Dangerous Shadows

by Whitelaw, Stella

  “Is that legal?” she asked. “Will it be a proper wedding?”

  “Of course,” said Danielle, laughing, tossing back her curly hair. She was leading Holly towards the exit signs. “They have pastors who do beach weddings. They are registered, so it’s legal. It’s all being arranged. Same as any other wedding, except no church. The blue sky above is our church,” she added, poetically. She didn’t often have a poetic thought.

  “Sounds idyllic,” said Holly. “As long as it doesn’t rain. What about those tropical downpours?”

  “Umbrellas!” said Danielle. “I’ve bought dozens of white umbrellas.”

  Sand instead of a floor and a carpet, thought Holly, imaging sand in her sandals, in her hair, stuck to her skin. What was Danielle planning for her to wear? Holly’s heart sank. It might be something wild and outrageous that Danielle decided went with a beach wedding. Maybe they were wearing sarongs.

  But Holly did not dwell long on the wedding plans. There was too much to take in. She began to enjoy all the exotic smells and sights of Bridgetown, flowers everywhere, Bajan people in colourful clothes. Many of the Bajan women were wearing straw hats. Older women never went out without wearing a hat.

  Holly smothered a sigh. The reception might be a barbecue on the beach. She would have to go along with whatever Danielle decided.

  “Don’t worry, darling. I’m designing lovely dresses for us to wear, all floating and ethereal. You’ll be surprised,” Danielle said happily.

  “I’m sure I’ll be surprised.”

  Danielle bundled Holly into a white 4x4 in the car park. It was a big, open-sided vehicle. She bundled the luggage into the back.

  “Some of the back roads are awful,” said Danielle, throwing the Land Rover into gear. “You need a four wheel drive.”

  The drive through Bridgetown took Holly’s mind off the beach wedding. The town was colourful, so fascinating, dozens of shops and restaurants. The Careenage waterfront, or inner harbour, was full of schooners, speedboats and yachts. She caught a glimpse of the statue of Admiral Lord Nelson in Trafalgar Square. She knew she would be back soon, to have a proper look round. She would explore it on foot, Zoe’s camera at the ready.

  Bridgetown gave way to rows of little wooden houses along the roadside, each one painted a different colour. Women were cooking on their verandas. There was an abundance of flowers everywhere. Palm trees laden with coconuts, and constant glimpses of the blue sea on the other side of the road.

  “Those wooden houses are called chattels,” said Danielle. “Traditional.”

  “Are we nearly there?” said Holly, tired, jet-lagged, very hot.

  “Not long, nearly there. Another surprise in store for you.”

  Not another surprise. Was she staying in a beach hut with hot and cold running ants? Would the floor be concrete and the window open to the sea? If she could see the sea, it wouldn’t be so bad.

  “So how’s life being treating you?” Danielle asked, swerving to avoid some youngsters playing a game of cricket on the road.

  “Oh, so so,” said Holly. She wasn’t going to spoil Danielle’s wedding by going into her two disastrous romances. “Work is good. Zoe is the senior partner in the agency. I’m still learning the business.”

  “You must tell me all about it, when we’ve got time. There’s so much to do before the wedding. We’re having a big pre-wedding cocktail party this evening to welcome back my fiancé. I haven’t seen him for two whole weeks. I can’t wait to see him again. He’s adorable.”

  A big cocktail party? Holly wondered if she would manage to stay awake. The last thing she wanted to do was to talk to lots of people she didn’t know, standing around in shoes that hurt, holding a drink. She wanted to shower, then sink onto a mattress and sleep for eight hours.

  Danielle turned expertly into a steep sandy driveway. They bumped over pot holes, shaking. “See what I mean? No one repairs side roads.”

  The house came into view. Holly caught her breath. Tiger Bay Plantation House was beautiful. An old colonial house, all white, with sweeping steps leading up to a veranda. The wide double doors stood open. Either side were tall curtained windows, and above them a row of big windows that had endless sea views.

