The Beekeeper's Daughter

by Santa Montefiore

  “But I’m not most girls. I thought you’d have figured that out by now. I want to be free, like you, and be whoever I want to be.”

  “Then do it. There’s nothing stopping you.”

  “Only my father.” She sighed heavily. “He’d like me to go to college and finish my education, but I doubt he could afford it anyway. He says there’s nothing more unattractive than a stupid woman.” She laughed. “I’m a lot smarter than he realizes, but I’m certainly not going to college. I want to get out there and start living. This place is stifling and before you arrived it was deadly dull!”

  “Will he support you?”

  “Look, he came over from England with nothing but a good brain and made a success in business. If he’d stayed in England, ruined by war with no jobs anywhere, he’d still be a farmhand. I think he’d admire me for wanting to make something of my life—isn’t that the American Dream everyone talks about?”

  “And your mother?”

  “Mom would support me in whatever I decide to do. She just wants me to be happy. She didn’t have a good education, but her father was an intellectual and read everything under the sun. He educated her and I tell you, there’s nothing she hasn’t read. Anyway, she works. She’s a landscape gardener and a very good one. She’s not one of those women who does nothing but lunch and gossip all day, like some I know.”

  “Your mother sounds terrific.”

  “She is. She’s gentle and sweet, but I know if Dad and I came to blows, she’d support me. When it comes to her child, she’s fiercely protective. Most mothers would be crushed by some of the things I get up to, but I feel mine is secretly fascinated by them, as if she wishes she could have lived like me. I sense there’s a secretly wild side to Mom. I don’t know . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she turned to gaze out into the night, where bright stars gave a tantalizing glimpse of a world beyond the familiar. “It’s just a hunch. Perhaps I’m wrong.”

  Jasper stopped playing and drew her into his arms. “You’re cold,” he said.

  “A little.”

  He kissed her head. “Let me walk you home.”

  “Would you?”

  “Of course. I might be a future rock star, but I’m a gentleman, too, and I’m mindful of my manners.”

  “Your mother wouldn’t disapprove of that,” she said, standing up.

  “No, but she’d disapprove of pretty much everything else.”

  “Would she disapprove of me?” Trixie was surprised by the question, which had popped out of her mouth without any prior thought. It was really irrelevant what Mrs. Duncliffe thought of her, as Trixie was unlikely ever to meet her. But, oddly, his answer was suddenly important.

  “Yes,” he replied, taking her hand and helping her out of the boat. “She’d disapprove of you.”

  “Why?” She couldn’t help but feel a little affronted.

  “What does it matter?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t, I suppose. I’m just curious.”

  “Curiosity killed the cat, and you’re a very pretty cat,” he said, taking her chin in his hand and kissing her.

  “Well then, let’s not kill the cat.” But she desperately wanted to know why she wasn’t good enough. Was it because she was a waitress at Captain Jack’s beachfront restaurant or because she wasn’t presentable? She could dress up if she had to and wear a twinset and pearls like Grace Kelly, and she certainly wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life waiting on tables.

  • • •

  Jasper escorted her to her front door on Sunset Slip. The scent of the roses that swarmed over the facade of the house was heady, and for a moment it reminded him of the garden back home in England. He picked a flower and threaded it behind her ear. “Be good to your mother,” he said, kissing her softly.

  Trixie grinned. “You don’t even know her,” she laughed huskily.

  “I like the sound of her.”

  “She wouldn’t disapprove of you,” she whispered. “I think she’d like you in spite of you being a rock star.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Delixie Trixie.”

  She giggled at the silly name. “You know where to find me,” she replied, opening the door. He watched her close it behind her before wandering off into the empty street.

