The Turtle Run (38 page)

‘You know I think I'm almost back to normal,' she said. ‘I shall start driving us around, Becky.'

They pulled into Bridgetown at eleven-fifteen, giving Matthew ample time to park the car legally and disappear with the envelope.

While Clara and Becky were waiting for him they were approached by two sandy-haired men in casual suits. Something about their fairish hair and blue eyes looked familiar.

‘Clara?' said one.

‘Hello Bobby,' said Clara. ‘Have you met Becky?'

‘No, but we've certainly heard of Becky,' he said, sticking his hand through the car window for Becky to shake. ‘Hi, I'm Bobby Carrington.'

These must be Richard's brothers, looking business-like but cheerful. Becky assumed Richard's condition wasn't too serious.

The other man introduced himself as Derek Carrington.

‘How's poor Richard?' said Clara. ‘Horrible business.'

‘He's going to be fine,' said Bobby. ‘We thought his skull was fractured but he seems to have escaped that. They'll probably let him out tomorrow so long as we can promise someone will be around to look after him.'

‘Which means he'll stay with me,' said Derek. ‘Being waited on hand and foot by my wife, needless to say.'

‘We thought we'd see Matthew at the solicitors but figured he must have been earlier,' said Bobby.

‘You've just missed him,' said Clara. ‘We came a little later than we intended. Did you put in a bid?'

‘Yes, we did,' said Bobby.

‘Anyway,' said Derek. ‘Say hello to Matthew for us. Oh yeah and tell him that his cook or one of his cooks at the Monmouth is brilliant. I ate there last night with a friend. Really impressed.'

‘I shall pass it on,' said Clara, whose delighted smile revealed her pleasure in hearing her son's hotel praised.

‘See you then.' The brothers waved goodbye and walked off at an unhurried pace.

‘The Carrington boys aren't too bad, really,' said Clara. ‘Though Richard is perpetually young.'

Becky wondered how difficult meeting like that was considering Matthew's father would have been known as ‘the gardener' to the Carringtons but she had detected no awkwardness in the exchange.

‘Ah, here he is,' said Clara, excitedly, as Matthew walked towards them looking more cheerful and relaxed than he had earlier. He got into the driver's seat and let out a theatrical sigh of relief.

Clara patted his shoulder. ‘Well done, dear. Everything went OK?'

‘Ten minutes before the deadline. It would have been earlier but there was a queue of people leaving it until the last minute. Amateurs.'

Clara laughed. ‘Yes, dear, of course they are. Oh and we saw Bobby and Derek Carrington. They said they were looking out for you but hadn't seen you.'

‘No doubt I just missed them. What a shame.' He grinned.

‘Derek said your chef is superb,' said Becky.

‘No surprise but always good to hear. Now, you two, I want to drop in on the hotel to make sure Alex is OK. And maybe lunch in the restaurant?'

‘That sounds lovely,' said Clara. ‘I'd kill for a coffee.'

Matthew took the more scenic route back. A couple of times on the way he shook his head and made some reference to the fact that ‘Alex would choose this day of all others to be ill'.

‘But you're probably made of stronger stuff than most,' said Becky, trying to lessen the possible flare-up when Matthew came face to face with his right-hand man. ‘No doubt you'd have made it to the solicitors even if you were attached to a drip.'

‘Too damn right,' said Matthew. ‘If I'd had a notifiable disease I'd have rolled along in a huge isolation bubble.'

Before long they had reached the hotel. They found Alex leaning on the reception counter, beside himself with contriteness. Becky thought he appeared to be in a dreadful state; with his bleached face and red-streaked eyes he looked as if he'd been poisoned. She suspected too much alcohol was to blame rather than just tiredness.

‘Sorry, Matthew,' Alex said. ‘I wasn't feeling that well last night. I meant to lie down for half an hour before driving back home but I was out of it. Did you get the bid in?'

‘Yes, just been,' said Matthew, failing to disguise the note of impatience in his voice. ‘Have you rung Deborah? She assumed you had come straight to the office after sleeping at the hotel. She was really worried when I said I hadn't seen you.'

‘I have.' Alex's grimace suggested it had been a difficult conversation.

‘Everything OK here? Anything I need to know?' asked Matthew.

