Sowing Secrets (28 page)

I’m
not
going to think any more about Gabriel – he’s part of the past. This is
now
, and I want my handsome, loving husband back, the one I married. He’s in there somewhere.

Mal arrived home with a present for me, and when I saw the little jeweller’s box my heart started racing a bit, thinking it was a ring.

‘Oh,
earrings
,’ I said, opening it. ‘I mean, how
lovely
! Thank you, Mal. Are they Colombian emeralds?’ Ungratefully, I wished I had a microscope so I could get a really good look at them.

‘Yes, from the shop in George Town.’

Mrs M. came over to look, and sniffed. ‘I thought it might be a ring. If she’s a married woman, she should wear one.’

‘Oh, Fran doesn’t like rings.’

I stared at him. What
could
he mean? I don’t wear one because he hasn’t given me one!

However, the gift set the tone for a happy evening, and Mal got right into the spirit of the thing as soon as he smelled the dinner cooking, even shutting the doors and windows and putting the air conditioning on – major concessions.

It was the first time I’d actually felt really comfortable since I’d arrived. As I cooled down I seemed to feel myself turning back into a different person: one who could think.

He opened a second bottle of wine with dinner and got very mellow, kissing the back of my neck while I was cooking and his mother was out of the room.

Mrs M. had a nip of sherry, acquired a spot of colour in each cheek and forgot to complain about the food; but afterwards she sat determinedly between us on the sofa, knitting for chastity, so eventually I said I was going to bed.

Mrs M. immediately put her knitting away and said she would also go.

‘I could do with an early night too,’ Mal agreed, but I heard his phone ring as I closed the door and got into bed – yet another late-night call! They do seem to expect their employees to be on tap twenty-four hours a day out here. Still, I hoped he would soon follow me.

He hadn’t turned the air conditioning off, and the room was cool and comfortable. I could stay awake and …

I awoke briefly in the middle of the night and could hear Mal’s breathing, fast asleep in his own bed.

Maybe he didn’t want to wake me when he found me asleep? No, he would have done if he’d wanted to, he’s not
that
unselfish!

So perhaps he’s taking his promise to his mother more seriously than I thought? And his phone call must have gone on a bit too.

The air conditioning was off again, but though the fan whirred and the room was still pleasantly cool it took me ages to go back to sleep.

The strange rattling noises at the window didn’t help.

I woke up again feeling slightly happier – until I looked in a mirror. Although my swollen eyelids are improving, the rash has left sore red rings round them. Sometimes when things are almost healed they actually look much worse than before. Or perhaps I’m allergic to Mal as well as the sun.

I got up and made his breakfast, expecting him to be softened and affectionate like he was last night – even sympathetic about the allergy rash. But either he had a severe hangover or Mr Hyde had taken over again, because he seemed if anything rather morose and reproachful, as though I had swung one over on him, though I am not sure how.

‘Your face looks dreadful this morning,’ he told me, as if I might not have noticed. ‘Can’t you put something on it?’

‘I have, and although it looks worse it’s actually almost better. But I’m going to keep under an umbrella when I’m out from now on.’

‘A yashmak would be more to the point,’ he said cruelly, inspecting his breakfast. ‘You’ve burned the toast.’

‘Mal,’ I said, remembering something, ‘last night I woke up and there was this strange rattling noise at the window to the balcony. Did you hear it?’

‘No, but I know what it was. Go outside and look up – they’ll probably still be there.’

Puzzled, I went out on the deck, and do you know what had been making the noise? Crabs!

There they were, huge spidery crabs hanging under the eaves, tired after a night of trying to claw their way through the mosquito doors into my bedroom! Who would have thought it? I mean, I’ve only just got used to perfectly innocent-looking shells suddenly getting up and wandering about, but this is something else: definitely not the behaviour you
expect
of crabs.

Later, they had mysteriously vanished.

The next few days settled into a sort of pattern of sightseeing, shopping and housekeeping, though in between I think Mrs M. and I have now watched every
Restoration Gardener
programme at least once.

Unfortunately, she’s taken to getting up early every morning and joining us for breakfast, so our only tête-à-tête has become a threesome-reel. She has the sensitivity of a rhinoceros.

