Sunset

Sunset Page 22

by Christopher Nicole

  'What?' Reynolds sat up straight. 'For heaven's sake, Margaret, you really cannot talk like that. Such language...'

  'That, in itself, would be immaterial to me,' Meg said. 'Providing he never brings his dirty body to my bed again as long as I live. I am just explaining why I have come to see you instead of him.'

  'Now, Meg,' Reynolds said. 'Why don't you sit down and have a cup of tea. You must be exhausted. You look exhausted. I will have Dorian make us a nice cup of tea . ..'

  Meg sat down. 'I have just learned about your plans to reduce the acreage under cane.'

  'Plans? We have already reduced the acreage.'

  'And the labour force.'

  'Well, that was the object of the exercise. A nice cup of tea...'

  'Those people's families have belonged to Hilltop for a hundred years and more.'

  'Oh, really, Margaret, black people ...' 'People, Walter. Hilltop people.'

  'And do you suppose that if we stopped paying them they'd still work for you?'

  'I have no idea,' she said. 'And neither do you, because you didn't give them the opportunity, did you? You just told them to leave.'

  'Now, look here, Margaret. Your father in his wisdom made me executor of the estate, and entrusted me with the ultimate responsibility for the management of Hilltop. You, in your wisdom, elected to transfer that responsibility to Billy, who has, in my opinion, done a magnificent job.'

  'Lowering the sugar production by twenty per cent,' she said. 'Oh, yes, an excellent job.'

  'It was his first grinding. And frankly, I do not think he got all the co-operation he was entitled to expect, either from the overseers or from the labour force. The result of all the rumours about your peculiar honeymoon, I have no doubt at all. He will do much better this year.'

  'With a reduced acreage?' she demanded.

  'Well, it can't be helped. I am determined to make Hilltop a viable proposition. When you inherit properly, Margaret, you are going to inherit a successful, prosperous plantation, not a rundown financial ruin.'

  'When Billy inherits, I think you meant.'

  There is no need to be abusive. Billy is your husband...'

  'Was my husband,' she declared. 'As of now.'

  'Your ...' Walter Reynolds stood up. 'You, of all people, have no right to speak to me in such terms. You, who spent a night in the mountains with a bunch of niggers, who arrived back in Jamaica carrying someone else's child. I'm amazed Billy has had the self possession to put up with it.'

  'What would you have him do, Walter? Divorce me for adultery? And lose Hilltop?'

  'Why, you ...'

  'So you had better be careful,' she said. 'Or I may choose to divorce him. I have grounds, now.'

  Reynolds sat down again, leaned across the desk. 'You listen to me, young woman. You have no grounds at all. Women do not divorce their husbands for adultery. You'd not find a jury in the land, or any other land, to support such a plea. Supposing you could prove it. Why, you'd be laughed out of court. A plantation owner, taking a little bit on the side from one of the weeding gang ? It's the commonest practice in the world.'

  She stared at him in impotent anger. But she knew he was right. Certainly in Jamaica. But probably in England as well. And losing her temper would accomplish nothing. There would be other ways to get rid of Billy, when she was ready. When she was twenty-one.

  'I said, it doesn't matter that much to me,' she said, speaking in a controlled voice. 'What does matter to me is Hilltop. I think you are wrong. I know you are wrong.'

  'And I know I am right. The price of sugar is low, and is falling every day. They keep talking about this conference, but there is no sign of them convening it. And incidentally, there have been no figures advanced to prove that even if the beet producers cease to be bounty supported it will make any difference to the price of cane sugar. It is all pie in the sky. Only by the strictest economy are we going to pull through at all. Why, if it weren't for the banana crop, you would be damned near to bankruptcy.'

  Meg leaned back in her chair. What had Oriole said, all those years ago? 'Well, then,' she said, 'why do we not abandon cane altogether, and plant nothing but bananas ?'

  It was his turn to stare. 'Abandon cane?' he said. 'A Hilton, wishing to abandon cane?'

  'Oh, for God's sake,' she shouted, ‘What is so magic about the word cane ? I seem to remember that when my family came to the West Indies they planted tobacco. They lived by tobacco. Where would we have been if, when cane was introduced, they had said, oh, no, we have always planted tobacco, we must keep on planting tobacco ?'

