“Mistress goin’ to Hastings?” she persisted.
“I don’t think so.”
“You look please wit’ youself, sir. Why you t’ink she change she mind?”
He went past her, looked around in a big bowl of fruit, and chose a ripe papaya. “She might not wish to leave Tempest Hall after all. Perhaps she doesn’t want to be parted from her husband!”
“Let me fix dat pawpaw, sir.” Retta sliced it in half the long way, scooped out the glistening grayish seeds, and squeezed a piece of lime over the fruit. “It do look good! As for mistress, let she go. She want de sea-bath, and miss she friend—”
Adam made a disparaging sound in reference to Theo Harrismith as he went outside, sat down on the steps, and used a delicate silver spoon to scoop out a bite of yellow-orange papaya. The spoon looked as if it would break in his strong hand, and his face was a study in pleasure as he tasted the perfect, juicy fruit.
“Dey jus’ ripe enough now,” Retta confirmed with a nod from the doorway. Sensing a movement, she turned around to see Cathy, standing quietly and studying her husband’s profile and the line of his thigh in riding breeches. Her big brown eyes, full of wistful wonder, spoke volumes to the old woman.
Feeling Retta’s gaze, Cathy roused herself and smiled. “Good morning.” She lowered her voice and came closer. “I confess, I was staring. He is an awfully attractive man. Hard to resist.”
“You tryin’ to resist, Mistress?”
She sighed. “Sometimes— yes. I try not to get too close, like a moth to the flame. I’m a little fearful of the fire...”
“Huh. I do t’ink on dat. Meantime, you have pawpaw. You want biscuit? Eggs?” Leaning on her two walking sticks, she looked Cathy up and down, taking stock of her proper lace-edged white shirtwaist and faded rose skirt. Her heavy brown hair was pinned up in a flawless Gibson Girl pompadour and she was carrying a Gainsborough hat with long silken ribbons. “You want to sit in dining room?”
“Retta, you don’t need to wait on me. I don’t expect it, honestly! And I’ll take my papaya right outside on the steps, with my husband.”
Adam looked up when she sat down with her plate. “I thought I heard your voice. Good morning.”
Already blushing, Cathy smiled. “It looks like a beautiful day.” She gathered her courage and hurried on to say, “You were gone when I woke up. I hope you slept well? I did. I mean, I’m glad that we’ve moved beyond separate beds.”
“Have we?” He looked mildly surprised. “Nothing personal, but I do happen to believe that a little privacy in marriage can be a healthy thing.”
Her heart sank. The papaya went tasteless in her mouth. “I see...”
“No need to rush it, is there?”
“Rush what?” She felt little prickles of irritation. “Adam, didn’t you mean anything you said last night? You told me you were sorry, that you had missed me—”
“Did I suggest that you move into my bedroom?
“I thought— I was trying—”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” He got to his feet. “If you were so devoted to me, you wouldn’t want to dash off to Hastings to visit Harrismith.”
“Well, it doesn’t do me any good to stay here! I don’t know if it’s me or my money, but whatever the case, you clearly can’t bear to have me close by for very long!”
“Go, then!”
“I intend to!”
Adam started into the kitchen just in time to see Cathy’s papaya half come sailing over his shoulder. “There!” he shouted at Retta. “Do you see what I have to put up with? She’s not the angel you imagine by any means.”
The old woman merely looked at him, her eyes impassive under the edge of her headtie. “What you ‘fraid of, sir?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You do. You too smart.” Nodding slowly, she added. “You know.”
“The hell with that!” he shouted, and stormed through the kitchen. “I’m going to Bridgetown.”
Out on the steps, Cathy pressed an exquisite Parisian handkerchief against her eyes. Tears soaked the gauzy fabric. Feeling Retta’s eyes on her, she glanced back. “I hate him. He is a beast!”
“Dat may be. But you ‘don hate him.”
PART THREE
Chapter 16
Cathy sat squeezed in the middle of the fourth bench on the mule tram and worried again about her own judgment. Had she been wrong to leave Simon, June, and the family horse and carriage behind in Bridgetown? Perhaps her own desire for independence would get her into real trouble...