Clearly Mal has been living a rich bachelor life, and he’s carrying on doing it pretty much as though we weren’t here: going off sailing with his new friends, or for a drink after work. And when he does come straight home he changes, has a refreshing swim and then lies on a lounger looking like a tanned and sophisticated escapee from San Tropez, waiting for a drink to be brought out to him and his dinner to be ready.

It’s a nice life if you can get it. Or maybe a core of selfishness is every man’s Heart of Darkness because, let’s face it, Mal’s behaviour since I arrived has been so self-absorbed he’s practically vanishing up his own exhaust pipe.

He was the one who was so keen for me to come out here – but I’m starting to think he really
did
just want me to entertain his mother and do the housekeeping!

Dear Ma,

Today we went to Hell, which looks exactly like the picture on the front of this card, and was as hot as its namesake. My sun allergy started up, but is now going again. I’ve been using aloe vera gel, which is wonderfully cooling and takes away the irritation.

Mal is very busy, Mrs M. as you might well expect …

Had Mal not wanted to take his mother about I’m sure he wouldn’t have been seen out with me, though, actually, now the allergy is in decline phase I don’t look
that
horrific. I feel pretty dizzy most of the time, though, but that’s mostly the heat.

Mal keeps telling me I’ll soon acclimatise like he has (though he’s had four months to get used to it), but it hasn’t happened yet, and I’ve come to the conclusion he is some kind of lizard. I think Alphawoman, a.k.a. Blobwoman, is about to discover she has inadvertently married Lizardman, the frill-necked monster terrorising the city: in the shade he’s Svelte-Executive Man … but let him recharge his batteries on a hot sun lounger and see him change!

‘Oh my God, Lizardman is climbing up the building!’

‘This is a job for Blobwoman – and here she comes!’

Squirt! Splat!

‘She’s spraying him with liquid chocolate!’

Slither!

‘He can’t keep his grip … he’s falling right into the nets!’

‘Blobwoman, you’re our hero! Oh, she’s vanished. Ms Alphawoman, did you see her go … ?’

Housekeeping under these circumstances is not easy, and I have ceased to feel guilty about the clothes – I deserve them! I also deserve the consolation of delicious rum cakes and this wonderful liqueur I’ve discovered called Mudslide. They’re warming the cockles of my heart in a way Mal most certainly is not.

He has taken us out for meals in expensive restaurants a couple of times in the evening, but I found that very boring – what is the point in eating French cuisine on Grand Cayman? Why not local food? Sometimes on the way back we see land crabs on the road, waving their claws threateningly at us. Once there was a cat dining off a squished one, but I can’t say I felt sorry for it in the least. I seem to have gone off crabs.

Dear Nia,

This is Seven Mile Beach, though actually it isn’t seven miles at all, and I’ve seen more palm trees in Blackpool, so there isn’t much shade about either. It’s hot as hell on Cayman but beautiful as Paradise, especially where we are staying – pool, deck, coral beach, palm trees, turquoise sea … the works.
I
am not so beautiful due to the red suede rings around my eyes where the allergy was, but they’re fading!

Dear Beth and Lachlan,

This is a view of George Town harbour, which is very lively, especially when the cruise ships are in. On Saturday we went round the museum, where I got this great straw hat made by a lady on the island. It’s about the only thing to buy I’ve found that is. The museum is fascinating – a whole slice of island history …

I got chatting to one of the ladies in the museum shop while I was trying on hats, and somehow we ended up talking about roses. She said lots of people still had old-fashioned yellow and pink roses in their gardens, which had always done well on the island, and although people tried the new varieties, Cayman didn’t really suit them.

Cayman doesn’t really suit
me
, either, but I can understand why people try to transplant here, because I think I am falling in love with the place.

D
ear Carrie,

You would absolutely adore the botanical park – the gardens are beautiful! There is a lily pond with a cool, shady arbour overlooking it, and lots of roses. Apparently Sir Thomas Lipton and Seven Sisters have traditionally flourished here – must try and find them when I get back home, to remind me. This is the best part of the holiday so far!

A dear little blue iguana, like a miniature dinosaur, walked majestically across one of the paths too. It’s made me look more kindly on Mrs M., who is nearly extinct herself.

