by Isobel Chace
I shook my head. “Not exactly,” I explained. “I wanted time to think though, and I think they’re having some kind of rehearsal for tomorrow.” I smiled faintly. “They’re all ready to go, aren’t they?”
“Why not? Aren’t you?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I find all the colour and the noise of the competing bands rather confusing.”
He laughed. “That’s the trouble with the English,” he said, “they don’t know how to relax—and they don’t know that when they’re beaten, they might just as well enjoy their defeat!” he added mysteriously.
“They would have lost a lot of wars if they had!” I answered crossly.
He grinned, not at all put out by my ill-humour. “But individual Englishmen fight their individual battles as if they were all great wars,” he commented drily. “Even Englishwomen are ungraceful in defeat!”
It occurred to me that perhaps he wasn’t really, talking about the English at all, but how he had managed to get my signature on the document that gave him access to the sugar plantation he wanted.
“I’m not sure that I am defeated!” I snapped.
He laughed aloud at that. “My dear long legs, you have a lot to learn about yourself, haven’t you?”
I looked him straight in the eyes. “Perhaps we both have,” I suggested. His eyes didn’t blink as I had expected that they would. He stared straight back at me and I could feel my anger with him dissolving into warm embarrassment. Quite suddenly, I didn’t think he had been talking about sugar at all, but about us. It was I who looked away, uncomfortably aware of the colour on my cheeks. I was almost thankful when a vision of Pamela came floating into my mind and I knew that he couldn’t have meant that at all! I swallowed nervously and looked away from him, across the sea, counting off the thickly wooded islands from one end of the horizon to the other.
“Is Pamela coming for the Carnival too?” I asked sweetly.
Daniel shrugged his shoulders indifferently, but I noticed that he was no longer smiling. “I think not,” he said. “She’s seen it all before.”
“So have you,” I pointed out, relieved to have found a much safer ground for our conversation.
“But I’m a true Trinidadian,” he mocked himself. “I can’t resist the noise and confusion, and sleeping in the park because there’s no time to go to bed, and—oh well, and everything about it. Pamela is an American citizen and I’m afraid that, secretly, she finds it all rather uncivilised.”
“Oh?” I tried to sound unconcerned, tried indeed to smother the quick sensation of triumph that rose within me when I saw that in this, at least, she had failed Daniel’s expectations. He was committed to Carnival and she was not!
He looked amused. “But you, I imagine, will be quite prepared to rough it in the park for a couple of nights?”
“We-ell,” I said doubtfully. He laughed out loud and after a while I found myself joining him. It was too ridiculous, and deep down I wasn’t in the least amused because I was beginning to wonder what I would not do to gain his approval. But I smothered the thought, refusing to face up to what it could mean.
“We ought to celebrate!” he said suddenly. “Aaron phoned me and told me that the deal was signed and sealed. I half expected you to be having a family party.”
I laughed grimly. “Some party! Wilfred doesn’t want to have anything more to do with sugar. Cuthbert seems quite indifferent as to what happens, and my uncle wasn’t even there to tell!”
Daniel looked quite sad and I wondered why. “I’m here,” he said. “We could celebrate!”
“You mean you could!” I said in a voice devoid of all expression.
There was a very long, almost unbearable silence, then Daniel said: “Tell me, why did you sign if you felt like that?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I thought it the best thing to do.” I thought for a minute. “Besides, there’s the house. It’s a lovely house, isn’t it? I’ve always wanted to live in a house like that.”
“And now you own it,” he reminded me.
I looked at him steadily. “Do I?” I said.
He leaned forward until his face was very close to mine. This was dangerous, I thought. Soon I’d be hoping that he would kiss me and then where would I be? Weren’t my affairs complicated enough? Life would be so much easier if I could dislike him and let him get on with things, without having unruly emotions popping up to confound me at every other moment. I looked away, wriggled to my feet and stood looking down at him, suddenly glad of every inch of my height. “I’m going to swim,” I announced.
