The Sanchez Tradition. Anne Mather
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made the decisions. And that was what she could not accept. They were all prepared to subjugate their desires to the good of the whole, and she had to admit, if she was honest, it worked admirably.
Later Vittorio offered her a cigarette and they smoked companionably discussing less personal topics. Vittorio seemed to sense that she did not wish to discuss her reasons for being in the Bahamas, and she refrained from questioning him too closely about his plans. Eventually, when she was beginning to wonder how much further they would have to go, Vittorio got to his feet, and leaning on the rail indicated an island with his hand.
‘See!’ he said, pointing. ‘Palmerina!’
Rising out of the azure waters was a small island, lushly foliaged, palms fringing the coral sands, reaching almost to the shoreline in places. From the launch the island appeared deserted, the hinterland rising to shallow hills, overgrown with a forest of trees. To Rachel, expecting the civilised cultivation she had experienced on Conchera, Palmerina was wild and primitive and much more beautiful.
‘Well?’ said Vittorio, glancing her way as the launch negotiated the perils of the reef. ‘What do you think?’ He smiled. ‘It’s not what you expected, is it?’
‘Frankly, no. Where is André’s house?’
‘Inland. There’s a lagoon, you’ll see.’
The launch drifted in with the tide, and now Rachel could see a wooden jetty which projected some feet into the water. The launch bumped gently against its sides, and was moored by one of the men before Vittorio leapt out on to the wooden boards. He put a hand down to Rachel and she climbed out too, swaying a little after the rhythm of the boat.
Then she looked about her. Away in both directions the beach curved out of sight while the foliage she had seen from the launch was just as dense close at hand but interspersed with tropical blossoms of hibiscus and oleander. Ahead, a narrow road ran from the jetty into the trees and parked on this narrow road was a small utility vehicle with a driver behind the wheel. Collecting her case, Vittorio escorted her to the vehicle, smiling a greeting to the black-skinned boy who climbed out to offer Vittorio the seat behind the wheel. Rachel was seated beside him and the boy climbed in the back. Then, leaving the two men behind them, they drove away.
The track wound between the trees for some distance and then they gathered speed up an incline emerging through a belt of pines whose scent was sweet and crisp on to a ridge. They were crossing to the other side of the island and as they began the downward sweep Rachel saw the lagoon nestling on the valley floor. Now she could see a cluster of roofs that indicated that there was a village, and beyond, standing square to the lagoon was André’s house, its roof contrasting with the others because it had red tiles. The lagoon had a channel at the furthest side which led to the sea, and Rachel commented on this to Vittorio.
‘It is possible to sail round the island and reach the house through the channel by crossing the lagoon,’ he said, ‘but this way is quicker, and while I should like to show you the island, I have very explicit orders.’
A quiver ran along Rachel’s spine at his words. For a while she had been engrossed in her surroundings to the exclusion of everything else, but now his statement brought it all back to her, most particularly her reasons for being here. Feeling she had to say something, she said: ‘It’s very beautiful. More beautiful than Conchera.’
‘And much less accessible,’ remarked Vittorio dryly. ‘Here, one can only breach the reef at one point, the one we used. André employs a guard who lives, with his dogs, in a house hidden by the trees you saw when we arrived. There is a telephone link with the house. No one reaches Palmerina without André being warned.’
‘And by air?’ questioned Rachel, intrigued in spite of herself.
‘Impossible, except by a chopper. André uses one, of course. But the airfield is small, and so long as his is in occupation, there’s little chance of anyone taking him unawares.’
‘A veritable stronghold, in fact,’ murmured Rachel, almost to herself.
‘Yes, I suppose you could say that.’ Vittorio had overheard her. ‘Rachel! Don’t go on with this antagonism. André’s much harder now than he was. You made him so!’
‘I?’
‘Yes, you.’ Vittorio put the vehicle into a lower gear to negotiate the curve into the village. ‘André loved you, Rachel, and you destroyed that love.’
Rachel’s cheeks turned scarlet. ‘Everyone seems to know my husband better than I do,’ she exclaimed, turning to attack rather than defence. ‘André only wanted another possession, a human one this time!’
Vittorio gave her a quelling glance. ‘You don’t believe that!’ he stated calmly, ‘so don’t expect me to.’
Rachel heaved a sigh. ‘Well, anyway, that’s all in the past. He has—Leonie, now. Who is she, by the way?’
‘Leonie?’ Vittorio looked thoughtful. ‘Her father owns a big oil concession in Trinidad. Her name is Leonie Gardner, and her parents are of French-Canadian descent, I believe. At any rate, they’re very well established in New Providence. They have a house near Nassau.’
‘I see.’ Rachel listened with interest. ‘I—I wonder why André waited until now to get the divorce. If he has been thinking of getting married for some time, I’m surprised everything wasn’t taken care of before this.’ She couldn’t prevent the hint of sarcasm that crept into her voice. ‘After all, he arranges everything so clinically, doesn’t he?’ She bit her lip.
Vittorio sounded annoyed. ‘He hasn’t been thinking of getting married for some time,’ he returned shortly. ‘I must admit, I’d be chary of the institution after—–’ He broke off. ‘Besides, André doesn’t have to marry a woman before…’ He halted again. ‘Goddammit, you know what I mean!’
Rachel bent her head. ‘And have there been many? Women, I mean?’
Vittorio raised a lazy hand in greeting to some of the villagers that were standing by the roadside watching their progress, and then sighed. ‘For someone who professes to despise my brother, you’re inordinately interested in his affairs,’ he observed mockingly, and Rachel’s fingers gripped her bag tightly.
The vehicle was running along beside the lake now and Rachel could see a yacht anchored out in the centre. That must be André’s boat. He was a keen sailor and when he was home they had had some wonderful trips together. She felt a tightness in her throat and a conviction that whatever her reasons she ought not to have come here, not to the Bahamas, not to New Providence, and most definitely not to Palmerina.
As they neared the house she could see it was two-storied, with green shutters at the windows and washed in a cream paint. It was surrounded by gardens, colourful with the many varied blossoms to be found in the islands, and stood in the shade of tall, feathery palms. Double doors stood wide, opening on to a panelled hall which Rachel could see as Vittorio brought their transport to a halt at the foot of shallow steps leading on to a low veranda. Tubs of tropical plants tumbled near the entrance, while the slats of the veranda were overhung with bougainvillea. There was so much beauty and colour it almost hurt her eyes, but she removed her dark glasses and stepped out on to the paved courtyard.
Immediately, a dark-skinned woman in a scarlet dress and sparkling white apron appeared at the double doors, and stood staring at them incredulously. Rachel looked at the elderly woman, then at Vittorio.
‘Why, it’s Pandora!’ she exclaimed, in welcome astonishment.
Vittorio nodded, and even as he did so, Pandora uttered an exclamation of delight and hastened down the veranda steps to greet her.
‘Miss Rachel, Miss Rachel!’ she was saying over and over again. ‘You’ve come back!’
Rachel felt herself engulfed in a bear-like embrace and drawing back a little, she said gently: ‘Oh, Pandora, it’s wonderful to see you, too. Everything’s changed—everything except you!’
‘Oh,