Dear Rhodri,

Drove up the coast to see these blowholes today, and my ma-in-law poked me in the back with her umbrella and nearly sent me headfirst in there! Don’t think this was an attempt on my life, though, just trying to catch my attention. I am the chauffeur and so not really supposed to be enjoying myself. I bought a chilled coconut with a straw in it from a nearby roadside stand, which was delicious, but when the man chopped it open afterwards for me to eat, it didn’t taste particularly of anything.

Well, I’m
almost
sure she didn’t mean to push me in – and with my stomach I’d probably have got wedged like a cork in a bottle anyway. But it was a tricky moment, slipping about on the sharp, wet rocks.

Dear Rosie,

We’ve just spent a couple of hours wandering round the shops in George Town, and I’m writing this sitting at a lovely open-fronted restaurant waiting for Mal to come and join us for lunch. This afternoon we’re going to visit the pirates’ graves and caves, this being one of the few things we haven’t seen yet. The apartment is lovely, and this morning there was a huge cruise ship moored on the horizon, like an improbable mirage.

Apart from the housekeeping, I have now fallen into a routine of going on expeditions to see the sights every day, and since there aren’t that many of them I’ve already pretty well covered the island. Everywhere is starting to look pleasantly familiar, and I’ve spotted lots of roses in people’s gardens.

Sometimes Mrs M. comes with me, though she often seems content to stay at the apartment instead. On Sunday she insisted on going to a church service, but I don’t think she really enjoyed it: when she got back she said she thought religious observance should be quiet and serious, not joyful, and God would be their judge, bless her Calvinistic little soul.

Today being Monday, the maid came, which gave her someone other than me to criticise. But actually they got on well in a godly, fire-and-brimstone way, and Mrs M. not only showed her the way to clean windows with crumpled newspaper, but also exhibited the glories of her tea-towel collection, a sign of great favour.

I hardly seem to be seeing anything of Mal, he’s working such long hours – and then going off doing his own thing half the time! And it’s not as though he’s really pleasant to me when he
is
around.

I’m starting to feel I’m married to a stranger. I don’t really think I want to be left alone with him when Mrs M. leaves, and he won’t talk about what we are going to do – or even whether he has booked those few days off like he said he would so we could be together. He just says we’ll discuss it after his mother has gone home.

And the final blow was when I just casually mentioned wedding vow renewal ceremonies, and he looked so absolutely aghast that I’m convinced the thought never entered his head and the printout was an accident!

Later I asked him why he was so insistent I buy a special dress for the holiday, and he said I always looked a mess, and since he’s expecting his friend Justin to drop by for dinner one night, it would be good if he could actually feel proud of me for once!

Mr Hyde again, you see.

I actually visited the botanic park for the third time today, but on my own, since Mrs M. wanted to stay at home. Whatever she says about watching too much television, she is now addicted to it, so I was free to do what I liked.

I’d already walked the nature trail last time, so I headed straight for the roses and then the little pavilion overlooking the lily pond, where I lay down on one of the reclining chairs in the shade.

A gardener was wading about the deep pond in waist-high waders, tending the lilies, and it was a lovely scene. Despite all the worries, the heat and Mal’s horrible attitude, I had a feeling that I would never forget Grand Cayman: it has its own magic.

One day I will look back at my time on the island and only remember the sunny hours – and God knows, there are enough of those!

Today Mrs M. decreed that she would like to see all the expensive shopping outlets at Kirk Freeport out of interest in the base pursuits of Mammon (i.e., the tourists off the huge cruise ships).

Really, though, I expect she was just keen to look at the designer shops, though it’s not my cup of tea. I was never going to be able to afford any of it, and in any case, the only person who knows whether you’ve shelled out a fortune for a Cartier watch or are wearing a cheap copy is yourself. The Mickey Mouse one that Nia gave me as a joke fortieth birthday present seems to be working just fine.

Even Mrs M. was flagging by the time we got to the huge Colombian emeralds showroom where my earrings came from. It was cool and dark, and had a by-now-familiar expensive smell. Perhaps it’s the tang of money?

