The Beekeeper's Daughter (3 page)

‘Duty is what makes us civilized, Grace. Doing the right thing and not always thinking of ourselves is vital if we don’t want society to fall apart at the seams. The young have no sense of duty, and by the sound of things they don’t have much respect, either. I fear the future is a place with no morals and a distorted sense of what’s important. But I’m not here to preach to you. I’m here to support you.’

‘Thank you, Big. Your support means a lot to me.’

‘We’ve been friends for almost thirty years, Grace. That’s a long time. Ever since you came to Tekanasset and turned my backyard into a beautiful paradise. Perhaps we bonded because you never knew your mother and I never had any children.’ She smiled and took another handful of nuts. ‘And everyone sucks up to me but you,’ she said with a chuckle. ‘You’re a gentle creature but an honest one. I don’t believe you’d ever agree with me just because I’m as rich as Croesus, as old as the Ark and as big as a whale.’

‘Oh, really, Big!’ Grace laughed incredulously. ‘You might be as rich as Croesus but you’re not as old as the Ark and you’re certainly
not
a whale!’

‘Bless you for lying. My dear, when it’s a matter of age and size I give you my full permission to lie through your teeth.’

When Grace returned to her home on Sunset Slip the sun had turned the sea to gold. She wandered onto the veranda with her two retrievers and gazed out across the wild grasses to the beach and glittering water beyond. She soaked up the tranquil scene thirstily. The sound that soothed her more than anything else, however, was the low murmur of bees. It filled her heart with melancholy, and yet that wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. In a strange way it gave her pleasure to remember the past, as if through the pain she remained in touch with the woman she had once been and left behind when she had set out for America all those years ago.

She went round to the three hives she kept along the side of the house, sheltered from the winds and sun by hemlock planted for the purpose, and lifted one of the lids for a routine check. She didn’t mind getting stung occasionally. She wasn’t afraid, either, but it caused her distress to think that, on stinging, the bee was sacrificing her own life to protect the hive.

Arthur Hamblin had taught his daughter everything he knew about bees, from their daily care to the tinctures of propolis he made to cure sore throats and other complaints. Beekeeping had been their shared love and tending the hives and extracting the honey had brought them close, compounded by the fact that they only had each other in the world. Grace remembered her father fondly every time she saw a bee. His kind face would surface in her mind with the gentle humming of the creatures he had so loved, and sometimes she could even hear his voice as if he were whispering into her ear: ‘Don’t forget to check that the bees are capping off honey in the lower supers.’ Or: ‘Can you see the bees guarding the entrance? There must be a threat. Wasps or robber bees perhaps. I wonder which it is.’ Arthur Hamblin could talk about bees for hours and barely draw breath. Often he would talk
to
them, reciting his favourite poem, which Grace had heard so often she knew it by heart:
Marriage, birth or buryin’, News across the seas, All you’re sad or merry in, You must tell the bees
.

Now as Grace looked inside the hive, the bees were settling in for the night. The temperature had dropped and they were sleepy. She smiled fondly and allowed her memories to ebb and flow like a vast sea of images and emotions. Time with her bees was time to be herself again, and time to remember.

As she replaced the lid she sensed the familiar presence of someone standing close. She knew not to turn around, because the many times she had glanced behind her had revealed nothing but the wind and her own bewilderment. She knew to sense it and not to analyse it; after all, hers was an old house and Tekanasset was an island well known for ghosts. Even Big had stories to tell. The presence didn’t frighten her; in fact, she felt strangely reassured, as if she had a secret friend no one else knew about. When she was younger she had confided in her mother, who she hoped was able to listen to her from Heaven. Nowadays, when she felt low or lonely, she’d come and talk to the bees and feel comforted by this ghost who gave out a loving energy and was perhaps as lonely as she was.

Recently she had begun to sink more often into her former life. It was as if with the passing of the years her regrets grew stronger and her attachment to her memories more desperate. For the last twenty-odd years she had thrown herself into motherhood, but Trixie was growing up and soon she would move away, and Grace would be left alone with Freddie and the fragile remains of their marriage.

‘Hello, old friend,’ she said and smiled at the absurdity of talking to someone she couldn’t see.

