"You fool," she howled. "You stupid fool."
* * *
Reuben’s face was permanently set in grim lines. Hurt and bitterness had deepened the nose to mouth groove overnight. He rarely laughed. A twenty-year-old who did not laugh. His humour had dried up like a vital body juice. There was only work now that Dolly had married Benjamin Reed.
He’d heard that she was already pregnant and the thought stirred memories of their rapture together at Sugar Hill the night before the wedding. He was racked with jealousy and hatred. Surely Dolly would say something to him if she had the slightest suspicion that the child might be his? But she had not even spoken to him since that sunny morning when half of Bridgetown turned out for the wedding of the year.
Reuben did not go to the wedding. He had flown to Jamaica the same morning to tour their new sugar plants, talking to managers, gathering ideas. Right up to the last moment, he did not believe Dolly would go through with it, that it was part of one of her silly daydreams. And surely not after their glorious time-after-time lovemaking? How could she? But when he returned home and opened a newspaper . . . it was all there. The black and white photographs, the description of the bride’s dress, a list of guests; even the name of the baker in Bridgetown who had made the three-tiered wedding cake.
The pain had been physical. Reuben had staggered outside into the garden, sick to his very soul.
The new Reed & Earl sugar factory was being built at speed. Reuben was pouring all his energy and frustration into it, taciturn and short-tempered with everyone. New machinery stood in the yard, crated and waiting to be unpacked and installed, most of it imported from the United Kingdom or the States.
Reuben was intensely proud of the new plant taking shape before his eyes. The progressive systems being installed were the latest in sugar production. He worked from dawn to dusk, barely taking time to eat or sleep. Work helped him through the tormented months when thoughts of Dolly dominated every waking moment. The nights were a different torment, knowing she was in another man’s arms and that Benjamin was taking an intimate pleasure in her soft body.
Often Reuben rode half the night, riding his horse through the plantation or down onto the cool empty beaches, hooves making no sound on the soft sand. The waves soothed his anguish with their relentless wash, till the unwilling light of dawn drove him back to Sugar Hill and his responsibilities.
Reuben checked the new furnaces once again. They were an economic innovation and would cut their fuel bills by half. Even Benjamin, who hated waste, had reluctantly agreed to their installation. Not that the two men were talking. They communicated by memo.
"Evening, Mr Earl. You’re here late," one of the workmen called up from below. "It’s not a twenty-four hour shift yet."
"It would be if Reed had his way," Reuben snapped. He could barely say the man’s name.
"He’s too soft taken with his new bride-woman to even show his face in the factory these days. We don’t see him for a whole week now." The workman chuckled, wiped his face on a red kerchief, then turned the cackle into a cough. "Beggin’ y’pardon, sir. No offence meant . . ."
"None taken," said Reuben heavily. Everyone knew. He had been the subject of much well-meant sympathy since the wedding, but everyone thought he would find a more suitable partner when he was ready to marry. It didn’t help. He only wanted Dolly. His own passionate Dolly, beach girl, half wild, half tamed, pressing the memory of their love in the pages of his mind. Benjamin had his hands full with his child bride. They said she ran barefoot in his new house.
Reuben breathed deeply into his gut, making the oxygen steady his hands. He knew he was not properly co-ordinated these days. He had never made mistakes before but now he was making mistakes. Nothing important, but enough to make him extra careful over the most mundane of actions; switching off, cutting a control, adjusting a dial. A foolish accident would be unforgivable, when so much was at stake. His reputation, his pride. And he had to keep working, working, working . . . it was his only salvation.
* * *
Kira could not believe that she had rejected Giles with such finality. What had she been doing? Women all over the world, since time began, faced first-ever love-making with a new partner with courage tinged with apprehension, and with hope in their hearts. What would it be like? Would it be a disappointment? Why had she been so timid and cowardly? Because she did not want to be hurt again?
Commonsense told her that it might have been the rum.