All my pores immediately snapped shut, which was a welcome relief, so I stood there just inside the doorway like a half-melted tallow candle, letting my eyes adjust and thinking how I never wanted to go out into the brash heat of day again. Mal’s mother determinedly marched up and down between the showcases, loudly uttering disparaging remarks about the quality and prices, and I pretended I wasn’t with her.

When I spotted Mal’s friend Justin, I had to look twice to be quite sure because he looked so very odd – but then, the lighting in there was poor.

He saw me at more or less the same time and his glance flicked in a startled way over my rolling figure – though it lingered on the cleavage exposed by one of my new, more flattering dresses – and came back to my still slightly sore and reddened face.

‘
Frannie?
’ he said, and Mrs M. looked up sharply, her bird-bright eyes going from one to the other of us.

‘Yes, it’s me! How are you, Justin? I didn’t expect to run into you here!’

‘Well, you know.’ He shrugged. ‘I chartered a yacht for a couple of months and I’ve been around the islands. Mal’s invited me for dinner tonight, didn’t he tell you?’

‘No – he did mention that you might be coming at some point, just not
when
.’

Mrs M. had shuffled up sideways like a parrot on a perch, and was observing us with extreme curiosity.

‘Mrs Morgan, you remember Justin?’ I said.

‘Is that
really
you, Justin?’ she said incredulously. ‘Well, I’d never have known you!’

‘How are you? Enjoying your holiday, both of you?’

‘I didn’t come expecting to enjoy myself,’ Mrs M. told him severely. ‘I came from
duty
.’

‘Right,’ he agreed. ‘Fran, how do you like Cayman?’ He looked me directly in the face this time, rather than down the cleavage. ‘You seem to have caught the sun.’

‘Oh, that’s not sunburn, it’s allergy,’ Mrs M. told him. ‘And it’s getting better – you should have seen it the first few days! Frances has only got to look at a sunbeam and she comes out in the most peculiar rash.’

‘The sun doesn’t suit me, unfortunately.’

‘You’d get on much better in the heat if you lost some weight,’ my dear mother-in-law said tartly.

‘You
have
got a bit plumper,’ Justin agreed, as though I might not have noticed. ‘Not that a bit of extra weight doesn’t suit you,’ he added hastily, his eyes straying to my neckline again. ‘There used to be nothing of you!’

Mrs M. invited him to go along with us to meet Mal for lunch, but he said he had something else arranged, though he didn’t say what.

‘Mal, we’ve just seen Justin,’ I began, the moment we got to the restaurant.

‘And he was surprised to see how heavy Frances has become,’ Mrs M. added, with her usual complete lack of tact.

‘Oh? Did he tell you he was coming to dinner tonight? He might be around for a few days too, so perhaps he could take you out and about a bit, Fran, while I’m busy,’ he suggested generously – and this from a man who used to go green-eyed if he thought I was even
looking
at someone else!

‘I’d rather take myself out and about,’ I said coldly, because not only was this really special holiday not turning out the way I’d hoped, but my Great Expectations were in danger of turning into Apocalypse Now.

Someone was singing ‘Things Can Only Get Better’ in my head, and I must have been humming along, because Mrs M. gave me a repressive look.

‘When is Alison coming back, did you say, Maldwyn?’ she asked. ‘Only I thought I caught sight of her earlier today in the distance.’

‘She’s still away, as far as I’m aware,’ Mal said with an uneasy glance at me. ‘Must have just been someone who looked a bit like her.’

‘No, my long vision is good, as you know. I am almost certain – and if she
is
back you must tell her that I can’t see her,’ Mrs M. said. ‘I’m not at all happy with the situation.’

She’s
not happy? How does she think I feel – especially now I know how small the island is!

‘I will if I run into her – but I probably won’t,’ he said casually, but with another betraying glance at me – and I suddenly wondered if Alison had ever been off the island at all. Or just lying low.

‘Mal, I really need to talk to you –
alone
,’ I said pointedly.

He looked at his watch. ‘Well, it’ll have to be later, Fran, I’ve got a meeting. Now, what are you two doing this afternoon?’

‘The food shopping for dinner this evening, of course, seeing I’ve only just found out. I don’t suppose you want cold cuts?’ I said sourly.