Sweet Seduction (20 page)

She had caught his attention. He was listening, his eyes as hard as granite. His glance darted to his near empty yard. Kira was momentarily diverted. There were no lorries in the yard. That was strange.

"He can’t get labour except at the weekends, when it’s more expensive and he has to pay more. And he still has to cope with fire bugs, pests and droughts in the same way as a big plantation owner."

"Are you expecting me to solve all their problems?"

"They think you can. Giles Earl is their hero. It’s a wonder they don’t subscribe to a statue in the centre of Bridgetown."

"I like the idea of a statue," he grinned.

"Surely a big factory like Reed & Earl could organise its own transport system, capable of loading all the smallholders’ cane at a uniform rate whether they are five miles or fifty from the factory? Couldn’t payment be fertiliser in part, making sure they get it? When you close the factory or are on short-work, couldn’t you lease the men out to the holdings for that time? I can see a dozen ways of helping."

"Starting to run Reed & Earl are you, ma’am? Shall I retire? Go smoke fish down on the East Coast?" Giles was too quiet, bordering dangerous.

"Oh, you’re impossible," said Kira, her eyes flashing. She pulled out the bulky file and slapped it onto his desk. "It’s all there, read it when you’ve got the time, when you’re not dancing under the stars with your old friends." She almost said old flames. "Here are the keys of the
Moke. Thank you for lending it to me."

She swung away, her eyes blurred. She wanted to get out, to distance herself from his insufferable arrogance. She was getting hurt again and this time she had only herself to blame.

He moved swiftly, stopping her from leaving, his bulk filling the doorway. Her anger and contempt flickered into her eyes but she knew he had only to touch her and she would be lost. His fingers caught her arm in an iron grip. His nostrils were thinned with tenseness. But even though Kira was alarmed, she saw something else in his eyes that was difficult to understand.

"Where the hell do you think you’re going?"

"I’m going to the main road to wait for a bus, any bus into Bridgetown. The same way that I came here in the first place. First impressions can be wrong, you know. I once thought you were a really nice man. Now I know better."

He ignored her rambling explanation. "Don’t you listen to the radio? You shouldn’t even be here. You should be safely indoors, preferably down in the stone wine cellar under Fitt’s House, that is if the sea doesn’t come up and swamp it."

"If the sea doesn’t come up? I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"And there’s no time to talk to me now," he said coldly. "We haven’t got long."

"What do you mean?"

"Hurricane Erica. She’s heading for the island. It was on the news this morning. I’ve closed down the plant, sent everyone home, and put out the furnaces. They’re evacuating the coastal houses."

Kira was stunned, her thoughts in confusion. "Are you serious? I thought Hurricane Erica was due to hit the coast of America, somewhere like Florida. What about your house on the beach, Copens and your mother? Heavens, I have to find Benjamin. He’s alone."

"Benjamin can look after himself. He was born here. And my mother lives inland, in the north. With some luck, it will miss that area. The hurricane has changed direction. They spotted it at the National Weather Centre at Miami. Earlier it brushed the American coast, then sheered away, gathering force at sea. I don’t like the sound of it. The meteorological stations are mystified. Trinidad doesn’t know what to make of it. The official hurricane warning system was put into operation immediately."

Giles stopped speaking and lifted his head, listening to something that Kira could not hear. She felt a shiver run down her spine. There was something different in the uncanny silence. The sky looked different too, a leaden grey colour that had nothing to do with normal tropical warm rain.

"I don’t like it," said Giles. "We’d better get out of here. The factory is none too safe on its foundations since the last torrential rain. I’ve been arguing with Benjamin for years for something more substantial than general maintenance and repair work, but he wouldn’t listen to me. This factory was built forty years ago and is on its last legs."

He took her arm. "You have got to come with me, Kira. No arguing."

Twenty-Eight

Giles marched her down the steps towards his white Mercedes. "Get in," he said. He hit the roof button and the soft top slid into place, self-locking.

"I’ll get a bus," she insisted.

"Don’t be stupid. All the buses will have stopped by now. You don’t want to get caught out there in a hurricane. Haven’t you read our history? I thought everyone knew what happened in August l831. Sheets of fire, meteors falling from the sky, the smell of sulphur, tumultuous seas racing through the streets, whole families buried in the ruins. More than 1500 people died."

"Do they happen very often?" A small, vicious wind began tugging at her skirt and she held it down.

"About once every hundred years on average, with minor ones in between, if such a thing can be calculated. There are more stone and brick buildings now. It’s the wooden chattel houses that don’t stand a chance. And the land slippage."

Giles threw the big car in gear and roared out of the yard. He drove fast, as if racing the coming wind, but he had to slow down on reaching the main highway. The road was packed with families moving inland to safer houses. Cars, carts, bicycles, prams laden with precious belongings . . . the happy, good-natured people dazed by the prospect of a hurricane hitting their island.

The sky was already leaden and overcast. Clouds scurried in dark formations, bruised and menacing.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere safe. Sugar Hill."

