Sweet Seduction

by Whitelaw, Stella

  "But I have a living to earn," said Kira, with a hopeless kind of guilt. She had not told him yet who she was. "I’ve no work lined up for the coming months and I’ve almost finished Giles’s research."

  "You could work for me. I need someone young and enthusiastic. Why not stay and help me run my plantation? I’d teach you everything I know. You’re a bright, intelligent woman and seem to have an instinct for sugar and for Barbados."

  The words ran like liquid sugar through her veins. It was what she wanted to hear. She did have an instinct for sugar plantations and their problems. She loved the fields of waving cane. It was as if she had been brought up here on the island and not in a series of bed-sits in London. Somehow she had skipped a generation.

  "A woman running your plantation?" she laughed. "Doesn’t that go against the grain? I don’t know anything about sugar except where to pour it." Kira kept her voice light. "Anyway, Giles would have a fit if I started working for you. He is already uptight about me staying here."

  "What does Giles matter? Let the damned man have a fit. I’d like to see it."

  Benjamin chuckled into his cool iced rum drink. He called it the Fitt’s House Special and he would not give Kira the recipe. She was working on it.

  "Giles would make it difficult for me," Kira went on, more to herself. The damn man. Those words ran round her mind. "A woman helping to run the Reed Plantation would be like a red rag. Out of the question."

  Sometimes she wondered if those moments on the sand had ever happened. Could her body ever forget them? It had been half delirium from near-drowning and shock. Was it so terrible that she was Benjamin Reed’s granddaughter? Giles had reacted as if it was a crime.

  "You’re efficient and talented. Think about it, Kira, and let me know. There’s no hurry. It’s a big decision to make."

  * * *

  "Blast you, man, what were you thinking, letting her run around alone in a hurricane? And what about Tamara? Didn’t you have any thought for either of them?" Reuben’s face was contorted with fury.

  "I didn’t know where she was," Benjamin groaned. "She had a mind of her own. You can’t blame me."

  "I do blame you. Why didn’t you employ a nanny if Tamara was too much for Dolly to look after?" Reuben glared.

  "Too expensive. I’ve a lot of debts."

  Reuben could have throttled him. "You and your debts. This damned fool castle and the money you borrowed from the firm. I’m going to see that every penny is paid back. I won’t let you get away with it, Benjamin Reed."

  "Are you threatening me?"

  "Take it any way you like, you bastard."

  Reuben took a pace forward, his hands flying to Benjamin’s throat. He was seeing red, the red of Dolly’s blood across her body.

  Benjamin fought him off. They were both heaving, fighting for Dolly. But she was dead and neither of them would admit that she had gone.

  * * *

  Giles was polite to her when they met around, complimentary about her work and about as friendly as a cobra. He had put up an invisible wall and Kira could not understand why.

  They came face-to-face at a dance, both guests of another sugar planter. It was held at a local night-spot with a steel band on a small concrete floor, among swaying palms, only yards from the murmuring sea. The music was rhythmic and sexy; the singers making up verse after verse with impromptu words; the drummers putting their souls into the pulsing beat.

  The metallic sound was so right out in the open air, the waves washing gently on the shore, breakers parading far out to sea. The wasted slip of an old moon hung in the sky. Kira let a special kind of peace steal over her.

  Giles asked her to dance. Kira accepted without thinking. He moved with the easy rhythm that belonged to a man who had been dancing to music all his life, who belonged to the islands not to any polished Western ballroom dance floor.

  The bar was a wooden shack with thatched palm leaf roof. The pale moonlight reflected in the rows of bottles and glasses. It was crowded with people.

  "I’m glad you didn’t dress up," he said, admiring her gold-threaded blue sari and bare feet.

  "You said not to dress up for a steel band."

  It was a bewitching night, the breeze from the sea full of land scents blowing through her hair, but no longer feeling dangerous. Kira danced in a daze, so pleased to see Giles, his hands touching her occasionally to remind her they were dancing together, catching hands one moment then losing them. They looked at each other as if they had forgotten anyone else existed.

