Caribbean Sunset with a Yellow Parrot (The Belchester Chronicles Book 5)

by Andrea Frazer

  Lady Amanda took Hugo’s proffered arm, and they began to stroll through the thronging crowd of cruisers on their one-day Caribbayan sprees, with a feeling of superiority. They must have arrived early, as Windy had expected all these shoppers to have left by the time they arrived, but at least it allowed Lady Amanda to swank around as one of the few people who were actually sleeping on the island, instead of just making a lightning visit.

  All the shops had signs which informed them that the establishments were open late on Friday evenings exclusively for local residents – provided there was no craft in port offering greater potential to snag the unwary.

  Window shopping was a mouthwatering experience in Lady A’s opinion – she did love her jewellery – but it was only about twenty minutes before Hugo began to complain about his feet and knees. ‘Let’s go and find somewhere to sit down,’ he whined, sounding just like a petulant child.

  ‘Over there,’ pointed Lady A, espying a rather up-market coffee shop. ‘We’ll go in there and have a jolt of caffeine. I feel I could do with one.’

  Once inside, Hugo flopped into a chair with gratitude, while Lady Muck went to the counter to solicit immediate waitress service. When she returned with a pretty local girl clutching two menus, Hugo pointed excitedly through the window towards a jeweller’s opposite. ‘You’ll never guess who I’ve just seen,’ he said, excitedly.

  ‘Hush, dear. We need to give this charming waitress our orders.’

  ‘Not now. Listen …’

  ‘Just two coffees, please, dear. Nothing fancy. Just Americanos.’ Turning to sit down, Lady A said impatiently, ‘What on earth are you wittering on about now, Hugo, and why couldn’t it wait?’

  Hugo bounced in his seat and pointed again. ‘There he is, coming out now, and doesn’t he look furtive. And he’s dressed very casually – almost scruffy. See, he’s putting on a hat and pulling down the brim.’

  Lady Amanda’s eyes followed Hugo’s gesturing finger and saw a familiar shape exiting a tres-snob jewellery establishment and slithering down a narrow alleyway, as if he had no desire to be seen or recognised. ‘I know who that is, but he didn’t come on the bus with us, did he? And why was he wearing those extraordinary clothes. If you hadn’t pointed him out I would never have recognised him. Whatever is he up to?’

  ‘And why didn’t he just come on the bus with us?’ asked Hugo, equally mystified. That figure had definitely been Douglas Huddlestone-Black, and acting very shiftily.

  ‘I have no idea, Hugo, but I intend to find out,’ replied Lady Amanda, a familiar gleam taking residence in her eyes. ‘We’ve run into a tasty little mystery here, and I, for one, intend to get to the bottom of it.’

  The weather too hot for further conversation, they spent the rest of their free time sipping their huge coffees and fanning their faces with the menus.

  When they got back on the rickety old bus, Hugo was feeling a little heat-exhausted, and leaned on what appeared to be an arm rest at the edge of his seat on the aisle side, Lady Amanda having, naturally, claimed the window seat. With a ‘whoof’ of surprise, down went the arm, and Hugo with it, he having, unfortunately, leant his full weight on it, and he was left with his upper body dangling, with no hope of ever being able to right himself without assistance.

  ‘You people never been on a Caribbean bus before?’ screeched Winstone, trundling purposefully down the aisle towards the collapsed marionette figure of Mr C-C-C.

  ‘No. Why?’ asked Lady Amanda, genuinely wondering what the man meant.

  ‘Dat don’t be no armrest, lady. Dat be one of the oder seats for when de bus get crowded.’ Here, he gave Hugo a mighty heave and restored his upright position. ‘Look!’ he continued, pulling down ‘armrests’ from the two seats either side of the aisle in front. ‘Dey be de seats for de overflow, see?’

  They saw. ‘And,’ their determined island guide went on, ‘dere ain’t no timetable, neither. It’s not like when I’s doin’ da chaufferin’. De bus go when de bus is full, and dat means when all de seats is taken, not just de ones beside de aisle.’

  ‘So, how does anyone get anywhere on time?’ asked Hugo in a concerned voice.

