The Turtle Run (32 page)

‘Listen,' he said gently. ‘You told me you have good memories of your dad. Whatever went wrong between your parents doesn't change the fact he obviously loved you and your brother. And it shouldn't change your affection for him. Why don't you put your flowers on his grave and think of the good times you spent together when he was at home?'

Matthew was being so eminently reasonable she couldn't argue with what he was saying but she couldn't get over her shock. ‘I'll put the flowers there but I'd brought a card from Joe and me. I don't know whether to leave it or not.'

‘If you've brought something all this way of course you should leave it.'

He removed his arm from her shoulder and wandered away to look at the yellow fever monument again. Becky sensed he was giving her some privacy. She spent some minutes staring at the gravestone. While seeing where he was buried made it easier to accept her father would never be coming back, it also raised new questions. It seemed his life away from them would always be a mystery.

And now she had a dilemma: should she tell Joe? That thought reminded her she should capture the scene for her brother but she didn't have a camera and she'd consigned her mobile to the bottom of her case when she'd realised her provider didn't cover Barbados.

‘Matthew,' she called.

He came straight over.

‘I'm so stupid. I need to take pictures for Joe but I haven't got anything to take them with. Do you have a mobile?'

He got out his phone, clicked a few buttons and handed it to her.

Becky took a few shots of the gravestone and some of the wider cemetery to give Joe a flavour of the setting then handed the phone back to Matthew. ‘Thanks.'

They made their way back to the car and drove out of Bridgetown in silence. Becky sensed that Matthew was giving her space to think and she was grateful for it.

‘The grave looked like it was being tended weekly, didn't it?'

‘At least,' he replied.

‘And Dad died twelve years ago.'

‘Mmm. That's quite a long time, really.'

Becky sank back into thought.

After a while she realised that Matthew was taking a different route homewards. She could see the sea on her left and couldn't help smiling at a sign for Brighton Beach, as she suspected the area would have little in common with its English counterpart. Strange to think that her father might have seen this and had the same thought.

‘Whoever she is, she must have really loved him to do that week in, week out for twelve years.'

Matthew gave her a grin as though he had reached the same conclusion earlier and was glad she'd finally caught up. ‘They probably made each other very happy,' he said, softly.

‘Yes.'

‘Would you want to find out more about her?'

‘I'm not sure. Whoever she was she would have been left with nothing. I mean Mum got the widow's pension. It might get too complicated.'

‘You may be right,' said Matthew.'

‘I think so.' She turned to him. ‘Thank you for taking me.'

‘But are you pleased you went?'

‘Definitely. I suppose it's good to know that there was someone here who cared for him.'

Matthew signalled left.

‘Do I sense a detour?' said Becky.

‘Business,' said Matthew, happily.

‘I'll tell your mother on you.'

‘I want you to see what's occupying my waking thoughts when I'm in Barbados.' He gave her a look. ‘When I'm thinking about business, that is.'

Becky had no idea what to make of that comment. She decided not to read too much into it for, although she now knew why Matthew was so driven to succeed, she hardly knew him well enough to guess what non-business thoughts occupied his mind.

Matthew turned left up a small track and parked off to the side.

‘A short walk,' he said.

Becky got out and was delighted to find that she was already walking on sand. Although she sensed they couldn't be far from the beach, all she could see ahead were casuarinas towering over stubby trees. As they kept going she could see palm trees and the sunlight sparkling on the water. Further to each side were gleaming white hotels, like huge teeth, facing the sea. Except there was a missing tooth where they were walking on a long, thin patch of earth, strewn with casuarina needles. Matthew stopped beside a small chattel house perched on a bed of rocks.

‘Ah, the chickens have gone,' he said, sounding a little disappointed.

‘Chickens?'

‘The old lady who lived here all her life kept chickens and a goat. Every developer in the island beat a path to her door. They promised her anything she wanted: huge houses with swimming pools and heaven knows what. But she saw them all off.'

‘She wouldn't sell?'

