The Jaguar (4 page)

Dana held out a pale, limp, slim-fingered hand as Marcus approached. Her height, slender figure and shock of red hair gave her gesture an almost imperious quality, leaving Marcus half tempted to kiss, rather than to shake it. The pair exchanged a few pleasantries, Dana speaking with a lazy Celtic lilt which Marcus found instantly soothing. As Eric dumped Marcus' cases unceremoniously beside him, Dana issued an apologetic smile and said she would join him again shortly. With an unexpected burst of energy she skipped up the steps like a startled fawn and disappeared into the foyer.

A freshly showered and shaved Marcus stretched his long legs across the balcony of a newly completed honeymoon suite, taking in the expansive ocean view. Flecks of white spray marked the line of an offshore reef and dark shadows tracked the course of passing clouds in the grip of a strong onshore breeze. Children chased footballs across the white sands, as hotel staff fought to close a line of parasols in danger of blowing away.

Dana emerged from behind the curtains with a jug of Pimms and glasses retrieved from the housekeeper. Settling opposite Marcus, both concentrated upon their drinks. Marcus wondered whether to imbibe so soon after the flight. He rubbed his forehead to see if he could make an impression upon a dull headache and a vague sense that he was still in motion.

Dana stole a critical glance at her guest's profile. His features, particularly his nose and chin, were long and heavy and his eyes dark brown and slightly sunken beneath bushy brows. A fine head of chestnut hair had been whipped up by the recent wash and the wind. The overall impression was of strength and masculinity, rather than good looks, and his height, broad shoulders and narrow waist provided an innate impression of athleticism. This was the first time that Dana had met Marcus in an informal setting and she was already beginning to feel relaxed in his company. She was used to people talking incessantly about the minutiae of this or that aspect of the travel business. Marcus, although polite, seemed utterly disinterested, which inevitably fuelled a degree of fascination.

Later the pair decided to walk the furthest fringes of the resort, the last beach before semi-solitary bays and headlands reasserted their innate disinterest in all things human. Both figures clambered awkwardly over a low, half-hearted rope barrier and tottered in inappropriate footwear onto the wave-ravaged coral rocks beyond. Dana, tall and elegant in a knee-length orange striped dress, strode most purposefully ahead, having recommended their excursion. Marcus was less certain, in terms of his footing, where they might be going, and why. However, the cool sea air was a positive treat and he felt a renewed sense of relaxation seep into his forehead and sink slowly to release his hunched shoulders. He looked up as he reached a patch of fine white sand huddled in a rocky cleft and admired Dana's long red hair. Its strands flicked backwards and forwards across her back as she balanced from boulder to boulder. He noted the long inward curve of her spine and wide, elegant shoulders as she stooped and partially disappeared from view behind a particularly contorted piece of geology. As he leant, a few moments later, upon this same obstacle, he thought for one unregulated moment that Dana must have lain in the sand beyond and performed a tropical version of snow angels. A series of deep, evenly-spaced grooves pattered the sand, some disappearing into play-pit sized holes. He looked enquiringly at Dana, who smiled a most fetching smile of enthusiasm as she realised she would not have to garner Marcus' interest in this curious patina.

“We have turtles here” she explained and smiled a little bit more. In all her time showcasing CTG resorts, wildlife had rarely entered the conversation and it felt like such a release that, if she could have read Marcus' mind, she may indeed have made sand angels.

“These marks are very old, but at night, during the egg-laying season, we have staff patrolling the beach. If they find a turtle they watch over it. If there's already a nest, they dig out the eggs. They re-bury them in a fenced-off area which local naturalists oversee for us. There aren't as many turtles now, but at least the hatchlings needn't run the gauntlet of crabs and gulls. Most go by bucket straight into the surf. A few end up in local aquaria and marine parks.”

“So what's happened here?” Marcus pointed to the scattering of concave leathery pouches close to Dana's feet, which had obviously once been eggs.

“Some of the turtles are put off by the lights along the shoreline. They swim around the point and end up here on small patches of sand between the rocks. It isn't really deep enough. Our local iguanas have no problem digging up the eggs - we have fat, overfed lizards everywhere - our guests love them, but they can be real pests.”

Marcus and Dana stood quietly and studied each other. Both found something different and refreshing in the other and both now savoured a moment of calm. It was not until Marcus realised Dana was shivering that he felt the need to speak.

“Perhaps we should get back?”