  ‘Dey don’t. Dis is de Caribbean, and you just chill out and get dere when de bus is good and full. See?’ With a shrug of his shoulders, he returned to the driver’s seat, caught up his microphone and announced, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we be goin’ to da lagoon now, where a picnic will be laid out, ready for you. Feel free to shed your inhibitions and your clothes, and take a swim in de blue, warm waters.’

  ‘Buggered if I’m going to do that!’

  Hugo could hardly believe his ears. Lady Amanda had actually used a swear word. ‘Whatever’s got into you, Manda?’ he asked.

  ‘That dirty-minded old bus driver just wants to see all us girls in the buff,’ she replied, tartly.

  ‘If he does, he’s either a pervert, or he really needs his eyes tested.’ Ignoring the glare he got for this comment, Hugo added, ‘Have you actually looked at some of these old girls? They’re enough to turn a man’s stomach, if imagined naked. Yuk! No, no, I daren’t even try to think about it,’

  ‘That’s not very gentlemanly, Hugo.’

  ‘And what’s beneath their clothes isn’t very ladylike. I’m sure it would look like a mass meeting of hippos and over-sized stick insects, all in need of a damned good ironing.’

  ‘And what about you in swimmers?’

  ‘I think I’d be on the hippos’ team,’ he replied, in a cool voice.

  ‘And what about me?’

  ‘Definitely on the side of the angels,’ he replied smoothly, knowing full well on which side his bread was buttered.

  After a lazy few hours in the shade of the palms on the sandy shores of the lagoon, having decided to give the beach bar a miss, they travelled, pink and content, to the Parakeet Club, just a short way along the road back to Parrot Bay. ‘They have a nightly barbecue there,’ explained Windy. ‘They start it small, and if people turn up, they just put extra food on. There are always plenty of sweet potatoes and fruit to fill up with.’

  The Parakeet Club certainly woke them out of their somnolence. A group of men from the township played reggae here for pleasure and free drinks, and there was also a congo drummer. The walls were patterned with paper that showed dense jungle foliage, and toy monkeys swung from the rafters. The barbecue was outside at the back, from which tantalising and mouth-watering smells wafted, making newly-arrived mouths water, although it was not too long since they had picnicked.

  Large glass jugs tinkling with ice-cubes and filled with tropical punch were laid on two enormous tables waiting for them, and soon they were ushered out to the back of the building to load plates with meat, plantains, and the local rice dish. Sweet potatoes were squeezed on to plates already overloaded with food, and the group of old school chums reassembled back inside.

  ‘I say, it’s just like the days when we went on a school trip, isn’t it?’ asked Horseface of everyone. ‘We always had our packed lunches eaten before the coach left the school grounds, and then had to buy something to eat when we got where we were going. We were always eating in those days, for we had a good supper when we got back to school, and the breakfasts weren’t mean either.’

  ‘And some always ate more than their fair share,’ was heard, the voice unidentified, but both Windy, who was curvaceous, and Butterfingers and Hefferlump, who were more on the chunky side of chubby, blushed and looked around to see who had made such an unkind remark, and for a while there was an uncomfortable atmosphere.

  After a few glasses from the constantly refilled jugs, however, the bonhomie flowed as smoothly as the tropical punch, and good humour was soon restored.

  ‘And what did our lovely Adonis do today?’ asked Lady A, with a sly smile on her face. ‘I didn’t see him on the bus.’

  ‘He said he’d been working so hard that he just wanted to chill out this afternoon – doze in a hammock out in the back garden on the veranda. He said he�
�d probably just catch an early night and see us, maybe, tomorrow,’ Windy informed them.

  ‘How interesting.’ Lady Amanda was really intrigued now. She and Hugo must have been the only two people who caught sight of him as he furtively snuck out of that classy jeweller’s shop. Whatever could he have been up to? And why had he lied to Windy about what he intended to do? She couldn’t think of any connection with the disappearance of a cabin steward from the cruise ship: and that would have long sailed by now, so that, as they say, was that.

