Sweet Seduction

by Whitelaw, Stella

  "Put some cream on your shoulders or they’ll be sore," he said. He began to draw patterns on an old-fashioned green, leather-bound blotter. Everything on the big mahogany desk was well-used and old. "I’ve arranged for you to attend tomorrow’s monthly meeting of the Sugar Growers’ Association. You would meet all the big plantation owners and listen to our current problems. The members have agreed to you sitting in as an observer. It would be useful background."

  Kira swallowed the bait. This was going to be difficult to refuse. It would be the perfect way to meet her grandfather, gauge him as a man, guess his reaction to the prospect of a granddaughter appearing on his doorstep. It was not fair of Giles to make the situation even more complicated.

  She shrugged as if undecided. Why had the first man she met on Barbados have to be Giles Earl? And why did he have to be connected with Benjamin Reed? Although she gathered from his coolness that they only talked on business occasions.

  Giles got up from his desk and was standing against the window watching the workers below. His tall form was powerful and resilient against the brilliant blue of the sky. He had no right to look so neatly seamed into the fabric of this life. Kira saw a glimpse of happiness for herself but it was out of reach. She could imagine herself calling his name to the wind just so that she could hear it spoken aloud.

  Kira could hardly contain the measured yearning she felt for those strong arms to hold her again. Yet when he had touched her, that strange and dangerous moment at Cobbler’s Reef, she had been scared, alarm bells ringing.

  "You might as well see around the factory while you’re here," he said flatly. It was more of an order than an invitation.

  "Since you put it so charmingly, I can hardly refuse," said Kira. She rose, but stopped at a framed photograph hanging on the wall behind her. It was of a handsome, tousle-headed young man, trowel in hand, obviously laying a foundation stone. His expression, caught forever by the photographer, was as chilled as a coffin and Kira felt a minute breeze of fear.

  "Who’s this?" she asked.

  "That’s Reuben Earl," he said. "My father. He was laying the foundation stone of the new plant. He was the one with all the ideas for expansion. Benjamin Reed wanted to stay in the Stone Age. He’s glad enough now when the dividends roll in twice-yearly from his shares."

  * * *

  "You will be there, won’t you, Reuben?" Dolly pleaded in his ear as they lay entwined on the deserted, sun-flecked beach. "I can’t go to this dinner party unless you are there. Benjamin said it would be all the best people. Then you’ll see my new dress."

  "Yes, I am going but I’ll be too busy talking to Benjamin about the plans for the new factory to take any notice of a new dress," Reuben teased. "Man’s talk. You can chat about dresses with the Minister’s girls."

  "Not those horrid, stuck-up girls," she said, pushing him back on the sand. "All praying pious and pink dresses. I shall make you pay for that remark. You must kiss me a hundred times."

  "You can’t count that far."

  "I’m betting I can," said Dolly, smothering his reply with her young body and crawling arms. She pinned him down, her hips pushing his legs apart in a parody of the male role. She bit the lobe of his ears, the tip of his nose, the dent in his chin, tugging his hair, behaving like the wild, untamed creature she was till the first passion was spent and she fastened her mouth on his, sucking in the juice, and the world around them disappeared into a sun-baked haze.

  "Dolly, Dolly," Reuben groaned, reeling from the sheer physical assault. "For heaven’s sake, stop. It’s more than any man can stand.”

  "You’re at my mercy," she growled. They heard the voices of some fishermen approaching and they struggled to untangle themselves, assume expressions of innocence.

  "Afternoon, Mizz Dolly," one of the fishermen waved, grinning.

  "Afternoon, Mister Reuben," said another, white teeth flashing.

  Dolly flung herself back and lay inert. "Now the whole of Bridgetown will know."

  "The whole of Bridgetown already knows," said Reuben caustically. "This is confirmation for the gossips. The only people who don’t know are your father and Benjamin Reed. Get up and I’ll walk you home. I don’t want people making fun of you."

  "I won’t let people make fun of us," said Dolly, beginning to cry. "If everyone knows, then they know I love you and one day I’m going to marry you."