She breathed deeply into her diaphragm, trying to steady her shaking hands. Just what was she doing here? Alone in this ruined mill when all she wanted was Giles’s arms around her, holding her close, crushing her body, bring the wreckage of her spirit back to life. She looked down at her bare legs, remembering how they had wrapped themselves wantonly round his body, then denied their true purpose by struggling.
She was a fool. Her soul was not being fed and she was letting it shrivel. She was starving for love, isolating herself, fading away as a person, yet when this so special man wanted her, she could not let go. She had to let go of these chains. He had lifted her spirits by being there. But he would not want her again. He was too proud a man to even glance her way another day.
He had every right to be angry. She had given him all the wrong signals.
There was no way she could stand another emotional see-saw, and loving Giles would shatter her. Loving Giles? Did she love him? After only a few days? Surely not? Her mind was playing tricks. It was only an infatuation, a fancy, a crush or pure lust.
But Kira was sure that she wanted her life on an even keel, and this man caused earth-tremors that rocked her to the core.
The rain was beginning to stop. It dripped from palm leaves in slow, uneven beats. Kira rubbed her stiff limbs. Her bad leg was beginning to hurt. There were dry clothes in her bags in the mini-Moke and she went outside to fetch them.
She did not want to shed tears for Giles. But they were there, waiting to be shed. For a moment she held them back. But they were too strong. She folded her arms over her head and leaned against the rough wall.
Twenty-Three
Benjamin Reed came to Kira’s rescue. She was struggling into crumpled clothes, determined to get back to normal, when she heard an engine straining to climb over the rough, rocky ground.
The morning was beautiful but she could barely appreciate it. Sun sparkled through the rain-washed sky and there was not a cloud to be seen anywhere. The vista of rolling hills was endless, bright with pure colour, the vibrant emptiness echoing a chord in her heart.
Giles’s Land Rover had gone but she could see the ridged tracks where he had driven over muddy earth. The Moke was steaming in the hot sunshine, vapour rising from its sodden fabric roof.
She watched an ancient Rover coming up towards the ruined mill. The driver was expert at swinging the vehicle round to miss the worst of the rocks and potholes. Beside him in the passenger seat sat another man whom Kira instantly recognised as her grandfather. He saluted with a battered straw hat.
"How are yer, girl? Are you all right?" he bellowed out of the window.
She nodded, finding a shaky smile. She knew she must look a sight, her eyes gritty and swollen. She could not repair the damage.
"I’m fine," she called back. She went to meet the car, hobbling a little. The restless night on a hard floor had not helped, and several times cramp had pinned her lame leg with its crab-like clutch.
"We were worried about you," Benjamin said, noting the shadowed eyes. He recognised the signs of crying. Dolly had cried a lot before the baby was born. He had been at his wit’s end to comfort her but she had quietened down when Tamara arrived. He had never understood his young wife, never knew why she was so unhappy. He had never seen the light. He did not want to make the same mistakes with this young woman.
"I knew you’d be up here, somewhere near the Morgan Lewis Mill. What a night to be stranded, my girl. You look in need of a hot bath and a good breakfast inside you. Come along no
w. Get your things."
"But what about the Moke?" Kira had been about to ask about Giles’s catamaran sail but stopped. He could fetch his own sail.
"Josh here will drive it back. You come to Fitt’s House with me and don’t go wandering off again like that without telling anyone where you are. Giles nearly had a fit yesterday. He was so angry."
It was small consolation. It did not lift the hurt she was feeling, the aching despair.
She pushed away thoughts of Giles’s demanding mouth and hard, muscled body against her softness. She missed him already. But it was no good torturing herself with such memories. With a flash of insight, she wondered if perhaps her peace of mind could be with this elderly man, who was looking at her now with concern and affection. Affection . . . but why, when he hardly knew her?
"Thank you," she said. "A hot bath would be wonderful. Thank you for coming to look for me. I might have got stuck on the track if the rain has washed bits away."
"No, you’d have managed. Sheer desperation can work miracles," he chuckled. He helped her into the Rover, noticing the limp. "You’re limping again."