  Kira could not stop herself from hoping. Perhaps Giles had now accepted that she was Ben’s granddaughter and realised that it didn’t matter. She wanted the situation to go back to how they used to be.

  "You said wearing a sari was perfect for dancing," said Kira. "Something cool."

  "So I did," he said, moving his cheek against the softness of her hair. "I was right, wasn’t I?"

  Kira closed her eyes, starved for his touch. A wave of tenderness rippled through her, mingling with her resentment, not voicing any disappointment. She missed him so much.

  "Can we talk sometime? About us? There’s a lot I want to say," she asked.

  "Of course," he murmured.

  But the moment was lost. Some more people arrived who knew Giles and they put tables together and suddenly it was one big noisy party. The intimacy had gone. Giles was laughing with his friends and later he got up to dance with one of the girls, a beautiful slinky black girl in a skimpy silver dress, her hair braided in an intricate design and an exotic flower behind her ear.

  Then Lace arrived. Kira recognised her immediately. She was wearing another slip of a dress, pink lace, long legs and bare shoulders. She came straight over to Kira, eyes flashing.

  "I told you it wouldn’t last, didn’t I? I’m always right where Giles is concerned," she said, taking Kira’s drink from the table, throwing away the straw and drinking long from the glass. What was the matter with the girl?

  "Have you left school yet?" asked Kira.

  Lace looked surprised. "Yes. Why?"

  "Your manners are positively kindergarten. It’s a wonder you are let out without a nanny."

  "Has he told you about our mother?"

  "Yes, I know she has MS. I’m so sorry."

  "Ah, that much you know. He’s dumped you already, has he? I recognise the redundant tone of voice. Don’t worry, Russian-named Kira. There are plenty more fish in the sea. Someone else will snap you up. You’re quite a catch, I understand."

  Kira felt herself shrinking. She wanted to go home. The leg, which had not troubled her all evening, suddenly began to ache. "Go and enjoy yourself elsewhere," she said, getting up. "I don’t need your brand of conversation."

  She found Giles and asked him if he could take her home; she was tired.

  "Sure," he said, searching for his keys. "I’ll drop you off at Fitt’s House then come back. The night is young and I haven’t seen these friends for months. They’ve been in the States."

  The States. The women had the gleam and glamour of New York on their skin and the clothes they wore.

  It hurt Kira immeasurably that Giles was going back to the party after he dropped her. He was demonstrating again that he was a free agent. He could do anything he wanted. Barbadians liked to stay up late and sleep during the heat of the day. It was their way of life. The cooler night hours were their leisure and pleasure time.

  "Thank you," she said, as he dropped her at the end of the drive to Fitt’s House. It was all she could do not to turn and cling to him. Her legs felt as stiff as poles as she swung them out of his car and closed the door. She could not look at him.

  "See you in my office tomorrow. Ten o’clock."

  Kira had forgotten. Her work on the plight of the small farmers and their transport problems was finished. She had written her report. Benjamin had borrowed a word processor for her and she had spent the last few evenings putting all her notes and observations into a spreadsheet.

  Benjamin
was still up, reading The Advocate, his glasses perched on the end of his nose. "You’re back from the party so soon," he said, sounding pleased.

  "I was too tired to dance," said Kira.

  "You’ve been overdoing it these last few days. You ought to relax more. And perhaps someone ought to take a look at that leg of yours. It doesn’t seem right that it’s still hurting."

  "They said it would take time."

  "But not this long, surely? There’s a very good orthopaedic surgeon visiting Bridgetown this week. Would you let me make an appointment for you?"

  "If you like," Kira said wearily, then remembered her manners. "Yes, thank you, Ben."

  "Off to bed, then, my girl. Take a drink, whatever you want."

  She bent and kissed his leathery cheek. It was the first time. "You’re so kind to me," she said.

  * * *

  Reuben was still at the factory. It was late. He worked on auto-pilot these days. He could not remember when he had last slept properly. He had a family now; married a local woman, the perfect planter’s wife, Elise, and had two small children, Giles and Lace. He ought to be happy. But Dolly haunted him and their child, Tamara, was a living reminder. He was being eaten away with regret. He struggled in a mesh of grief and guilt. He was trapped by his old love for Dolly.