“Pretty, pretty lady,” the old man beside her mumbled approvingly. He was carrying a basket of pungent flying fish.
Cathy was relieved when a woman sitting ahead of them turned and gave him a reproving stare, adding, “Mind your manners, Albert!”
The mule tram was nearing the crest of Garrison Hill, bordering the British regiments’ parade grounds, where today a lively cricket match was underway. It had been a slow journey because the tram was filled and the driver had been forced to add a third mule to make it up the hill. Cathy found herself worrying about the animals, but no one else seemed to be concerned. At the top of Garrison Hill, the third mule was unhitched as they rolled down to a long, flat stretch of Hastings Road, the ocean spread out to their right.
“Missus, we comin’ to de Ocean Breeze Hotel,” the driver called back to her. His friendly face was nearly black against the white, English bobby-style hat that was part of his uniform.
She saw the sign then, arching high above a tall, gated picket fence that shielded the building from the road. The hotel itself was a fanciful creation. Shell-pink trimmed in mist-gray, it featured long windows surrounding the upper story. All the freshly-painted jalousie shutters were pushed out to let in the ocean air. When Cathy alighted from the mule tram, carrying a Louis Vuitton satchel with her bathing costume inside, she saw a white cat watching her from the window nearest the gate.
Theo came around the corner then, beaming, his reddish hair blown this way and that by the breeze. He proceeded to embrace her while the occupants of the departing mule tram looked on with open curiosity.
“I’m glad you came,” he said, taking her satchel as they went into the lobby.
“Oh, Theo,” she exclaimed, looking around, “it’s lovely.”
Cocking his head doubtfully, he allowed, “We still have a lot of work to do, but I do love the place already. It has a lot of character. In fact, it reminds me of myself!”
She insisted on a tour but Theo was hungry and anxious for conversation, so he showed her around while the cooks made their lunch. The lobby was decorated in shades of white, ecru, pale gold, and rose. The floor was marble, the walls were thick, and there were folding hurricane shutters, with bolts, on every door and window. The crowning touches were a trio of crystal chandeliers, converted to gas, and a few excellent pieces of mahogany furniture.
“I’ve been going to estate sales,” Theo explained. “These are dark days for sugar cane plantations. I’ve been told that one-hundred-fifty estates were sold during the last decade to clear debts, and the trend is continuing.” He made a sad face, then winked at her. “You wouldn’t believe the treasures one can find at those auctions!”
Cathy ran her hand over the frayed silk upholstery of a Sheraton settee. “All you need is the money to have them recovered.”
“One thing at a time, darling. We are counting our pennies, I fear.”
“Your flowers are exquisite.” She buried her nose in a massive arrangement of pink and cream lilies. “How do you manage?”
“I go out and pick them myself. That’s one advantage to living on a tropical island. You can have a fortune’s worth of flowers in every room if you have the talent to arrange them.”
Upstairs, they walked quickly through the handful of guest rooms that were finished. They had varnished pine floors, seventeen-foot coved ceilings, and enormous windows. Only the three suites had private bathrooms; the others offered washstands with basins, ewers, and chamberpots, and shared what Theo called “shower rooms” out in the corridor.
They came down a different staircase than they’d gone up. As they passed the postbox marked HRH, and then the office, Theo stopped at the desk to speak to a pretty woman with a mocha complexion. When she glanced curiously at Cathy, he introduced them.
“Yvette Chambers, this is Lady Catherine Raveneau, wife of Adam Raveneau. You know him, don’t you, Yvette?”
“Yes, of course,” she said in a soft, cultured voice. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Raveneau.”
After the two women chatted for a few moments, Theo steered Cathy away. “Do you know what she’s called, in terms of her bloodline?”
“Mulatto?”
“Mustefino,” he corrected. “It’s very complicated on an island like this, and the blacks are the first to correct you if you get it wrong.”
“Mustefino?” she repeated doubtfully.
“Don’t you remember when I explained it on the yacht? There’s mulatto, which is half black, then quadroon, which is one-fourth. Octoroon is one-eighth and mustefino is one-sixteenth.”