‘No. She liked her house, she liked her land and she said that her goat liked it here.'

‘Wonderful. But what changed?'

‘She died, sadly. Unfortunately her children don't feel the same way about the land as she did.'

‘That's a shame.'

‘Yes, it is. She was such a great old character. You could almost hear the gnashing of developers' teeth every time she turned down another proposal. The bloody Carrington brothers really tried to put the pressure on. She told them to jump in the sea.'

Becky groaned. ‘I'd forgotten. Richard's picking me up this evening. Damn.' She wondered if there was any way she could get out of it.

‘
I
hadn't forgotten. I was going to wait until he turned up at seven-thirty and then set the dogs on him.'

‘Have you got any dogs?'

‘Not
yet
.'

Becky laughed. ‘What a shame this patch of land can't stay as it is.' Then she wondered if he would be offended since he was planning to build a hotel on it himself.

‘I know,' he said to her surprise. ‘If I was an absurdly rich man I'd buy it and move a tenant on here with some goats and hens and a huge dog that she could set on the developers.' He sighed. ‘Sadly, I'm not
that
rich. But at least if I build a hotel here I will make sure the beach stays public.'

‘You mean the hotels have private beaches? Are they allowed to do that?'

‘Not really but some will find ways to put off non-guests. Maybe the only way to access the beach is through the hotel, for example, and then you have to negotiate an obstacle course of the hotel's furniture on the beach.'

Becky laughed. ‘Matthew, I had no idea you had a conscience.'

He looked hurt. ‘Of course I do. Well, a little one.'

Becky looked out to the sea, indeed much calmer than the one she had glimpsed from Matthew's hotel on the east coast. ‘When will you find out whether you've got it? It's a sealed bid, isn't it?'

‘Yes. The deadline is midday on Monday. I'll submit it about an hour before. And we find out who wins on Tuesday morning. It's all over very quickly.'

‘What will you do if you don't get it?'

‘I haven't really thought about it. It will be a blow to be honest, if I don't win. It would be really helpful to have a hotel on the west coast. Then I can offer people a week at each: experience the wild Atlantic, experience the tame Caribbean Sea. I'm sure that would be attractive to many people.'

‘It would appeal to me.' Though Becky was really fantasising about living in the little chattel house and running out into the blue water first thing every morning.

‘Anyway, I should get it,' continued Matthew. ‘Loads of people will throw in their bids for a few thousand dollars – nothing to lose really with a sealed bid. There's just a handful of us who will be talking serious amounts.'

‘And that chap at the party, Frank, was it? Is he really a contender?'

Matthew sighed. ‘He's serious in terms of the money he can bid but I can't imagine his plan would get anywhere. He thinks he can build a golf course though, as you can see, it would mean golfers having to shout “Fore!” every time someone swims past unless they're scoring points for hitting other tourists. On the plus side I suppose it would give some employment to the locals to snorkel round looking for all the lost golf balls.'

‘You're quite funny, actually.'

He looked at her. ‘Funny good or funny bad?'

‘Good, obviously.' She could hear the waves swishing invitingly on to the beach. ‘Can I just get my feet wet?' She saw a slight line of concern cross his forehead. ‘Or aren't we supposed to be here?'

He laughed. ‘Technically we're trespassing but if you can do a quantum leap over the high water mark and onto the beach, then you're legal again.'

‘How do I know where the high water mark is?'

‘That line of seaweed there. That's as far as the tide gets.'

Becky ran and did a series of jumps until she had cleared the seaweed line. Then she rolled up her trousers and paddled. He soon joined her – barefoot – his own trousers rolled up.

‘Something I've been meaning to ask you,' Becky called out above the gentle chanting of the waves. ‘Why does your mother sometimes call you Mr R?'

‘My second name is Randerwick. As was my father's and my grandfather's. And if I ever have a son apparently the poor little bugger will have to have Randerwick as his second name too. My father made me promise.'

‘Wow, that's amazing,' said Becky.

Matthew looked comically pained. ‘My mother hates the name. There's nothing amazing about it.'