  Most of the old girls were gorging themselves on lobster, crab, and shrimp, when the proprietor, an ex-pat by the name of Albert Ross, grabbed a microphone and asked them to give a big, warm, Caribbayan welcome to their special guest tonight, Doctor Congo, who would now drum for their entertainment.

  ‘Don’t see how drumming can be entertainment,’ muttered Lady A into Windy’s ear, then asked, ‘Who’s he, anyway: that chap with the mike?’

  ‘That’s our Albie. Mr Ross if you’re being formal. He opened this place about a year ago, but it’s not doing as well as it should do, because it’s just a bit too far away from the cruise terminal, and the island only has the one bus which does round tours rather than ‘Come to the Parakeet Club’ tours.

  ‘He’s been so unlucky. He had a bar in London which was struck by lightning and burnt down. Then, when he’d got the insurance money, he opened a place on the south coast, but that got flooded two years in a row, and he eventually couldn’t afford his premiums, so he came out here to make a fresh start, and now this place seems to be on the wane.’

  ‘I suppose it would really help him if you sold all your properties. That should give his business a boost, to have them all occupied with retired people who like to have a good time,’ Lady Amanda suggested.

  ‘Oh, it would, and we hope we shall all be able to patronise this establishment during your stay here – support your local enterprise, sort of thing.’ Windy was smiling with her mouth, but her eyes looked anxious, only for them to resolve themselves into relief when Lady Amanda said she thought they would come here often for the food and the entertainment.

  At that point, Dr Congo gave himself a fabulous introduction and a big hand, and proceeded to bash the living daylights out of a series of tall drums that stood in front of him and, for a while, no one could hear themselves think, let alone speak.

  By the time he finished, to rapturous applause, the effects of the insidious drink in the jugs had begun to take effect, and a feeling of relaxed contentment was noticeable round the two large tables. Albie Ross came over with two more refilled jugs and took the old ones away, and Hugo had to be roused from a doze into which he fallen the minute the applause for the drummer had died away.

  Shaking his head to rouse his senses, he said, ‘I think I need to get back and go to bed. How’s everyone else?’

  ‘Winstone?’ called Windy, in a stentorian voice, which had helped her no end on the lacrosse field. ‘Do you think you could take Hugo home? He’s in number fifteen. His clothes should have been put away by now, so he should be able to get ready for bed without too much hassle.

  Everyone else had elected to stay on, and it was with gratitude that Hugo went off alone in the bus with Winstone, towards his bed and oblivion. He wasn’t one who could party like the others. He needed his beauty sleep, otherwise he might end up looking even worse than he thought he already did – just one big wrinkle.

  Hugo stirred in his sleep, sometime afterwards, when the bus entered the development, reverberating with a full-volume Bob Marley song accompanied by the voices of everyone aboard. The old chums had had a proper Caribbayan party. And they’d know about it in the morning.

  Chapter Six

  The only one up with the lark the next morning was Hugo, who found himself totally alone in the kitchen trying to find his way around the cupboards to gather together the few bits and pieces he would need to make a light breakfast.

  He had no sooner got his head into the back of a cupboard under the work surface than a cheery Caribbean voice behind him greeted him with, ‘Good mornin’, sir. Don’t you go fussin’ yourself round those old cupboards. I’s here to do that for you.

  ‘M’ name’s Maria – housemaid to Miz Winterbottom. She thought you could do with a li’l help with the domestics, an’ she sent me over to help.’

  Hugo’s reply was lost in his yell as he tried to straighten up, taken by surprise as he had been, and hitting his head on the inside top of the cupboard.

  ‘Come here an’ let me look at dat. How you manage to hit your head I don’ know. You’s Mr Hugo, right?’

  ‘Right, Maria. I’m rather afraid you startled me, but your help would be greatly appreciated. I don’t know where anything is: I’m afraid I’m a hopeless case when it comes to kitchens,’ he replied, submitting to bending his head and having the new arrival ruffle through his hair as if she were a monkey grooming one of her troop.

  ‘No blood, so you’s alright, Mr Hugo. Now, what can I get you? Some mango and melon? An omelette? Some pancakes and maple syrup? You tell me, I do you whatever you want.’

  ‘Gosh, what an exotic choice. I … I really can’t make up my mind, Maria.’