"I got cold last night."
"That leg of yours needs looking at."
"It’s all right, really."
"I didn’t have too much trouble finding you," he went on. "You left a trail of goodwill yesterday, everywhere. The growers are all talking about the young lady from England who was really interested in their problems. News travels fast on this island. Everyone talks and chatters on the phone. Giles would like to put a time limit on talking. Tea-break, talk-break. He likes making rules."
The mahogany and casuarinas trees were steaming and dripping, their heavy leaves glossy and freshly green. Kira spotted a lot of rain damage. Small wooden outhouses had been flooded, hen coops flattened. She could see the sense of building the houses on blocks of concrete or wood. The young green sugar cane was rain-lashed and lay flattened on the fields.
Benjamin slowed down as they drove past St Andrew’s Church and Turner’s Hall Wood, passing Mount Hillaby, the highest point on the island.
"Turner’s Hall Wood is the last of the primeval forest on the island," he said. "Some palm trees are 30 metres high. The stringing vines make canopies overhead, real pretty. There’s locust trees, red cedar, Spanish oak and cabbage palm . . . such strange-looking trees. You should see the magnificent jack-in-the-box with its heart-shaped leaves and masses of fruit. I’ll take you there one day. Would you like that?"
"I’d like that."
Driving on Highway 2 was quicker, despite the flooded stretches. Then they were turning into the drive of Fitt’s House and her first glimpse of the pink castle gave Kira a fleeting feeling that she was coming home. Shadows moved and for an uncanny moment she thought someone else was there.
Benjamin took Kira straight upstairs and showed her a big, old-fashioned bathroom with an Edwardian bath standing on curved feet, with a marble surround for accessories. He piled towels into her arms and gruffly told her to get on with it, clearly embarrassed.
Now that she was alone, desolation swept over her again and she sat on the edge of the bath, the spurting water from both taps drowning her jerky sobs, blurred lenses of tears. She peeled off her clothes, dropping them anywhere and sank into the hot water, trying to control herself. This wasn’t doing her any good.
Bruce and Penny were lost in the past and it was Giles who filled her thoughts now. Someone had brought in her suitcase and put it outside the bathroom door. She put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. It was too much trouble to put on any make-up. She did not care what she looked like.
But when she saw her reflection in the steamy mirror, she realised she could not go downstairs looking such a wreck. She splashed cold water over the blotched skin and practised a wan smile.
Benjamin had breakfast ready for her in the large cool kitchen at the back of the house. The kitchen was left over from several decades back. There was a brown earthenware sink, big enough to bath a goat, a stove that ran off gas cylinders and battered cooking pots that must have been forty or fifty years old.
A huge antique refrigerator hummed and rattled in a corner of the room. Despite the mass of genuine antiques in the house, Benjamin had obviously never spent a penny on the kitchen. It was long overdue.
He was dishing up fried bacon and breadfruit and scrambled eggs on cracked and lined blue porcelain plates. He had an enamel pot of coffee bubbling on the stove. Josh had brought in fresh hot bread from the small bakery down the road.
"I hope you don’t mind eating in the kitchen," said Benjamin, fussing around, straightening everything. "I’ve got out of the habit of using the dining room. Too big and too much trouble for one."
Kira pulled out a wooden chair and sat down. "This is fine," she said. “Thank you.”
"Sharing breakfast with a pretty young woman, now that really is something," he chuckled. "I thought that kind of thing was all over."
I shall have to tell him soon, thought Kira quickly. He can’t make passes at his granddaughter.
"Don’t you have a housekeeper or someone to look after you?" she asked. "I thought I saw a woman here when I came for the meeting."
"That’s Jessy. She still works for me but only comes in a few days a week. She came to work for us when my wife, Dolly, was alive." It was a matter-of-fact statement. "But I don’t need her no more, Kira. I like to cook and cater for myself and I don’t want any woman regular about the place. I’ve been my own master for too long."
