The Takamaka Tree (10 page)

Do you know anything about the Websters at all?”

“Nope. They chartered
Sun Flyer
for two months. Mr. Webster paid the deposit like a shot and gave me London bankers for reference. They had a good crew, some of my best. I’m real sorry about it, I am. Of course,
Sun Flyer
was insured, but the money don’t mean anything. A boat’s got a personality, you know. And she was a beaut.”

“Did you ever meet Gabrielle Webster?”

“No. I think she came out on a later plane. Her father and the boyfriend were here first, looking around Mahé for a boat to charter. I never met her. But they stayed at the Mahé Beach. Perhaps the manager would remember her.”

Don Walcott poured himself another drink, offering the bottle to Daniel. Daniel shook his head. He had not touched hard alcohol for years.

Drink was an occupational hazard of his profession. He had seen it addle the wits of too many of his colleagues. He preferred to keep a cool head.

“Would you have an address for the Websters?” he asked.

“Yep. There’ll be one on the agreement they signed. I’ll get it for you.”

He reappeared with the form, a simple charter agreement, signed by Paul Webster and Don Walcott, witnessed by Ralph Fellows. Daniel made a note of Paul Webster’s address: Windelshawe Court, Didicote, Sussex. It sounded very much the home of an English squire, and one wealthy enough to fly to the Seychelles and charter a boat for two months. He had a feeling that Sandy was used to a far different life than a simple thatched hut on an island with no amenities beyond the sea at its doorstep.

“Thanks,” said Daniel, handing back the form. “You’ll be needing this. You’ve been very helpful. By the way, does this word on the life jacket mean anything to you? It seems to have been written on in ink.”

Don Walcott peered at the letters. “MINE RAF? No, it’s just a joke, isn’t it?” His slightly hazy vision had seen the Letters in two separate groups. “It just means it belonged to the boyfriend, Ralph Fellows. See, MINE and then the initials RAF. Look at the signature—it’s the same big R. No mistake about it. Fancy way of writing.”

The Australian was right. Daniel compared the writing and saw the same distinctive capital R. The curve touched the vertical stroke with a definite loop before trailing away into a long tail.

“You’re very observant,” said Daniel. It was sad. There had been some moment, unknown to anyone except Sandy, when the young man had flung his own life jacket around the girl and pushed her overboard. Perhaps he had known it was the only possibility of survival for her. And in doing so, he had perished himself. But death was no stranger in Daniel’s life; he had seen people die for far less.

“This poor girl doesn’t want to see me, does she? I mean, I will if it’ll help get her memory back,” Don Walcott offered reluctantly.

“No, it wouldn’t help.”

Sandy went straight to bed when they got back to the Reef. She was exhausted. It had been a long busy day and she could hardly keep her eyes open. Daniel took a quick shower and changed into freshly pressed fawn slacks and a dark open-necked shirt.

“I’m just going out,” he said quietly, not sure if she was still awake.

“You’re always going out,” said Sandy sleepily.

“We’ll have some dinner downstairs when I come back,” he said, but she was already drifting into her own safe harbour. She lay with one tanned arm thrown across the pillow, her face on its side, her hair caught in by the tight tuck of the sheet. Daniel freed the captured locks in case it hurt, and wondered why Gabrielle Webster, daughter of a man rich enough to charter an ocean racer, should have ragged hair. Tawny hair that looked as if it had been caught up into a bunch and roughly shorn with scissors or a razor.

The Mahé Beach was the biggest and newest of the hotels on Mahé. It clung to the side of the mountain at Port Glaud, almost hanging over the sea like an uncertain beehive, the layers of receding balconies reflecting the late sun in warm gold and ruby streaks.

Daniel drove up the imposing driveway and parked the buggy alongside a dozen others. The foyer was equally imposing and luxurious. It was just as well he had not brought Sandy here, even if he could have afforded it. The Reef, though just as modern and comfortable, had a quieter and less demanding atmosphere.

The manager of the hotel remembered the Websters, but not very clearly. They had only stayed such a short time and the hotel had many rich visitors, English and American. He recalled that there had been a young woman in the Websters’ party.

“Do you remember what she looked like?” Daniel asked.

The manager shook his head. “They all look alike these days. Slim, pretty, fair-haired I think. There was a bit of a fuss while she was here, but that’s all I can remember.”

“What kind of fuss?”

“Oh, it seems she lost a bracelet. A silver bracelet. And she was rather upset about it. But it was found later by the pool.”

“Was it a filigree bracelet with a daisy-chain design? Can you try to remember? This is really quite important.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kane. But this happened several months ago and it was only a trinket.”

Daniel drove slowly back to Anse aux Pins. He felt sure beyond all reasonable doubt now that Sandy was Gabrielle Webster, and that a home and family waited for her at Windelshawe Court in Sussex. He supposed he should cable to prepare them for Gabrielle’s arrival so that it was not too much of a shock.

He felt very lonely on the long drive along the coast road and then across the mountain again, but this time he took the southern road, Les Conelles, which came out to Anse Royale, not far from the Reef. He only had a very simple map of the island, which was all he needed as there were so few roads.

He was glad that she had a home awaiting her and certainly funds of some kind to support her. His little waif would not have to get a job. She had probably learned to draw at some expensive and fashionable finishing school.

He knew he would miss her. But she had to go back. He had decided that a long time ago, and it was the kind of decision he would not change. He would see her to Sussex and then that would be the end.

It was quite dark by the time he reached the Reef. A special Creole supper was being served outside on the patio and the charcoal embers glowed warmly and invitingly. A long table had been laid with a vast choice of dishes, and Daniel knew that Sandy would enjoy herself choosing what to eat. The wind blew in from the sea, but a screen of banana leaves had been fixed behind the table so that the decorations on the artistically arranged platters would not fall over.