  “This is Tiger Bay Plantation House,” said Danielle, parking the 4x4 in the shade of some palm trees. “Isn’t it a wonderful house? I always think of this house as feminine. It once belonged to the wife of a French sugar plantation owner, way back. Her name was Miranda and he built it for her because she loved being near to the sea. The garden leads right down to the beach and there’s an orchard full of plum trees.”

  “I’ve never seen such a beautiful house,” said Holly, lost for words. “Only in films. Like Gone With the Wind. Are we staying here?”

  “Yes. The company have rented it for six months. For our wedding, our honeymoon, and then who knows what? Maybe we’ll live here.”

  “The company?”

  “The company that my fiancé owns. It was his idea to have a base in Barbados. He does a lot of international business. He can fly from Barbados to anywhere in the world. It’s an international airport. I don’t ask what he is doing. I wouldn’t understand the answers anyway! Come inside and have a cold drink. You must be dying of thirst.”

  Holly followed her cousin up the entrance steps. A boy was carrying her suitcase and travel hold-all. The hall was as beautiful as the outside of the house, with a high ceiling and carved cornices, vases spilling with flowers on mahogany side tables, another broad flight of stairs leading to the first floor. An elegant chandelier hung from the upper floor, its crystals catching the sunlight.

  “Years ago, they once had so many servants, they had to sleep in rotation in the same beds,” Danielle rattled on. “No running water. All the water had to be carried in and they had to empty loos. Hard work in those days. All mod cons now.”

  They went into the drawing room, white walled with pale blue drapes. Several white leather sofas and coffee tables and a plasma television sat on a polished floor. More flowers everywhere, their scent filling the room. Holly sank onto a sofa and in moments, a tall iced drink was in her hand. A buxom maid in a plain black dress, stood back, smiling broadly.

  “Barbados plum punch, our house recipe,” said Danielle, sipping her drink. “Our own plums. It’s guaranteed to put you to sleep in minutes.”

  “Just what I need,” said Holly, nodding. The drink was cold. It was delicious, fruity with tones of rum. She believed the guarantee. She felt the tiredness melting out of her body and a relaxing glow taking over. “But I also need a bed. Your guests this evening would not be pleased to find me sprawled over this sofa.”

  “Poor Holly. You must be exhausted. I’ve given you a lovely room,” said Danielle. “Come and see it. Finish your drink. Lily can bring you another one.”

  Holly followed her cousin upstairs. Upstairs seemed to go on forever. There were so many corridors and small flights of stairs, doors leading off to other rooms. At last Danielle flung open a pair of doors. “This is your room,” she said. “The primrose room.”

  It was another shock, seeing a room four times larger than her bedroom in the flat she shared with Sadie. A white-draped canopied bed dominated the room. Wardrobes and chests lined the walls. Primrose curtains were drawn back showing a view of the sea, so close she could almost touch it. She could hear the waves pounding the shore.

  “This leads into your private bathroom,” said Danielle. She flung open another door. “Everything’s primrose, even the soap.”

  “I love it,” said Holly, beyond normal thanks. “It’s marvellous. I never imaged anything so luxurious.”

  “Not exactly a beach hut then?” said Danielle, giggling, as if she had read Holly’s mind. “No ants or scorpions.”

  “Nothing like a beach hut.”

  “Sleep now, Holly. We’ll see you at the party. Six p.m. Wear something glamorous. The world is going to be there.”

  “Will someone wake me?”

&n
bsp; “Lily will wake you.”

  “With a cup of tea?”

  Danielle laughed. “Of course. Earl Grey. In our best china.”

  *

  Holly had no idea how long she slept. Lily woke her with a tray of tea. She put it on the bedside table.

  “Shall I run a bath for you, Miss Holly?”

  “Yes, please. Thank you. You don’t need to call me Miss Holly. Holly will do.”

  “OK, Miss Holly.”

  “How long have I got before the party?”

  “Half an hour, Miss Holly.”

  “Heavens. I haven’t even unpacked.”

  “I have unpacked for you, Miss Holly. And I have ironed the black dress with the red poppies on it. Were you planning to wear this dress, Miss Holly?”

