HF - 05 - Sunset (42 page)

'Take me away, Billy,' she whispered. 'Please take me away.'

'Of course.' Billy snapped his fingers, and the crowd cleared.

"There is a letter, six
...'
The ship's officer hesitated. 'Give it to me,' Billy snatched the envelope, thrust it into his pocket, held Meg's arm. 'Man, she back from the dead,' whispered the crowd. 'Man, you ain' hear? She done be from Cuba.' 'Man, you ain't know? Them boys did hold her captive.' 'Man, you ain' hear
...'

Meg hurried up the street, holding Billy's arm. "Thank God you did not bring the children.'

'The children,' he said. 'Ah. I have the trap at the hotel.'

'I'll not go in there, Billy,' she said. 'I couldn't face anybody today.'

'Of course,' he said. Because they were all there. Even a hasty glance revealed Marjorie Mottram and Ann Holroyd - hadn't she died yet? - and John Phillips and several other people. Waiting for her. Waiting to see what had become of the runaway.

But Billy waved at them, and they went inside. He helped her up to the seat, took the reins himself. He made to turn the horse, and pulled again as a bleating noise came down the street, accompanied by several explosions. Meg stared at the motor car in amazement.

'We have become quite modern,' Billy said, and flicked the whip.

Meg noticed the overhead wires for the first time, seeming to trail across the sky. Kingston had gone forward, but Meg Hilton had gone back.

'Those people,' she said. 'Will you explain
...'

'Of course I will. Later. Right now we have to worry about you.' He reached across to squeeze her hand, they were still driving through crowded streets, every verandah, every window filled. People had stared like this when she had returned from her night in the mounta
ins. But that had been only Hill
top.

Meg licked her lips. 'I
...
I owe you
...'

'Nonsense,' Billy said. 'Utter nonsense. No explanations. You always were
an
...
well, impulsive girl, what? I am only sorry your impulsiveness this time got you into trouble. Terribly sorry.'

Meg watched the houses disappear, the trees begin to grow thicker. With the houses, they had lost the people. She felt she could breathe again. And the air was Jamaican air. The best in the world.

'I just wanted you to know,' she said. 'It
...
it
was
an impulse, I suppose. It was Alan, you know, seeing him again,
I...'
She attempted a smile. 'I always had a soft spot for him.'

'Indeed you did,' Billy said, concentrating on the road. They tell me he got himself killed.' 'Yes,' she said.

'Ah. And you were taken.' He glanced at her. 'Were they very unpleasant to you ?'

Unpleasant, she thought. There is a word I must remember. 'Yes,' she said. 'They were very unpleasant.'

'Well,' he said, 'locking you up for over a year. My word, locking Meg Hilton,
the
Hilton, up. It's unbelievable. You'll understand, we thought you were dead.'

'Yes,' she said. 'I understand.'

'When you weren't here, when I returned that weekend,' he said, 'well, I got the truth out of the servants, of course, I was half out of my mind with worry. But no one knew where McAvoy had taken his ship. You might have been half way round the world by then. Well, of course, I was sure something had happened. I mean, you wouldn't have deserted your children. Not unless you had lost your senses.' Again the quick glance. 'I hired detectives, I did everything I could to find you, but without success. So we were forced to assume that perhaps the ship had been lost, or something like that.' 'So what did you do?'

'Well
...
grieved, of course. My word, I was beside myself with worry. I didn't know how to tell the children. Fortunately, well, everyone rallied round. Oh, yes, indeed. Everyone.'

'What about Hilltop?'

'Well, it was necessary, well
...
to go to court, you see, and have an order made, well
...
someone had to look after things, sign cheques, and that sort of thing. And Reynolds and Son are your attorneys, of course.'

'And how is the plantation?'

'Oh, thriving. Thriving. Well, there's not much can go wrong with bananas, is there? We had that dreadful storm two years ago, well, only a month or so after you left. The storm which we thought might have sunk your ship.'

'I knew of no storm,' Meg said.

'Yes, well
...
it swept through all the islands. Caused an enormous amount of damage. But Hilltop escaped virtually scot free. Oh, yes indeed.'

'I'm glad of that,' she said, watching the mountains rise before her as they took the upper road. 'Will we have to go to court again, to have me re-established as alive?' Her turn to glance at him. 'Although, once it is realized that I
am
alive, I suppose that won't be necessary. After all, I own the place.'

'Yes,' he said. 'Of course you do. It's
...
well, it's something we shall all have to discuss, eh?'

She gave him another glance, then resumed enjoying the countryside. Perhaps he was getting ready to ask for a share in the management of the plantation. But she could deal with that later. Right now she was tired. She wanted a hot bath, in her own room. She wanted to hear the drums again.

But already the magic of Hilltop was reaching out to her, restoring her health and her confidence. A day or two on Hilltop and she'd be right as rain all over again.

She craned her neck as they came down the slope, into the valley. She gazed at the chimney, towering skywards, at the villages, neat and freshly painted, at the banana trees, clustered in immense groves, and at the Great House. Her House. Her bananas. Her plantation. Oh, it was good to be home. So good to be home.

The trap rolled to a halt before the front steps, and she looked up at the verandah, seeking familiar faces amongst the servants, frowning when she recognized no one, seeking her children, frowning when she realized they were not there, and feeling her mouth drop open in utter horror as the servants stepped aside to allow Oriole Paterson to come to the top of the steps.

Washington hurried forward to hand Meg down. She wanted to scream with joy. He at least remained. 'Man, but we is too glad to have you back, mistress,' he said.

'Thank you, Washington.' She kept her gaze fixed on the woman at the top of the steps.