  "Calm down. You know I can’t marry for years. I’ve told you a dozen times. Don’t you ever listen? I’ve got to learn the business first before I take a wife. Now there’s this new factory to get built and a new partnership to cement. We’re going to be the number one world exporters of sugar from Barbados."

  "Number one exporter of silly dreams and stupid ideas," said Dolly exasperated. "Such big ideas you men have. I’ll be a shrivelled-up spinster by the time it happens."

  * * *

  Kira followed Giles out of his office, along the iron veranda and down the steps into the yard. The thickly sweet smell of sugar filled the air. The yard was piled with coarse-cut canes being unloaded from the lorries. In one area, the loads were being weighed in and checked for trash.

  "You’ll need a hard hat," he said, taking a yellow one from a shelf stacked with hats in tipsy piles. Kira put it on carefully, tucking her hair behind her ears.

  The heat, noise and dust inside the factory was unbelievable. Giles raised his voice, explaining how the feeder tables cut the cane into small pieces with knives. He pointed out the two great cane engines, roller mills and four presses crushing the stalks and the constant swish-swash of water washing so that the juice got cleaner and purer.

  "This way, Kira. Be careful."

  They climbed up narrow ironwork steps to the numerous upper galleries so that they could look down onto the great furnaces. A blast of white hot air seared Kira’s face as she peered down into the glowing furnace holes. It was like looking into a flaming pit of hell fire. Kira drew back. But her fear went as she became absorbed in the mechanics of producing a spoonful of sugar.

  "We’re burning the dried husks as fuel," Giles shouted above the noise. "Nothing is wasted. The island is not blessed with an abundance of coal or trees or off-shore oil."

  He took her arm and showed her where the juice was clarified and evaporated to produce syrup. "The centrifugal force then separates the syrup into raw sugar and molasses."

  "Textbook talk."

  "How else are you going to learn?"

  They walked along a surrealistic avenue where huge vats of frothy sugar were bubbling and splashing. Inside the vats the liquid was becoming thicker and moving around more lethargically. Kira peered through each glass viewing window onto tons and tons of molten sugar. Technicians in white coats moved about with clipboards, checking dials and instruments.

  Her fear of heights vanished in her fascination for the different processes in the factory. Giles explained everything clearly and with thought for her ignorance of the subject. He often took her arm, or guided her along some narrow walkway, as if their fights and conflicts had never happened.

  The strong, lingering smell of sugar was everywhere. A headache ran like a crack across her eyes, vision confused with pipes and cables, guards, vats, drums, bags of lime, parked bicycles, men tending and watching machines. Everyone and everything was saturated with the over-powering heat and smell inside the high, corrugated-roofed building.

  "We work twenty-four hour shifts in top season," Giles said, turning to help her down the steep iron steps. And she had thought he was a playboy, jogging, breakfasting on the beach at leisure, dining at Sam Lord’s. She took each step carefully, not wanting to catch her heel in the open grid. "It’s a race against time."

  "This is sugar from your own plantation?"

  "Yes, it has to be harvested at exactly the right time. Then we take cane in from the small growers. We work as a co-operative in order to help them get their crop processed."

  "The theory is good," she said inaudibly, moistening her lips.


  "It’s not working well. That’s why I need this research. We get a lot of complaints. Non-arrival of crops, short weight, disappearing deliveries, lack of quality control in mixed consignments."

  Kira staggered out into the fresh air, wrenched off the hard hat and shook out her hair. Her scalp was wet with sweat.

  "Are you all right?"

  "So hot . . . and the noise. I don’t know how you stand it."

  "I’m used to it but I forgot about your delicate ears. Stand in the shade for a few minutes. There’s a breeze under these trees."

  The air was still sweet but the heat from the furnaces was contained by the corrugated building. Now it was the late afternoon sunshine which warmed her face and a whiff of ozone from the nearby sea breezed across her skin.

  "Please think again about taking on this research," said Giles, fanning her face with a spray of palm leaves. It was such a touching and funny action. "You’d be exactly right, an impartial and neutral observer."