He rose lazily to his feet and I couldn’t help thinking how gracefully he moved. “Okay, I’ll swim with you.
“You needn’t bother!” I said.
“It’s no bother.”
“Well, it is to me!” I shot back at him, goaded beyond endurance.
“So I see,” he said quietly. “I wonder why?”
He was impossible! I was quite sure of that! I ran straight into the sea and found it warm and very much to my taste. I was surprised to see that quite a number of people had come on to the beach since my own arrival. There was a group of children playing tag on the silver sands and some more who were making use of the trade winds to fly their kites high over the trees. One of them I could see reflected in the still, idly-lapping waters of the sea, until I broke up the reflection by swimming through it, and watched it form again behind me as the waters stilled and became glassy once more.
Daniel was a much better swimmer than I. His arms clove through the water and he had caught me up almost without trying.
He grinned at me. “You’ll have to run faster than that!” he said smugly.
I flipped some water into his face and dived just in time to escape his vengeance. The water was glorious against my body and I felt free and knew that I was swimming better than I ever had before. I came up for breath and dived again, knowing that I was showing off and surprised to find that I was enjoying it so much. When I surfaced again, Daniel was still beside me, though, drifting with the ease of the born swimmer and keeping exactly where he wanted to be by the occasional flap of a hand or foot.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“You don’t know how much!” I exclaimed.
“Good,” he said casually. “We’ll go across the road and have a meal.” He swam quickly towards the shore, leaving me to follow as well as I could. By the time I had reached the sand and could feel the full force of the hot sun on my still-pale body, he was already rubbing himself down with a gaudily coloured towel.
I put my clothes straight on over my damp swimming-suit, knowing that I would regret it when the salt rubbed into my skin and became itchy, but there was nowhere on the beach where one could go for privacy. Daniel was waiting for me when I hastily pulled a comb through my wet hair and tried to concentrate while I put on some lipstick and noted with annoyance that the sun had burned my face and that the powder I had with me was as white as flour against the new tan. I would have to do without, I thought, and I didn’t really care.
There was a little hotel just beside the beach. It had a shady terrace from which one could stare out at the sea and catch a glimpse of the Venezuelan coast in the distance. The menu was chalked up on a blackboard but was none the less quite sophisticated in the choice that was offered. I chose a curry of sea-foods which arrived, properly cooked in the authentic Indian manner, in enormous quantities, great piles of scampi, prawns and other fish, surrounded by splendidly dry rice that still had a bite to it. They wanted us to drink rum, but this I refused apologetically. I was already dizzy from the sun and the sea.
“We’ll have wine,” Daniel announced. “It’s been quite a day for you after all!”
“I suppose it has,” I agreed slowly. “But it seemed quite ordinary. I thought I’d feel different when I had actually signed on the dotted line. But I don’t. Does that make sense to you?”
“You’ve thought about it all too much,” he suggested gently.
I
forced a smile. “It’s possible,” I agreed wryly.
He leaned back in his chair and studied my face over the top of his glass. “Won’t you trust me, Camilla?”
I was at a loss to know what to say. “I do trust you, more or less,” I managed. “Only I’d feel happier if I thought the Longuet place was going to make any profits. Why didn’t you buy it for yourself?”
He grinned. “I like nice neighbours,” he said.
I coloured slightly. “Mrs. Longuet didn’t think that the Ironsides made very nice neighbours,” I reminded him quickly.
“Perhaps she hadn’t noticed your beautiful legs,” he drawled. “Unlike Mr. Longuet,” he added with a touch of malice.
“Perhaps she didn’t think that one’s legs had much to do with one’s neighbourliness!” I retorted.
“It’s possible.”
“Meaning that you agree with her?” I pressed him.
“On the contrary, I like nice legs about me,” he assured me seriously, so seriously that I knew he was teasing me.
“I may yet set fire to your barns!” I warned him.
