Read Online The Takamaka Tree by Alexandra Thomas - Free Book Online
Authors: Alexandra Thomas
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England meant nothing to him. It was just somewhere a long way away with a Queen with a crown on her head. It was far more important that Sandy should stay on Mahé.
“Good fish,” he grinned suddenly. “Make money for toddy.”
“Rot your guts,” said Daniel.
It was a vivid, extravagant sunset, but Sandy hardly glanced at the radiant sky. Someone brought her a mug of strong coffee. It was the first coffee she had tasted, or remembered tasting. Daniel had not included any in the provisions he had taken with him to La Petite.
Sailing did not worry her. It had a curiously soothing quality. Daniel was relieved. He had half expected the trip to trigger off a memory of her accident, but she remained silent.
They sailed on through the darkness, the fish attracted by the light from the big lamp swinging from the bow of the schooner. Daniel found a thin jersey in his luggage and put it around Sandy’s shoulders. She was almost asleep. They passed dark shapes in the night and Daniel named other islands in the Seychelles group.
“And they are all just as beautiful as La Petite,” he said.
Some of the islands had a few isolated lights—a new beach hotel or a planter’s house powered by a small generator imported at great expense. Even Mahé, the main island of the group, was poorly lit. A few lights twinkled up in the hills, but the main mass of lights came from the new harbour development in Port Victoria. Only the odd street lamp illuminated the rest of the town, and the old quay was a gloomy, spooky forest of swaying masts.
The schooner came into the harbour under engine power. It puttered through the smooth dark water, navigating the channel through the reefs. The lamp spread an arc of light on the oily surface.
There were no formalities. It was not that sort of harbour. Sandy stepped ashore and stood on the quay. It was like a dream. The darkness, the unreal brightness of the sulphur lighting ringing the new harbour, the sultry warmth captured by the black mass of the granite hills and rocks. Somewhere she heard laughter.
The taxi drove through the darkness on a road lined with rocks and palm trees to the Reef Hotel on Anse aux Pins. Sandy did not look at anything in the cool foyer, but let Daniel guide her up some stairs and along a balcony which ran the whole length of the back of the one-storeyed hotel. He put a key into the door of Room 27, and gently pushed the reluctant girl into the room.
He pulled back the sheet on one of the beds and smiled.
“Now this is really a bed,” he said. “You’ll think you’re sleeping on a cloud. Off with your flipflops…”
“Are you sharing this room?” Sandy asked stiffly.
“Now don’t go all prim and modest. Yes, I am. I had to tell the receptionist that we were newly married and that your details had not yet been added to my passport. If you really object, I will go downstairs and see if they have a second room…”
“No, don’t leave me!” said Sandy, immediately alarmed by the thought of being left alone.
“Don’t worry, I’m quite used to sleeping outside.”
He picked up a couple of pillows and a coverlet, and with a brief glance of longing at the empty second bed, slid open the glass door to their private balcony.
Sandy was soundly asleep when Daniel crept through the room early the next morning. He allowed himself the luxury of a quick shower in the well-fitted bathroom, pulling on a pair of fawn slacks and a white tee-shirt. He had a shock when he caught sight of his face in the bathroom mirror. His beard was thick, dark and bushy, and his hair lay in damp curls on his neck. He looked like a wild man out of the jungle. It demanded a scissor job, but he had more important things to do first.
He found the headquarters of the Marine Charter Association. Their clubhouse was on the waterfront next to the modern white yacht club.
Daniel explained to a steward of the association that he was trying to find out if some friends were in the
“Good fish,” he grinned suddenly. “Make money for toddy.”
“Rot your guts,” said Daniel.
It was a vivid, extravagant sunset, but Sandy hardly glanced at the radiant sky. Someone brought her a mug of strong coffee. It was the first coffee she had tasted, or remembered tasting. Daniel had not included any in the provisions he had taken with him to La Petite.
Sailing did not worry her. It had a curiously soothing quality. Daniel was relieved. He had half expected the trip to trigger off a memory of her accident, but she remained silent.
They sailed on through the darkness, the fish attracted by the light from the big lamp swinging from the bow of the schooner. Daniel found a thin jersey in his luggage and put it around Sandy’s shoulders. She was almost asleep. They passed dark shapes in the night and Daniel named other islands in the Seychelles group.
“And they are all just as beautiful as La Petite,” he said.
Some of the islands had a few isolated lights—a new beach hotel or a planter’s house powered by a small generator imported at great expense. Even Mahé, the main island of the group, was poorly lit. A few lights twinkled up in the hills, but the main mass of lights came from the new harbour development in Port Victoria. Only the odd street lamp illuminated the rest of the town, and the old quay was a gloomy, spooky forest of swaying masts.
The schooner came into the harbour under engine power. It puttered through the smooth dark water, navigating the channel through the reefs. The lamp spread an arc of light on the oily surface.
There were no formalities. It was not that sort of harbour. Sandy stepped ashore and stood on the quay. It was like a dream. The darkness, the unreal brightness of the sulphur lighting ringing the new harbour, the sultry warmth captured by the black mass of the granite hills and rocks. Somewhere she heard laughter.
The taxi drove through the darkness on a road lined with rocks and palm trees to the Reef Hotel on Anse aux Pins. Sandy did not look at anything in the cool foyer, but let Daniel guide her up some stairs and along a balcony which ran the whole length of the back of the one-storeyed hotel. He put a key into the door of Room 27, and gently pushed the reluctant girl into the room.
He pulled back the sheet on one of the beds and smiled.
“Now this is really a bed,” he said. “You’ll think you’re sleeping on a cloud. Off with your flipflops…”
“Are you sharing this room?” Sandy asked stiffly.
“Now don’t go all prim and modest. Yes, I am. I had to tell the receptionist that we were newly married and that your details had not yet been added to my passport. If you really object, I will go downstairs and see if they have a second room…”
“No, don’t leave me!” said Sandy, immediately alarmed by the thought of being left alone.
“Don’t worry, I’m quite used to sleeping outside.”
He picked up a couple of pillows and a coverlet, and with a brief glance of longing at the empty second bed, slid open the glass door to their private balcony.
Sandy was soundly asleep when Daniel crept through the room early the next morning. He allowed himself the luxury of a quick shower in the well-fitted bathroom, pulling on a pair of fawn slacks and a white tee-shirt. He had a shock when he caught sight of his face in the bathroom mirror. His beard was thick, dark and bushy, and his hair lay in damp curls on his neck. He looked like a wild man out of the jungle. It demanded a scissor job, but he had more important things to do first.
He found the headquarters of the Marine Charter Association. Their clubhouse was on the waterfront next to the modern white yacht club.
Daniel explained to a steward of the association that he was trying to find out if some friends were in the
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