‘No. It's fairly quiet now.'

‘Great. Well we're off to lunch. Oh, remember, it's Casino Night tonight. I assume the would-be Bond is booked?'

‘All sorted.' Alex turned to Becky ‘Sorry to hear about Saturday. That must have been terrifying.'

‘It was,' said Becky. ‘Though of course Richard was much worse off. But his brothers say he'll be out of hospital tomorrow.'

Matthew and Clara headed for the restaurant and Becky was about to follow them when Alex stopped her. ‘When did you meet Richard's brothers?'

‘They put their bid in just before Matthew got there so Clara and I had a few words with them while we waited outside.'

Alex frowned. ‘Today?'

‘Yes, just before we came here.' She waved a goodbye (which Alex seemed too preoccupied to return) and rushed to catch up with Matthew and Clara.

It was a rare occasion when Matthew, Clara, Cook and Becky shared an evening meal but having checked everything was all right at the hotel earlier Matthew decided he did not need to go in again and suggested a barbecue in the yard. It was a group effort: Matthew and Becky in charge of the marinating and barbecuing, Clara and Cook in charge of frying plantains and fritters. They ate up on the veranda and eschewed cutlery for fingers. Halfway through the meal Clara noticed that a branch of her avocado tree was hanging down, possibly displaced by the previous day's rain.

‘Oh look at that,' she said, crossly. ‘If I'd seen that earlier today I would have chopped it.'

‘It's just one little floppy branch,' protested Matthew.

‘Your father had to chop off all the top branches,' said Cook. ‘Mr Carrington told him to because the boys kept falling out of the tree.'

‘What? The Carrington boys?' asked Becky.

‘Yes, if it wasn't Bobby or Derek falling out they would climb up and holler for Richard to follow. And then he'd fall out. And the tears –'

‘Wimp,' said Matthew.

‘It would almost make your father cry too,' said Clara. ‘He hated hacking away at healthy trees unnecessarily.'

As they looked at the tree it was as though someone had turned a huge celestial dimmer switch to low: within minutes the branches were almost in silhouette and, after a brief period of tuning up, the whistling frogs' orchestra was in full swing. The moon looked as though it was coming in to land. Maybe to put an end to the melancholy that now tinged their mood Matthew changed the subject.

‘Now, Mother, we're not going to have your bridge ladies turn up suddenly, are we?'

‘And see me like this?' (She was using both hands to gnaw on a pork chop). ‘Certainly not. Though I must admit I'm getting a little bored of bridge.'

‘What?' exclaimed Matthew in faux horror. ‘I thought that was impossible. I assumed it was like golf. People discover the game, play it obsessively and then drop dead having done nothing else with their lives.'

‘So negative, Matthew. Though what you've said is true about people who play golf.'

‘Do you play for money?' asked Becky. She couldn't remember any gambling on the one occasion she'd tried her hand at bridge.

‘Sometimes we play for tiny stakes. Just a dollar here and there to liven it up,' said Clara. ‘Maybe it would be more exciting if we increased the stakes.'

‘Oh no,' cried Becky and Cook.

‘I fear that both Becky and Cook think any gambling puts you on the slippery slope,' said Matthew, looking amused at their prim reactions.

They finished eating and cleared away the plates. Clara and Cook retired, leaving Matthew and Becky on the veranda.

‘So what is it about the full moon?' Becky asked, ‘Does it make your poor hotel guests more reckless?'

Matthew looked puzzled. ‘How do you mean?'

‘Is that why you have Casino Nights around the full moon? So that they gamble away more of their cash?'

‘Maybe they do spend more when the moon is full – that hadn't occurred to me. But no, that's not the reason.' He leapt up and grabbed her hand. ‘Come on. I said I'd take you to a Casino Night.'

‘Oh no,' protested Becky. ‘I have no interest in gambling.'

‘I know. Nor me.'

‘And I'm not dressed properly. Well, neither are you.' They were both wearing light trousers and shirts.

‘We're dressed perfectly.' He locked the front door and firmly led Becky down to the sedan.

‘Why is it so important that we go?' she asked, as he opened the passenger door for her.

‘Because I have a feeling you think I'm a bit of a bastard who wants to make as much money as possible out of innocent punters.'