He looked amused. “I think not,” he said at last. “Any fires you light would be far more dangerous to my peace of mind—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I said flatly. “And I don’t think you do either!” I took a deep breath. “I can’t eat another bite of this curry!”
He signalled to the waiter to take it away and refilled my glass with the last of the wine. “Camilla my love, will you do something for me?”
I looked at him curiously. I had almost said yes before I had thought, but I still had my doubts about his motives. “It depends on what it is,” I said cautiously.
“Shall we cry a truce until the Carnival is over?” he suggested. His voice was soft and persuasive and there was nothing left of the superior arrogance that I had associated with him for so long.
“If you like,” I said shyly.
“Good.” He gave me a well-satisfied look. “Tell me all about your costume and I’ll tell you about mine. If they match, we could even dance together.”
“Patience is making mine,” I told him. “I think Wilfred provided all the materials, but really, I haven’t seen it yet. What’s yours?”
“I’m a Tudor gentleman,” he said loftily. “I’m attached to the Harry Tudor Band.”
I chuckled. “Perhaps I’ll be Queen Elizabeth,” I said idly.
But he shook his head at once. “I don’t think your fates go hand in hand,” he said mysteriously.
“That’s all you know!” I protested indignantly. “She wasn’t beautiful either, but she had magnificence, didn’t she? If you’re as tall as I am, that’s about as much as one can hope to achieve!”
“That wasn’t quite what I meant,” he said drily. His eyes filled with laughter, but he gave me no time to question him as to what it was that he had meant. He rose abruptly and calling the waiter over, he paid the bill, adding a great fat tip which opened the young man’s eyes until the whites showed all the way round the deep brown colour that usually hid his thoughts from the customers who frequented the hotel. “Thank you, sir!” he exclaimed with the broadest grin I had ever seen.
I stood on the edge of the verandah and took a last look at Venezuela and the thickly wooded isles that stood out against the yellow clouded sea. It was perfect, I thought. Everything about it was perfect.
“Come on,” said Daniel, “I’ll drive you home.”
I, turned and put my hand in his. “It was a lovely lunch. Thank you very much,” I said warmly.
He smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “It will be better still tomorrow,” he prophesied.
Much better, I agreed to myself, and wondered how Pamela could think otherwise. It was very strange, I thought, for if Daniel had been mine, I’d have danced right through the Carnival beside him and gloried in it.
As it was I knew I would pretend all sorts of things to myself tomorrow, but pretending wasn’t the same thing in the cold light of day. I sighed and took my hand back from his. The salt from my costume added to my irritation and I stood there, scratching at my back while he brought round the car.
CHAPTER TEN
“Jest you stand still, Miss ’Milla! Hold steady! D’you ’spect me to do this if you move round all the time?
“I’m sorry,” I said humbly.
Patience relented a little. “You can see hows you lookin’ any time now!” she grunted.
I edged hopefully a couple of inches to my left. It was maddening not to be able to see the costume Patience had designed and made for me. But she yanked me back on the end of her thread, frowning her displeasure.
“I’se tellin’ you, Miss ’Milla, we none of us are goin’ to be ready at this rate!”
I apologised again, pleased with myself because I had somehow managed to move just enough to be able to see my reflection in the long looking-glass on the door of the wardrobe. I made a fascinating spectacle. She had dressed me as a medieval page-boy, and I had to admit it suited me. The rich coloured tights showed off my long legs to perfection and the deep emerald cloak added a swagger to my walk. I looked every inch a Plantagenet, a well-to-do young man about town with never a care beyond his King’s displeasure. A veritable Bolingbroke, or any of those famous names from the plays of Shakespeare, who broke themselves on the twin spurs of ambition and the red and white Roses.
“There you be! Perfect!” Patience enthused, looking at my reflection with an equal pride and pleasure. “You looks splendid, Miss ’Milla!”
I hugged her gratefully. “I don’t know what we’d do without you!” I told her.
