Paradise - Part One (The Erotic Adventures of Sophia Durant) (12 page)

Anna speaking French caught me off guard. I never pictured her to be very well educated, considering she came from Cuba. Evidently I was wrong.

“Contempt,” I said, the English word for
mépris
.

“Yes that’s it. Sometimes the French comes into my mind before the English. The more I know of Isabella Gardner, the more I feel
contempt
.”

She said the word as though it left a bad taste in her mouth.

“Are you jealous?”

“No, I could not love Mr. Stafford.”

“But of his life? Of their life?”

“Being super rich? No, money equals
unhappiness. This place makes that all too clear.”

“I can see what you mean. But it does seem to reduce the struggle quite a bit in some ways.”

“It
seems
, but it doesn’t really. It actually multiplies it.”

In all honesty I admired her frank way of speaking, and, unconsciously perhaps, I emulated it.

“The more money you have, the more you desire to have more. It’s how greed works.”

She said this last as though it was clear as day for her, as though it should be simple and plain for all to see.

“And the more you acquire, the greater this desire becomes, till it is all-consuming. It is like fire. Not something I wish for. In my estimation, all the richest people in the world only feel two things: one, the burning desire to draw in more, and, two, an overwhelming arrogance at how much they have already accumulated.”

I had never really thought about it that way before, but what she said made sense.

“I feel my…mind, my…being…is corrupted enough by experiencing the ease of life that such accumulated wealth grants those who are close to it.”

“It dulls the senses,” I agreed.

“Yes. Exactly. There is something deceptively evil about it. I can’t say what it is. I don’t know. But it is something I sense to be true.”

“It’s an interesting philosophy of wealth. Something most Americans are blind to.”

“Most of the world is blind to this. They need to place their hope in things other than money. Hopefully this economic trouble will help with that. Hopefully it will remind the world that there is a spirituality that matters more.”

I wanted to be on that spiritual high ground with her, but my recent infatuation with the Stafford lifestyle and interest in the man himself would not allow me the luxury. Anna took out a few
rizlas from the pack and proceeded to roll another joint.

July 26, Eleuthera Island, Bahamas

I sat in the light of the early dawn at the kitchen table, sipping espresso and scanning the news on the MacBook. Some movement in the trees toward Anse Lazio caught my attention, out of the corner of my eye. The Leica binoculars sat on the table next to the computer. I had brought them down to view the early morning wildlife. As I picked them up to see what kind of bird was causing the movement along the top edge of the trees, I noticed a masculine figure emerge from the path that leads to the private beach, followed by another. I pointed the field glasses in their direction and adjusted the focus. The first figure to emerge was that of Mark Stafford. I felt a rush of adrenaline and a lift in spirits on recognizing him. His skin was bronzer than I remembered and he seemed more muscular. He wore only a bathing suit and talked jovially, making big, circular motions with his hands and arms with his eyes fixed on his companion. The man with him was more muscular and taller, but with a bald head and a face that seemed craggy and older. Soon they walked out of view in the garden. I took a deep breath and set the glasses down, I trying to ignore the effect he’d had on me, and went back to reading the computer screen when a familiar voice came from behind.

“Happy spying?” asked Anna, standing at the far end of the kitchen.

“Anna, you scared me.”

“Now you’ve seen him after all this time. How does it feel?”

“Anna, not so loud. Others might hear.”

“I doubt it. No one is up except for the ones on shift, and they’re all somewhere upstairs.”

She fixed herself a cup of espresso and sat across from me. Her big eyes widened, prodding me into further explanation.

“Well, let yourself go. How does it feel?”

Her smile was mischievous.

“It feels like it might feel if I saw you coming up that path.”

“Your voice changes when you talk about him.”

“You’re making that up.”

“You become distracted like you’re floating on a cloud, no longer in this world.”

“I’m definitely
in
a cloud, not sure what world I’m in.”

Anna smiled widely.

“Anna, you’ve got to stop talking about this—at least while we’re in earshot of others.”

Another voice chimed in from behind: “Talking about what exactly?”

It was
his
voice.