Dana nodded. “We usually don't mention the turtles to our guests, but I thought you'd be interested, with your party heading off into the wilderness and all. You realise, when you've spent a little time here, that there's a rhythm to this coast, a kind of magic, something that has nothing to do with the tourist trade. It makes you remember that we're all just passing through.”

She shivered again. Marcus was uncertain whether to look interested or concerned.

“We haven't had a week as cold as this for a long time” Dana explained. “The local hospitals are filling up with old people with pneumonia. Farmers are worrying about their crops. You can imagine how disappointed our guests have been, although the Brits are still hitting the beach. Apparently, it's been worse in the north. There's even been snow in some places. It's all supposed to be getting back to normal in a couple of days: just in time for your visitors.”

Marcus awoke, rolled over and stretched each limb towards a corner of his king-size bed. The room remained dark, but slashes of light above and to the side of heavy curtains signalled that the sun was already climbing high. From the other end of the long, split-level accommodation there was the sound of a well-rehearsed, polite knock. Marcus slumped onto the floor and felt for his dressing gown and slippers. A few unstable steps later he was squinting into full sunlight and at the trolley laden with food that blocked the doorway. He picked up a piece of seashell imprinted notepaper and read the message from Dana -
Good morning, Marcus. I hope you slept well. I'll meet you in the main reception building at 11am. Enjoy your breakfast.

Deciding that food was a more pressing concern than a shower, Marcus wheeled the trolley as far as he could into the room. He threw open the curtains and arranged the table and chairs on the balcony. As he removed the tray and carried it outside, he remembered the data stick that Steven had thrust into his palm at Heathrow Airport. He spent the next three-quarters of an hour sifting through its contents on his laptop, between mouthfuls of fried food and sips of strong coffee. Steven had, as usual, conducted most of the reconnaissance for the new itinerary, and had also hired the local agents who would support the trip. Marcus was slightly nervous about leading a tour he hadn't himself undertaken, but also knew he could trust Steven's judgement. The notes were extensive and Marcus felt guilty about failing to study them sooner. He logged into the hotel network and checked quickly whether the forecast for a steadily improving weather picture still held true. It did, information reinforced by the small clusters of early risers meandering past his balcony towards the sea, bearing armfuls of towels and blow-up toys.

Dana was stood chatting languorously to a receptionist when Marcus arrived freshly showered, shaved and for once splashed with a small amount of Cologne. She raised a freckled arm from the desk and greeted him with a lazy wave. It was already hot, much hotter than the day before. Marcus was relieved when - having followed Dana down a spiral marble staircase - they entered an air-conditioned staff office. Dana smiled at the two Mexicans in linen suits who stood up as they entered. To Marcus their matching garb, tans and grins, but entirely different physiques, gave the pair the air of a comedy couple. A few pleasantries later, all four were sitting around a circular table covered in numerous documents, including information about each of their expected guests. A small ceiling-mounted projector illuminated a nearby wall, the group occasionally looking up to consider the next map or picture on display.

Midway through the meeting, Carlos Rivera glanced at his son, pushed back his chair to make more space for his portly frame then coughed for dramatic emphasis. “When we reach Punta Allen - Cesar will show you where that is on the map - we will be on the edge of wild country. Few tourists make it that far: the road is in poor condition and hazardous. Some rich people come in by boat to fish, but there are strict controls and it is hard to gain a permit. We, and a few other companies, do boat tours for day trippers. There's a lot of indigenous wildlife and also a number of Mayan ruins. These are the reasons why the area is a biosphere reserve and a World Heritage Site.”

Dana interjected, “Carlos is a modest man. His company is the longest established in this region and the most professional. It is fully insured and all guides and instructors have international qualifications. As you'll hear, he's been able to put together a very interesting programme.”

Carlos beamed at Dana then turned his attention to Marcus. “I have special permission from the state governor to lead a group into the heart of the reserve. Travel in this part of the biosphere is very difficult and there is no proper accommodation. We will travel by canoe and spend four nights camping.”

Marcus nodded his approval, relaxed further into his seat and sipped at a glass of water. Cesar took over from his father and talked through a series of images of likely wildlife encounters in a heavily Americanised English voice which seemed too big for his short and slender frame. The meeting was to prove a long one. Eventually, Dana leaned forward to remind the group that their first guests would be arriving shortly. “We could continue the conversation over lunch on the terrace,” she suggested. “Carlos and Cesar, I hope you'll be able to join us?”