  • • •

  Jasper smiled to himself as he took the plank path that cut through the wild grasses to the beach. The shore was lit by an incandescent moon. It seemed as if the stars had fallen from the sky onto the water, where they glittered even more brightly. The thought of Trixie made his heart swell. He had never been in love before. Sure, there had been girls. Lots of girls. But he’d never felt about them the way he felt about Trixie. He loved her crooked eyeteeth; they made her look raffish and jaunty. He loved her wild spirit and her exuberance, and her steadfast belief in him. He knew she’d travel across America with him if he asked her to. The more he thought about it, the more appealing that thought became. He knew for sure he wasn’t going to leave her on these beaches in the autumn.

  Mr. Duncliffe. He liked the admiration in her voice when she said that. He liked who he was when he was with her. She made him feel good. Her devotion was like the sun’s rays burning through the shadows of his self-doubt. He began to hum a tune. As he walked, the sound of the waves gave him a gentle sense of rhythm, and little by little the tune evolved into words. Inspired by the warm feeling that thoughts of Trixie evoked, he sat cross-legged on the sand with his guitar and set the lyrics to chords, which he played over and over until the song was composed and committed to memory. I held you in my arms for one last second, and then I watched you slowly walk away. I felt a sudden yearning to run after you, and hold you once again and never let you go.

  • • •

  From her bedroom window Trixie was sure she could hear the distant sound of a guitar, but it could just be the murmur of the sea. She stood there a moment, letting the cool breeze brush her face. She gazed out at the night sky. It was dark now, but for the moonlight and the mysterious twinkling of stars. Below, the garden was silent. The birds were sleeping. The bees had returned to their sticky cells. The rabbits were deep in their burrows. In the eerie silver light the shrubs and flowers looked otherworldly. Her heart expanded with the beauty of it all, and the knowledge that Jasper was out there only enhanced the splendor. His arrival on Tekanasset had changed the way she saw everything. The world looked more beautiful because he was in it.

  A moment later her mother knocked softly on the door. “Trixie, can I come in?”

  “Hi, Mom,” she said, stepping away from the window and slipping her arms into a long Aran cardigan.

  “We need to talk,” Grace began, remembering Big’s advice to be firm.

  Trixie was quick to apologize. “Look, I know I let you down and I’m really sorry.” She folded her arms defensively.

  Grace noticed the flower in her daughter’s hair and her solemn expression melted into a smile. “Did you have a nice time?”

  “I was just hanging out with the band. It was all very innocent, I promise. Suzie and I had our own bedroom and we were guests of Joe Hornby’s friend, Mr. Lipmann, who’s a powerful man in the music industry. He predicts they’ve got a good chance of making it really big.”

  Grace sat on the bed and folded her hands in her lap. “You like Jasper very much, don’t you?”

  Trixie grinned as her enthusiasm broke through her hostility. “You’d like him, too, you know. He’s a real gentleman. He walked me home. It’s not what you think.”

  “And what do I think?”

  “Well, he’s going to be a rock star.” She said it as if being a rock star was a crime.

  “There’s nothing wrong with being a musician, Trixie.”

  “Even his own mom disapproves.”

  “I don’t disapprove. You can love whomever you like, darling. I certainly don’t care what anyone el
se thinks about it.”

  “Then what is there to talk about?”

  Grace hesitated a moment, unsure of her conviction. “I want you to remain on the island for the rest of the summer,” she said evenly.

  Trixie looked horrified. “You can’t be serious!”

  “I am, darling. You can’t expect me to condone what you did.”

  “I’m nineteen. I have a job, for goodness’ sake. I’m earning my own money. I’m an adult. I should be allowed to do whatever I want. You were married at my age!”

  “That’s irrelevant. You’re my daughter, and as long as you’re under my roof and unmarried I have a right to know where you are. Your father and I are responsible for you. What you did was inexcusable, Trixie. What if something had happened?”

  “I was perfectly safe with Jasper. He’s twenty-four. We were guests of Mr. Lipmann, it wasn’t like I ran off with him.”

  “You should have asked my permission. You should have been honest about where you were going.”

  “You would have stopped me.”

  “Yes, I probably would have,” Grace conceded.

