to join them, she’s telling me.
Tucking my wrap around my waist, I take in a deep breath and walk over.
This is it: this is the moment I meet my father.
‘Sarah, my dear, there you are!’ Yuleka throws a slippery arm over my shoulders and kisses my cheek. I hold my breath afraid of choking on a mouthful of hair.
She shepherds me into their tropical hut. ‘Please, girlfriend, save me from all these geriatrics!’
Once in the shade, I’m only a few feet away from my father.
‘It is Sarah, isn’t it? Didn’t you hear me calling you?’ Without waiting for me to answer, she introduces me. ‘This is Sarah. She arrived yesterday on the same flight as us.’
Like little birds they all open their mouths and turn to me, starving for a morsel of intrigue.
‘We met in the lobby, didn’t we?’ She whispers. ‘You know, that stupid girl sent up the wrong boots!’
She turns back to the group, ‘Let me introduce everyone. This is Roy, Lord Templeton-Crest.’
The aristocrat raises a small, child-like hand. I take it while noticing two white, waxy, legs in a wheelchair.
‘Remember Roy means k-k-k-king.’ He keeps my hand in his. ‘Hello, you beautiful young thing. Thank you for cheering up a crippled old f-f-fart like me.’
The gang behind him laugh.
Yuleka points to a tall woman with exquisite bone structure, though her skin is deeply lined from years of sunbathing. She is thin, dressed in yellow from her shoes to her turban. ‘Roy’s wife, Bunny,’ Yuleka says.
Bunny merely lifts a hand absently to acknowledge my existence while lighting a cigarette in a long holder.
‘This is Michael Hammond – from South Africa, Elizabeth, and … Oh yes, Basil,’ Yuleka turns me around, ‘and this is Peter Lyle.’
‘Hello. Again,’ Peter smiles lazily as he chews on the tail of a large prawn.
‘Oh you know each other already!’ Everyone laughs, a little too much.
‘Sure,’ he says with his mouth full, ‘it was a full moon last night so we went swimming,’ he winks at me, ‘naked.’
The crowd rumble with laughter.
‘Good heavens!’ exclaims Roy.
‘Well!’ says Bunny.
Yuleka laughs. ‘Now, Sarah, the reason I got you over here was to warn you about people like this one!’ She throws a flip-flop at Peter. ‘But! It seems I’m too late! Oh Peter! You!’ she swipes his knees with her hand. ‘So darling, I was going to tell you – woman to woman – about who to watch out for at the club. This one – this one!’ she shouts out dramatically pointing at Peter, ‘he is such a bad boy!’ She makes an elaborate pretence of smacking him, ‘But he’s even faster than I thought!’
Lord Templeton-Crest splutters to Peter, ‘Suppose you never thought of asking me along, you
selfish c-c-c-cunt!’
Peter grins boyishly, helping himself to more champagne from the ice bucket.
‘I get it, ‘fraid of the competition, eh?’
‘Don’t,’ drawls Bunny, ‘you’re making the poor girl blush.’ She stubs out her cigarette on a pineapple slice.
Her husband shouts above her, ‘So, Lyle, that’s where you were when you didn’t join us for d-d-d-dinner last night!’ Then he addresses me in a concerned voice, ‘You must watch out for him, Sarah, he’s our young Lothario.’
I feel Bunny’s eyes on me like a boxer’s before a fight. She brushes past Peter, tipping over a champagne flute. ‘And I thought you were losing your touch.’
‘And you must meet, darrrrrr-ling Sarah,’ Yuleka leads me into the nucleus of the hut to make the final introduction, ‘my husband, Henry Hardwick.’
12
Henry Hardwick raises a colourful drink – which looks more like a pot plant – to his lips.
Yuleka holds onto my arm to steady herself and says, ‘Darling, this is my new BFF.’
Henry looks to me and smiles. ‘Good morning,’ he says all in one syllable.
‘Henry! Morning? It’s not morning, you randy old man, it’s the bloody afternoon already – and I’m starved! Doesn’t sex make you hungrrry, eh?’ She throws an olive at his crotch and stretches out her arms, ‘I could eat a house!’
I force myself to look directly at Henry, ‘Hello.’
His forehead glistens as he brings it down towards his drink, the plastic umbrella in the cocktail pokes up his nose.