He swung off the main highway and took a rough dirt track across a low-lying sugar field. A quarrel of frightened monkeys scampered ahead, fleeing the oncoming violence. The cane had been cut and the golden stubble was dry and brittle.

"One strike of lightning and this’ll go up like tinder," he said, his hands clenching the wheel. His face was a mask of stone and Kira could not stop the silence from falling. It was his island, his people, his industry that kept so many people in work
. . . and it could all be wiped out in a few hours by Hurricane Erica.

"Why do they give hurricanes women’s names?" she said, more to herself.

"Because women always cause trouble," said Giles.

"Sexist," said Kira with spirit, the word jolted out of her mouth as he took another short cut over an even rougher track. "I could argue that point for several hours. As soon as the storm is over, I’ll take you out on the money you are going to pay me for my splendid piece of research. I shall get tight on the best Barbadian rum and I’ll tell you what I think of men, British and Barbadian.”

Her fiery speech made Giles laugh briefly, a short harsh sound, but he was momentarily diverted.

"After this storm is over?" The wind was already buffeting the car, gusts hitting the doors, the fabric roof flapping noisily like a sail.

"I haven’t gone through the last few years of struggling, to be wiped out by a bit of a wind," she said with more courage than she felt. "I may get wet and blown about but I’ll still be here tomorrow."

His hand came off the steering wheel and closed over her fingers in a firm, warm grasp. Kira looked down at his strong brown hand and could not believe the aching sweetness of the moment. She glanced up at his face.

The mask had slipped. He was looking at her with a feeling of devastating warmth. She smiled, not knowing what to make of his change of expression.

"That’s my girl," he said. "We’ll both be here tomorrow, I promise you. I may lose everything – beach house, factory, plantation, but they mean nothing if I don’t have you. I won’t make the same mistake as my father. He lost Dolly and regretted it every day of his life."

Kira was lost for words, longing to respond, but still wary. "But you’ve been ignoring me for weeks. I don’t understand."

"We’ll be at Sugar Hill soon. You’ll be safe there. The house was built to stand for centuries. We’ll have a few moments to talk, but I must check on the horses and some of my plantation workers. They’re probably sitting under wheelbarrows or something equally unsuitable. Some of them have no sense at all."

Kira let his words wash over her. What did he mean? We’ll have a few moments to talk. Did he really mean it? That’s all she wanted.

He swung the car off the track, his foot hard down as he drove across a sweeping grass lawn, green as an English bowling pitch. Kira caught a glimpse of a white columned Colonial-style house with tall pillars and verandas and tall windows that went on forever. It was half hidden by great dark trees, branches creaking and swaying in the wind, flowering bushes that were being stripped of their petals in long streamers.

So this was the famous Sugar Hill, the house in the history books. It looked unreal in the eerie light that was suffusing the whole sky. A long roll of thunder echoed, taking the shadows with it, making the light waver. The house was like a sepia photograph, an elegant old mansion as it might have looked a hundred years ago.

Giles stopped the car in front of the wide flight of white stone steps that led to the front door. He leaned over and took her face in her hands. He kissed her lips with a tenderness that melted her heart. Her arms went round his neck, holding him close.

"Go inside and wait for me," he said.

"You said we were going to talk."

He listened, moving slowly to catch every sound. Kira heard it now, a pulsing murmur in the air that made her throat tighten with sudden fear. An awful blackness was racing across the sky. They stared at it, unable to comprehend that Erica was so near.

"I must look to the horses first."

"But you will come back?"

"Get in the house, please, Kira. Fast.”

Giles wrenched open the door and pushed Kira urgently out of the car. She half fell with the strength behind the thrust. Gravel bit into her hands, stinging the skin. She pulled herself up the steps, stumbling towards the house.

The trees were beginning to move with a frantic whispering, yet the air above was suspended in a tense stillness. They could both hear a roar like a distant train.

"Will you get into the house, for God’s sake!" Giles exploded. "Before it hits here and you get hurt."

"But what about you? Giles, don’t stay outside."

"Don’t worry about me. I’ll be round the back. And take your file, unless you want it blown away."

He tossed the bulky file of her research into her arms. She clutched the papers to her chest, feeling the wind flattening her clothes to her body, her hair streaming and whipping round her face.

There was a sudden crack overhead and darts of fire struck the earth. The sky, still that growling blackness, suddenly lit up with a brilliant flash of whiteness.

"Giles!" Kira screamed.

But he didn’t hear her. He was battling against the wind, struggling towards the stables.

Hurricane Erica burst on Barbados with a violence beyond anything Kira had ever seen. The wind came with a savage roaring fury that battered the wooden townships with a hundred mile an hour force, leaving a trail of destruction as she raced inland.

Roofs ripped off buildings, windows shattered, trees and power lines were uprooted and cane flattened as if by a giant foot. The heavy surf pounded and cracked the coastal roads. Storm waves rose, pushing the water ahead, flooding houses and gardens, overturning cars, washing away beaches.

A huge wave smashed into Copens, taking the ceiling-high sun windows far across the room, shards of glass flying like silver fish through the water. Books floated on the water, flapping and sodden, plants crashing and swirling down into the mud.

