Felix Francis - Dick Francis's Front Runner

‘If I was allowed to lift anything, I’d carry you over the threshold,’ I said to Henri as we went in.

‘But it’s not our own home.’

‘It is for the next eleven days,’ I said. ‘And that’s good enough for me.’

The apartment was on the ground floor and stretched right through the building on the southern edge of the complex. Painted lemon yellow, with white-and-blue furnishings, the open-plan kitchen and living area was bright and cool, but it was the view through the large picture windows at the far end that was totally breathtaking.

The spectacular Seven Mile Beach was just a few steps away, complete with archetypal desert-island coconut palms growing at lazy angles out of the brilliant white sand. And, beyond that, the dazzling turquoise-blue Caribbean Sea shimmered and danced as it reflected the rays of the late-afternoon sun as it began to dip towards the western horizon.

‘Wow!’ I said.

Henri opened the sliding door and we went outside together onto the beach.

‘Wow!’ I said again as I looked either way at the mile upon mile of soft white powder.

‘It’s not really seven miles long,’ Henri said. ‘Only about six.’

Long enough, I thought.

We went back inside.

‘I’ve told Uncle Richard we would go up to Martin’s house for a drink with them all at sunset.’

‘What time is that?’ I asked.

‘Just before six.’

I glanced at my watch. That gave us almost a full hour.

I looked at her, and she looked back at me.

‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ she said, grinning.

Even though Henri and I had known each other for almost three whole weeks, this was our first time, and it was a journey of discovery and delight, of tenderness and love, with moments of primeval rawness and desire.

For me, it was like a reawakening of my emotions after almost a year of abstinence, a release of sexual tension that sent multiple shudders through my body.

‘Wow!’ It was now Henri’s turn to say it. ‘You sure needed that.’

I certainly did.

Afterwards, we lay entwined on the bed, our naked skin glistening wet from the exertion. So much for my promise to Faye to take things easy.

I snuggled up to Henri, happy and content, and also rather relieved that my aerobics appeared not to have reopened any of my various incisions.

‘Come on,’ she said, sitting up. ‘Don’t go to sleep. It’s nearly time to confront the family.’

‘What did Martin say when you told him I was coming with you?’ I asked, not moving.

‘I didn’t tell him,’ she said. ‘I only asked Uncle Richard. He’s the one who matters. Even though Martin has taken over as managing director, Uncle Richard is the chairman and he’s still very much the boss.’

‘Martin didn’t seem particularly surprised to see me at the airport. He just ignored me.’

‘Perhaps Theresa told him. I had to ask her if it was all right to bring you to Christmas lunch. It’s at their place.’

She rolled off the bed and I watched as she walked into the bathroom. What a fabulous sight.

I heard the shower start and I soon joined her under the spray.

‘That was more lovely than I had ever imagined,’ I said.

‘For me too,’ she replied.

We embraced again and kissed in the stream of water, causing me to shudder once more with pleasure.

‘And we still have eleven nights left.’

The sun was only just above the horizon as Henri and I walked hand-in-hand along the beach about two hundred yards to Martin and Theresa’s house.

If I’d thought the apartment at the Coral Stone Club was spectacular, then the Reynard residence was beyond compare. The two-storey building had been constructed in an L shape with both wings of the L angled towards the beach to give the maximum number of rooms a view of the sea. And it was vast.

In the inside apex of the L was a terrace containing a kidney-shaped swimming pool surrounded by white sail-like sunshades stretched horizontally on stainless-steel frames.

As far as I could see, it was the only private house on this part of the beachfront, with condominiums stretching away, cheek-by-jowl, on either side. Not that the Reynards were overlooked. Several towering casuarina trees provided both privacy and shade for the terrace. And that is where we found the others, sitting in a semicircle close to the pool, looking out to sea.

‘Ah, there you are,’ Sir Richard said. ‘You’ve nearly missed it.’

We watched as the sun appeared to go straight down into the sea, staring until the very last tiny piece of the fiery disc had vanished for another day. It was the most dramatic sunset I had ever seen.

‘No green flash,’ Sir Richard announced. ‘Not that I could see, anyway.’

‘Green flash?’ I said.

‘Sometimes when the sun finally disappears you can see a flash of green,’ he replied. ‘At least that’s what people say, even though I’ve never seen it myself. It’s said to be due to the sunlight refracting through the earth’s atmosphere, but I rather think it’s just an old wives’ tale.’

‘It’s perfectly true,’ Theresa said. ‘It happens all the time.’

I wondered if she actually believed it or was she just being contrary to wind up her father-in-law.

‘What would you like, Henri?’ Martin asked.

‘White wine, please,’ she replied.

‘Beer do you?’ Martin said to me without any warmth in his voice.

‘Great,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’

He stood up and went inside the house, soon reappearing with a glass of white wine for Henri and an opened green beer bottle for me.

‘It’s Caybrew,’ he said, handing it to me without once looking at my face. ‘It’s the local lager.’

‘Lovely,’ I said.

I took the bottle and drank a welcome mouthful of its cool contents.

Even though the sun had only been down a few minutes, it was already getting quite gloomy.

‘We’d best all go in,’ Theresa said. ‘The mosquitoes and sand flies are at their worst as it’s getting dark.’

‘Are mosquitoes a big problem here?’ I asked.

‘They were once,’ she said. ‘It was so bad that everyone had to cover up and wear nets over their faces. But, nowadays, the government sprays to keep them in check. But there are still a few about, and the best way to avoid being bitten is to be indoors at dusk. So come on, everyone, I’ve got some smoked salmon waiting.’

She rounded us up like miscreant children.

We went inside to their cavernous sitting room that sat in the middle of the L, stretching right up through both floors to an octagonal roof lantern perched high on the point where the two wings met.

‘It was designed to keep the house cool,’ Theresa said with a smile as she saw me looking up. ‘The windows in the lantern can be opened to let out the hot air, although we tend to use the air conditioning most of the time anyway.’

It was certainly cool in the house compared to outside.

And it wasn’t just the temperature of the air.

Martin and Theresa were having a row.

Not that they were shouting at each other or anything. Indeed, they were not even talking. But, nevertheless, there was a flaming row going on between them, conducted exclusively by body language.

No one else seemed to have noticed, but I had been trained by the army to read the body language of Afghan tribal elders. They would smile at you and speak sweet nothings in your ear while, at the same time, blowing your brains out with an AK-47. ‘Never look at someone’s mouth when they are speaking to you,’ my instructor had said. ‘Always look into their eyes. If their smile doesn’t reach the eyes, watch out.’

Theresa’s smiles were never getting close.