  “Well, that’s why I didn’t ask.” Trixie perched on the edge of her dressing table stool and brought one knee up to hug. “Have you told Dad?”

  “Not yet. I wanted to talk it through with you first. I’d rather like to tell him that it’s over and needs no further discussion.”

  Trixie looked relieved. “Okay, I promise to remain on the island. I think the boys are staying until September anyway. They’re making an album at Joe’s.”

  Grace was relieved, too. “So, that’s a deal. Good. Now tell me, what’s he like?”

  Trixie let go of her leg and began to brush her hair. It was thick and lustrous like her mother’s used to be before it aged. “He’s very handsome.” Her face softened into a smile.

  “I bet he is.”

  “He has the most beautiful eyes. They’re gray-green, like sage, and he’s funny. We laugh all the time. But he’s gentle, too, and he’s kind.”

  “He’s English, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he sounds like a prince.” She remembered the rose behind her ear and pulled it out. “Of course, he’s not a prince. But he’s going to be famous one day. You should hear him sing. He has the sexiest voice on the planet.”

  “I’d like to hear him sing,” said Grace.

  Trixie sighed happily. “Well, maybe you will. Maybe he’ll sing one of his songs for you. I think you’ll be impressed. He loves me, he loves me not . . .” She began to pull petals off the rose.

  Grace laughed. “I think he loves you, by the sound of things,” she said.

  Trixie grinned at her knowingly. “I think he does, too,” she replied.

  Chapter 3

  Freddie Valentine had once been a handsome man. That was before one half of his face had been disfigured in the war. A bullet had taken his eye, shattering his cheekbone and ripping his flesh apart. The wound had healed, as wounds do, but an unsightly scar remained to remind him of the day that changed everything. The day the world turned on its head and robbed him of all he held dear. The eye patch he had worn ever since was symbolic of the way he had picked himself up and got on with his life. Beneath, the hurting never stopped.

  He arrived on Tekanasset by boat the following morning with a warm sense of satisfaction after a weekend on his boss’s farm in Bristol County. For the last ten years he had managed the cranberry farm on Tekanasset, which cultivated over two hundred acres of bog, and had made such a success of it that Mr. Stanley was keen for him to lend his expertise to his other farm on the mainland, which grew blueberries, raspberries, and strawberries as well as raising livestock. Freddie had spent three days doing what he loved best and Mr. Stanley had raised his salary to reflect his gratitude. He had left with a heightened sense of self-worth and the conviction that the disappointments he faced at home were more than compensated for by the pleasure he derived from his work. It was only unfortunate that he happened to bump into Bill Durlacher at the newsagent’s as he stopped to buy cigarettes on his way home, extinguishing as surely as peat on fire the remnants of his enthusiasm.

  “I hear your Trixie’s in a bit of hot water,” said Bill, slipping his newspaper under his arm and patting Freddie with his free hand.

  “What kind of hot water?” asked Freddie impassively. His reserve was considered characteristically British by Tekanasset society, but Bill usually managed to bring out a jollier side on the golf course or over a beer at the clubhouse.

  “I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news,” Bill continued, delighted to be the bearer of bad news.

  “You might as well tell me, since I’m going to hear it soon enough from Grace.”

  “She ran off with one of the boys from that English band staying up at Joe Hornby’s. Guess he thinks he can turn them into the Rolling Stones.” Bill gave an incredulous laugh. “Grace must be beside herself. Evelyn says Trixie didn’t come back for three days.”

  Freddie paled. He rubbed the bristles on his chin as he deliberated how to deal with Bill Durlacher. His response would determine how long this scandal would run. He made a hasty decision. “Oh, that,” he said dismissively. “I know all about that.” He chuckled convincingly. “I wish I could say she takes after her mother.” Bill was caught off guard. Keen not to look foolish, he laughed, too. “They’re good boys,” Freddie continued. “If I’d wanted a safe chaperone for my daughter, I’d have chosen him myself. What’s the young man’s name again . . . ?” He feigned vagueness.

