The Takamaka Tree (8 page)

But the room was full of sunlight. It pricked at her eyelids and she opened them reluctantly. She lay still, seduced by the comfort of the bed, looking at the cool white and beige room, the deep pile fitted carpet, the modern unit furniture and the heavy full-length curtains, partly drawn back to admit the flood of sunshine.

The other single bed had not been slept in. Her clothes lay in an untidy pile on the floor. She hardly remembered undressing. There was a telephone on the shelf which formed part of the bedhead.

How strange that she should know that it was a telephone and how to use it
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She stretched out a hand to a folder that lay beside the telephone. It was a description of the hotel and its various attractions and amenities.

She read avidly, for there had been little to read on La Petite, only Daniel’s bird books. But at the same time she was frightened. All these activities sounded busy and they meant people. She did not want to meet any people.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, savouring the feel of the carpet between her toes. It was so soft. She ran across to the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony, saw how to slide them further apart, and went out onto the balcony. But she caught no more than a glimpse of the lawns leading down to the sand and the palms leaning thoughtfully towards the ocean, before darting back into the bedroom, clutching at the curtain to cover her nakedness.

Daniel had already gone out, but it was not his absence which made her flinch away.

There had been people outside, youths sweeping the grass with brooms made of spiky leaves. Not a petal or a leaf was allowed to remain on the grass, let alone a piece of litter or a ripe coconut.

Sandy tried all the doors in the room. There were a lot of empty wardrobes, but one led to the bathroom. She touched the bright chromium fittings and pretty primrose tiles. Thick yellow towels in several sizes hung on the rails, and little wrapped packets of soap and a squashy clear envelope of green liquid lay in the recess beside the bath.

How marvellous, she could wash her hair. It was a long time since it had been properly shampooed. How strange that she should know that; it was odd how her mind produced trivial bits of information but withheld the most important.

Warm water. It was bliss after weeks of cold-water washing on La Petite. She slid down into the bath and let the water wash over her head. Not once on La Petite had she given a thought to the lack of a bathroom. But now she wondered how she had existed so long without one.

She split the envelope with her nail. It was tough plastic and tore raggedly, spurting green liquid into the bath. The tap was still running and within moments, cascades of foam began to build up. She sat, amazed, watching the white bubbles growing. She scooped up handfuls, daubing them about her body, decorating herself with bubbles.

What fun, she thought, and how thoughtful of the hotel management to provide a bubble bath. Her fear of meeting people receded very slightly, although she was not then aware of it. She looked around the well-appointed bathroom and it dawned on her that it must be expensive. She wondered if Daniel could afford it. Living on Mahé would be very different to living on La Petite, where so much had been free for the picking.

She heard a key turning in the lock and Daniel called out as he came in, so that she would know who it was.

“I’m in the bathroom,” she replied. “I’m having a lovely bubble bath. It’s such fun.”

“Carry on soaking,” he said. “I’ve some things to unpack. And I’ve ordered some breakfast to be sent up, in case you don’t feel like facing the restaurant yet.”

Breakfast had arrived when Sandy eventually came out of the bathroom wrapped in the biggest of the towels. It had been laid on the table on the balcony, with a pretty pale linen cloth and the cutlery and china were shining bright. A bowl of cereal and a jug of fresh milk, sliced pawpaw, fresh pineapple juice, sweet rolls and honey, and a pot each of tea and coffee.

“Can you afford all this?” asked Sandy bluntly.

“No.”

But he sounded amused, and merely leaned over to wipe a smudge of foam off the end of her nose.

“This looks like a very expensive hotel,” she persisted.

“That’s right.”

“Are you rich?”

“No.”

Sandy was exasperated. “I mean, what do you do for a living? You’ve never told me anything, except that you are mad about birds, and nobody can make money out of birds.”

“Oh, what a curious young lady we have this morning,” he mocked. “Do you want to know the state of my overdraft, too?”