  ‘Den sit yourself down at de table an’ I’ll choose for you,’ she chirruped.

  Hugo settled himself down at the table in the vast tiled kitchen/breakfast room and mentally rubbed his hands together. He was enjoying this holiday immensely, and believed it could only get better. His joints didn’t ache anywhere near as much as they did in England, and his skin was constantly warm, as a reminder of what the sun was doing to his pale outer self.

  ‘How are Windy and, er, Beep-Beep’ – he felt a right ’nana using such a silly nickname – ‘going to manage without you while we’re here?’ he asked, more out of politeness than actual concern.

  ‘Oh, she and de massa can manage well on dere own. Dey sent all four of us off to villas while dey got all you guests, just so you don’t have to do de housework,’ she explained.

  Hugo had a quick mental count. ‘Surely we’re occupying five villas?’ He was sure he wasn’t mistaken.

  ‘Dat Mr Huddlestone-Black don’t want no help whenever he’s here. He never let anyone into de place he stays in.’

  ‘How extraordinary,’ exclaimed Hugo, thinking of how furtive and secretive the chap had been in avoiding the company of all the old chums on the ship, and how he had scooted off on his own as soon as they had set foot on the island.

  He was jolted from this reverie by the hooting of his companion, who came galumphing down the stairs calling, ‘Are you up already, Hugo? Ooh, my thumping head. I think I’d better lay off the coconut rum. I must say, I’m starving though, even if I do have what is commonly known as a hangover, and …’

  She ground to a halt as she saw the dusky bulk of Maria chopping fruit at the counter. ‘May I introduce you to Maria, your friend Windy’s housemaid, who has been sent to look after us during our stay here. Maria, this is Lady Amanda Golightly.’

  Lady Amanda padded across to shake hands, but before she could reach Maria, the maid had dropped her a deep curtsy. ‘I never thought to meet me a real English Lady. Very happy to serve you, Your Majesty,’ she said, with a deep-throated chuckle of sheer pleasure.

  ‘Oh, just call me Manda … or, at least, Lady Amanda,’ requested that regal figure, quickly changing her mind about complete informality with a servant. Lady Amanda was what was required, and that’s what she ought to be called to give her her full … well, her full something or other, which befitted her station in life.

  ‘Good morning Lady Amanda,’ trilled Maria, returning to her slicing and chopping. ‘May I have the honour of providing you with some breakfast?’

  ‘Absolutely, my dear. I could eat a scabby donkey.’

  After a thoughtful moment, Maria retorted with, ‘Well, dat may be an English delicacy, and I ain’t got none here, but I can offer you tropical fruit, omelette, or pancakes and syrup. Which would you prefer?’r />
  ‘All of them!’ decided Lady A greedily, and her mouth began to water at the thought of such an exotic and varied breakfast.

  ‘And I’ll put a little Caribbayan hot sauce in your omelettes, to really give you a flavour of de island,’ their erstwhile cook concluded.

  Within a couple of minutes they were sharing a platter of mixed tropical fruits, all of them ripe and still sun-warmed.

  ‘Siz goo’, innit?’ mumbled Lady A, juice running off her chin and on to her plate.

  ‘What was that, Manda? Didn’t quite catch what you said.’

  ‘I said, “This is good, isn’t it?”’ she clarified, using her napkin to mop not only her chin but her elbows as well.

  ‘Exceptionally,’ replied Hugo, unintentionally dribbling pineapple juice into the coffee which had just been placed before him. ‘Never had fruit like it in my life before.’

  Maria came across and replaced his fruity cup with a fresh one, before returning with two steaming omelettes for their enjoyment. ‘Eat up!’ she exhorted them. ‘You two look like you used to eatin’ good, so ole Maria here is goin’ to keep it dat way, while you is under her care.’

  Luckily, neither of the diners had ears for this comment, which in England might have been taken for a slur on one’s figure, but in the Caribbean was a compliment to your status and hearty lifestyle. And to be honest, Maria looked like she ‘ate good’ as well – but then she did work for Windy and Beep-Beep, and they wouldn’t get full value for money out of a constantly hungry maid.