It was also good that Sandy’s first meal downstairs in the hotel should be buffet-style. Daniel felt sure that she would be less intimidated by the more casual mode of eating. He felt the keen edge of his own appetite. Lunch had been a long time ago. He hoped that Sandy was already up and dressed in one of her new purchases.

He knocked on the door of Room 27 in case Sandy was wandering about half-naked. There was no answer. He knocked again, and then walked in. She was probably bubble-bathing.

The sheet on the bed was thrown back. The sliding door to the balcony was open, the curtains billowing in the breeze.

Daniel rapped on the bathroom door then flung it open. “Sandy,” he called out. “Sandy, where are you?”

Perhaps she was already downstairs, drawn by her own healthy hunger and the new confidence given her by Dr. Lefanue. But a quick search revealed that her new dress was still in the carrier bag, and the white skirt and green blouse were on a chair.

Daniel felt a sick feeling grip his stomach. Sandy had gone.

Chapter Five

Despite the air-conditioning, Sandy awoke feeling warm, perhaps because she was not used to sleeping in bra and pants. She slipped on her new nightie and stepped out onto the balcony. There were two chairs and a small glass table, and the breeze from the sea was tranquil and refreshing.

For a few moments she watched the activities in the garden of the hotel and around the pool, feeling safe at that distance. Sounds of laughter drifted up and the clinking of glasses. This made her feel thirsty and she fetched a glass of iced water from the thermos thoughtfully provided by the hotel.

“Hi, there!” came a greeting from a burly young man standing on the adjoining balcony. He was hanging swimming gear out to dry. He grinned in a friendly way.

“Hello,” said Sandy.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said, indicating the view of lush mountains and the sea-green lagoons.

“Yes.”

“If you like the Seychelles, then you’d like the Caribbean. Or Bermuda? Have you ever been to Bermuda?”

“Er…no.”

“Very English. Of course, Bermuda is right on our doorstep, but I said to Madge, that’s my wife, we must go somewhere different this year. You English?”

“Yes.” Sandy began to feel a cold sweat breaking out under the barrage of questions.

“Where do you come from?”

Sandy thought quickly. There was only one place she could think of. “London.”

“We’ve been to London, last fall. Great place. Loved it. We met some people from Epping Forest. Swell couple. Do you happen to know Epping Forest?”

“I-I don’t know. I’m sorry, but I don’t know.” She began to feel flustered. The young man went on talking but she could not take in the words. It was just sounds floating over her head. Somehow she had to get away from him. She heard the sound of a glass falling and breaking, and she had a sensation of moving, although she did not know that her own legs were the means. It was difficult to separate what was really happening from what might be a dream.

It was a long journey through overhanging branches and trees, sometimes a dark place, and she was shaken this way and that way by strange images. She tried to tell forms and shapes to keep still but no words would form.

“Don’t worry Miss-Sandy. Everything going to be all right.”

Now she was being carried like a baby. It was near the sea; she could smell the tangy salt of the ocean. Her protector was walking on sand, for she could hear no footsteps.

Slowly she opened her eyes, and the black sky was all swaying stars, a Milky Way of dazzling, bewildering fragments of light. Her head was hurting again, and for a moment she thought she was on La Petite and everything was happening again like some terrible repetitive nightmare.

All the doors and windows of the room were closed. In the darkness someone struck a match and lit a candle. In the wavering light Sandy became aware of crowds of furniture and intense clutter. She was sitting on a rickety bamboo chair next to a table covered in ornaments. She was in a flimsy shack with walls that seemed to sway with the flickering of the candle. She could hear pounding surf.

Surf—that meant a different part of the island. They must be near a wide bay without a reef of coral, where the Indian Ocean could roll onto the shore.

A man was moving around the crowded room with the careful grace of a black panther.

“Where am I?” she asked. “Why have you brought me here?”

Leon came over. He looked bigger and blacker than ever in the gloom.

“This is my grandfather’s house at Anse Boileau. He was a fisherman. I found you running along the shore. You were lost.”

Sandy felt stifled by the claustrophobic atmosphere. Now her eyes were becoming accustomed to the candlelight, she found she had never seen a room so filled with junk. There was hardly room to move for chairs, tables, boxes, poles, basins, dog-eared magazines, heaps of shells, fishing gear and dead flowers crumbling to dust. The walls were plastered with cut-outs from magazines and old calendars. Hardly an inch was uncovered.

“Mr. Kane will be worried if he doesn’t know where I am,” said Sandy, clinging to the one thing she knew to be true.

“Leon will look after you until you are well,” he said. “Miss-Sandy should not be left alone. It is not safe. I saved you. Mr. Kane is going to fly away soon anyway.”

“How do you know?”

“Today I saw him at the travel office in Port Victoria. He will go soon, and I will look after Miss-Sandy.”

“But Mr. Kane will be looking for me, Leon. You can’t keep me here. You must take me back.”

A stubborn look came over Leon’s face. “Mr. Kane going away,” he repeated. “I will take care of you. I will work on a building site and buy you pretty clothes. I am very strong and will soon get work. This will be your little house. You can do what you like with it. You can make it very pretty, pick flowers—I shall not mind what you do. I will buy everything you want for a little house.”

He was obviously quite sincere. He only wanted to look after her. He meant no harm to her.

“You will be safe now,” he said with an air of manly finality. “And you will be very happy, you’ll see.”

Sandy struggled to quieten her fears. She had to keep her head or Leon might become difficult to handle. At the moment, he was still in some awe of her, but this might wear off the longer she remained here.

But where on earth was Anse Boileau? Which way had she run? And how far? One thing she knew for sure: Daniel would never find her here.

“I am very tired,” she said. “I want to sleep.”