‘I think you're very focused on business,' said Becky. A couple of days ago she would have completely agreed with what he'd just said but she was now much more sympathetic, recognising what it had taken for Matthew to build up enterprises in two countries. Remarkable for a gardener's boy who had probably started with no capital.

‘Focused on business?' He grinned. ‘You're being diplomatic. Which means you'll never really like me until you understand what these nights are about.'

Becky admitted to herself he probably had a point, got in and let him close the door. She hated gambling as much as she could hate anything but decided to trust Matthew wouldn't make her do something she didn't want to do. He got in the driver's side and they drove in silence to the hotel.

Matthew parked beside the sea wall again and Becky paused to listen to the waves crashing below as she got out of the car. She looked at the floodlit entrance of his hotel, gleaming white in the moonlight. Small groups of people were standing outside smoking by a designated ornate ashtray off to one side. They were dressed up to the nines; one woman was even using a black cigarette holder, though presumably the effect was a little diffused by having to come outside to show it off. Still the people were clearly very light-hearted, enjoying plenty of laughter. A melodious alarm sounded: not the harsh post-interval bell of theatres but a cheerful noise; it sounded to Becky like someone was playing an old James Bond theme tune on a xylophone. The smoking groups giggled, stubbed out their cigarettes and cigars and headed back inside.

‘We might be overdoing the James Bond theme,' said Matthew, cheerfully. ‘But I think people like it. Also they know it's just fantasy.'

‘But they could still lose lots of money?'

‘It would be very, very difficult. The stakes are fifty cents, a maximum of a dollar on the games which involve more than spinning a wheel. People can learn the rules of roulette, Baccarat etc but, to be honest, it's more about entertainment. They also get cheap drinks and the buffet is half-price.'

‘They'd never want to leave your hotel.'

‘Exactly,' said Matthew.

‘But you can't be making a profit either.'

Matthew looked at her. ‘I barely break even on Casino Nights.'

A doorman wandered over and grinned when he recognised Matthew. ‘Evening, Mr Darnley. You coming in to throw a dice?'

‘Not tonight, Don. Off duty.'

The doorman smiled and made his way back to the entrance. Matthew indicated a path from the car park, which looped down towards the beach.

‘We're not going in?' said Becky.

‘No. Now careful – the path leads to some steps; there's a rail on your left and it's a bit steep in parts.'

Despite the moonlight Becky was glad to have something to hang on to as she followed Matthew down the uneven steps and onto the sandy beach. She could see he was watching her but he said nothing, allowing her time to appreciate her surroundings.

The hotel's beach furniture had been neatly stacked far above the seaweed line, indicating the high-water mark and, apart from some very low-level orange lights beside the steps, the moon had full responsibility for illuminating the shore.

‘We'd better take off our shoes,' said Matthew, quietly. He slipped his off and stuffed his socks in them. Becky leant on him while she undid her sandals and laid them on the sand, which glowed lightly in the moonlight.

‘We just leave them here?' she asked and then mentally kicked herself. ‘Yes, of course we do.'

‘I promise they won't be stolen,' said Matthew. She couldn't see his face but she knew he was laughing at her.

The feeling of cool sand beneath her bare feet was extraordinary. Becky marvelled at the intensity of the experience: the waves rolling in made a crashing sound far louder than was noticeable during the day – and bizarrely – the sea actually smelt of fish as though shoals had come into the shallows for the night. As for the moonlight reflected on the water – it was as though the sea had turned into a huge kaleidoscope with only silver glitter to play with.

‘I've just realised – I've never been on a beach at night,' said Becky.

‘Then you've never really lived,' said Matthew.

He took her hand and led her further along the beach, staring at the sand as though he were looking for something. After a few yards he stopped. Almost immediately she felt her naked instep being brushed by scoops of sand. She giggled. ‘There's a crab playing games with me.'

‘Oh, in that case let's take a few steps back. It isn't a crab.' He was speaking very softly, his eyes fixed on the area in front of them. They moved back a little and released hands so they could sit down. As Becky's eyes tuned into the moonlight she realised the area she had just been standing on was becoming agitated. Little lumps of sand were being pushed up. A few minutes later a solitary grey head emerged, followed by little flippers.