'Meg.' Oriole, although a hasty calculation told Meg she was at least forty-five, hardly seemed to have changed at all. Her clothes were as elegant as ever, her manner as assured. 'Oh, my darling Meg.'

She did not descend the steps, and Meg mounted them, slowly. 'Whatever are you doing here?'

'Why, my dear,' Oriole said. 'When I heard
...
we supposed you were dead.'

'So Billy was telling me.' Meg reached the top of the stairs, had her hands seized, and withdrew them again. 'Where are Richard and Aline?'

'Well, my dear
...'
Oriole glanced at Billy, who had also climbed the stairs.

'I
...
I thought it best
...
well, Meg is feeling very tired.'

'Where are my children?' Meg demanded.

'I think you should come inside, my dear,' Oriole said. 'As Billy says, you must be very tired, and we don't want a fuss in front of the servants. Anyway, I'm sure you want to
change your clothes. You do have a weakness for wearing rags, don't you.'

She turned away and went inside, and Meg could do nothing but follow her. 'Fuss?' she shouted. 'Where are my children?'

'You've met Dr Roberts?' Oriole said, brightly. Meg gazed at the young man. 'I have never heard of Dr Roberts.'

'Well, of course, he only came to Jamaica about three years ago. You would hardly have had time. Peter Roberts, Margaret Hilton.'

'Charmed, I'm sure,' said the young man, smoothing his moustache. His face was surprisingly pale for a white man in the tropics, and he wore a heavy gold watch-chain.

Meg decided she didn't like him. 'My pleasure,' she said coldly. 'Now, if you'll excuse us
...'

'Oh, but Peter is here on a professional call.'

'Why, Oriole,' Meg said. 'Don't tell me you are ill?'

'I am never ill,' Oriole said. 'But I had supposed you would wish a medical examination.'

'A medical examination?'

'Well,' Oriole said. 'After being a prisoner of those horrid Spanish for over a year, why, my dear, you have no idea of the tales they tell.'

'All of which are true,' Meg said, walking farther into the room. Her drawing room. It had not changed. She was home.

'Oh, my
dear'
Oriole cried, running forward.

Meg turned, her back against the piano. Billy had also entered the room, remained standing by the archway into the hall.

'But I already have a doctor,' Meg said. 'John Phillips. As a matter of fact, I
would
like to see him. Perhaps you would arrange it, Billy.'

'Ah, well, yes
...
or rather
...'

'He means, that is quite impossible,' Oriole said. '
John
Phillips, well
...
he is no longer suitable. Peter Roberts now
...'

'No longer suitable?' Meg came forward again. 'What is happening here ? Where are my children ?'

'Well,' Oriole said. 'I'm afraid, when Billy turned to me for help, and in the circumstances, the best thing I could think of was to send them to school in England.'

'You did what?' Meg shouted.

'Well, you had Richard's name down for Eton, in any event. And I have found a good governess for Aline. Well, she is staying with my sister Hermione. You remember
Her
mione. She was very fond of you, Meg. And she is attending school. Doing very well, Hermione says, and, well
...'

'You bitch,' Meg shouted. 'You utter bitch. You
...'
She swung her hand and Oriole ducked and retreated.

'There,' she said to Dr Roberts. 'What did I tell you?'

'Now, Mrs Hilton,' Roberts said, advancing. 'If you would care to come upstairs
...'

'Come upstairs ?' she demanded, and turned to Billy, who had remained in the archway. 'What is happening here? What has happened while I was away? What is that wretched woman doing here ? Didn't I say I never wanted to see her again ?'

'Now, Meg,' Billy said, also advancing. 'This sort of thing isn't going to help. Really it's not. I do recommend that you do as the doctor says, and remember that we are all simply trying to help you.'

'Help me?' She glared from one to the other. 'Do you suppose I need help?'

Billy exchanged glances with Roberts and with Oriole.

'She is your wife,' Oriole pointed out. 'You have the right.'

'The right?' Meg cried. 'The right to what?'

Billy licked his lips, and then cleared his throat. 'Well, Meg, the fact of the matter is, well
...
the fact is, you have been acting strangely for a very long time. Longer than you know, perhaps. Many people have mentioned it, talked about it. Well, of course, there are reasons. Your mother dying within minutes of your birth, and then, well
...'
He licked his lips.

Meg stared at him. An icy hand seemed to be closing on her brain.

'And then, running off to the black people in the mountains. That really was not a rational act. Many people said so at the time. But quite apart from that, no one knows for sure what happened there. But everyone is sure that something happened, that you returned not the same girl who had set out.'

Meg sat down in a straight chair, close by the piano; her knees seemed to have lost all their strength.

Once again Billy's tongue flicked round his lips. 'And then, your behaviour in England, and running off like that, and coming back here
...
I'm afraid you made rather a fool of me. But I was in love. I ignored everything that was whispered.'

'You wanted Hilltop,' Meg said, half to herself.

Billy apparently had not heard. 'And then, since your marriage, well, your behaviour has been the scandal of all Jamaica. I'm not talking about that episode with Lord Claymond, although heaven knows that was bad enough. But everyone knows you go off to the river north of the plantation, and well
...
heaven knows what you do there.'

'It has been the scandal of Jamaica,' Oriole said. 'Why it has even made the English newspapers.'

'And then,' Billy said, 'well, going off with that common smuggler, running guns in to the insurgents in Cuba, that surely was not the behaviour of a rational woman.'

'The insurgents in Cuba?' Meg asked, her voice little more than a whisper. 'They have won their war, with the help of the Americans. They are the government now. not the insurgents.'

'You could not possibly have known the Americans were going to become involved,' Oriole said. 'Not two years ago. No one could have foreseen the sinking of the
Maine.'