  'Bananas,' Walter Reynolds repeated. 'Anyway, it's impossible.'

  'Why is it impossible ? According to you, we have nothing to lose. We can be sure the bananas will sell. They are one of the few things in the world which happen to be in demand.'

  'We have a great deal to lose, Margaret. In the first place, it would mean losing a year's crop during the changeover. In the second place, there would be the cost of converting the canefields, of replanting, of the plants themselves. Why, we'd need ten thousand pounds to see us through.'

  'Is that all?'

  'All?' he cried. 'Ten thousand pounds? Your profit margin is less than half that as it is, at this moment.' 'The bank...'

  'Hilltop is already mortgaged, young lady. Don't glare at me. It has been mortgaged for years. The only way you are going to find the money to plant bananas over all your acreage is to give some Yankee a lien. Do that and you'll be well on the way to losing Hilltop altogether. I refuse to countenance the idea.'

  'My guardian,' she said bitterly, and got up. 'Your idea of progress is to sit on your ass and do nothing.'

  'Foul language will accomplish nothing,' he said, going very red in the face. 'It is a disgusting habit, especially for a young lady, and one you would do well to overcome. My advice to you is to go home and make it up with your husband.'

  'My husband,' she sneered. 'I'd hate to disturb him, Walter. I have better things to do.'

  She picked up her hat and stalked out of the office, down the stairs, into the afternoon cool. Candy looked at her inquiringly, no doubt wondering if she was going to be required to gallop all the way back to Hilltop.

  But Meg didn't want to go back to Hilltop at this moment. She wasn't sure what she would say, or do. She had never been quite so frustratingly angry in her life.

  She turned away from the mare, down the street towards the harbour. She wasn't sure what she was looking for. Oh, yes, she was sure. Perhaps the Wanderer was in port. She felt that to find Alan, to see Alan again, to hold Alan in her arms, would be to cancel everything, to restore her shaking sanity, make her a woman again.

  Make her a Hilton again.

  She stood on the dock, gazed at the schooners, the steamer, apparently recently arrived, the barquentine anchored farther out. But it was not the Wanderer. She sighed, and wondered if it would be best to stay in town for the night. It would certainly be dark before she could get home. But there was Richard, waiting to be fed. Well, Prudence could look after him for tonight. Prudence certainly would.

  But she should get back. She turned, and stopped.

  'Meg Hilton, by all that's wonderful.'

  Her mouth dropped open in sheer surprise at the sight of the Honourable Tommy Claymond striding down the street towards her, wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat and an open-necked shirt, his sleeves rolled to the elbow.

  'Tommy? It can't be.'

  'Arrived last week, don't you know. I've been trying to pluck up courage to come out to Hilltop to see you. Just a call, what?'

  'But... I don't understand.'

  He linked his arm through hers, guided her back up the street. 'Well, the pater died, don't you know. I'm Lord Claymond now. Not even the mater can tell me what to do any more.'

  'And the first thing you decided to do was come out here ?'

  'Of course. Well, you made it sound so lovely, so exciting. But I wanted to see you as well, what? I say Meg, you are the most beautiful gi
rl, you know. I have been dreaming of you every night. But you're married, they tell me. To some scoundrel of a lawyer.'

  'We don't want to talk about him,' Meg said, squeezing that muscular arm. Suddenly she was seething with excitement, and with decision, too. After all, the Reynolds were forcing her to act on her own, if she was going to accomplish anything. Well, then, she would act on her own. 'Tommy. Will you lend me ten thousand pounds ?'

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE COURTESAN

  TOMMY CLAYMOND stared at her for a moment with his mouth open, then gave a nervous laugh. 'I say, Meg, you haven't changed. You are a sport. Dinner? It's not much of a hotel, but they do feed you.'

  She linked her arm through his. 'I should love to dine with you, Tommy. But I was perfectly serious.'

  'Ten thousand pounds? There is an enormous sum of money, Meg. Whatever can you want it for?'

  'I wish to replant, change the plantation from cane to bananas.'

  'Bananas ? Oh, I say, what a topping idea.' He glanced at her, frowning. 'Is it?'

  'We can sell all the bananas we can grow, and sell them well, to the States.'

  'Why can't you sell your sugar to the States?'