Sandy flushed. He could flatten her with some caustic remark and she almost hated him. And she had been feeling so happy in the bath.

“Sometimes you spoil everything,” she stormed.

“Do you intend to have your breakfast in that towel?” Daniel said, ignoring her outburst. “Or would you care to glance at the things on your bed?”

Daniel had been shopping. He had bought a plain white cotton dirndl skirt, a pale apple-green sleeveless blouse, bra, pants and half-slip in white embroidered cotton, a pair of flat gold sandals and, of all things, some gold hoop earrings.

Sandy wished she could sink through the floor. He was so kind and thoughtful, and his choice was perfect. She knew the white and green would look marvellous with her tan and hair colouring. She fingered the earrings, lost for something to say.

“Pretty,” she said. “But how did you know my size?”

“I took your old flip-flops along with me, and remember there was a label inside your bikini. There’s not much choice in Port Victoria, but you’ll be able to choose some more clothes for yourself. That is, when you feel like walking around the shops.”

“Thank you,” said Sandy. “And I’m sorry about just now.”

She looked quite different in the new clothes. A wild thing tamed, thought Daniel as she came and sat opposite him, carefully and primly. He almost preferred his native girl in her bra and sarong skirt, her tawny hair all tangled in the warm breeze.

“Very nice,” said Daniel. “Tea or coffee?”

“You don’t like it.”

“Oh dear, you’re not going to become one of these women who must have effusive compliments all the time, are you? It’s just that you look so different, and it takes a bit of getting used to. Actually you look very pretty and cool and charming. How’s that?”

“I am silly,” Sandy reflected. “For months I haven’t bothered how I looked, and now in five minutes of being somewhere civilised, I get all het up because I don’t think you like what I’m wearing.” She smiled suddenly. “There’s a moral there, isn’t there?”

He took Sandy walking along the shore-line garden of the hotel as a preliminary to her first visit to town. It was a low white hotel, stretching for almost a quarter of a mile, every room facing the lagoon. A few guests were sunbathing by the pool, though Daniel could not imagine why they preferred the pool to the sea only a few yards away.

She found it quite unnerving at first. It was so different from La Petite, and yet there was the same sea, the same sands, the same languorous palms and exotic blossoms. There were signs of restrained activity around the hotel: quick-footed waiters, the smiling waitresses in their floral cotton frocks and cars arriving at the concourse in front of the hotel, as well as the holiday-makers relaxing in the sun.

Somewhere she could hear the sound of tennis being played on a hard court. There was golf, too, on a private course cleared among the coconut grove. A road ran along the back of the hotel gardens and she caught her first sight of traffic—small cars, open beach buggies, bicycles, and occasionally a lorry or laden bus. The buses were cheerful mini-vans pumping stereo music into their passengers’ ears, the conductor taking a precarious ride on the step of the open door.

Daniel retraced their route back to the hotel, talking easily to put Sandy’s mind at rest.

“There you see, no one is taking any notice of you. They are not thinking whether you know who you are, or what your name is. They simply see a pretty girl out walking and mind their own business. It will be the same everywhere.”

“I know what you mean and it’s all right while no one speaks to me. But I shall be terrified if anyone asks me anything,” said Sandy, admitting to herself that she was beginning to enjoy the new sights and sounds—as long as she could remain a spectator.

“I’ve hired a beach buggy,” said Daniel. “We’ll go for a drive before lunch. It’s a beautiful island. We’ll go across and see Beau Vallon, their prize beach. I’ve asked the hotel for a packed lunch, so you will be spared the ordeal of eating in public.”

Sandy smiled her relief. “I’m sorry I’m such a fool. But I do appreciate it. A little longer please, Daniel, and I will be ready to walk into the world again. So long as I am at your side.”

It was the first time she had used his name, and he recognised it was a turning point in her development. She was finding an identity for herself, so she felt able to address him as an equal. But he would have to extricate himself from this total dependence she had on him. She could not always be at his side. The time would come when he would have to leave her.

