Вайолет Уинспир: Dragon Bay

Her fingers clenched the little crystal unicorn on her wrist-chain, a gift from Domini. ‘A unicorn helped to bring me happiness,’ she had told Kara softly. ‘Happiness is very elusive, and sometimes we have to do battle with heartache before the unicorn works his magic for us.’

But at the moment Kara could not believe in a magic strong enough to mend a shattered dream. The broken pieces were hurting her heart even as she stood here, the brooding siesta calm broken only by the whisper of the fans and the cicadas in the trees outside. She went out on to her balcony and made her way down the winding iron stairs to the patio, where she curled herself beneath the awning of a swing-seat and rocked herself into semi-forgetfulness.

Guests at the Hotel Victoire were expected to take their meals in the rather bare dining-room, and as Kara sat down at a table and accepted a menu from the waiter, she ran her glance round the room. She saw a little sparse-haired man seated beside the other window, and a smile tugged at her lips. Was he the owner of the formidable name she had noticed in the register — Lucan Savidge, of Dragon Bay?

‘Has madame decided?’ The waiter hovered, his quick Creole eyes taking in her white linen suit with a pattern of tiny flowers on the collar.

‘What is Iambi?’ she asked, intrigued.

‘Ah, that is conch, madame, prepared the island way with spices and rice. You wish to order it?’

‘Please. And — let me see — a cocktail of avocado and fresh shrimp to start with. I hope the conch meat doesn’t taste too much like shrimp?’

‘Ah, no.’ The waiter was emphatic. ‘Madame will find that our Caribbean conch is delicious.’

It was mysteriously flavoured, she had to admit, and finishing her glass of vin blanc, she ordered coffee and sat gazing out of the window beside her table. Lights blinked along the waterfront, and upon the boats moored in the harbour, outlining their masts and casting goblin shapes on the water. The evening air that stole in through the open windows was spiced and tangy, scented by the tropical plants that seemed to breathe more freely now the sun had given place to a strolling moon.

It floated above the harbour, and spun a magical background for the palm and mango trees, whose tresses stirred now and again in a soft breeze.

The moonlight beckoned, and Kara was too restless to stay cooped up in the lounge of the hotel. She finished her coffee, collected a smile from the little Frenchman, and found Napoleon awaiting her behind his potted palm in the lobby. He jumped to his feet with alacrity when she appeared. ‘I want you to show me Fort Fernand by moonlight, Nap,’ she said.

They went out into the street together and strolled along trying to understand each other’s French. A drawl with a yawn in it, that was the only way to describe the Creole accent, Kara thought, and pricked up her ears as she caught the word jête.

‘A fair?’ she said eagerly. ‘I would love to see it, Nap.’

‘So I was thinking,’ the boy flashed her his impishly adult smile. ‘Caribbean peoples make a lot of song and dance — is this not so where you come from, mam’zelle?’

‘Yes, we like to sing and dance, Nap, but I suppose our gaiety has to have a reason. The birthday of a saint, or a wedding, or a birth. When my brother’s little son was born, the people of our village danced all night, and there were firework displays, lantern-lit boats on the water, and lambs roasting whole with lemons in their jaws.’

She sighed nostalgically, remembering the happiness of that occasion, the joy in Paul’s eyes.

‘Your brother is important seigneur?’ asked Nap.

‘Yes,’ she smiled. ‘Important because we all love him, and respect him, and admire his great courage.’

‘Like Seigneur Savidge,’ said Nap. ‘Here on the Isle de Luc he is ver’ big man. Lots of people work for him. He has sugar estate at Dragon Bay, and big cocoa forest, and stables, but he—’

‘Seigneur Savidge?’ she exclaimed. ‘Why, I saw his name in the hotel register.’

‘That Massa Lucan, the seigneur’s brother,’ said the boy, and Kara saw the whites of his big black eyes as he looked at her. ‘He a devil, mam’zelle. He ride all over the island on a big horse, and a big hound run alongside. He done things people whisper about.’

Nap’s voice sank down into a whisper that made the remark curiously effective. Lucan Savidge … as savage as his name implied.

Then Kara forgot about him as she and Napoleon arrived at the fair, which was encamped on a savane above the harbour, aglow with lights, gay with laughter and noise. They passed a small compound, ringed by people watching a mongoose fight a snake. Kara shuddered and pulled Nap towards the blare of music where a roundabout swung and swayed. They went on when it stopped, and for some odd reason Kara chose a fiery dragon for her mount and laughed breathlessly as the great creature hurtled and undulated to the rhythm of the music.

‘You like?’ yelled Nap, clinging to the neck of a seahorse.

‘I like.’ Her eyes were bright in the streaming lights, and her heart felt lighter than it had for some time. She had been right to choose this place! She had known from the moment the yacht put into Fort Fernand that there was something beckoning about this Caribbean isle.

Faster and faster hurled the dragon, higher and more ecstatic rang the screams of honey and sable girls, and with a sudden stab of wonderment Kara recognized the music to which she and her dragon raced— Holiday of a Faun.

Dry-throated after the thrill of the roundabout, she and Nap bought bottles of Coke and strolled along sucking it from straws. Couples were dancing in another compound, while lithe young men pounded the tomtoms gripped between their knees. Lantern light shone on bare brown torsos, the beat of the drums was pagan and compulsive. Flame flared on the limbo poles as youths and girls snaked beneath them and leapt with agility, white teeth flashing, into the rhythm of the Creole dancing.

A little further on, where the savane rolled down to meet the water, the tent of the ‘sibyl’ was pitched and girls were sliding in and out of the tent flaps with infectious giggles.

‘You going to have your fortune told by Mamma Mae?’ Nap gave Kara a saucy look.

‘It’s all nonsense.’ Kara laughed, but her eyes were sombre as she remembered the gipsy who had said that one day she would travel across water with a tall, dark man. Nikos had travelled alone across the water, and when he returned to the Greek isle of Andelos, he would bring his golden bride with him. A sigh stole from Kara’s lips, and she heard small waves beat at the harbour wall below like restless hands.

‘You scared?’ Nap taunted.

‘Of course not.’ Kara took a step away from the tent. ‘Come on, it’s time we returned to the hotel—’ Even as she spoke, the tent flap moved, but this time a woman appeared, wearing a turban tied in the Creole way with horns. She was gaunt, with a penetrating gaze in a mask of wrinkles.

‘Come inside, doudou.’ A flick of those dark eyes took in Kara’s smart linen suit. ‘Let Mamma Mae read your palm for you.’

‘No — I don’t believe in such nonsense,’ Kara said defiantly. ‘I have heard before about the tall stranger I am to meet.’

Mamma Mae stared at Kara, then shot a glance at Nap, while the thudding of tom-toms beat in time to the girl’s heart. ‘You stay at Hotel Victoire, eh?’ The sibyl gave a laugh that shook the big rings in her ears. ‘You ‘bout ready to meet this man, honey — onless you leave Isle de Luc. He got fire in his hair — plenty fire.’