She laughed, her great body shaking. “I’m not suggestin’ nothin’!” she roared. She executed a neat dance step that sent the furniture shaking, although, despite her great bulk, she was very light on her feet. “They’re jumpin’! We’se must hurry ourselves along!”
The noise from the street was already unbearable. The day before, I had been astonished by the blaze of colour and the riot of melody, but it had been nothing compared to Shrove Tuesday itself. The whole Island had packed itself into Charlotte Street, or so it seemed to me. They swept back and forth in time to the various bands they were following. The street vendors were out in their hordes offering any delicacy you cared to name, some of them dressed in ludicrous costumes, others in their ordinary clothes which could be almost as colourful as any which had been dreamed up for the occasion.
“What are you wearing?” I asked Patience.
“I’se Plantagenet too,” she answered.
“Daniel is Tudor,” I told her. “He’s following the Harry Tudor Band.”
Her eyes narrowed with curiosity. “Now how would you be knowin’ that?” she asked.
“He told me,” I said.
“Did he now? And who’s Harry Tudor? He’s not going places! You’se a sight better with the Plantagenets!”
She hurried off, to come back in a few minutes fully dressed as a Plantagenet lady, her wimple framing her chocolate brown face and lending it the austere beauty of a medieval print.
“What you think?” she demanded, revolving in front of me.
“I think you look quite lovely!” I said sincerely. She bridled with pleasure and whispered that I looked quite lovely myself and hurried me down the stairs to where my uncle and cousins were waiting for us. They looked remarkably handsome, I thought. I was suddenly proud to be an Ironside and one of them. Patience dropped them a neat little curtsey and they laughed and bowed to her, but a page-boy doesn’t curtsey and I felt it would be foolish to bow, so I stood awkwardly beside them, waiting for them to notice me.
The music outside came to a crashing crescendo, followed by an instant’s silence, then a single steel drum began to play a strange, compulsive rhythm which was slowly taken up by the others, distorted, changed, complete with counterpoint and melody, coming back again to the first simple tune and the single leading drum who had begun it all.
&nbs
p; “Come on!” Cuthbert hurried us. “We don’t want to miss the Carnival King, do we?”
My cousins each took one of my hands and pulled me out of the door and along the street, darting between elaborately costumed groups of people, until we caught up with the main band, the one that had been elected the best of all those submitted that year.
I saw the Playing Cards that I had seen the day before and then our own group, band and followers all dressed as Plantagenets, came into sight and we were sucked into their wake as though we had no wills of our own and I found myself cavorting to an odd rhythmic tune while Wilfred and Cuthbert shouted the words of our particular calypso into my ear, so loudly that I thought my ear-drums would burst.
“Sing it!” Cuthbert commanded. I joined in weakly at the next chorus, but the strong Caribbean accent made it almost unintelligible to me. I had to try when I wanted to get the full meaning of some of their broader terms. I mean, who would suspect that a term that sounded like Tilwybonce could mean “until we bounce into each other again?” Apt as it was in the midst of this frenetic crowd moving in psychedelic swirls through the streets.
The tourists crammed themselves on to the edges of the pavements, their cameras at the ready, their red faces betraying their recent arrival. I wondered if they took me for a Trinidadian, born and bred, or whether they guessed that I was almost as strange as they in an island gone crazy in a glorious fantasy of feverish colour and sound.
“W’appen now?” shouted our leader to the group in front.
“Don’t mash me, brother! They’re holding ground higher up!”
We came to an abrupt halt. I took the opportunity to catch my breath and to take a good look about me. There was no sign of the Tudors anywhere and I was conscious of a quick prickle of disappointment. But I was given no time to indulge any feeling at all, for a second later we were charging down the street again towards the Savannah at a breakneck speed.
“Sing now!” my cousins instructed me fiercely and, surprisingly, they still had breath to chant out our calypso at the top of their voices whenever another group came anywhere near our band.
