Offshore Islands

by John Francis Kinsella

Hubert and Sandrine Valentine, lived with their two children and three dogs at Pointe Canot, which formed the westerly side of Anse Vinaigri, a small bay about five kilometres from Gosier. It was on this point of land that a tourist complex was planned by Caribbean Property Development. Hubert’s home and the land surrounding it covered three hectares, it was typical of the island, dotted with a few coconut palms and vegetable plots. The land was on a rise overlooking the sea with a magnificent view of Basse Terre across the ocean.

  Hubert worked in the regional office of an international business firm in Pointe-à-Pitre, where he occupied a modest administrative position. His home would have been different if it had not been severely damaged by the tropical storm ‘Bertha’, the roof had been torn off, and the work that he had invested in a market garden centre had been destroyed, and all the savings that he had invested were lost.

  He considered himself as relatively lucky compared to the many others on the island who had been left homeless by the storm. He had not read the small print in his insurance policy, which did not cover natural disasters, he had also been ineligible like many other Guadeloupeans for obscure reasons for government compensation and assistance, as a result he did not receive a single cent in compensation, either from the state or his insurance company.

  He had been heavily mortgaged and indebted and had not the means to repair the damage several years after the cyclone. Sandrine’s health problems were another burden as he struggled to maintain his standard of living.

  The news of the planned tourist complex was difficult to interpret as well as the exact location of the site. Maybe he could sell the land and recover his losses, or perhaps with the new hotel adjacent to his land the price would rise, on the other hand he could provide the hotel with fruit and vegetables or rent boats to the tourists.

  That Saturday morning he had awoken with a thick head, the previous night his cousin had visited him and together they had emptied a litre bottle of his powerful home made rum.

  “Move yourself Hubert, there’s a visitor,” said Sandrine pushing him.

  “A visitor? Tell him to come back later.”

  “No man, it’s somebody from Gosier, looks important, from the hotel.”

  “Hotel?”

  “The new hotel they’re going to build next door!”

  Hubert made an effort and pulled on his trousers and a tee shirt. He made his way onto the veranda, his head throbbed.

  “Mr Hubert, how do you do! My name is Amadis,” he held out his hand and put on a dazzling professional smile.

  Hubert shook his hand weakly, trying to pull himself together. He felt embarrassed as he looked at the impeccable White standing before him.

  “Please sit down,” Hubert said indicating a rattan easy chair on the veranda, “would you like some coffee?”

  Amadis thought that he certainly would not like a coffee in such evidently unhygienic conditions. He shuddered at the mere thought.

  “Yes, that would be nice,” he accepted, making a supreme effort, it was not the moment to upset the man, in any case he would not be obliged to drink the stuff.

  They sat down and Sandrine brought them coffee and returned into the house leaving the men to men’s business, however once out of sight in the living room she remained within earshot of the conversation.

  “I’m from Caribbean Property Development, we represent Prestige,” Amadis announced grandly, “perhaps you have heard of us?”

  Hubert nodded a little worriedly.

  “That’s good, we’re going to build a holiday complex just over there,” Amadis pointed beyond the shrubs that bordered the garden. “It will bring a lot of benefits to the island, we have the full support from the Governor, you know business and jobs.”

  Hubert nodded again.

  “What are your plans for the future Hubert...I can call you Hubert?”

  “No problem,” he paused, his head felt thick, he tried to figure out where Amadis was heading to, and he knew that it was important. “The future! Well things have been difficult since Bertha, financially, a lot of people lost everything,” he said sadly.

  “That was a calamity for us all,” Amadis added, trying to appear sympathetic.

  He remembered that he had not been on the island at the time, it had been the time of the year when the climate was better at Saint Trop. For him it had been seen from afar, like one of those never ending disasters that happened to far off underdeveloped places and especially to the poor. He recalled how business had been bad and how the storm had been a miracle, which had helped him and Guy Courtauld to get out of what could have been a nasty situation. The very thought of financial difficulties made him shudder, as did the idea of poverty.

  “It was the end of a lot of dreams for people like me. Things were just beginning to look good, then in one night everything was destroyed,” said Hubert.

  Amadis picked up the coffee cup hoping that it would change the subject, he lifted it to his mouth before realising the risk, then suddenly coming to his senses he quickly put it back down.