‘Bugger!’ he chuckles.
‘Baby, you’re supposed to drink it – not snort it!’ She spins around, ‘Henry! Let’s do cocaine! Wouldn’t that be fun? Peter? Can you buy us some cocaine?’
‘Sure,’ says Peter standing up, ‘but I’m going to swim first.’
‘Hey! Henry, we’re gonna get stoned! Isn’t that exciting?’
‘Isn’t that illegal?’ mutters Henry, studying his drink.
Yuleka steers a cocktail sausage in and out of her swollen lips. ‘Henry – Henry! Look what I’m doing! Look Henry!’ She then bites the end off and doubles up laughing. She holds my arm, ‘Henry has had the most borrrrring life you can imagine. All work and frigid women – we got married in London last week and it was so borrrring that I said “No! Henry, we’re going to do it again, Yuleeeeeka style!” She applauds herself falling back against a totem pole which has a laminated sign on it thanking Dear Gusts for not smoking.
Peter picks up his towel and seems to be waiting for me to join him in the pool.
There’s a surge of metallic taste in my mouth and I can’t catch my breath. My body seems to be evaporating. I move my hands back to reach for something solid.
‘Sorry, I didn’t catch your name,’ says a voice coming from my father’s direction. For an instant I re-focus and see him drawing an olive from a cocktail stick.
‘Sarah, darling, she’s called Sarah,’ says Yuleka impatiently. ‘I told you, she’s the beautiful English rose I met on my late night shopping trip, I told you –’
A lithe, blonde American woman in a pink tracksuit jogs into the circle. ‘You slovenly, slutty sloths!’ She calls out. ‘Really! I can’t believe not even one of you made it to the Zumba class – it was brill! Zumba – Aye! Zumba!’
‘Perish the thought of it,’ groans Bunny Templeton-Crest inserting another cigarette into the end of the cigarette holder.
‘Four o’clock is the beach volley tournament – Mike, you’ll come to that, huh?’
The strobe-light effect of my vision is levelling out.
The American woman holds out a hand to me. ‘I’m Susie, Susie Barton from Manhattan. I used to write for the New York Times but now I’m mainly online. You are?’
‘Sarah.’ I manage to say. We shake hands.
‘Sorry, but … Sarah?’ she asks, her eyebrows raised anticipating more. ‘Sarah?’ She wants the whole name. All eyes are on me.
‘Sarah … Sarah –’ I have to say my last name. Tyler. Tyler. Do I want him to know who I am right now? He might not even connect the young Florence to my name, but if he does? The moment I meet my father can’t be now, not like this, not in front of all these people and me swooning from the heat. Fear and self-preservation draw me away from saying my real name. I need to choose my moment. ‘Sarah –’
‘Oh! Sarah Banks?’ asks a scrawny woman sitting at Bunny’s feet rolling a joint.
‘Oh! She’s Sarah Banks,’ someone says.
‘Banks … B-B-B-B-Banks, Of course!’ Lord Templeton-Crest exclaims to the crowd, ‘You’re Teddy Banks’ girl! Of course, Bunny, this must be T-T-Teddy’s filly – gosh, you’ve all grown up … into quite a stunner!’ He splashes himself with water while smacking his lips, ‘How is the old sod?’ I catch Peter’s eye. He taps the towel and nods towards the pool. ‘Remember Teddy Banks, darling?’ Roy asks his wife who doesn’t look the least bit interested.
‘Oh God! Not another Brit! I feel I’m on the set of Downton Abbey!’ Susie moans while undoing her jacket to reveal perfect breasts in a white tasselled bikini top.
I mumble something inaudible, looking at Templeton-Crest’s mouth move but I’m only aware of my father carefully selecting a cigar from a large wooden box. The sun is burning into my skin and my mouth is dry. Two women are talking to me but I can’t hear them. When I see the flame of my father’s lighter against the glare of the sun, I lose it, and stumble forward landing in Peter’s arms.
‘Hey, Sarah, are you alright?’ Susie peers into my face. ‘Peter - stop groping her! She needs to sit down. Get the girl a seat, for goodness’ sake!’
I sit down and someone puts an ice cube into my palm.
