The Turtle Run (6 page)

Clara laughed. ‘No, Becky. I'm from Martinique. Anyway, Babonneau is my maiden name. My son prefers me to use that.'

Becky frowned. ‘Why?'

‘Shall we have another go at that peculiar sherry?' said Clara. ‘It wasn't so bad after the first mouthful.' Becky nodded and Clara poured them a glass each, then sat back down with a sigh.

‘I want you to know that Barbados is not dangerous but –' Clara took a sip of peppered sherry and made a comical eye-screwing expression, ‘the truth is my son has made a bit of money – which he works very hard for – and the police in Barbados discovered a plan by some despicable people to kidnap me and get my son to pay a ransom. This was a few years back.'

‘Oh,' said Becky. This was casserole-dropping information.

‘Fortunately it was all very amateur so nothing bad happened. It was my son who then encouraged me to use a different name in public. Pointless in Barbados, of course, where everyone knows me, but I suppose it might confuse people when I'm abroad. I think he got a little paranoid but there we are.'

‘I can imagine he was paranoid – with good reason.'

‘But, trust me, the house in Barbados is as secure as a prison.'

An unfortunate simile, thought Becky. No doubt Clara was trying to put her mind at rest but she wasn't sure she wanted to stay in a jail.

‘Who else is in this house?' she asked.

‘It will be us, Mr R of course, our lovely old cook and people drop by all the time. It's very relaxed.'

That sounded better.

‘My son is due sometime today, back from – oh I can't keep track of him – France, was it? Anyway, it would be good if you can meet him before we all end up in the Bajan house together.'

‘That sounds like a good idea. And Bajan is short for Barbadian?'

‘Yes indeed. You'll hear it all the time when you're there.'

The doorbell rang, closely followed by the sound of a key turning.

Clara beamed and got up. ‘I wasn't expecting him back this early. I'll be able to tell him right away I've found the co-author of my book.' She laughed at the grandness of the title and went out to the hall.

Becky could picture her giving her son an effusive hug as she greeted him. ‘When did you get back from – wherever it was? I wasn't expecting to see you so soon.'

‘Shall I go away, then?' a jocular voice enquired. Becky sat forward on the sofa: that accent was familiar.

‘Certainly not. I see little enough of you as it is. Now come on in.'

There was a clunk and Becky assumed Mr R's head had collided with the potted fern suspended from the ceiling in the hall; Clara and Becky had passed it under safely but evidently he was that bit taller.

‘Ouch. I should wear a hard hat in here,' he said, dolefully.

‘Oh, that reminds me,' said Clara. ‘Can you water that later? Saves me getting out the stepladder. Now come and meet my lovely new co-author.'

‘Co-author?'

‘For the book I keep talking about.'

‘Book?'

There was no mistaking that voice now and Becky looked round hurriedly but the only way out of the room was the door Clara was walking back through, followed by Matthew Darnley. He was wearing an expectant smile but the grin vanished as soon as he saw Becky and his outstretched hand was withdrawn.

‘This is Becky Thomson,' said Clara.

‘What a co-incidence,' Matthew said quietly, in a tone that revealed he thought it was anything but.

Clara chose that fraught moment to begin singing Becky's praises, telling Matthew just ‘what a find she was'.

‘How long have you known Miss Thomson?' he said grimly.

‘Oh, months,' Clara said vaguely. ‘Becky's the clever young woman who wrote that charming piece about me in the local paper. I showed it to you,' she added. ‘Anyway now she's agreed to come out and work with me on my book in Barbados.'

He fixed his eyes Becky. ‘Has she now?'

Clara looked at him, clearly confused by his unfriendly tone.

‘Actually, you know, it's getting late,' said Becky, with no idea what the time was. She picked up her handbag. ‘I must go.'

Matthew stepped aside so she could pass but an agitated Clara gave him a look of annoyance. ‘Oh, don't leave, Becky. We still have lots to discuss.'

‘I'll call you tomorrow,' Becky promised as Clara, no doubt trying to make up for her son's abrasiveness, gave her a particularly effusive and affectionate hug goodbye. Becky just wanted to escape but she didn't want to hurt Clara's feelings so she returned the hug, conscious that Matthew was standing ready to shepherd her to the front door.

