Arrowsmith looked at his watch, it was almost six and the daylight was fading quickly. It took a moment to figure out where he was. He got up and went into the courtyard where he saw Rodrigez who showed him the bathroom, a couple of doors to the right along the patio.
The bath was an old enamel tub, the shower seemed to be heated by what looked a dangerous electrical contraption, he took the risk and after showering under the lukewarm water felt refreshed and relaxed.
There were a couple of other tourists outside, two French girls, who nodded politely towards him. In the hall was a large colour TV, surprisingly it was tuned to CNN.
Rodriguez had informed him that they served no meals except breakfast, but there were a couple of restaurants in the square in front of the cathedral up to the right, Arrowsmith had passed it on the way into the town.
“Oh! Señor, may I see your Tourist Card?”
Tourist Card! Christ! He thought, that’s just what I don’t have.
“It’s with my friends, they are not here yet!”
“It’s no problem, just in case of a police control, I need the number of the card, write your name in the book here with your address and signature, you can give me the card later.”
He filled in the guest book writing his name, with London, England as his address, there was no need to complicate things with a Paris address.
The restaurant was surprisingly stylish and new, he took a table and ordered a beer and fried chicken. Fried chicken had never tasted so good, he had been starving. He ordered another beer and tried to take stock of the situation.
Trinidad was on the south of the island, an old Spanish colonial town that was a tourist destination. What he had seen so far did not indicate there that were many tourists present, maybe it was the time of the year or perhaps he was in the wrong area.
How could he find out about the Marie Galante? What he had seen from the taxi that morning indicated that Trinidad was pretty primitive.
He walked back to the guest house, the evening was warm, there were very few people on the streets, he could hear the loud sound of televisions or radios from two or three of the houses, it was like all Latin countries, he thought, there was only one setting for sound, loud!
There were virtually no cars and almost no street lighting, he decided to call it a day and return to the hotel.
The next morning after a decent breakfast prepared by Rodriguez’s wife, he explored the town. The main street was a couple of blocks away where he found a few shops scantly supplied with goods, he bought a few essentials, a couple of tee shirts, soap, a towel. He also bought a map and a guidebook. He had also discovered a bus station nearby the guesthouse.
Arrowsmith tried to strike up a conversation with Rodriguez, he got some useful travel information but as for other news he drew a blank. It was clear that the rest of the world was far away. Trinidad was a poor town even though it was, according to his guide book, a World Heritage Site by the United Nations.
There were a few busloads of tourists who clearly arrived and departed the same day; he had seen no real tourist hotels except for the Ancon Beach hotel.
He returned to the hotel with his shopping that he dropped in his room, it was quiet, so he set out again to find a suitable place for some lunch, it was getting hot and the shutters of the houses were closed to keep out the heat of the day.
He saw many of the houses were in such a delicately advanced state of ruin that they appeared to have been conceived by the designer of a theatrical scene seeking to transmit his artistic inspiration to the passers-by. In spite of their condition the houses were lived in.
After exploring the almost deserted streets he found an attractively renovated villa that had been transformed into a bar restaurant, there were even waiters dressed as waiters. It had a picturesque look and in addition seemed to be clean. He chose a table and ordered a bocadillo and a beer.
As he studied the guide drinking his beer, the two French girls from the guesthouse arrived, they were with a man who immediately disappeared through the door marked ‘Servicios’.
They gave him a friendly smile and turned to the menu the waiter had presented to them. When Arrowsmith looked up again the man had joined them and was seated with his back to them. He overheard an English accent as he spoke.
Three musicians appeared, a guitar, a bass and bongos, they softly played and sang Cuban songs. After a while they asked the girls what they would like played.
They laughed indecisively and their friend asked for ‘Dos Gardenias’. It was evidently he was close to the blonde, whom he kissed softly on the cheek.
Arrowsmith suddenly realising his good fortune as he enjoyed a moment of unexpected pleasure listening to the soft music; he lifted his head and closed his eyes letting his mind drift feeling his skin tingling under the sun.
“Tony!”
He opened his eyes with a start and looked up at somebody he recognised.
“Kavanagh!” he blurted, “Sean Kavanagh!”
“What are you doing here?”
“And you!”
Getting over the surprise, they examined each other a little warily. The two girls looked on puzzled, not knowing how to react.
It was difficult getting started but they both realised very quickly that the reason for their presence in Trinidad was somewhat special.
“Have you heard about Swap!” he said in a lower voice glancing around.
“No I’ve been away for a couple of weeks, I was with Castlemain, he vaguely mentioned there was something up.”
“Where is he!” said Kavanagh sitting up.
“Sit down Sean,” he said kindly pointing to a chair, Kavanagh sat down, on the edge, as though it was too soon to sit down comfortably.
“I…I think he’s dead!”
“Dead! You mean….”
“Dead, yes I’m afraid so, unless there has been a miracle.”
Arrowsmith told him the whole astonishing story. When he stopped he waited for a reaction. Kavanagh was looking at him questioningly as if he wondered whether he could trust him.
“Then why are you here…on holiday?” he offered wondering why a multimillionaire was slumming it in Trinidad with two fairly ordinary looking girls, though the blond was not bad, rather than on a yacht with some fancy models.
“Well….” Kavanagh said weighing Arrowsmith up. It was evident to Arrowsmith that he was in some kind of dilemma, perhaps a friend in need.
He told him the whole story, it was a great relief, the last ten days had been a burden and he had needed to speak to a friend.
“So we’re both on the lam!”
They laughed and ordered two more beers.
“The girls who are they?”
“That’s Marie-Paul who I met here, the other is her friend.”
“Are you staying in the guest house?”
“Yes.”
They both laughed. They felt the spontaneous comradeship of people in strange and difficult circumstances, far from home.
“I have to find out about the boat….you know if they are dead?”
“And I have to find out what is happening in Dublin, if there is a warrant out for my arrest?”
There were some serious matters to settle, but now they were two.
Chapter 84
A Visit to Mountjoy
Offshore Islands Page 83