  “Jasper, I believe,” Bill responded, visibly disappointed.

  “That’s right. Jasper. Nice fellow, Jasper.” He patted Bill in the same overfamiliar way that Bill had patted him. “Good to see you, Bill. Give my best to Evelyn.”

  • • •

  When he arrived home, he could hear Grace humming in the shed at the bottom of the garden. “Grace!” he shouted, and the tone of his voice brought her hurrying up the garden path, heart thumping against her rib cage. She thought of Trixie, and the anxiety felt like a clamp around her throat. Her husband stood on the veranda, hands on hips. Beneath his hat his face was dark with fury. “Why do I have to hear about Trixie and this Jasper boy from Bill Durlacher?” he demanded. “You’ve made a fool out of me.”

  She swept the wisps of hair off her sweating brow with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry, Freddie. I should have telephoned you.”

  “I’m away for one weekend and this happens!” He began to pace the veranda.

  “It’s all right. I’ve spoken to her and she’s grounded.”

  “Grounded! She should be smacked from here to Timbuktu. What the hell’s going on?”

  Grace tried to play it down. “She went to Cape Cod with some friends to watch the band play in a private concert. She told me she was going to stay with Suzie and I believed her. I mean, she stays with Suzie most weekends, so I thought—”

  “But she spent the weekend with this Jasper no-good.” He swiped irritably at an intrepid bee that buzzed a little too close for comfort.

  “She was with Suzie. They went together. It sounds worse than it was.”

  “She lied to you, Grace. How much worse could it get? She’s nineteen and she spent the weekend getting up to all sorts of trouble with a young man she’s only just met. It’s a disgrace. Who is this Jasper, anyway?”

  “He’s English.”

  “As if that makes it any better. He’s in a band, for God’s sake?”

  “Yes, but he’s a nice boy.”

  Freddie sank onto the swing chair and took the cigarette packet out of his breast pocket. “Have you met him?”

  “No.”

  “So, how do you know he’s a nice man?”

  “I trust Trixie.”

  He popped a cigarette between his lips and lit it. “Do you have any idea of the lifestyle of thes
e people? Do you?”

  “They’re not all Mick Jagger and Marianne Faithfull.”

  “Drugs, alcohol, sex. Do you really want our daughter hanging around with boys like that? Grace, don’t be naive.”

  “What else did Bill tell you?” She tried to control the tremor in her voice.

  “He didn’t have to tell me anything else. I can imagine what everyone’s saying.”

  She sat beside him and placed her muddy hands in her lap. “Is that what’s worrying you? What everyone else thinks?”

  Freddie looked at her through a veil of smoke. The nicotine seemed to calm him down a little. “Grace, we arrived here twenty-seven years ago and made a new life for ourselves. These good people welcomed us onto their island and made us feel at home. But we’ve worked hard to belong. You’ve built up a reputation as the best landscape gardener for miles around, and I’ve gained the respect of the people I work with at the farm. It’s not easy, looking the way I do, but they’ve accepted us and we’ve got some good friends. I don’t want all that destroyed in one summer by Trixie behaving like a slut.”

  Grace felt the word as keenly as a slap. “How can you say that about our daughter, Freddie? She’s not that.”

  “She’s compromising her reputation, Grace.”

  “But she’s in love, Freddie,” she protested passionately.

  “She’s nineteen. What does she know of love?”

  “Might I remind you of another young woman of nineteen, who married her childhood sweetheart all those years ago?” She smiled tentatively, but Freddie was unmoved.

  He took another drag. “We had known each other all our lives. We came from the same place. I know nothing about this boy Jasper, and I bet you she doesn’t, either. Do you really think a boy who travels around in a band is a good match for our daughter?”

  “Trixie’s not conventional.”

  “She likes to think she isn’t, but she is. It’s fun to flout the rules, and bad boys will always be attractive to girls like Trixie. But he’ll break her heart, and she’s conventional enough to be hurt by it.”