  “Listen Hubert, I understand how difficult it has been for you, perhaps we can help?”

  “Help?”

  “Yes, this piece of land, your land, it could possible be of interest to us, tennis courts and parking, we need tennis courts and parking for the hotel.”

  “Tennis courts!”

  “We could offer you a good deal…what do you think?” he said cautiously.

  “Depends.”

  “Listen Hubert, why don’t you come down to our offices and discuss things, my staff will draw up a proposal, it’s a pity it can only be used as parking and not construction,” he added, putting on a regretful air, “it was very nice meeting you and your family, why don’t you think things over? Call me on Monday and we can fix a day so that we can get together in town.”

  Amadis held out his hand magnanimously, almost as if he expected Hubert to kiss his large carved ruby ring. He then turned and left. Hubert watched him disappear some moments latter with dirt and gravel flying from his tyres on the unmade surface of the road that led back up to the motorway.

  “What was that about then?” asked Sandrine who had reappeared on the veranda.

  Hubert scratched his head, his instinct gave him a feeling of distrust, Amadis was without any doubt one of those slick White Metros that had always ended up stealing the best from the Guadeloupeans.

  “They’re interested in our land.”

  “Interested!”

  “They want it.”

  “I told you I don’t know how many times to go down to the town hall and check over the applications and approvals for building permits.”

  That was all that Hubert wanted, what with his hangover and Amadis’s visit, and now Sandrine’s nagging, it was too much.

  The following Monday at midday, Hubert walked over from his office to the square facing the town hall. He had called a friend in the planning department that morning and asked him to help. Any other way it would have been difficult for Hubert to get past those stuck-up receptionists; they would have obstructed him for the pleasure of it.

  Hubert saw him sitting on a bench under the tall trees that lined the square, he shook hands with Hubert, who then sat down next to him with a questioning look.

  “Well man, I don’t know if I’ve got good news for you or bad news,” he said frowning.

  “Go on man don’t keep me in suspense!”

  “It looks like your land is right in the dam middle of their hotel!”

  “In the middle?”

  “Yeah, you see your place is at the extreme point where the land juts out into the sea, it’s got the best view. That’s where they’re going to put one of the main buildings.”

  “What about me?”

  “What about you! What about you Hubert, I don’t know, at least they can’t do anything without your agreement. That’s if it’s not declared to be in the public interest to acquire your land.”

 
“Public interest!”

  “That means for the public good, you know for the benefit of the community.”

  “They can’t just take my land!”

  “No, sure, you have to be compensated.”

  “How!”

  “That means the authorities would put a purchase order on the land.”

  “How much?”

  “That I can’t tell you, I mean I just don’t know.”

  Hubert sat trying to absorb the news, if the price was right, then the deal couldn’t be that bad.

  “So what will happen next?”

  “I suggest you go and see your man.”

  “What’s the land worth?” he said looking at his friend for a long moment.

  “Well Hubert I’m not an expert, but I can give you a rough idea what it’s worth to a developer like Prestige.”

  That afternoon Hubert called Amadis and fixed an appointment at his office for the next day at five. He arrived a little late, as he was not free before office hours had ended. He was intimidated by the luxury of Prestige’s offices, the floors were tiled with imported marble, that added to the cool impression that the silent air-conditioning created. He announced himself to the receptionist, who had been forewarned of his visit and laid on the charm.

  “Come this way Monsieur Hubert, Monsieur Amadis is waiting for you.”

  “Valentine! Monsieur Valentine!”

  She smiled and led him up the broad stairway adorned with fine wrought iron rails. He turned his head avoiding looking at her smooth shining calves as he followed her. She paused before the door of Amadis’s secretary and knocked before entering.

  “Monsieur Hubert,” announced the receptionist.

  “Valentine!”

  “Monsieur Hubert, please come this way Monsieur Amadis is waiting for you.”

  Hubert followed her through a double door into the president’s office. It was an office used mostly for public relations meetings by the two owners and designed to impress the impressionable, which was Hubert’s case.

  “So nice of you to take the trouble to come over Mr Hubert, please sit down. What can I offer you to drink? said Amadis walking over to the bar, “one of our classic punches?”