‘Yes there is,' said Becky. ‘Randolph Randerwick was one of the rebels who came here in 1686. You must come from a long, long line of Randerwicks.'

‘God help me,' said Matthew.

‘And you are infuriating.'

‘Am I?'

‘I asked you this morning if there was anything related to the rebels handed down in your family and you said no, nothing at all.'

Matthew looked surprised. ‘Sorry, it never occurred to me that the name was anything but a family joke.'

‘So your great, great, lots of greats grandparents were Randolph Randerwick and Sarah Thomas.'

Matthew laughed. ‘If you say so. Then where does Darnley come from?'

‘Possibly Randolph Randerwick took the name of the plantation owner he was assigned to, which was William Darnley.'

‘Really? I'm a Randerwick rather than a Darnley?'

‘Afraid so.'

‘How on earth did you solve that puzzle?'

‘It was Cook's idea, actually.'

‘Cook?' He shook his head with admiration. ‘Congratulations to you both for finding out more about my family than we ever knew.'

‘And you've been associated with Copper Mill for over three hundred years. Isn't that amazing?'

‘That is amazing. I knew it was old but I assumed it was eighteenth or early nineteenth century.'

‘Your family probably didn't get to go inside back then. Wonderful irony that you own it now.'

‘Yes.' He grinned. ‘I suppose you could say that it's pretty cool.'

Becky marvelled that they were alone, with no tourists wandering by; the beach in front of the chattel house was naturally adorned with seaweed, while the sands in front of the hotels on either side were pristine. In the distance it looked as though a pod of miniature whales had beached themselves on deck chairs. Maybe the plump tourists had eschewed this patch of land because the sand wasn't a sterile yellow.

‘Do the hotels clean the beaches? I mean of seaweed?' asked Becky.

‘Yes, by hand or with a special machine. Obviously they left this bit alone.'

‘It's nicer.' Becky looked up at the casuarina trees, which were whispering in the sea breeze. ‘I wish I could legally walk down to the beach just here, every day.'

‘Well, come Tuesday I'll be the new owner and I might let you.'

‘But it's Saturday, so as soon as I cross that line of seaweed I could be locked up in a Bajan prison?'

‘Yes, you would be a common criminal,' agreed Matthew, cheerfully. ‘Whereas I could just about get away with it by saying that, as a serious bidder, I was coming down to inspect the site.'

‘That seems so unfair, especially when
you
brought me here.'

Matthew laughed and picked her up, carrying her out of the water and up over the line of seaweed. Becky assumed he would abandon the grand gesture once they were screened by the trees but technically they were still trespassing and she was happy that he seemed in no hurry to set her down. He paused by the chattel house to sigh – though whether this was in homage to its former owner or to his own ambivalence about building a hotel on this unspoilt area Becky couldn't tell; either way it was very endearing. He seemed oblivious to her weight in his arms, the only clue to any exertion being a lock of hair falling over his eyes. Becky automatically reached up and swept it back. Matthew grinned at her and resumed the walk to the car. He gently put her down next to the passenger door and stayed close while she found her balance but, just as Becky was wondering if it was more than a line of seaweed that had been crossed, he got out his keys and went round to his side.

‘You need to get a haircut, Mr Darnley,' she said.

‘Mr Randerwick – according to you. Yes I probably do need one. Do you have any talents in that direction, Miss Thomson?'

‘I'm very good with secateurs.'

‘Hmm. I'll book an appointment at the barbers.'

Matthew was quiet on the way back and Becky sensed that his mood was turning more sombre. God knows what was going on in his head: he could be deep in thought about buying the land or thinking about being a Randerwick rather than a ‘real' Darnley. Or maybe he was thinking about her and regretting his lack of action back at the beach.

‘When is your next Casino Night?' she asked, to break the silence and test his mood. Matthew ducked his head so he could look through the windscreen at a higher part of the sky. Becky did the same. The moon was a dumpy pearl in the sky, almost fully round.