Father and son again smiled identical broad polished smiles as confirmation and Dana skipped out of the room to make the necessary arrangements. As the door closed behind her, Marcus felt Carlos' powerful hand grip his forearm. He looked around enquiringly and sank reluctantly back into his seat. Carlos leaned towards him, still gripping his arm tightly. “You know,” he began, “everything is changing in this area. The drug cartels are moving south. You're probably aware of the violence in parts of this country?”

Marcus nodded, but in truth had only the vaguest notion.

“Here is supposed to be different. Here everyone wants to look after the tourists. The drug bosses also want somewhere to launder money, to go on holiday and to show off their wealth. Still, friends in other travel companies have been asked to carry packages or to pay for protection, recently. You must be careful who you work with.”

In some indiscernible manner Marcus felt he was being threatened. He fought to keep his breathing regular and his voice calm. “Are you saying, Carlos, we should not be doing this tour?”

“I am saying that the more time tourists spend outside the main holiday region of Cancun and the Riviera Maya the more there may be variables which are difficult to control. I would not encourage your visitors to go anywhere without a guide. They'll also need to get used to police and military patrols and checkpoints.”

Marcus was momentarily overwhelmed. He stared at his fingers as they drummed soundlessly on the table. “Perhaps,” he suggested, uncertainly, “we should continue this conversation after the first tour?”

“Perhaps,” Carlos repeated, sinking into silence for several seconds. “Cesar will be your guide,” he rallied. “You can ask him anything about our business and about the region. Here is my card, with my personal cell-phone number. Contact me if ever you have a question Cesar cannot answer.”

“Thank you, Carlos.” Marcus offered his hand then swung around to shake Cesar's also. “Shall we go and look for Dana?”

Lunch on the terrace sounded idyllic, but proved to be blisteringly hot despite the shade and cool marble. Carlos and Cesar sank jovially enough into their beers, whilst Dana fanned at her neck with a brochure. Marcus wasn't hungry, so picked randomly at a salad. He and Dana stole occasional glances, as both could tell the other was uneasy. With their clients now imminent, there was little opportunity for further discussion.

“No need for me to meet our guests yet,” confirmed Dana. “Your new young lady, Laura, can help to settled them in. We'll liaise with her sometime this evening, depending upon how she's coping. I've got an appointment now, but if you ring my office around five, we'll arrange where to meet. Until then I suggest you make the most of the facilities.”

As neither Carlos nor Cesar showed any inclination to move, Dana and Marcus made their excuses and wandered back up the few stone steps to Reception. They parted silently, with the merest nod and wave. Marcus went for a swim then sat by the beachside pool, listlessly watching the aqua-aerobics that had taken his place. Several times he decided to call Steven, but each time, as he rehearsed his words, they sounded either neurotic or just plain silly. These perspectives were reinforced by the tranquil, family-friendly scene around him. Eventually he decided he would speak with Cesar, to see if he could elaborate on his father's concerns. Then he would know what to do.

Chapter Six

In transit

Laura stood in the middle of the Departure floor at Bristol Airport, reflecting on possibly the most stressful eight days of her life. She had already waited there for forty-five minutes, feeling superfluous and increasingly self-conscious, as nobody had yet responded to the Tailwind Adventure sign that she held. Was she actually employed? She had signed and returned a contract earlier in the week, but there had been no personal contact with anyone from the company. By contrast, everyone else in her life had descended all at once. Her father felt the need to drive up from Taunton to express his displeasure at his daughter's decision to abandon a promising career. His concern had turned to near apoplexy when he learned Laura had accepted the position on a trial basis. Less stereotypically, Simon had become awkward when the reality of Laura's imminent departure sunk in. Fielding his increasingly panicked questions had been difficult, as she couldn't help but feel guilty. Laura was well aware that she had neither consulted him as a friend about her decision, nor considered the impact of her leaving the agency so suddenly upon his own role. The agency response had been predictable - she would lose her final month's salary due to lack of notice and could no longer rely on a strong reference. Only Katie and George had been supportive, but still their determination to invite everyone they had ever known to a farewell party at the apartment made it even harder for Laura to pack, or to draw breath before her departure. At least, she reflected, with these two there had been a degree of serendipity. George could now move temporarily into Laura's room. She smiled to herself as she recalled them cuddling and waving by the front door earlier that morning, as an airport taxi had swept her away.