  Hubert nodded and sat on the edge of one of the thickly upholstered leather armchairs.

  Amadis then poured the drinks into heavy crystal glasses and placed them on the table.

  “So let us toast to our prosperity and that of our families.”

  They picked up their glasses and toasted. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as they sipped their drinks.

  “Well I deduct that your visit to us indicates your interest in talking business!” said Amadis giving one of his best professional smiles. “Am I right?”

  “Mr Amadis…”

  “Please call me Serge.”

  “As I understand it you would like to buy my land?”

  “Let us say that we are interested.”

  “This land has been in my family for a long time, my grandfather and his father fished off the coast here and sold their catch in the market place, they also grew vegetables there, which fed our family.”

  Amadis nodded politely, he had checked the records and knew that Hubert’s family had owned the land for generations.

  “I had plans for this land, but that was all destroyed by Bertha. Today I want something better for my children and if by selling the land I can find a better house along the coast then I’m interested.”

  “I thought you’d see the advantages.”

  “If the price is right then I’m prepared to do a deal, if not I can wait, my family has waited a long time,” he paused, “what do you have in mind?”

  “Let us say three million,” smiled Amadis generously.

  “I was thinking of twenty million,” said Hubert quietly.

  “Twenty million!” Amadis almost dropped his glass. “Twenty million!”

  “Twenty million man, that’s what I said, twenty million.”

  “That’s a lot of money for a tennis court,” said Amadis quickly recovering his calm.

  “What you build on the land when it is yours is your business, but my price is twenty million.” Hubert stood up, “Think it over Mr Serge and let me know.” He turned and left the office, leaving Amadis with his mouth opened and his glass in mid-air.

  The phone rang some moments later in Amadis’ office, it was Courtauld.

  “All tied up?” Courtauld asked smugly, as though it were a foregone conclusion.

  “No, we’ve got a problem with our fuckin Mr Valentine,” hissed Amadis.

  “He didn’t accept our offer!” Courtauld exclaimed. “What’s the problem then?” he added disconcertedly.

  “He wanted twenty fuckin million!”

  “Twenty million for his shack, he’s crazy!”

  “Maybe not so crazy as you think, that black bastard has been talking to somebody since I last spoke with him.”

  “Look Serge let’s get this settled quickly and smoothly, we don’t want things to get out of hand now. If there’s any official arbitration it could take months and months, we can’t have our schedules upset at this stage in the game.”

  The land was well worth, to Prestige, the sum Valentine had asked. The total investment was over six hundred million Francs, but twenty million was well outside the budget that had been drawn up and presented to the bank. They had calculated less than a tenth of that amount, any difference with the budget would come out of their own profits.

  Amadis took it as a personal affront to have to give in and make concessions, to what he considered to be an underdeveloped black. He needed time, as Courtauld had said they had to be careful, nothing rash, he would wait a couple of days to gather a little more information on Hubert’s position with the Register of Land and Mortgages.

  By midday the following day, Amadis already had the information that he wanted. Hubert Valentine had a loan with the French Antilles Bank, controlled by the BCN, secured by a mortgage on his property. With a call to the bank he learnt that he was behind on his payments.

  The loan had been taken out seven years previously to improve the property, an extension on the house with guest rooms, fresh water and sewage installations and a new surfaced access road. There had been no problem during the first eighteen months; the work had been carried out according to schedule. It had been almost completed and the repayments to the bank had been punctual. Hubert’s modest salary had been supplemented from the income derived from his market garden and the occasional friends and Metro tourists he lodged.

  The tropical storm ‘Bertha’ had flattened everything putting all Hubert’s efforts back to zero, since then only the bare minimum had been put back into order. Valentine had no new capital available or the capacity to take on new loans. He was struggling to keep his head above water, however, the instructions to the banks had been to take an easy position regarding those who had been hit financially as a result of the cyclone.

  ‘We’ve got him by his black balls,’ Amadis thought to himself, taping his gold pen on his note book as he picked up the phone.

  “Just tell the lawyers to get those black bastards out by any means, that’s what fuckin lawyers are for,” Amadis shouted down the phone to Gilles Michel, “and if they can’t do it then we’ll do it our way.”

  Chapter 38

  A Cuban Brewer