HF - 05 - Sunset (38 page)

Of course she would. For no matter what Alan decided, as a result of this voyage, she must return. She was Meg Hilton, the Mistress of Hilltop. And the mother of two children. They had wept when they had heard she was going away for four days. She had made no secret of it, having already half made up her mind. The decision was Billy's in the long run, but she could influence it to the best of her ability; once again she had discarded her rings.

Besides, she thought, now there were ways of doing it. If Alan was as determined as he seemed, and as dedicated as he seemed, the only surrender had to come from her. But yet again, could she not have the best of all possible worlds? Hilltop was solvent again, and slowly growing in its prosperity; the mortgage had been liquidated, and there was even money in the bank. An attorney could manage it as well as she, now. And Billy was well set up in his law practice; he wished only the aura of the Hilton name, the Hilton prerogatives. Well, if they separated, he would retain the name, and a legal settlement could be drawn up by which he would retain the prerogatives, and half the income from the plantation for the duration of his life, but would prevent him from ever interfering in its management; while it would leave her free to marry again, whom she chose, and live where she chose, and educate her children as she chose, safe in the certainty that the plantation would be theirs to inherit when she died.

It seemed a superb solution to all the remaining problems of her life, so simple in fact, she wondered she had not thought of it before. She had thought of it for the first time, lying in Billy's arms on Sunday night. He had suspected nothing of her midnight journey to Kingston, had believed entirely what he had been told, had been anxious to make up for the time his drunkenness had cost him on Saturday. And for the first time in a long time she had been anxious as well to play the wife. Partly because the tremendous passion aroused by Alan had still been surging through her body, but more because she was, for the first time, truly and deliberately about to betray him. And more even than that, she thought, because the idea, the certainty, was already taking shape in her mind.

Because she now knew where she could be as happy as on Hilltop; here, on the deck of this ship. It was like the
Wanderer
all over again, filling her with a sense of freedom which reached down to her sexual instincts as well as her intellectual roots, and more enjoyable, more intimate, than on the
Wanderer,
because the
Margarita
was so much smaller; every dip of the bow into the north easterly wind sent the spray all the way aft; it even settled on her face and hands.

And to share this ship with Alan
...
he must always have had the same dream, or why call his vessel by her name?

She turned away from the slowly fading mountains, looked forward, first of all at the helmsman, then over the bow at the horizon. Nothing there yet, but Cuba was only a hundred and forty nautical miles away, so Alan had said.

He came on deck now, having completed his chart work. 'Come away a point,' he told the coxswain, then came aft to stand beside her, bracing himself on the stay next to her. 'Homesick?'

'It is only the second time in my life I have left Jamaica,' she said, leaning against him, allowing her hair to blow across his face. 'And this time I don't care at all. I am looking forward to seeing Cuba.'

'Aye, well, it'll be dark in an hour, so you won't see it tonight. My idea is to close Carbo Cruz, that's the south western tip, during the dark.' He squeezed her. 'There are
guardacostas.'

'Where do you land your guns?'

'Once we round Cabo Cr
uz, we are in the Gulf of Guaca
nayabo, which we cross, and on the far side there is a shoal of little islands, called the Jardines de la Reina.'

'The Gardens of the Queen,' she murmured. 'How beautiful'

'Cuba is even more beautiful than Jamaica,' he said. 'Well, these islands are an absolute wilderness, and the mainland shore opposite them is hardly better than swamp. Even if the coastguard do manage to see us, I would hope to give them the slip amongst the shoals and reefs, and we shall land the guns tomorrow morning on the coast. And be away at once.'

'And you have done this before?
’

'I have been doing it for two years.
’

"Therefore you are an expert,' she said. 'Where do you pick up the guns ?'

He shook his head. 'I'd better keep that to myself.'

She made a moue. 'Don't you trust me?'

'I trust you with my life, my darling. But I do not wish you to be in any way involved. It is sufficiently risky for you to be here at all.'

'But you don't get them from Jamaica. At least tell me that.'

He smiled, and kissed her on the nose. 'I don't get them from Jamaica.'

'And you will tell me once we are married.' 'Married?
’

'Because then I shall accompany you on all of your voyages.'

'You? Marry me? Give up Hilltop to sail with me?'

'You have but to persuade me,' she said. 'That is why I am here, to be persuaded. Will you not take me below, and begin?'

Meg was on deck at dawn. The breeze had dropped, now that they were in the shelter of the land, and the schooner ghosted along, sails just filling, bows just disturbing the green water. Which merged almost imperceptibly into the green of the land on the northern horizon, a forest of mangrove swamps, or dotted the sea ahead of them in a cluster of little islands. Waters which would require expert navigation; even in conditions this calm she could see little flurries of white where the gentle swell broke on coral heads or bubbled across sandbanks.

Alan was himself on the helm; two of the crew were forward, with the lead line, two more stood by the main halyard, ready to let the biggest sail go with a rush if it was necessary to anchor in a hurry; two more stood by the anchor itself; and the seventh was aft with her, constantly sweeping the horizon to the south, and the headland of Cabo Cruz behind them, and the depths of the Gulf to the north east, with a telescope, searching for any signs of the Spanish navy or coastguard.

But the sea was empty, and so was the land, so far as Meg could see. And it was a splendid land. Beyond the swamps she could make out the serrated backbone of mountains, which would stretch, carrying the island with them, some two hundred miles in a gentle curve to the north west, until it was almost in sight of the Florida cays.

She stood beside the helm. 'It is beautiful.'

He glanced at her and smiled. 'And like most beautiful things, it can be deadly. Lower your mainsail.'

The halyards rasped through the blocks, and the great sail came clouding down on the boom, to be rolled and furled by the crewmen.
Margarita's
speed was reduced by half, and she inched forward, close to the first island now, under foresail and mizen alone.