  Holly sank back onto the pillows. Lily knew exactly what was right to wear to this so important cocktail party. “Yes, thank you, Lily. That’s the dress I was planning to wear.”

  Lily withdrew as silently as she had arrived. It was the only cocktail dress Holly had packed. She had not expected loads of parties. She would have to wear the same dress again and again.

  The tea and the bath were reviving. Holly was careful with the water, remembering water shortages on the island. They had to rely on their rainfall.

  She called it her poppy dress. Zoe had lent it to her from a couture collection. It was black silk with life-size poppies sewn all along the hem, with tiny red shoulder straps crossing a bare back. There was another poppy to pin into her tawny hair. It clashed, but then reds should clash.

  Holly stood at the window, draped in a primrose bath towel, sipping her Earl Grey. It was years since she had felt so relaxed, so at ease with her surroundings. The view was a rich blaze of colour, the sun reflected on the wash of waves touching the cove of sand. The scent was a far cry from Sadie’s chemical bath essences. It was the scent of a hundred pure flowers drifting on the slight breeze from the sea.

  Still wrapped in the bath towel, she began snapping the view, completely lost in colours, the sound of the sea, the scents from the garden.

  “Miss Holly?” It was Lily, the maid, from the doorway. “The party is starting. Miss Danielle is asking for you. Do you want me to help you dress?”

  “No, thank you. I was lost in this wonderful view. You are so lucky to live here. You see it every day.”

  Lily looked confused. “But I have to work. I don’t look at the view.”

  Holly smiled. “Tell Danielle that I will be down in ten minutes.”

  It was ten minutes fast work. The silk dress did not need much in the way of underwear. It was too hot for tights. Holly had some kitten-heeled silver sandals. She piled up her hair and fixed the poppy.

  It was almost too hot for make-up. Holly decided on mascara and lip gloss. Anything more would melt. Perfume wouldn’t melt so a spray of her favourite Diorissimo and she was ready.

  The flight of stairs reminded her of the steep airline steps. She must be careful in these heels. Voices, laughter and clinking glasses floated up to her. They were party sounds that she had heard a hundred times before in her life. There was also some music, muted, sounded like Johnny Cash.

  Danielle rushed into the hall. She was always rushing. She was wearing a floating dress, white and silver chiffon, perfect for the angel look. White flowers were threaded in her hair. A diamond sparkled on her left hand. She had not been wearing the ring earlier.

  Holly was the perfect contrast, in her silky black and poppy dress.

  “Hurry up,” said Danielle. “We’re all here. I want you to meet everyone. Come along, Holly.”

  Holly found a flute of champagne put into her hand. She sipped it cautiously. She hadn’t entirely recovered her composure from the long flight. She was going to meet a lot of new people, Danielle’s friends. Better to stay sober.

  “And this is the man you have been waiting to meet,” said Danielle, her face flushed with happiness. “The most wonderful man in my life. Say hello, Holly. Say hello to my fiancé.”

  Holly stood riveted to the floor. It was as if she had turned to stone.

  The back of his head was the same, with dark close-cut hair, now tinged with grey. The set of his shoulders reminded her of the many times she had watched him flag with fatigue on the television set. He was turning slowly towards her, with that deep laugh, amused by something someone else had said.

  He turned and stared at her. They stared at each other. He could not stop staring at her. She wanted to say: Go and find something else to do.

  There was still that air of contained strength that supported him through days when lesser men would have folded. His piercing granite grey eyes took in the sophisticated black silk dress and the poppy in her hair. He was looking straight at her. .

  Holly felt a stirring that was more than mere recognition. She had never wanted to see him again and yet, here he was in Barbados, about to marry her cousin.

  “Hello,” he said gravely. “So it is you, my little slave. What a wonderful surprise. I’m a lucky man. We meet again.”

  Holly felt the same knife twisting in her heart. How could fate be so cruel?

  “Hello, Luke,” she said. “Sorry, I forgot to bring you any ginger biscuits this time.”

  *

  The man in the VIP lounge got up, folded his newspaper, finished his whiskey, and strolled over to the attendant who was clearing up the last of the confetti.

  “Are they off to a wedding?” he asked, putting on his most charming smile.

