“It just doesn’t seem right. Is it supposed to be better to have more white blood?”
“Usually, yes.” The sound of raised voices coming from the kitchen caused Theo to stop and incline his head. “Perhaps we should investigate. I hope it’s not dangerous.”
The huge white-washed room was crowded with sinks, wooden preparation tables, great old stoves, and pots hanging overhead. There were young people who were washing dishes and cutting vegetables, but two old women were clearly in charge. Both wore full-length aprons and starched headties, and one was so short that she had to stand on a special stool at the stove. She was stirring a huge pot that gave off a tempting aroma, her hips going round and round in rhythm with her long wooden spoon.
Theo introduced the short woman as Mrs. Ford, and her partner as Effie. Both appeared to be over eighty. When Effie heard that Cathy had come from America, she exclaimed that her husband had gone there forty years before in search of better work to support their eight sons.
Scowling, she shook her head at Cathy. “Where is my Alphonse? I ain’ wait’ no longer!”
“I don’t blame you, ma’am.” She tried not to smile.
“No. Not one mo’ day!”
Mrs. Ford, meanwhile, continued to rotate her hips. “Makin’ a mighty fine cou-cou, Mist’ Theo! I jus’ wish you get me de salt bread I need.” She paused. “An’ rice. Might run out de rice.”
“No matter how many times I ask you before I go to market, you always need more. You add to the list constantly.”
“Kippers, too.”
“Why are you using the old stove, Mrs. Ford?” Theo attempted to make eye contact with her. “The gas stove works so much better, and I paid a king’s ransom for it!”
She shook her head in forceful disagreement. “No, sir! It’ll blow up and kill one o’ us! An’ who, you t’ink? Me!”
“I give up!” He threw both hands in the air dramatically. “You’ll both drive me mad!”
Shaking his head, Theo retreated and Cathy followed him into the dining room.
They passed shelves of new dishes on the way out. Each piece was bordered in gold leaf and gracefully inscribed, “The Ocean Breeze Hotel.”
“Unfortunately, those two are the best cooks on the island, and I couldn’t do without them,” he muttered, scowling. “They’re utterly infuriating, though. And Mrs. Ford has a vile temper. She threatens me with knives when we argue.”
Before Cathy could respond, they emerged onto a verandah that overlooked the glistening turquoise sea. There were planters’ chairs facing the view, tables where elderly men were playing cards, and an assortment of fan palms.
“It’s spectacular,” Cathy told Theo as she wandered over to the railing and inhaled the sea air. Two shuttered bath houses rose out of the water near the hotel and were attached by a tall pier. A cluster of men emerged from the nearer bath house, wading out into the water in their striped bathing costumes. “Oh, my! How inviting!”
“Those are our famous Hastings Baths. You may not think them so wonderful when I tell you that the women don’t have an exit into the sea. They have to take their sea-baths inside the structure...”
“You are teasing me!”
“No. But you’ll enjoy it all the same, and I’m sure your big strong husband can find a secluded beach where you can have a proper swim.” He gave her a sideways glance and a wink.
A bit of sea spray dampened Cathy’s kid slippers. “I already love this place too much to stay angry about your silly bath house rules. There were rules at Bailey’s Beach in Newport, too. The women swam until noon, and then a flag was run up and we left so that the men could have the beach.”
“All the prudery wasn’t my idea, I assure you. The island has its share of debauchery, but it waits until the sun has set.”
“That’s a cryptic remark.”
“Ah, our lunch is served.” Theo led her back to the dining room where a white-clad waiter had just arrived with a tray filled with exotic dishes.
Cathy soaked up the atmosphere. Surrounding them were palms in brass pots and lacy ferns balancing on mahogany plant stands. Their linen-draped table was set with heirloom silver, a bouquet of coral hibiscus, and intricately folded shell-pink napkins. A bottle of French champagne had been uncorked, and Theo offered a toast.
“Here’s to Lady Catherine Raveneau. May she and her fairytale viscount live happily ever after.”
As their glasses touched, she ventured, “Do I detect a note of cynicism?”
“Far from it. I do sincerely wish the best for you, darling, but I confess that I have my doubts about fairytales... especially on Barbados.”