  Kira wondered if Giles would still think she was impartial when he discovered she was Benjamin Reed’s granddaughter. She doubted it.

  "I’ll admit I’m interested and the sugar process is fascinating. I can see how Barbados depends on its sugar industry. But I honestly don’t think I have the time to get all the information, let alone collate it and produce a comprehensive report."

  "I’ll get you a laptop."

  Kira laughed, feeling better in the fresh air. "That doesn’t solve the time problem. A report doesn’t write itself on a computer. The information has to be fed in. But I love the fields of sugar cane," she added, her voice trailing away. "Waving like waves of green water."

  "You’re so right, Kira. The fields do look like green waves when the wind is blowing through the cane."

  He seemed to peer at the shadows so finely etched beneath her green eyes; she tried to hide the vulnerability she knew was visible in their depths. His eyes were covering her with a tender caress that made Kira’s heart miss a beat. She jerked her gaze away.

  When Giles looked at her like that, her brain would not function properly. He was manipulating her as she had vowed no man would ever again.

  His face was sweaty, dusty, the crisp dark curls plastered to his forehead by the rim of his hard-hat. There were patches of darkening sweat on the shoulders of his shirt, grease stains on his jeans.

  He pulled her towards him, nothing gentle in his eyes now. He bent his head, his lips moving lightly over her as if coaxing submission. Kira held her breath then let it escape in a shuddering sigh. His hand slipped down her long, straight back, curving her body against his hard chest. There was nothing Kira could do. Her senses were reeling in the balmy dusk. The sensual ease of his touch was melting her body and she longed for the moment when his mouth would take the kiss he was promising.

  "I can’t stop kissing you," he said huskily. "You have the most beautiful mouth, so soft."

  "No, please don’t." But her protest was unconvincing.

  "Don’t kiss you, or don’t stop?" he teased, threading his fingers through her hair.

  She struggled weakly. "Your workmen are watching. Let me go."

  "It’s their tea break. Shall I ever get to know you, Kira? You have got me in your spell. You’re using the island magic. I can feel it. You’re the witch of the water, singing at the edge of the sea, leading me astray."

  He pulled her further out of sight against a stack of cut cane, taking the rows of sharp edges into his own back. The aroma of the cane was heady, but more so was the firm leanness of his body moulding her against his hips.

  His mouth came warm and demanding on her lips and their growing fire parted them, seeking the softness inside. In the swirling darkness, a sensation grew that pushed all thoughts of caution from her mind. She could only think of his body covering her own. His hands were resting on her rounded hips, moving up to her waist, moulding the flesh, tracing the curves. She hardly knew where he ended and she began. She had no will to stop him.

  Shockwaves ran through her body as he tasted her mouth with a fierce longing that matched her own. She leaned against the hardness of his thigh, moving, giving herself up to the slow, exquisite assault on her senses.

  Her heart was hammering as he held her at arm’s length. She could not believe that he was pushing her away after such kisses. He was smiling, slow and mysterious, his real thoughts veiled.

  "I think we should go back to my office before I make love to you, right out here in the yard," he said. "Now that would shock my workforce. I’ve some lists to give you, then I’ll drive you back to Sandy."

  "But I haven’t said . . ." Kira began.

  "Yes, you have. You’ve said yes with every word, every gesture, every look in your eyes. We’re going to be partners."

  "Partners? Are we going to be partners?" she asked tremulously. "What do you mean?"

  He tipped her chin up and gazed into the glowing depths of her green eyes, the brightness of the gold flecks.

  "Give it time, Kira," he said huskily. "Give me time."

  Sixteen

  Reuben could not take his eyes off Dolly during the long, slowly-served meal. Course after course arrived at the table and Reuben did his best, although his appetite had fled. Conversation with the Minister’s eldest daughter and the doctor’s wife was hard work when Dolly was sitting opposite, flirting demurely with every man in the room except him.

  He could not believe it was the same harum-scarum Dolly looking so grown-up, toying with her food and sipping the wine. He imagined her hosting dinner parties at Sugar Hill, bewitching all his friends and their wives.