Snippets of opinions on how to treat me pass over my head. ‘Too much sun’ … ‘Stop fussing.’ ‘Just leave her’ … ‘It’s her first day’ … ‘Peter, give her the kiss of life’ … ‘The kiss of her life!’ Laughter all round … ‘Who is she?’ … ‘T-T-Teddy’s daughter. At Wickham with Charlotte’ … ‘She bought a pair in black and tan’ … ‘Brandy always does the t-t-t-trick.’
After a while, the dizziness passes and the crowd has forgotten me.
Peter pats my hand, ‘You OK?’
‘I don’t know what –’
I look into my hands; they’re mottled, unfamiliar. I try to hold the glass steady but it slips away from me. Peter brings it to my lips.
Yuleka shouts over: ‘Look! Sarah, my dear! Look what I can do!’ and she dives into Henry’s lap, tits last. She waves over to me, patting the damp patches on her new husband’s shirt. ‘Your colour’s back. See! I told you she’d be fine! She’s got Doctor Peter to take care of her!’ she cries out, wiggling to a Caribbean version of Adele’s Rolling in the Deep.
‘Peter?’ Henry Hardwick snuffs. ‘That’s out of the frying pan into the fire.’
They laugh at what my father said.
13
The ice cube melts through my fingers and my heart resumes a steady canter. I take this quiet opportunity to study this man, my dad, the one slurping on champagne while a hand slides inside a woman’s skirt. There is something undeniably familiar about him, yet nothing specific to connect us physically.
So now that I’m in front of my father, I could confront him here and now, surrounded by his friends and bride.
His mouth makes a large O around the end of his cigar as it slots into his face. Both his eyes roll down towards his nose as he draws the smoke in. Henry pops the cigar out of his mouth with a blast of smoke. I breathe it in. He moves it up and down to refute what someone’s saying and catches my eye. He looks at me for a few seconds then turns to someone else and says, ‘Ab-so-lu-te-ly.’
Yuleka fiddles with a tassel from her bikini bottoms. She’s recharging in between performances.
I’ve followed this man all the way here. I can’t just walk away now. Ferdi’s words from this morning come back to me when he said that his relationship with his mother continued
despite her not being near him, and I know now what he means. Although I haven’t seen my father before, our relationship has never been broken. It has always been there, linking us over the years, and here, today by the pool having cocktails, the two parts have come together.
I watch Henry and Yuleka wittering to each other in that unintelligible mumble exclusive to lovers. My sneaky glances in their direction must have attracted their attention, Yuleka looks at me. She whispers in Henry’s ear and they both look in my direction.
She calls over, ‘Sarah darling, do I look like a bride today?’ She gathers her hair up and heaps it over her head. ‘Do I? Do I look like a virginal bride?’ She purses her inflated lips for us.
‘Steady on, “virginal”? That’s pushing it! – Ooops! Pardon the expression!’ Gurgles my dad.
‘Bet it’s been a while since you’ve c-c-c-come across a virgin eh, Henry! P-p-p-pardon the expression!’ chuckles Roy.
Henry chortles into his drink.
I bring the cold Mojito to my lips, chew on the mint leaves.
‘Sarah’ Yuleka yells, ‘Darling! I am going to be a brrrrride. We’re getting married … Henry and I – tomorrow morning!’
‘Congratulations!’ I say, lifting my glass to them. She kisses my father. Then she breaks away so he can inhale more of his cigar.
‘It will be our second wedding, yes, darling.’ She nods her head vigorously. ‘Last weekend we married in London, but that was just a little registry thing in Holland Park, and now we’ve gonna do it again – cover all the continents!’ Yuleka laughs at this, although no one else does. ‘Isn’t that right my big teddy bear?’
‘It is. We’re rather enjoying the wedding thing – might have a few more – with the tax breaks and the refundable presents, we’ll be quids in!’
Yuleka slaps him playfully.
‘Well,’ sighs Bunny, ‘all these ceremonies should ensure that you treat this wife better than your last, Henry?’
‘Bunny!’ Yuleka puts on a face of grave seriousness, ‘One day I will tell you about Henry’s ex-wife. What a bitch! He was so unhappy with that woman, but he stayed, he stayed with her all those years because he was such a gentleman – and for the children. Such a good daddy! Such a great, great man!’ She runs her fingers through his chest hairs.