Kira was hurled against the steps, jarring her legs but she managed to pick herself up and stagger towards the front door, lifted by the wind itself. She wrestled with the big brass door handle and it burst open. She fell into the empty hall, her papers scattering in all directions on the polished floor.

She threw herself against the door, shutting it against a blast of wind, finding heavy bolts to draw across. Giles would keep his word. He would see to his horses then he would be back.

She stood shivering in the cool and lofty hall, a curving staircase leading to the next floor. It was barely furnished, a few side tables with big arrangements of flowers, an intricately carved chest, perhaps from one of Sam Lord’s wrecks. Nothing else. The hall did not looked lived in, only passed through.

There was a horrendous crash as the wind took out the windows and splinters of glass flew everywhere. She flung up her arms to protect her face, using her arms against the lethal spray. The roar of the hurricane diluted the showering of glass. But it did not drown the sound of cries coming from the outside.

Kira ran to the window, hardly able to see through the curtain of rain and branches and maddened leaves. She caught a glimpse of red between the trees, a slight figure running, floundering around in the debris on what looked like white wedge sandals, arms flaying wildly.

It was Lace. Kira did not think twice. She wrenched open the front door, the force of the wind taking her breath away. She ran down the flight of steps, pushing her way through the wild air, parrying the flying leaves and branches. It was starting to rain more heavily and Kira was soaked in moments.

She reached the distraught young woman and put her arm round her waist for support.

"Come on, Lace. You can make it to the house. It’s not far."

"I can’t. I can’t. I’m too tired
. . ." Lace wept.

"Lean on me. We can do it together."

"Help me, help me. Don’t leave me. I’m going to die."

"I’m not leaving you. Don’t be silly," Kira shouted against the wind. "And I’m certainly not going to let you die. You could run if you took those stupid shoes off."

Kira bent down and pulled the sodden lumps of leather off the girl’s feet. Her skin was rubbed from the tight straps.

Lace fell against her and Kira half dragged, half pulled her towards the house. Lace seemed to have no idea what she was doing or where she was going, her arm across her face, protecting herself from the flying debris.

The flight of steps were a problem but Lace, at last, came to her senses, recognising home and safety, and made an effort to get through the squall. She crawled up the steps, collapsing with relief onto the floor inside the hall.

Kira pulled the heavy door shut again, leaning against it, collecting her thoughts and breathing heavily.

"I’ll get some help," she said.

"I’m sorry," Lace gasped. "I’ve been so rude to you, twice. I didn’t like it because Giles seemed so taken with your company. There was something different about you."

"It doesn’t matter," said Kira.

"You see, no-one matters but our mother, even though there’s nothing we can do for her. He uses her as a kind of excuse not to get involved."

"His suit of sorrow," said Kira.

The door at the back probably led to the kitchens. Kira salvaged pages of her report from the wet floor on the way. They did not seem to be important any more. Many of the small farmers would be out of business by tomorrow, their fields flattened.

"I thought I heard someone moving about," said a woman standing in the doorway. She was a middle-aged woman, her hair streaked with grey. She took one look at Kira and led her towards the kitchen.

"Lace is in the hall, hysterical. She’s collapsed," said Kira, still fighting for breath. “Perhaps we ought to get her something.”

"She’ll be all right," the woman said dryly. "I’m Dolores, the housekeeper. Mind your hands. You’re cut. I’d better fix them. My, you’s in some state, girl."

Kira looked down at her clothes. She was not only wet through, but blood-splashed and her skirt was streaked with mud. Her hands were oozing blood. She had not felt the pain but now they were beginning to hurt.

"Giles’s gone to check on his horses. I let him go," said Kira woodenly.

"He’ll be alright. He knows what he’s doing, miss. We’re all back in the kitchen. It’s the safest part of Sugar Hill. It’s made out of them big old stones and cut out of the hill. It would take more than a hurricane to blow Sugar Hill down. Come along now."

"What about Lace?"

"Don’t you fret. She knows the way."

Kira followed the woman in a daze, hands throbbing, along a cold, echoing passage to the back of the house. The kitchen was a series of vaulted chambers with alcoves for storing wine, hams, bins of flour and sugar. Fluted columns supported the curved stone roofs as they had for countless decades. A clutch of young girls and boys were huddled together, their eyes wide with fear. But they looked at Kira with a degree of interest.

"Jamie, stir yourself now. Make us some coffee. Sarah, get me the tweezers and some hot water. Lizzie, I want clean cotton to tear up. Now who’s got the best eyesight? Who’s going to help me pick out all these ickle bits of glass?"

"I’ll help," said the smallest boy. "I can see everything."

"And would you put sugar in my coffee, please," Kira asked him. "Then stir it for me?"

"Yes, missy," he grinned, going off to fetch sugar.

Suddenly a heavy squall hit the house, grey sheets of rain obliterating any outside view with sheer water. The children screamed. Rain poured in through the broken panes onto the polished wood and ran in a flood through the ground floor. They heard a door bang on its hinges and Giles came into the kitchen, rain streaming off his face and clothes.