  They grow their own. Louisiana alone probably produces more sugar than all the West Indies' put together. Why should they buy ours?'

  ‘I say, you know, you do know a lot about it, what? This is the place.'

  'My horse is tethered outside Reynolds,' Meg told the major-domo. 'Will you have her stabled and watered, please. And some oats.'

  Because she had already decided not to go home? Then what of Richard? But Prudence would see to Richard, for one night. This game was being played for the future of Hilltop. Which was Richard's future as well. She might never have another opportunity.

  'It's early, yet,' Tommy said, 'We shall have to sit on the verandah, what? We could try one of these rum punches.'

  'I should love a rum punch,' she agreed. 'Good evening, Charles.'

  'Oh, good evening, Mrs Hilton,' said the manager, bowing over her hand. 'Lord Claymond.'

  'I have decided to stay the night in town, Charles,' Meg said. 'Will you let me have a room?'

  'Of course, Mrs Hilton.'

  'I'm afraid I haven't got any luggage with me, and I would like a bath. Perhaps you could arrange it.'

  'Of course, Mrs Hilton. Would you... ah... shall I send the housekeeper up to arrange some sleeping things ?'

  Meg gave him her best smile. 'I don't think that will be necessary, Charles. After all, the nights are warm enough.'

  She felt Tommy positively quiver at her elbow. 'Oh, Meg,' he whispered, as he found himself escorting her towards the stairs. 'You are a sport, really you are.'

  She smiled at him in turn. 'Why don't you order us our rum punches, and then join me in my room?'

  'Your room? Oh, I say, what?'

  'I'm sure it has a verandah. All the rooms here have verandahs.' She followed the maid up the stairs, was shown into a room on the first floor, facing the gardens at the back of the hotel where she would be spared at once the noise and the dust from the street. 'Thank you. I'm afraid I don't have any money with me. Next time I'm in town, perhaps.'

  'That is all right, mistress,' the coloured girl smiled, and withdrew.

  Meg remained standing at the window, gazing down at the palm trees and the flowering poinciana which made the garden a blaze of colour. To match the pounding of her heart? What was she become? Why Meg Hilton, to be sure. Hiltons decided what was wanted, what was necessary, and went about securing it. Kit Hilton had never hesitated, and neither had Marguerite his wife. Their weapons had necessarily to be different, but the end results had been comparably successful.

  She listened to the knock, took off her hat. 'Come in, Tommy.'

  He hesitated in the doorway, and she realized that she must be silhouetted in the window, with the light penetrating her gown. 'Oh, please shut the door, Tommy. Do I embarrass you ?'

  The door closed, 'Oh, Good Lord, no. I mean to say, what...'

  'I am Margaret Hilton. I must confess I very seldom bother with underclothes around the plantation. And I had not expected to visit town today.' She laid her hat on the table, stood facing him. 'Aren't you going to kiss me?'

  'Kiss you ? I say, what... I mean, well...' He was looking at her left hand.

  'I really would not let that bother you,' she said. 'My husband began life as a convenience, and has now become an inconvenience.'

  'Yes, but I say, dash it all, isn't this rather, well... open? These people know you.'

  'Everyone in Jamaica knows me, Tommy. I am Margaret Hilton.'

  'My word. I hadn't realized. Oh, I say ...' He turned to the door, almost gratefully, at the knock. The waiter placed the tray of glasses on the table, bowed to Margaret, and withdrew. 'I say,' Tommy complained. 'Dash it all, the fellow didn't wait for a tip.'

  'I will see to the tip, later on.' She held out a glass, raised her own. 'Here's to us. And the last time we met.'

  'Oh, I say ...' He gulped rather than drank, seemed to feel better. 'There was a to-do, wasn't it? I say, did you really leave England the next day? That's what they said.'

  'Yes. I did. Not to get away from you, so much, Tommy, as to get away from Oriole. Besides,' she lied, 'I had heard things were very bad here, and 1 had to sort out the plantation. Aren't you going to kiss me?'

  'Well, I ...' He put down his glass, held her shoulders, leaned forward. His breath smelt of rum, but then, so would hers. His lips touched hers, and she opened her mouth and sucked his tongue inside. For a moment he resisted her, then his body came against hers, and she felt his hands on her back. 'Oh I say,' he whispered, when he had got his breath back. 'Meg ...'