Chapter 2

Trixie Valentine stood in nothing but a diaphanous floral sarong outside old Joe Hornby’s boathouse. Inside, her lover reclined in the fishing boat with his guitar across his knee, strumming the tune he had composed that morning. He trained his eyes on the entrance. First, a slender white arm appeared around the wall and long fingers splayed against the wood. Next, a shapely leg followed suit. It bent at the knee and positioned itself diagonally, pointing its shell-pink toes to the ground. Trixie paused like that for dramatic effect before changing position and appearing slowly to lean back against the door frame, one leg up, arms extended behind her, palms flat against the wall. She looked at him from beneath a thick, sun-bleached fringe, cut into a severe line just above her eyes, and held his stare for a tantalizing moment. Then she parted her lips, revealing two slightly crooked eye teeth, and her smile was full of promise. Jasper watched her pull at the knot behind her neck and let the sarong float to the ground, where it formed a puddle at her feet. She stood naked, silhouetted against the ocean background, the curve of her waist catching the last golden light that bounced off the water.

Jasper Duncliffe gazed at her admiringly. Everything about Trixie fascinated him. She was unpredictable, spontaneous, fun-loving and wild. She was also beautiful, with wide indigo eyes and curves in all the right places. She approached him, without taking her gaze off him, and he put his guitar aside and felt himself straining his jeans with desire.

She stepped into the boat. It rocked gently but not enough to unbalance her. Both knew there was a danger of being discovered, but for two people flouting the rules at every turn, the thought of being caught only heightened their excitement. She sat astride him and put her hands on the sides of the boat to steady herself. Then she lowered her face and placed her lips on his, her long hair forming a curtain around them that smelt of the sea. ‘You’re all mine,’ she breathed and he felt her smile against his face. It was true; he couldn’t move much, pinned to the boat. He slid his hands around her neck and caressed her jaw with his thumbs.

‘You can have me body and soul, Trixie,’ he whispered. ‘As often as you like.’

‘I love the way you speak, Jasper.’

‘Why? You said your parents are English.’ He moved his hands down to her breasts and lightly brushed her nipples.

Catching her breath, she arched her back like a cat. ‘But they don’t talk like you do. I like the way
you
talk.’

He pulled her head down and kissed her passionately. Impatient to feel him inside her, she fumbled with his belt and released him. He let out a deep groan as he was swallowed into her warm body. She moved on top of him without inhibition, tossing her head and flicking her hair as the desire built and she lost herself. He held her hips but was unable to control her. At last he grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled her face down to his. ‘Not so fast,’ he said. ‘If you’re going to be on top you must do as I say.’

‘I like your assertiveness, Mr Duncliffe.’

He laughed. ‘I like the sound of that.’

‘What? Mr Duncliffe. Sounds very ordinary to me.’

‘That’s why I like it.’ He pressed his mouth to hers before she could distract him further, and kissed her deeply.

Some time later they sat in the boat sharing a joint of marijuana. It was now twilight. The sun had sunk behind the horizon and the sea was calm. Trixie was feeling pleasantly lightheaded and relaxed. ‘I like this time of day, don’t you?’

‘Sure, it’s beautiful,’ Jasper replied. She fed him the joint and he took a long drag. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting home?’

‘Not yet. I’m already in trouble, a little more won’t hurt.’

‘What’ll you tell her?’

‘Mom?’ She shrugged. ‘She’s a romantic. I’ll tell her all about you and that will distract her from the fact that I lied about the weekend with Suzie and spent it with you.’

‘You’re nineteen, Trixie. You have a job. You’re earning your own money. You’re independent. I’d say you can do as you please.’

‘Sure, but she’s very conservative. She grew up in a little town in England, fell in love with Dad when they were in their teens and married just as war broke out. She’s never been with anyone else. She expects me to do the same, but look at me, having sex before marriage with a rock star – and a rock star is not what most mothers want for their daughters.’

‘A rock star,’ he chuckled sceptically. ‘You flatter me.’

Her eyes blazed with confidence. ‘You’re going to be a big star, Jasper. I can tell. You’re fine-looking, talented and everyone loves your music. I have a nose for success and I can smell it all over you.’ She took another drag and grinned at him through the smoke. ‘And I’ll be there, clapping in the wings, having known you before you became a millionaire, with thousands of fans shouting your name and singing your songs, selling records all over the world.’