Steaming bowls of callaloo were served. Cathy had already watched Retta make the soup at Tempest Hall, and she knew that it consisted of a blend of dasheen leaves, crab, okra, and other mysteriously delicious flavors.
“Let’s change the subject,” she said. “How is Sutton? I was hoping he might join us.”
“He may yet appear, but when I last saw him, he was in the back office, trying to make our books balance.” He motioned to the waiter to pour more champagne. “I keep telling him it’s a hopeless task. He’s obsessed.”
“Are you worried, Theo?”
“About money? Rather. I’m not sure I can keep the place open, let alone purchase new furniture or make the repairs that are needed. Hazel Trotter behaved as if she had unlimited resources, but I’ve known enough threadbare aristocrats on Barbados to form an army and they’re all superb at putting on a front.”
“So are you, from the looks of this luncheon.” She watched as dishes of flying fish in lime sauce, Yorkshire pudding, buttered green cristophenes, and oven-browned potatoes were presented.
“Touché.” He grinned. “It’s a gift, I admit it.”
“This hotel needs you.” Cathy leaned forward. “You know, my father opened a bank account for me when I married so that I would have my own money. I’ve been thinking of making an investment...”
“Your husband would wring my neck if I enticed you to put good money into this place. More champagne, my lady?”
“No, thank you.” She watched as he happily poured the last of it into his glass before she remarked, “The food is just wonderful. I wish I could get one of your cooks for Tempest Hall. Retta was very accomplished in her day, but she’s nearly one hundred now and she tires easily.” Cathy sighed, then returned to her meal, savoring a bite. “I love cristophenes. I’d never heard of them before I came to Barbados.”
“I’ll ask around about a cook for you, but I’d rather talk about the real reason you came today.” His eyes sparkled. “Wouldn’t you like to unburden yourself? I give you my word that I am the soul of discretion.” Pressing his lips together, Theo pretended to turn a key, locking them closed.
Cathy had wanted to confide in someone, especially Theo, and now that he’d encouraged her and she was emboldened by champagne, the words came spilling out. Within minutes, she had told the story of how she and Adam had encountered Gemma Hart on Broad Street. “It was the oddest thing. She told Adam that she had a small son, born since he left the island, and there was such tension in the air, I didn’t know what to make of it. I’m certain it’s nothing. I’m just insecure, and foolish, and—”
“I wouldn’t say that,” he broke in gently. “On the contrary, I’d say that your instincts are excellent, my lady.”
Her eyes stung. The fork she’d been holding slipped from her fingers. “Are you suggesting that she and Adam were... involved?”
“I’ve heard those rumors.” He put a hand over hers.
“But, Theo— how can that be? Gemma is... colored.”
“This isn’t your lily-white Newport! Gemma’s color wouldn’t have dissuaded Lord Raveneau. She’s a beautiful woman, and such affairs are extremely common in the West Indies.” His eyebrows went up. “For a man like your husband, it makes perfect sense. Gemma wouldn’t have expected marriage from him, because of her bloodline and his title, so he could indulge himself without consequence. However, he didn’t count on her strength of character— or the chance that another sort of consequence might arise.”
“A child?” Her voice was a whisper.
“Quite. I don’t know if she’ll let him go so easily now. I knew Gemma when we were younger, and she’s always been exceptionally strong willed.”
Cathy was feeling as if she’d been slapped. A voice came to her from a distance.
“Gadzooks! If it isn’t Lady Raveneau!” A tall figure burst through the potted palms to loom over their table. “What’re you doing in Hastings?”
It was Adam’s friend, Basil Lightfoot. Fortunately, Theo recognized him, and he stood and presented himself and made polite conversation about the Ocean Breeze until Cathy recovered enough composure to smile and extend her hand.
“How nice to see you again, Mr. Lightfoot.” She’d forgotten how tall he was and how much he resembled a horse.
“Better not let Adam’s old flames see you having luncheon with another man!” he exclaimed. “They’ll have your marriage on the rocks in no time. Lots of disgruntled spinsters about on this island. Every gathering I attend, they ask me about you, since it seems I’m the only one who’s met you!”