  She released him, walked away from him, sat on the bed. 'I wouldn't like you to think I'm a tart.'

  'Oh, eh, I say, how could I?'

  'Because I am behaving like one. I'm afraid my circumstances are rather odd. I had to marry my husband to gain control of my plantation. Now he is reluctant to divorce me. Why should he ? And as he has, well, overlooked various sins in my past, he is not likely to be concerned with sins in the future.'

  'Oh, I say ...' He sat beside her on the bed.

  'So I can only come to you as a mistress, you see, Tommy. But I cannot even be as straightforward as that. I must have ten thousand pounds. I cannot pledge anything, as 1 am under age, and my guardian would certainly not condone what I am doing, what I am planning to do with the plantation.'

  'Oh, I say...'

  'So all I can offer is to sell myself for the required money. I imagine it is a good bargain, Tommy. I am told I am a beautiful woman. Well, I can see that every time I look in the glass. I am also a desirable woman, as I shall prove to you. And I suspect, I will put it no stronger than that, that you are in love with me. I also only wish the money as a loan, so you are getting what you want more than anything else in the world, really for free, and with a bit of interest thrown in.'

  'Oh, I say ...'

  Meg got up at the rap on the door. 'Come.'

  Two maids brought in the steaming tin bath, placed it in the centre of the floor, laid the folded towel and the scented soap on the table, bowed to Meg.

  'Oh, I say,' Tommy said. 'I really think I ought to be off, if you are going to have a bath.'

  'Of course you are not going to be off, Tommy,' she said, and smiled at the maids. 'You are going to scrub my back. Aren't you ?'

  The girls simpered, and closed the door behind her.

  'Oh, I say,' said Tommy Claymond. 'You are, well, very frank about things, aren't you?'

  'I'm Meg Hilton,' she said. 'Will you assist me?' She turned her back on him, and as he continued to hesitate, added, 'It unbuttons'.

  His fingers touched her shoulders, began to fumble. She found her breathing quickening as the sex urge tumbled in her belly. Perhaps, she thought, I should have been a whore. What a terrible word. I should have been a courtesan. Because I would have enjoyed my work as well as been abl
e to make men happy. Providing the men would not have been like Billy.

  She felt his breath on her neck, leaned back in his arms. His hands slipped under the material, stroked round her ribs, found her breasts. She wanted to scream with joy; his touch was so remarkably gentle. Yet there could be no argument about the strength in those fingers, so much more used to wrapping themselves around the handle of a cricket bat.

  'Oh, Meg,' he whispered. '1 do love you so, Meg.'

  She had not been touched like that since Cleave. She turned, in his arms, found his lips once again. And this time his mouth was opened and waiting. She drove her own hands down, to caress the front of his trousers, to find what she wanted and hold it, and feel it swell beneath her fingers.

  'Oh, Meg,' he said again. 'Oh, Meg.'

  She shrugged her shoulders and felt the material slipping. It caught on her breasts, and she moved away from him, still holding his mouth with hers. The gown settled on her thighs, for a moment, and then clouded around her ankles. His hands, on her shoulders, began to slip down her back, roaming lower in delighted amazement at finding nothing but flesh.

  His mouth slid from hers, touched her ear. 'Oh, Meg, my-darling Meg,' he said. 'How I love you, Meg. How I want you.' He was turning her, and her knees touched the bed. Instinctively she began to fall backwards, and then checked herself. Always in the past she had been in too much haste, with Billy in her anxiety to get it over, with Alan for fear that she would not enjoy it. She had not hurried with Cleave, and she had never been allowed to hurry with Oriole.

  She sat down, released him.

  'Meg?' His head moved away, as he was bending from the waist. 'You haven't...'

  'I haven't changed my mind, Tommy. I want to enjoy you.'

  'To ...' He had clearly never supposed a woman, or at least, a lady, could say something like that.

  'I've shocked you again,' she said, and lay back, one knee up, nestling her head on her hair. 'Do you like being shocked?'

  'By you, Meg. By you. Meg?'

  He was staring at her breasts.

  'I am feeding my son, Tommy. But not tonight. Would you like some?' 'Oh. I say ...'

 

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