‘I'll show Miss Thomson out,' he told his mother, leading Becky by the elbow as if once again escorting her from the premises.

As soon as they were in the hall Becky angrily shook him off. ‘We're not in one of your hotels now,' she snapped.

He lowered his head so his voice wouldn't carry back into the living room. ‘How did you trace her?'

‘Trace her?'

Matthew looked like he was barely keeping a lid on his fury. ‘This is not a game; I need to know. Did someone at the hotel talk?'

‘I didn't
trace her
,' Becky hissed. ‘She had a gardening open day. I came around to interview her.'

She could see Matthew mentally processing this information, testing the truth of it, looking for loopholes. ‘And when did you find out she was my mother?'

‘I had no interest in knowing who
your
mother was. I found out you were her
son
when you walked in just now. If your mother used her real surname, and referred to you by your real forename, I just might have been in with a chance of working out the relationship.'

His sceptical expression was replaced with a grimacing smile as Clara came into the hall to see why it was taking so long for Becky to reach the front door.

‘Everything OK?' she asked, an edge of concern to her voice.

‘All fine,' Matthew assured her. ‘I was just warning Miss Thomson about the mosquitoes in Barbados.'

‘Oh, Matthew,' cried his mother with annoyance. ‘They aren't that bad.'

He opened the door and looked at Becky, unsmilingly. ‘Drive safely.'

Becky nodded another goodbye to Clara, walked out and around the corner to wait for her bus. A job in Barbados: of course it had been too good to be true.

Becky spent the rest of the day wondering how much of the Monmouth ‘freeloading' saga Matthew would share with Clara to dissuade her from taking Becky to Barbados. She was not sure she wanted to spend three months under the same roof as him anyway but she didn't relish the prospect of telling her mother she might not be going to Barbados after all. Besides, she needed a job and she was sure Clara knew her better than Matthew did and would not be persuaded by his opinion. Still, when the telephone rang mid-evening she half-thought it would be Clara calling to say she no longer wanted Becky to work for her. Joe took the call and handed over the receiver carelessly. ‘It's some man.'

Had Clara been so appalled by what her son had told her she'd asked him to deliver the news? It
was
Matthew but he didn't tell Becky her services were no longer required. Instead he sounded sardonic. ‘I'm a bit baffled, Miss Thomson. I wondered if you could help me out.'

‘Can you just call me Becky?' she said, taking the phone into the hall so her mother and Joe could not overhear the conversation.

‘No. I think we'll stay formal.'

Becky sighed. ‘OK, Mr Darnley. How can I help you out?'

‘I'm trying to understand in what capacity you see yourself working with my mother. Will you be a reporter, snooping around, or do you see yourself on a freebie trip to Barbados?'

‘Neither,' said Becky, wearily. ‘I'll be working on your mother's book. Doing whatever she wants me to do.'

‘I see.' There was a pause while he presumably considered this. ‘I'm not sure what I think about this book.'

‘Surely you should be asking your mother about that, not me.'

‘Sounds rather nice to have an all-expenses-paid job in Barbados.'

‘That wasn't my idea.' Becky felt herself getting annoyed at his implication she was freeloading again. ‘I didn't even know your mother lived in Barbados. I would be more than happy to work on the book here.'

He grunted in disbelief. ‘I can tell you now you won't like it.'

‘I won't like what?'

‘Barbados. Has my mother mentioned our house is in the most remote part of the island? It'll be very dull.'

Becky had toyed with the idea of telling Clara she no longer wanted the position but Matthew's attempts to warn her off were stirring a rebellious reaction.

‘Remote and dull sounds perfect,' she said, sweetly. ‘It means I'll get a chance to work on the book without distractions.'

‘Really? So you'll drop your job, just like that, and swan off to Barbados?'

‘If you hadn't got me sacked I wouldn't have had to accept your mother's offer.'

Matthew did not answer. Maybe he hadn't known that she'd been fired – and because of him. He tried a different tack.

‘I hope your boyfriend isn't planning on appearing for a free holiday.'