His face steeled itself but the expression was gone in a second. It was the first time he had mentioned Dolly to her. Kira did not probe. He forked the fried breadfruit on the plates and looked up, waiting for her reaction.
"What do you think of it? The fried breadfruit? There isn’t anything in the world to beat the taste. God, bless him, knew what he was doing when he made the breadfruit tree."
Kira had to admit that the taste and texture was unique and she liked it. But she had no appetite. She forced down the food slowly, accepting more of the good coffee.
It was only eight o’clock. Benjamin must have been out soon after 6am. She was touched by his concern, worried by the early start, especially when she was no more than a stranger.
She caught a glimpse of her stricken face in a mirror as she helped clear the table. Crying never helped a woman’s appearance. It wasn’t fair.
She was sitting out in the garden later, compiling her notes for Giles, using work to take her mind off him. Benjamin joined her and made a staggering suggestion.
"If you are continuing this cracked-brained research that Giles wants, then you ought to make watertight arrangements," he began. "We can’t send out search parties for you every day."
"I’m sorry I was such a nuisance. It won’t happen again. I don’t want another uncomfortable night in a ruin."
"I’ve a much better idea. Why don’t you stay here at Fitt’s House? I’ve plenty of room and I’ve been rattling around this old place for far too long. There are five empty bedrooms, back and front. You can take your pick. I’ll get Jessy to clean it up for you, make it nice and ladylike. You could come and go as you please, so long as you leave a note as to which parish you are working in. What do you say, Kira? Could you put up with the company of an old man?"
Kira felt a constriction in her throat. She was moved to compassion for her grandfather. He was lonely and he liked her. And he was offering her a chance to get to know him better and to live in this eccentrically enchanting old house. Why had the distance grown in the family? Was there still time to breach the terrible things that had happened in the past? Kira hoped so.
After so much rejection, she was ready to lap up care and concern, to heal the hurt. Waves of giddy rejection pounded through her brain. The beating of her heart was crippled. She was so scared and vulnerable. She was missing Giles with a sublime indifference to how long she had known him.
He was leaning forward, trying to hide the anxiety in his faded eyes. He desper
ately wanted her to stay and he didn’t know why. He had nothing to offer her. She was lovely in every way, sitting in the dappled shade of his breadfruit tree, her eyes haunted with pain. Dear God, he’d like to know who put that hurt there. But now he wanted to sit and look at her, to have a little of her time before it was too late for anything.
She smiled at Benjamin, one of those radiant smiles with the dimple in the corner and he read in it his answer. He knew she was not going to turn him down. He could hardly believe his luck.
"How kind, Mr Reed. Yes, I would love to stay with you if I won’t be too much trouble. I love your old house and it would be a real pleasure. You’ll hardly notice I’m here."
"That’s great, that’s wonderful." He got up with the vigour and energy of a thirty-year-old. He hovered as if he wanted to re-arrange the shade on her face so that it would not spoil the fragile contours. "And call me Ben. Mr Reed is so stuffy."
"I’ll always leave you my route for the day, I promise."
"And start when it’s cool. Stop for a rest at midday and return about four. Remember, it gets dark very quickly." He was agitated, concerned, did not know what to say or do to protect her.
"I will. I will," she nodded.
The Moke had been cleaned and refuelled. It stood in the drive, waiting for her. Kira chose her room; she took the other big room at the front of the house.
There was a view of the sea from the tall windows that reached from floor to ceiling, and she could climb out onto the balcony that ran round the first floor. The room was barely furnished with worn rugs on polished floorboards, an old brass bedstead and a simple, locally-made mahogany chest of drawers.
Twenty-Four
Jessy arrived with another cup of coffee, her dark face beaming. "This is gonna be good news," she said, putting down the coffee at Kira’s side. "It’s about time Mr Benjamin had some rightful female company."
Kira smiled. "I hope I won’t make more work for you. I left the bathroom in a mess."
Sweet Seduction Page 16