  He climbed the iron steps to his office then up further to the galleries where the furnaces burned day and night.

  He went round checking things which had already been checked. A kind of focussed stillness made him concentrate. This was his job, his work, his life. Sugar and more sugar, producing calories and alcohol. Surely he should be proud of his work?

  For a moment he thought someone else was there. He stopped, listening, his feet scraping on the iron walkway. Strange, but he had a feeling he was not alone, then dismissed it. It could be a bird or an animal.

  He peered into a furnace. There was no need, but the glowing red and gold embers below held a kind of deadly fascination. They were like an entrance to hell.

  No-one knew exactly what happened. But they found what was left of Reuben Earl the next morning. And it wasn’t much.

  * * *

  She drove into the yard at Reed & Earl on the dot of ten o’clock, overwhelmed by the sickly sweet smell of the cane and molasses. She parked the Moke next to Giles’s car. Her skin had a deep honey tan which was shown off to perfection by the short-sleeved blue cotton shirt and skirt she was wearing. She had made up her mind. Today she was going to have it out with him. She wanted to know why being Benjamin’s granddaughter was such a sin.

  As she switched off the engine, Giles came out of his office. His face was expressionless, sleeves rolled to the elbows, arms burnt brown by the sun. He hesitated, then came down the steps to meet her.

  "Sorry about the party," he said. "I hadn’t seen Patsie for years. I went to school with her."

  "I’m not your keeper," she said, not betraying by a flicker of an eyelash the tidal wave of feeling that the sight of him always produced. "Anyway, old friends are always special."

  "So are new friends," he said, opening the door of the Moke. He took in the sight of her smooth bare legs, looking longingly at the length of them. "Have you brought your report?"

  "Yes. It’s all here." She tapped her briefcase.

  "Nice case," he commented.

  "Benjamin gave it to me for my birthday."

  "You’ve had a birthday?" He sounded surprised.

  "Yes. Don’t most people?"

  "I didn’t know the date. We could have had a party."

  "You weren’t around."

  He made a sharp, exasperated sound and turned on his heel, taking the steps up to his office two at a time. Kira hurried after him, keeping her eyes off his well-washed jeans and long, muscular legs.

  "Briefly then," she said, trying to sound cool and efficient. "There aren’t going to be any small sugar farmers in five years if you don’t help them now. They are turning to vegetables and tourism. Huge tracts of sugar land are being lost. And a whole lot of smallholdings are lying fallow because it’s cheaper than losing good money trying to cultivate them."

  "You went out to research lorries and transport," he said grimly, pouring two glasses of lime juice, adding ice.

  "Hand-in-hand," said Kira. "The small farmer can’t grow cane for several reasons and transporting his crop is only one of his problems. The decline stems from cultivation and reaping, monkeys and fires. He can’t undertake the cultivation, fertilisation, weeding, cut and load the cane in a one-man operation. He buys fertilizer and it’s impossible for him to check that it finds its way to his fields. Nor can he be certain that all of his cane reaches your factory and is registered in his name. The whole system is eroded with errors."

  She had caught his attention. He was listening, his eyes as hard as granite. His glance darted to his near empty yard. Kira was momentarily diverted. There were no lorries in the yard. That was strange.

  "He can’t get labour except at the weekends, when it’s more expensive and he has to pay more. And he still has to cope with fire bugs, pests and droughts in the same way as a big plantation owner."

  "Are you expecting me to solve all their problems?"

  "They think you can. Giles Earl is their hero. It’s a wonder they don’t subscribe to a statue in the centre of Bridgetown."

  "I like the idea of a statue," he grinned.

  "Surely a big factory like Reed & Earl could organise its own transport system, capable of loading all the smallholders’ cane at a uniform rate whether they are five miles or fifty from the factory? Couldn’t payment be fertiliser in part, making sure they get it? When you close the factory or are on short-work, couldn’t you lease the men out to the holdings for that time? I can see a dozen ways of helping."