  “So it seems. Rather too many high spirits.”

  “So where is the bride off to?”

  “Barbados, I think. I don’t remember exactly.”

  “Barbados sounds good for a wedding. Can you check for me?”

  A wedding in Barbados was almost too good to be true. It would cost a lot. Holly’s wealthy groom might be prepared to pay for her silence. Grooms were usually besotted with the bride. Possible situations spun through his head.

  He was using a dropped VIP boarding pass. He was not booked on any flight. But he liked the free whiskey and excellent men’s room. He had no money to pay for a ticket to Barbados. There must be another way. Thinking cap time. It always worked.

  Chapter Three

  “Wake up, Holly. You can’t fall asleep now.” Danielle gave her a little shake with a laugh and rushed off to greet some new guests.

  It took immense strength of mind for Holly to get through that pre-wedding party. At times she wished herself hundreds of miles away, even back in London, trudging through the rain and predicted gales with the week’s shopping in carrier bags from Waitrose supermarket.

  Instead she stood among a crowd of chattering people, pretending all was well, that she was having fun, enjoying herself and happy to meet Luke Kenyon again. She wished she wasn’t wearing the poppy dress. Sackcloth and ashes would have been more appropriate.

  Every stab of hurt returned, strong and raw like an open wound. Just seeing Luke, standing so close, smelling the familiar mixture of his skin and his expensive after-shave, travelling the landscape of his face. Holly was shattered. She could barely believe that Danielle and Luke knew each other, had fallen in love, now planned to marry.

  Where had they met? How had they met? She wanted to know everything. But especially she wanted to know what had gone wrong, all those years ago, when Luke flew back to the States, leaving her abandoned at Heathrow Airport.

  “This is a lovely surprise,” said Luke warmly again. Holly was tall but he was bending to talk to her. His eyes were twinkling. “I didn’t know that you and Danielle were cousins. That’s fantastic. Now I have a ready-made family.”

  “I didn’t realise that you knew Danielle,” Holly managed to say, her heart beating faster than usual. She took a sip of champagne, hoping she wouldn’t choke on it. “She never said she had met you or was engaged to you. It was all a surprise. No one heard a word.”

  “That’s Danielle for you. She’s always rushing about, forgets things, thinks tha
t she has done this or that when she hasn’t. Part of her quixotic charm, you might say. She’s a fascinating young woman.”

  “Her charm, of course.” Holly knew that her voice sounded sharp.

  “And now I’m going to join your family. I’m looking forward to that. It’s a long time since I was part of a family, my kind foster parents sadly long gone. This marriage means that I get you, dear Holly, as a cousin. That’s a real bonus, my little slave. I shall like that.”

  “How long have you known her?” Holly could hardly get the words out. Join their family… the words were a knife straight into Holly’s heart.

  “How long have I known her?” Luke rocked back on his heels. He was casually dressed in black, too. Black trousers and a black shirt. His tie was white silk, loosely tied. “I don’t really know. We’ve been meeting, on and off, I suppose, for several years. I kept meeting Danielle at hotels that I was staying at, all over the world. She was doing her work as a travel scout, checking out hotels and I was doing mine, making TV documentaries. I suppose we were thrown together, both lonely. I think we first met in a bar.”

  “What fun,” Holly murmured. That seemed right, both lonely, meeting in a bar. She was handling this situation badly. She had to get away somewhere to think. “Thrown together. Sounds romantic and idyllic.”

  “Yes, I suppose you could call it fun,” said Luke, putting down his drink. “But what about you, Holly? You’re looking amazingly well. What have you been doing? Are you still a producer’s assistant in television or have you left the media circus? I’ve often wondered.”

  Holly didn’t answer. She couldn’t. He’d wondered, had he, but he hadn’t bothered to find out. She moved away. She couldn’t stand any more of this small-talk, pretending to be natural and taking an interest in their engagement when all the time, her courage was failing her. Any moment now she would pass out, or scream, or do something weird and quite unforgivable at Danielle’s party. She might do anything to relieve these pent-up feelings that threatened her composure.