By the time the twins were two, however, motherhood had begun to pall, and Alison was clamouring for a garden to get them out of her hair. She didn’t care that, to buy the house in Willesden, Morgan had to work a twelve-hour day. She had chosen it because it was near her mother’s house, and in no time at all Mrs Stevens was caring for the twins while Alison spent her time in boutiques and beauty parlours.
But, eventually, even the novelty of an unlimited supply of money did not satisfy her. Morgan’s promotion to Andrew Forsyth’s personal assistant meant that he and his wife were occasionally invited to dinner in Hampstead, and before long Alison was resentful of their own ‘poky’ domain. She saw no reason why they should not have a large house, and a housekeeper, now that Morgan had a position of authority.
They moved again, this time to a sprawling house in Wimbledon, with every accoutrement Alison could wish for. Five bedrooms, three bathrooms; there was even a sauna in the basement. It was the kind of luxury home anyone would be proud of. Only, now, boredom took the place of envy, and resentment of Morgan’s more exciting lifestyle became the most contentious issue in Alison’s life.
Morgan was unable to appease her. Her constant jibes and recriminations made life pretty difficult at times, and before long the twins began to notice. Salving his conscience with the conviction that the boys would be happier if they were not constantly witness to their parents’ rows, Morgan had suggested boarding school. But for once Alison had demurred from taking the easy option.
‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ she had shouted, her fashionably thin features contorted into their habitual expression of dissatisfaction. ‘Then you wouldn’t need to feel any sense of guilt in neglecting your family, would you? You could go off with Andrew bloody Forsyth with a clear conscience!’
Morgan had endeavoured to explain that were he to resign his position as Andrew’s assistant, they could not afford their present standard of living, but she had not listened. So far as his wife was concerned, he was a careless, selfish bastard, whose only real enjoyment was in making money for someone else.
Alison, meanwhile, was finding different pursuits. Abandoning any pretence of fidelity, she began to look for diversion in other quarters, and their relationship quickly foundered.
Yet, even then, she had fought their inevitable separation. Blaming Morgan yet again for his selfishness and neglect, she had fought for, and gained, custody of the two boys, and Morgan found himself faced with the upkeep of two households, instead of just one. Of course, the modest flat he occupied in Kensington did not stretch his income, but fighting Alison’s influence on the twins was quite another matter.
Naturally, having been raised in such an atmosphere, they had been affected by it. Just in a small way at first: fighting in the playground, stealing small amounts of money from their mother’s purse, getting such poor grades in school that the headmaster had called their father in for a discussion. But gradually, as they had grown older, their crimes had become more serious. When they were sent to the local comprehensive school, they frequently played truant, and when Morgan found out and paid for their transfer to a fee-paying boys’ school, they were soon threatened with expulsion for using foul language. And finally, just recently, within weeks of leaving yet another fee-paying establishment, they had been caught shoplifting with some other boys in Oxford Street, and only the intervention of Andrew’s lawyer had prevented them from a serious conviction.
It had not been an opportune moment for Andrew to ask Morgan to fly out to the West Indies to bring his daughter back to London. With the twins out of school and resentful of the restrictions he had persuaded Alison to put upon them, he had been loath to leave the country. But Andrew had had the solution.
‘I’ll speak to the commanding officer of the Admiral Nelson ,’ he declared, mentioning the name of a famous sailing vessel, used as a training ground for would-be naval recruits. ‘Fawcett—that’s the chap—he’s a friend of mine, and if he can fit them into his schedule, he will. Three weeks living in pretty austere surroundings is exactly what they need, and they’ll learn the rudiments of sailing as well as learning to work with other people as a team.’
‘And do you think Jeff and Jon will comply?’ asked Morgan doubtfully. ‘Will Alison let them go?’
‘If I ask her,’ returned Andrew smugly, exchanging an amused smile with his assistant. ‘It will do them a power of good. And it will get them away from their mother for a while, which can’t be bad.’
Morgan shifted rather impatiently in his seat now and Joe, attracted by the movement, glanced round. ‘That’s Pulpit Island, Mr Kane,’ he said, pointing down towards a mass of greenery, which seemed to be floating on the water. ‘See that sickle curve of beach? That’s Charlotte’s Bay that it’s wrapped around.’
‘Oh—thanks.’
Morgan produced a smile and determinedly forced his mind to dwell on less disturbing things. As the plane banked to facilitate its approach he was able to discern the distinctive outcropping of rock, which Andrew had told him had given the island its name, rising over a thousand feet from the central highlands. The rest of the island appeared to be covered in a thriving mass of vegetation, a darkly tinted emerald, set in a frame of creamy white coral.
The island was bigger than he had expected, though as the seaplane plunged towards the enveloping curve of Charlotte’s Bay, he could see little sign of life. ‘Charlottesville—that’s the capital—it’s at the other side of the island,’ the pilot commented, as if reading Morgan’s thoughts. ‘Not much of a capital, really. Just a handful of shops and warehouses, and a market that sells fruit and fish.’
Morgan wanted to reply, but the sea seemed to be hurtling up towards them at a terrifying pace. He felt the rush of adrenalin through his veins turn his stomach over, and he gripped the arms of his seat as the aircraft hit the water. ‘Christ,’ he muttered weakly, as the plane’s floats tore a channel across the bay, and a salty spray forced its way through a ventilator. Taking off had been slow, but landing certainly wasn’t.
‘You all right, Mr Kane?’ asked Joe with some concern, as the aircraft slowed to a more sedate pace and chugged happily towards the shore. ‘Guess you’ve never flown in the “goose” before, but you can rely on her. Safest transport around.’
‘Is it?’
Morgan’s tone was dry, but he couldn’t help it. It had been a long day. First the nine-hour flight to Miami, then the forty-minute wait for his connection to St Thomas. And now this crazy island-hopping amphibian, which even now was having its wheels cranked down by hand so that, when they reached the shallows, it could waddle out on to the beach.
He glanced at his watch. It was almost half past six local time, but his body told him it was much later. Apart from which, he had an ache in his spine through sitting so long, and the alarm he had experienced on landing had covered his whole body in an unpleasant wave of heat.
Reaching up, he loosened his tie and peered somewhat wearily out of the window. Although it was early evening, the warmth now that the plane had landed was almost palpable, and he looked down at his dark grey three-piece suit with some impatience. He should have changed at Miami, he reflected. He had had time. But he had also needed a drink, and he hadn’t had time for both.
The seaplane bumped up on to sand filtered from successive generations of coral, washed by the lucid green waters of Charlotte’s Bay. Ahead of the plane, the virginal white sand gave way to coconut groves and waving palms, and beyond that to the tangled forest he had seen from the air.
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