  "Starting to run Reed & Earl are you, ma’am? Shall I retire? Go smoke fish down on the East Coast?" Giles was too quiet, bordering dangerous.

  "Oh, you’re impossible," said Kira, her eyes flashing. She pulled out the bulky file and slapped it onto his desk. "It’s all there, read it when you’ve got the time, when you’re not dancing under the stars with your old friends." She almost said old flames. "Here are the keys of the Moke. Thank you for lending it to me."

  She swung away, her eyes blurred. She wanted to get out, to distance herself from his insufferable arrogance. She was getting hurt again and this time she had only herself to blame.

  He moved swiftly, stopping her from leaving, his bulk filling the doorway. Her anger and contempt flickered into her eyes but she knew he had only to touch her and she would be lost. His fingers caught her arm in an iron grip. His nostrils were thinned with tenseness. But even though Kira was alarmed, she saw something else in his eyes that was difficult to understand.

  "Where the hell do you think you’re going?"

  "I’m going to the main road to wait for a bus, any bus into Bridgetown. The same way that I came here in the first place. First impressions can be wrong, you know. I once thought you were a really nice man. Now I know better."

  He ignored her rambling explanation. "Don’t you listen to the radio? You shouldn’t even be here. You should be safely indoors, preferably down in the stone wine cellar under Fitt’s House, that is if the sea doesn’t come up and swamp it."

  "If the sea doesn’t come up? I don’t know what you’re talking about."

  "And there’s no time to talk to me now," he said coldly. "We haven’t got long."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Hurricane Erica. She’s heading for the island. It was on the news this morning. I’ve closed down the plant, sent everyone home, and put out the furnaces. They’re evacuating the coastal houses."

  Kira was stunned, her thoughts in confusion. "Are you serious? I thought Hurricane Erica was due to hit the coast of America, somewhere like Florida. What about your house on the beach, Copens and your mother? Heavens, I have to find Benjamin. He’s alone."

  "Benjamin can look after himself. He was born here. And my mother lives
inland, in the north. With some luck, it will miss that area. The hurricane has changed direction. They spotted it at the National Weather Centre at Miami. Earlier it brushed the American coast, then sheered away, gathering force at sea. I don’t like the sound of it. The meteorological stations are mystified. Trinidad doesn’t know what to make of it. The official hurricane warning system was put into operation immediately."

  Giles stopped speaking and lifted his head, listening to something that Kira could not hear. She felt a shiver run down her spine. There was something different in the uncanny silence. The sky looked different too, a leaden grey colour that had nothing to do with normal tropical warm rain.

  "I don’t like it," said Giles. "We’d better get out of here. The factory is none too safe on its foundations since the last torrential rain. I’ve been arguing with Benjamin for years for something more substantial than general maintenance and repair work, but he wouldn’t listen to me. This factory was built forty years ago and is on its last legs."

  He took her arm. "You have got to come with me, Kira. No arguing."

  Twenty-Eight

  Giles marched her down the steps towards his white Mercedes. "Get in," he said. He hit the roof button and the soft top slid into place, self-locking.

  "I’ll get a bus," she insisted.

  "Don’t be stupid. All the buses will have stopped by now. You don’t want to get caught out there in a hurricane. Haven’t you read our history? I thought everyone knew what happened in August l831. Sheets of fire, meteors falling from the sky, the smell of sulphur, tumultuous seas racing through the streets, whole families buried in the ruins. More than 1500 people died."

  "Do they happen very often?" A small, vicious wind began tugging at her skirt and she held it down.

  "About once every hundred years on average, with minor ones in between, if such a thing can be calculated. There are more stone and brick buildings now. It’s the wooden chattel houses that don’t stand a chance. And the land slippage."

  Giles threw the big car in gear and roared out of the yard. He drove fast, as if racing the coming wind, but he had to slow down on reaching the main highway. The road was packed with families moving inland to safer houses. Cars, carts, bicycles, prams laden with precious belongings . . . the happy, good-natured people dazed by the prospect of a hurricane hitting their island.