‘I love your enthusiasm, Trixie. We’re doing our best.’

‘What do they think of you in England?’

‘Not enough.’

‘So that’s why you came here?’

‘Of course. Everyone wants to make it in America.’

She laughed. ‘Not everyone wants to make it in Tekanasset!’

‘I have a connection to this place. My grandparents had a house here. A long time ago. It seemed a good place to start.’

‘Why not make it in England first, like the Beatles did? Don’t you want to be big in your own country?’

He sighed and looked pained. ‘Because my mother would murder me for the shame.’

Trixie screwed up her nose. ‘You’re kidding, right?’ He shook his head. ‘Your mother disapproves?’

‘Of course she does.’

‘And your father?’

‘Dead.’

‘Oh, sorry.’

‘Don’t be. We didn’t have the best relationship. He was a military man, as was his father before him. He didn’t understand music: at least, not
my
sort of music’

‘How narrow-minded! He should have been proud of your talent.’

‘He saw no talent in me, Trixie. But that’s OK. I’m the second son. All the responsibility sits on my brother’s shoulders, and fortunately he’s big enough and conventional enough to carry it.’

Trixie laughed. ‘So you’re free to be whatever you want to be.’

‘That’s right.’ He grinned. ‘With whomever I want to be with.’

‘That’s me.’ She looked at him coquettishly from under her fringe.

‘That’s you, sweetheart,’ he replied.

‘You know what? One day I’m going to be successful, too,’ she told him. ‘But in a different field.’

‘What are you going to be?’

She drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them. ‘Editor of a well-known magazine.’

‘Like Diana Vreeland?’

‘People will say, “Who’s Diana Vreeland?” because my name will be so much more famous.’

‘Infamous, I think is more likely,’ he teased.

‘Well, I’m going to work in fashion. I love clothes and I have a good sense of style, I think. I’m not going to stay here in Tekanasset, waiting on tables for the rest of my life. There’s a big world out there and I’m going to see it.’

‘I’m sure you will. I think you can achieve whatever you set your heart on, Trixie Valentine.’

‘I think so, too. I’m going to travel to all the fashion shows. I’m going to explore the world. I’m going to hang out with all the greats like Andy Warhol and Cecil Beaton and party at Studio 54 in New York with Bianca Jagger and Ossie Clark.’ She laughed and the light of the joint danced in her eyes. ‘I’m going to be a career girl.’

‘Most girls want to marry and have children. I know my sisters do.’

‘But I’m not most girls. I thought you’d have figured that out by now. I want to be free, like you, and be whoever I want to be.’

‘Then do it. There’s nothing stopping you.’

‘Only my father.’ She sighed heavily. ‘He’d like me to go to college and finish my education, but I doubt he could afford it anyway. He says there’s nothing more unattractive than a stupid woman.’ She laughed. ‘I’m a lot smarter than he realizes, but I’m certainly
not
going to college. I want to get out there and start living. This place is stifling and before you arrived it was deadly dull!’

‘Will he support you?’

‘Look, he came over from England with nothing but a good brain and made a success in business. If he’d stayed in England, ruined by war with no jobs anywhere, he’d still be a farmhand. I think he’d admire me for wanting to make something of my life – isn’t that the American Dream everyone talks about?’

‘And your mother?’

‘Mom would support me in whatever I decide to do. She just wants me to be happy. She didn’t have a good education, but her father was an intellectual and read everything under the sun. He educated her and I tell you, there’s nothing she hasn’t read. Anyway, she works. She’s a landscape gardener and a very good one. She’s not one of those women who does nothing but lunch and gossip all day, like some I know.’

‘Your mother sounds terrific’

‘She is. She’s gentle and sweet, but I know if Dad and I came to blows, she’d support
me.
When it comes to her child, she’s fiercely protective. Most mothers would be crushed by some of the things I get up to, but I feel mine is secretly fascinated by them, as if she wishes she could have lived like me. I sense there’s a secretly wild side to Mom. I don’t know . . .’ Her voice trailed off and she turned to gaze out into the night, where bright stars gave a tantalizing glimpse of a world beyond the familiar. ‘It’s just a hunch. Perhaps I’m wrong.’