Treacherous Longings. Anne Mather
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I just hope your mother has invited some other guests for the weekend. If not, I’m going to have a pretty boring time.’
Quinn made some reassuring comment, and then, excusing himself on the grounds that he was wasting Hector’s time and money, he brought the call to an end. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to Susan, he told himself. It was just indicative of his impatience with what he had to do.
He breakfasted on the veranda, alone. There was no sign of his fellow guests this morning, but that didn’t surprise him. If they were on honeymoon, food was unlikely to trouble them. It would probably be around lunchtime before they put in an appearance.
A couple of hot rolls, spread with apricot conserve, and several cups of strong black coffee later, Quinn’s spirits felt somewhat fortified. He’d refused the blueberry pancakes the young waitress had been sure he’d choose in favour of the lighter meal. In truth, he didn’t have much of an appetite either. He felt empty, it was true, but with apprehension, not hunger.
Zeke appeared as he was leaving the table, and it crossed his mind again that the hotel proprietor could probably save him a lot of effort. But Neville had said that the woman he’d approached lived at the other end of the island, and until he’d checked that out he was loath to state his intentions.
‘You going swimming, Mr Marriott?’ Zeke asked, with friendly enquiry, and Quinn used the opportunity to check out the whereabouts of Harry’s Hire ‘n Dive. Whether he was going to be successful or not, he definitely needed some transport, and a Moke sounded ideal for his purposes.
Half an hour later, he was bouncing up the steep hill out of San Jacinto town. The rear wheels of the little vehicle seemed to leave the road altogether in places, and he was forced to concentrate on his driving to keep it on the track.
All the same, he couldn’t help noticing how delightful the little town looked from this angle. Pink-splashed roofs, gardens lush with greenery, all jostling for space among hedges bright with scarlet hibiscus. There was an abundance of light and colour, of scents and smells, and exotic spices, teasing his senses with their sharp aroma. Even without the sparkling waters of the Sound the scene would have been dazzling, and the heat from an unguarded sun was already hot upon his shoulders.
Yet, for all that, there was still an unsettling sense of apprehension in his gut. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was disturbed at the prospect of seeing Julia again. To succeed where Hager had failed, he assured himself grimly. He refused to allow any other reason for the turmoil inside him.
The road levelled out, following the curve of the bay for some distance, allowing him to admire the rugged coastline. Here and there there were coves, surely inaccessible except by boat, with sand as white and untouched as when they had been formed. He could see coral in rocky outcrops and glimpse seaweed beneath the waves. It would obviously be a haven for tropical fish, and he wished he were only looking for somewhere to swim.
Where the bay curved away towards the north the road divided. A signpost indicated North Shore and Palm Springs in one direction, and West Bay and South Point in the other. And, although Hager had said the woman he’d spoken to lived at the other end of the island, he hadn’t said which one.
Quinn gnawed his lip. North Shore and Palm Springs didn’t ring any bells, but South Point did. That was where Zeke had said the best diving was to be had. At least if he went that way he’d have an excuse for discussing it if he was wrong.
The road turned inland for a distance, winding among trees for some of the way, giving him a brief respite from the glare of the sun. It was hot and getting hotter, and he guessed he should have brought some protection before he left. His skin was fairly resilient, but it was used to an English winter. This transfer to a semi-tropical climate was going to take some getting used to.
By the time he passed through the village of West Bay, he was experiencing a curious feeling of presentiment. This was the right way; he was sure of it. A kind of sixth sense was warning him that he was nearing his goal.
There were some children playing outside a kind of store, and, stopping the car, he decided it was worth a try to ask the store’s proprietor if he knew where this woman Hager had mentioned lived. He knew there was only one Englishwoman living on the island, and if it was the right area a shopkeeper would know her whereabouts.
But the man in the store was decidedly unhelpful. Even though Quinn bought a bottle of some obscure suntan lotion, and chatted about the weather, the man only shook his head when he mentioned Julia and the boy.
‘San Jacinto gets many visitors, sir,’ he replied, completely ignoring the fact that Quinn had said she lived here. ‘Have a nice day,’ he added politely as his customer went out of the door.
The children—there were about half a dozen of them—regarded him solemnly when he emerged. Quinn guessed they’d been examining his car in his absence, but the Moke was hardly a cause for concern.
‘Hi,’ he said, unused to speaking to children but willing to take any chance that was offered to him. ‘Do any of you know a white boy who lives hereabouts?’
One of the children, a girl of perhaps ten or eleven, appointed herself their spokesperson. ‘Our mother says we haven’t to speak to strangers,’ she declared smugly, before any of the younger children could chime in, and Quinn sighed.
‘Oh, right.’ He hid his exasperation beneath a bland smile, and went to get back into the car. He would have to try somewhere else. He might even be lucky enough to find a local who didn’t view him with suspicion.
One of the younger children, an attractive boy with his hair in corn rows, came to stand beside the Moke. ‘Why do you want to know?’ he asked, ignoring the older girl’s admonitions. ‘Do you know him?’
‘Not exactly.’ But he felt a little more optimistic suddenly. ‘I’m a friend, of—of his mother,’ he added quickly, before they could think that sounded odd. ‘I spoke to her yesterday, as a matter of fact. When she met the boy off the ferry.’
‘He comes home for the weekend,’ offered a sweet-faced little girl who looked about five years old, and the boy gave her a scowling glance. ‘Well, he does,’ she added defiantly, undaunted by his stare. ‘Jake always comes home on Fridays. And you know Mrs Stewart always goes to meet him.’
‘Butt out, Celestine,’ retorted the boy, who Quinn now suspected was her brother. ‘Em’s just told us we don’t talk to strangers. You should learn to keep your big mouth shut.’
‘So should you, then,’ said Celestine, her eyes filling with tears which Quinn was uncomfortably aware that he had caused.
‘I’m older than you,’ declared the boy, as if that were some excuse. ‘And I’m not a silly girl. Everyone knows girls don’t know what’s right from what’s wrong.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Quinn felt obliged to intervene, and, fishing a handful of dollars out of his pocket, he thrust them into the boy’s hand. ‘Buy some sweets,’ he said. ‘For all of you. And thanks for your help, Celestine. I really do appreciate it.’
‘But you don’t know where Jake lives,’ protested the little girl as the older girl, Em, took the notes out of her brother’s hand and started to count them. ‘It’s called Nascence Bay,’ she added, ignoring her brother’s fury. ‘Well,’ she added, turning to him and looking at the money clasped in Em’s hand, ‘it’s only fair.’
Feeling like the biggest sleaze around, Quinn decided it was time to leave. God, was this what he was reduced to? Quizzing kids for information? But he noticed Em didn’t give him the money back. Evidently her scruples didn’t stretch that far.
And, thanks to Celestine, he found the entrance to the Stewart property ten minutes later. The name on the postbox, Renaissance Bay, would have meant nothing to him without Celestine’s childish directions. Though, now he came to think of it, it really was quite apt.
There were no gates to bar his way, but the dark tunnel of trees that edged the drive was an obvious deterrent to uninvited