‘As I told you before he isn't a boyfriend. Just a work colleague who was trying it on.'

There was another grunt of disbelief followed by a long pause. ‘I want you to tell my mother you've changed your mind.'

‘Goodbye, Mr Darnley,' said Becky and hung up.

Chapter Four

The morning after the unpleasant phone call from Matthew Darnley, Clara herself rang: ‘I hope you don't mind that I gave Mr R your number yesterday. He seems concerned that you won't like Barbados but I told him I knew you would. Anyway, dear, apologies if his behaviour was a little unfriendly. Sometimes he lets his worries about his business affect his disposition.'

‘So you still want me to come to Barbados?' Becky asked.

There was an explosion of assent down the line. ‘Of
course
, I want you to come! Our original arrangement still stands.'

‘Actually Clara, exactly what is the arrangement?'

Clara sighed in exasperation. ‘That's what I asked him to tell you. Six thousand pounds for the three months. He was supposed to be asking you for your bank details. And we leave on June the thirtieth. I hope that's OK?'

‘Sounds fine.'

‘I'll get Mr R to ring you with the details.'

Becky did not relish the thought of another conversation with Matthew but it turned out he had delegated someone called Alex Wilson to deal with the rest of the arrangements. Alex was pleasant on the phone, with a more pronounced Bajan accent than Matthew's. Despite sounding in a rush, he certainly seemed more kindly disposed towards her than his boss.

‘Slight change of plan,' he said apologetically when he rang later that day. ‘Matthew's suggested we pay you two thousand a month rather than six thousand up front. I hope that's OK?'

Becky grimaced. Clearly Matthew Darnley was not expecting her to last the course. ‘That's fine,' she said.

‘I've arranged for you to receive some paperwork to fill in. Sorry for the bureaucracy but I'll need you to send a copy of your passport and a couple of other forms of ID. And I also need your mobile number if you want to give me that now.'

‘OK,' said Becky. ‘Although I need to buy a new mobile. I haven't got one at the moment.'

‘Oh.' He sounded surprised. ‘Well, just write the number on the paperwork and send it back as soon as you can.'

The paperwork arrived early on Monday morning by courier. It consisted of a single, official-looking form containing a non-disclosure agreement about Matthew's business (which Becky was comfortable signing as she had no interest in learning about his work, let alone disclosing it) and also a clause requesting her consent to submit to a background check. She put her head in her hands.

‘What's up with you?'

Becky raised her head to see Joe, already dressed in his oil-stained jeans. She looked beyond him.

‘Don't worry. Mum's got her head in the oven.'

‘What?'

‘I mean she's cleaning it or something. She can't hear.'

All the same Becky lowered her voice. ‘This job I'm going for. They want to do a background check on me.'

Joe uttered a four-letter expletive. ‘Just to work for a woman in Barbados?'

‘It's complicated. Her son doesn't seem to think I'm serious about the book.'

‘Christ. He sounds like a complete pillock.'

Becky listened out for their mother, whose auditory range often had a special extension for blasphemies. Still no sign of her. It would be a very clean oven.

‘So what are you going to do?' asked Joe.

‘I've got to agree to it, haven't I?'

Joe nodded. ‘Looks less suspicious. Then maybe he won't bother.'

‘Maybe.'

‘What's this book going to be about? The one you're helping Madame Bonbon, or whatever her name is, write?'

‘The Monmouth rebels.' Becky expected a sarcastic comment but Joe just nodded and walked out. Shortly afterwards she heard his motorbike pull away.

Becky read through and signed the agreement and went out to the post office to photocopy her passport, birth certificate, and a bank statement. The balance of her current account was alarmingly low and she was embarrassed to think of Matthew Darnley catching sight of it. She also bought a cheap phone on a pay-as-you-go basis.

As instructed on the form, she marked the envelope for the attention of ‘Matthew Darnley' at the Monmouth Hotel and posted it.

Alex called again the next day, this time on her new mobile.

‘Thanks for filling in the form. Assuming there are no problems, I'll give you a ring to sort out where we should meet at Heathrow in two weeks' time.'