“That’s more like it,” he said cheerfully. “And no hysterics please if anyone asks your name.”

“But I have a perfectly good name,” said Sandy demurely.

Suddenly Daniel thought she was going to say Gabrielle Webster. The name hung in the air, tangible. His imagination saw it written everywhere.

Sandy hid the twinkle in her eyes. She turned her gaze seawards and let her hair toss in the warm breeze.

“If anyone asks me, my name’s Sandy Kane,” she said. “Remember? I’m Mrs. Kane.”

“Of course, I hadn’t forgotten,” he lied. It was one thing to prefabricate the situation on a remote coral island, and even on Mahé it did not present too many problems. But returning to England was a different matter. Two people living together openly could travel anywhere because they had two passports in their own right. Perhaps he should just declare that she had lost everything and apply for some new accreditation. Perhaps he would have to find a judge and swear an affidavit.

“You will have to buy me a ring,” said Sandy.

“No,” said Daniel.

It was not simply a picnic lunch on Beau Vallon that Daniel had arranged. Sandy had an appointment with a doctor. Daniel had discovered through his enquiries at the hospital at Port Victoria that an eminent doctor had retired to Mahé, and occasionally took a private patient. Sandy was to see him that afternoon at his home high up in the hills, overlooking the Morne Seychellois National Park.

The beach buggy was fun. Sandy enjoyed the drive into Port Victoria and then the steep climbing road twisting over the neck of the island to the fabulous show beach on the northwest coast. Even the shabby tin-roofed and thatched wooden shanties looked picturesque in their lazy palm settings, the hens and goats picking among the fallen flowers and coconuts. The cheerful Seychellois children smiled and waved at the car as it passed, still a novelty, although Daniel noticed that the older people retained a dignified passivity. Perhaps they did not relish the invasion of their island paradise by well-heeled tourists.

Daniel took the curves of the road carefully, easing the vehicle up the slopes and praying that nothing was coming in the opposite direction. He particularly did not like the idea of meeting one of the swaying old lorries which served as buses on this mountainous route. Ravines fell away at the side of the road, massive boulders obscured oncoming traffic, roots and granite and wooden houses clung precariously to the side of the mountain. And a profusion of richly laden trees—banana, jackfruit, pawpaw—leaned over the road, so sometimes there were children scrambling for fruit in the roadway.

Sandy hung on to the side of the open buggy, her hair streaming, her heart in her mouth as Daniel took the twists and bends. But it was exhilarating; sun dappling through the leaves, the warmth and sea breeze blowing through the heady scent of flowers and wild cinnamon. If only they could just continue driving forever. She glanced sideways at Daniel. His dark hair and beard were still curly and unruly, but in shirt and slacks he looked different. His nose reminded her of statues she had seen of Greek gods with arrogant profiles.

Gradually the road dropped down to the other side and nearer Beau Vallon. It was easy to see why the Seychellois claimed that it was the most beautiful beach in the world. It stretched for miles in a perfect curve of wide pale golden sand, fringed with palms and outcrops of granite, the bay sparkling aquamarine shading from pale turquoise to indigo blue. A few hotels were hidden among the takamaka trees, and holiday-makers swam in the cool depths.

Sandy took off her gold sandals and they walked companionably along the sand. There was so much empty space that they could sit anywhere and be quite alone. Some children were fishing, laughing as their nets came back full of fish. The sea was always generous. Sandy felt her heart warming to the children, wanting to run with them along the sand, to share their laughter. She smiled up at Daniel and was amazed to find a look of desolation on his face.

“Whatever’s the matter? Daniel, why are you looking like that?” she exclaimed.

“Memories,” he said briefly.

“Are they so terrible?”

He did not answer at first. He stared at the sea, wondering how much to tell her. Then he thought of the ordeal ahead of her that afternoon and decided that she really did not need to know.