  Dolly looked enchanting. She had tamed her hair into a twist on the top of her head, but tendrils had escaped, framing her face and neck. Dolly had finally chosen a simple ivory silk dress after days of window shopping. At the last minute she had tucked a gardenia into her hair and the perfume clung around her.

  But under the table, she had eased her feet out of her mother’s brocade shoes. They were too tight. And there had been no money for new shoes.

  "My husband tells me that this new factory will have all the modern safety requirements," said the doctor’s wife. "No more workers falling into vats or crushed under cranes."

  Reuben shot back to the present, nearly spilling his wine. "Of course. Absolutely. Every new regulation observed to the letter."

  "I do hope there will be an official opening," the woman continued. "Such an event will deserve everyone of importance being there. Members of the Senate?"

  "You and your husband will be among our special guests," Reuben murmured politely, tensing. Cool bare toes were touching his ankle, sliding slowly up his trouser leg. He glared across the table but Dolly had assumed an expression of total innocence, head tilted, pretending to be listening to her neighbour.

  The caress was touching his nerve ends and desire flooded his body, destroying all his concentration. The doctor’s wife prattled on but he did not hear a word.

  Dolly was driving him crazy. Reuben exhaled through his nostrils, trying to control his thudding heart and sweating body. He slid his hand under the tablecloth, as if to retrieve an errant napkin on his lap. Instead he grabbed Dolly’s ankle and held it in a fast grip. He looked at the sudden shock in her eyes and tugged a fraction of an inch.

  He could see her alarm increase. If he pulled on her ankle, she would be off her chair and under the table in a humiliating heap. Her eyes pleaded with him silently but his face did not move. He loved her desperately but he could stand no more of her games.

  With his other hand he pinched one of her toes, quite tightly. He saw the pain spark a tear. He did not mean to hurt her but he was angry.

  "Having trouble?" enquired the doctor’s wife.

  "You could say," he said, eyes granite hard. "Damned napkin. Lost it."

  "I’ll get you another one."

  Dolly looked as if she was about to faint. She was gripping the sides of her chair, bracing herself for the moment when Reuben pulled her off balanc
e. She looked at his face, so hard and unforgiving. He knew it frightened her.

  "I wonder if I could have a glass of water?" she murmured, hardly daring to turn her head.

  Suddenly Reuben ripped his thumb nail down the sole of her foot and Dolly squealed out loud. He let go of her foot.

  "Ticklish, Miss La Plante?" he said with a glimmer of amusement.

  Dolly was pink with embarrassment. Everyone round the table laughed. Benjamin did not understand what the laughter was about but, since his guests seemed to be having a good time, he did not mind. Dolly looked pale and lovely, every inch a lady.

  Giles drove her back to Sandy Lane later in the afternoon, after he had seen to some disputed loads which had arrived in his yard unannounced. The lorry drivers were unknown to him and he was reluctant to take the cane.

  It was easy to see that the men respected his authority and that his decision was a fair one. The loads would remain stacked in the yard until some identification could be produced.

  They did not talk much on the return drive cross-country, though Giles did point out sights of interest, particularly the Lion Monument on Gun Hill. The great white beast stood out prominently from the hill, roaring a silent defiance into the air.

  "Little did that young English officer, way back in l869, know that his idle, off-duty stone chipping would become a tourist attraction a century later."

  "Do you know his name?"

  "Oh yes. It was Henry Wilkinson. He was stationed with the Imperial Forces."

  "You love this island, don’t you?"

  "Of course, it’s my home," said Giles, as if that was enough.

  Giles also pointed out the quiet, tree-shaded road leading to the Villa Nova. The house itself was hidden by royal palms and huge bearded fig trees.

  "It was Sir Anthony Eden’s retreat from the world and from illness," he said. "I’ll take you there one day. It’s a beautiful house and the views are magnificent. And I’ll take you to Bathsheba to see the wild East Coast, then Harrison’s Cave at Welchman Hall Gully."