Will Adams - The Eden Legacy

‘Twenty-three,’ she told him. ‘You want to see my card?’

‘No,’ he said.

She nodded and set down his leg, then went to close and bolt the door. Then she walked back towards him, stripping as she came.

Rebecca was ransacking her father’s desk for insurance documents when Zanahary arrived in the Mitsubishi, her belongings in the back. They brought everything indoors, packed overnight bags for themselves, locked up and set off south for Tulear. She took the wheel herself, Daniel alongside her and Zanahary on the flatbed behind, where he could smoke all he wanted. ‘That stuff I told you last night,’ she said, once they were on their way. ‘It was in confidence, yes? You won’t write some dreadful feature on me?’

‘Of course not,’ Daniel assured her.

‘My father’s very highly respected. I’d never forgive myself if that got out.’

‘I already gave you my word,’ he said. He selected a cassette tape, turned the volume down low. ‘I’ll tell you something, though: if anyone had treated me like that, I wouldn’t be so worried for their reputation.’

‘It was only after Mama died. She was everything to him.’

‘No reason to take it out on you.’

‘No.’

‘And it was just you, right? He never went after your sister?’

‘Not Emilia, no. He absolutely doted on her. He did fall out very badly with Pierre, I remember; but they made that up in the end.’

‘And what about after you left for England?’

‘That was the end of it. He only ever got angry when he was drunk, you see; and he never touched another drop after I left.’

‘You believe that?’

‘Emilia vouched for it. She wouldn’t have lied; not about that.’

‘Is that why you never came back? Scared you’d set him drinking again?’

‘I made him unhappy,’ she said. ‘It’s a horrid thing, making someone you love unhappy.’

‘Why would you make him unhappy?’

‘I don’t know. Not for sure.’ They crossed a slender thread of stream. Two Malagasy women, their fine African faces covered in yellow masks to keep their complexions pale, gathered dried washing from its far bank. ‘The only thing I could think of was that I looked quite like my mother when she was my age. Some of the things he shouted, it was like he was shouting at her.’

‘Angry at her for dying,’ suggested Daniel. ‘Taking it out on you?’

‘Grief isn’t always logical, you know,’ she said. ‘Besides, I was a poisonous little brat. I knew how to push his buttons.’

‘You were fourteen years old.’

Tears sprang into her eyes; she turned away to wipe them. ‘We argued a lot,’ she said. ‘He made me go to church. I hated church. I didn’t believe in God, but even if I had, I wouldn’t have wanted to worship him after he’d taken Mama. And it offended me that Papa did. He’d raised us to think like scientists. Religion always seemed so… cowardly.’’

‘So you taunted him about his faith until he got drunk and came after you?’

A greybeard was walking towards them down the road, carrying a green turtle on his shoulder. Rebecca shook her head at him as she passed. It was illegal here to kill turtles of any species, to hunt their eggs or sell their shells or meat, but no one paid any attention. Turtle killing was still a great event in some of these communities. They’d sacrifice them on mangrove altars, offer libations to their ancestors for future success, not realising that each one they killed made their future success less likely. ‘He didn’t really believe,’ she said. ‘Not really. It was a way of keeping Mama alive, you know?’

‘Yes,’ said Daniel. ‘I know.’

‘He had this expression: “We don’t believe because we think. We believe because we love.” I didn’t understand what he meant back then.’

‘You do now?’

‘Let’s just say I’ve learned I’m not perfect either.’ She looked across at him. ‘I’m going to find him, you know. I’m going to find them both.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ he assured her. ‘And if you need any help…’

‘What?’ she smiled. ‘Apart from driving all the way to Tulear with me to help bring back my boat?’

‘Yes,’ he said seriously. ‘Apart from that.’

‘Thanks,’ she nodded. ‘I might just take you up on that.’

It took Boris far longer than he’d anticipated to find a suitable rendezvous spot for his meet with the gun dealer, and he returned to the hotel in a foul mood that quickly grew worse when he saw Davit’s empty porch, then heard the unmistakeable creaks coming from inside his cabin. ‘Davit!’ he yelled, pounding on his door. ‘Open up, damn you.’

‘One minute,’ called out Davit.

‘Now!’

There was scuffling. The door opened and Davit appeared, a towel around his midriff. ‘Can’t this wait?’

‘No.’ Davit was trying to block his view of the bed, but Boris still caught a glimpse of Claudia lying beneath a rumpled white sheet. He felt an unexpectedly sharp twinge of jealousy; he’d been looking forward to enjoying her himself. ‘I told you to watch out for Knox,’ he said. ‘Can’t you do a damned thing right?’

‘Relax, boss. I know where he is.’ He came out on to the porch, closed his door behind him, picked up the guidebook. ‘This place called Eden. Claudia says the track is still closed from the last cyclone, so we can’t drive down; but it should be easy to hire a pirogue.’

Boris thought about it as he read the brief write-up. Taking a pirogue would leave him dependent on other people, which he hated. It would mean leaving a trail a mile wide too. On the other hand, his mission would be far easier in a secluded nature reserve rather than here or on a salvage ship. He glanced along the beach at the wooden boat turned turtle on the sand. With the outboard engine in reception, a tent and some other supplies from the camping store, he and Davit could easily pretend to be a couple of hikers off for a night or two in the spiny forest. But first they needed that boat. ‘Get your girlfriend up,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a job for her.’

Knox and Rebecca crossed a fat river on a long bridge and then were in Tulear, a large town of ramshackle housing and broken roads. Thin men hauled gaudy rickshaws while young women lounged at enticing angles against the walls. Knox waited outside with Zanahary while Rebecca went in to see her lawyer, give him the insurance documentation for her father’s boat so he could have the port captain release the Yvette into their possession.

The paperwork took its own sweet time. It was twilight by the time everything was sorted. They drove out to the harbour, a man-made island at the end of a kilometrelong promontory. The Yvette was moored against its wall, its deck a good three feet beneath the jetty. Knox jumped down; Rebecca, too. Her ankle turned as she landed; she would have fallen had he not grabbed her forearm. ‘Careful, now,’ he said.

He took his time inspecting the boat. They’d need to leave before dawn to reach Eden by nightfall, so he needed to familiarise himself with it now. It had its own inboard, but it was a sailboat first and foremost, designed to be handled from the stern. He opened the main hatch, clambered down into the hold, looked over the engine, propeller shaft, bilge pump and retractable centreboard. There was enough diesel for a couple of hours cruising, though not enough to get them all the way back to Eden. The water tank had a hook glued to its backside, a bunch of keys dangling from it, presumably spares for the lodge. Back on deck, he inspected the anchor and then the bench lockers. Orange life-jackets; flares and a flare gun; a boathook; coils of synthetic rope; an inflatable life-raft. There was dive-gear too. A pair of snorkels and masks, a couple of boxes of home-made lead weights, a scuba tank with a red-tag to indicate it was filled with air; a wet-suit, a buoyancy-control device and a regulator. There were also biscuits, canned foods, bottles of water, soft drinks and beer. All valuable stuff, yet not taken.