Meg decided that Alan needed to concentrate, and moved back to the rail, to look down into the sea which was so clear she could see the sand and the occasional patch of weed on the bottom.

'Leigh-ho,' Alan called, and the foresail was sheeted in on the starboard tack as the helm went to port and the schooner came slowly round, passing now exactly equidistant between two of the islands.

The sailor on watch gave a grunt, and Meg went to his side. 'What do you see?'

'Look there, mistress.' He gave her the glass, and she focused on the headland. Just beyond it was a puff of black smoke.

Oh, my God, she thought. Oh, my God.

The sailor grinned at her; he could see the sudden flush of alarm. 'They can' see us, mistress. Not yet. We ain't got no smoke to fill the sky. And we going be gone in two minutes.'

Meg remained watching the headland. Now she could see the prow, and a moment later the whole shape of the steam cutter, and it was altering course, towards them. Oh, my God, she thought; but immediately it was again lost to view as the trees on the island they had just passed interposed. She lowered her glass, looked around her. They might have been in a lagoon, save for the numerous rock-filled passages which led out to sea the.

She gave the glass back to the Negro, hurried to the helm. 'There's a small steamship rounding the cape.'

'A
guardacostas,'
Alan said, never taking his eyes from the narrow passage ahead, between a third island and a sandbank to starboard.

'It is coming this way.'

'It is on patrol. She won't come in here. She dare not. There is nothing to be afraid of.' She bit her lip, moved back to the rail. Of course there was nothing to be afraid of. She was Meg Hilton. But she wished she hadn't seen it.

The morning grew warm as the sun rose between the mountains. The
Margarita
continued to wend her way slowly between the islands, gradually approaching the shore, while the leadsman called the equally gradually shoaling depths. Now there was another puff of smoke from ahead of them, grey woodsmoke this. It could have been charcoal burners. But Alan altered course again.

'Down mizen.'

The seamen hurried aft to secure the mizen boom and lower the after sail. Meg remained by the rail, out of their way. Alan had guided them right through the maze of islands and sandbanks, and they were now in clear, if very shallow water, with the beach which fringed the swamps only a hundred yards away.

'Let go your anchor,' he called. 'Drop the foresail.'

The chain rattled through the hawsepipe and the bower anchor splashed into the water. The
Margarita
rode over it and then commenced to turn as the foresail was stowed and she lost way. The chain continued to rattle, sounding disturbingly loud, and indeed a flock of birds rose from the distant swamp and flapped their way to quieter surroundings.

Alan left the wheel and went forward. 'Enough,' he said, and the chocks were pushed into place. The noise died, and the morning was absolutely still.

'There we are.' He came aft again.

'It's just magnificent,' she said. 'But you are magnificent, the way you conned us through those rocks.'

'I happen to know the waters,' he said. "The first couple of times I had to be piloted by one of the local fishermen. Simple as that.'

Meg looked over the side. 'I'd love a bathe.'

'Um. You wait until we have gone ashore. I'll leave you in charge of the ship.'

'Me? I don't know anything about ships.'

'You don't have to. But I don't want you ashore. You never can tell when a patrol will pass by. They can't harm you out here. We won't be long. Only an hour or two.' He smiled at her. 'Long enough for you to have that swim in private.' He was again away giving orders for the boat to be broken out, sending his men down the hatch to the cabin, to move the table and start bringing up the guns and the ammunition. Nor were they hidden only under the table. From the hold amidships, large numbers of bunches of bananas were brought up and stowed on deck; from beneath where they had lain more cases were heaved up. 'We'll need about three trips to get them all ashore,' Alan said. 'But it won't take long.'

'How many have you brought?' she asked in wonderment.

'A thousand rifles, and two hundred thousand rounds of ammunition.' 'It must have cost a fortune.'

'The revolutionary movement has some wealthy backers. I'll tell you this; we'll make a lot faster time on the way back. Which is when we might need it.'

He climbed down the ladder into the heavily laden boat, with four of his men. Meg watched them pull for the shore, and now she could see people on the shore itself, hard to distinguish beneath their broad-brimmed straw hats. But they wore white cottons and looked poor. All revolutionaries looked poor. Until, she supposed, they came to power. Supposing this lot ever did. The mainland Spanish colonies had achieved their independence while Spain was engaged in a European war, and even so it had taken them years of heartbreak. She did not see much prospect of success here.

The crates were unloaded, the boat returned for its second load. But Alan remained ashore. He was doing what he wanted, and that was important. He thought he was doing good. As if providing the means to kill could ever be good. Or could it ? When people had been enslaved for too long, to rise in bloody murder was perhaps their only hope. Certainly Richard Hilton the general, must have believed that when he had fought for the Negro Emperor of Haiti, Henri Christophe.

What a philosopher she was becoming. She remained by the rail while the second and then the last load of crates was sent ashore. By now donkey carts had appeared on the beach, and the crates were loaded. Alan looked out at her and gave a wave, and the entire party set off through the seagrape bushes which clouded the beach. The last axle creaked into trees, and silence once again descended upon the bay. And she was alone, on Alan's ship. She found the thought very exciting, and as she enjoyed doing when she was excited, she took off her clothes, paraded the steadily warming deck naked, feeling the heat of the sun scorching her flesh, feeling the gentle breeze caressing her skin. And stopping, with an exclamation of annoyance, when she discovered that a piece of melting tar from the deck seams had stuck to her toe.

She pulled it off, but the black stain remained, and on her fingers. She explored, looking down the still-open main hatch, at the bananas which had been returned there to convince any customs officer that the
Margarita
was an ordinary trading schooner, then tried the forehatch, but hastily withdrew her head without attempting to descend. Seven men lived there, in an intimate heat. It was no place for her.