Sweet Seduction (11 page)

Fourteen

Kira bought a thin buttercup cotton nightdress with shoestring straps at a clothing store. She had to smile at the outrageous colours and huge sizes of the bras and knickers in stock. There were also masses of household goods, bright and cheap, with a strong American influence.

She knew she was flagging. The tourist office in Harbour Road gave her a map and a sheaf of leaflets on places to visit.

"Where do you suggest I have lunch? I’d like to try some real Bajan dishes."

"The Brown Sugar at Aquatic Gap is good. You could also go to some of the wonderful old houses that have become eating places in order to survive."

"Like Sam Lord’s?"

"No, Sam’s is commercialised. There are real country houses where you are made to feel like a family guest. Brown Sugar is near the Hilton Hotel. Any taxi driver will take you."

Kira fell into a taxi. She was feeling dizzy and dehydrated. Her breakfast had been fruit. She was glad when the taxi stopped outside an old single-storey house, with white latticed windows and a riot of plants climbing the walls. An all-round veranda was full pots of ferns and small palms, and Kira sat in the shade with a cold drink while they found her a table.

"I’m afraid you may have to wait a while. We’re very busy. Everyone makes reservations."

"I don’t mind," said Kira, thankful for the shade. She slipped off her sandals under the chair.

Local girls in ankle-length flowered skirts and turbans waited on the tables. A long trestle offered a hot and cold buffet of local dishes and the spicy smell was tantalising.

"Madam, a gentleman has offered to share his table with you. Is that acceptable?"

Was Giles following her? She peered into the garden, knowing she would be able to spot his classy presence and height. "What sort of gentleman?"

"An elderly gentleman," the waitress tried to conceal a smile. "One of the island’s most respected citizens."

"That’s all right then," Kira said demurely, putting on her sandals.

Slanting sunshine came through the raffia shades as the waitress led her to a table in the garden. The restaurant was full of wealthy Barbadians – dark, handsome and mostly bearded – and visitors in smart summer clothes. Kira recognised a couple from Sandy Lane. A tall, exotic Caribbean woman with a pronounced American accent and assured manner was laughing with them. Kira wondered if the new Miss Reed would ever gain that kind of assurance.

She turned a smile towards her host, half expecting a large, dark Barbadian. But the respected citizen had tanned skin, was thin and wiry, going bald, casually dressed in creased white slacks and a short-sleeved white tennis shirt. His scrawny arms were covered in scratches and she knew where she had seen him before.

"Have you tried breadfruit yet?" he asked.

"No."

"Then this is your chance. It’s over there on the buffet table, cooked a dozen different ways. Let me show you and describe the dishes."

"I saw you yesterday, didn’t I? You were gardening, up a ladder and pruning a tree. What are you doing here?"

His faded blue eyes twinkled in his brown face. "Having lunch. Same as you. Even gardeners have to eat."

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound patronising. I’m surprised to find you here."

"No offence. I’m delighted to have a young lady’s company. A pleasure frequently denied to men of my age. Did you find your way back to your hotel all right?"

"I took the road down to the beach and then headed north along the shore."

"Let me get you another drink," he said, waving over to one of the girls. "You look as if you could do with it. It’s always hotter in town than one expects."

"Is this your day off?" Kira asked.

He chuckled. "No, I never get a day off. Too much to do." The good-humour faded from his face and was momentarily displaced by a cloud. "But I’m in town today on some business. Even gardeners sometimes have financial transactions to complete. But I try to avoid coming in. These days are much too hot for me. When I was a young man, I could work and ride all day in the sun, from dawn to dusk, but not now. I have to take it easy when it’s this hot."

"You look very fit," said Kira quickly.

"Fit enough," he said with a quirky grin. "But getting old and I don’t like it. What’s the matter with your foot? Surely not that little stumble yesterday? I noticed you were still limping when you came over."

Kira found herself telling him about the accident again, the time in hospital and the abrupt dismissal from her job.

"What appalling behaviour from a man in authority," he said. "Can’t you take him to court for wrongful dismissal? It wasn’t your fault, after all."

"I suppose I could but I can’t be bothered," said Kira. "Besides, I might want my old job back sometime, when I return to London. I’d like to keep my options open."

"Wise girl. But I’m sure an attractive and intelligent young woman like you could walk into any job she liked. Why don’t you look around and find something quite different?"

"I may well do that."

The girl arrived with two long iced lime drinks. The man seemed to know her and thanked her by name. She flashed her dark eyes at him and Kira smiled to herself. Perhaps he was a respected citizen after all.

"Let’s eat," he said. "I get tired of my own cooking, which is pretty basic."

Kira allowed herself to be guided along the buffet table, taking the old man’s advice on the dishes to try. There was simple steamed and fried flying fish; baked dolphin and swordfish, with spice sauces and dips; suckling pig, chicken, turkey and a big black pot of meat pieces called jug-jug.

"It’s been cooking for months," he said. "Traditional food."

She put one small unrecognisable piece of blackened meat on her plate just to show willing but found it too hot and peppery to eat.

There was cornmeal, breadfruit, yams, sweet potatoes, rice, white eddoes, kidney and lima beans, pigeon peas, blackeyes, runcival peas, beet tops, spinach, Swiss chard, avocado pears, christophenes, egg-plant, okras, pumpkins, squashes, cucumber, tomatoes and sweet peppers.

"I’ve never seen such a choice," said Kira.

"Have a little taste of everything."

He was an easy table companion, never prying, and it was a relief to talk naturally after the confused conversations and charged atmosphere that surrounded Giles and herself. When it was time for Kira to go, the man insisted on taking care of her bill.

"No, please, it’s too much," she protested. "This is an accidental meeting. I’m not your guest or anything."

"A charming accident. And I’ve had the pleasure of a lovely woman’s company; rare these days, my dear. Allow me the privilege of paying for you. I appreciate your concern but it won’t break me."

"My treat next time," said Kira, meaning it.

"What a delightful idea," he said, rising with old world courtesy. "I shall take you up on that."

Kira thanked him again and hurried out of Brown Sugar, aware that she was late for her appointment with Giles. It was going to be a prickly meeting from the word go and she was not looking forward to it.

"Your bill, Mr Reed," the sassy waitress said. Kira was already out of hearing, heading for the ladies room to tidy up.

"What a beautiful young woman," said Benjamin Reed. "But a little sad, wouldn’t you agree? I quite forgot to ask her name."

"You’ll see her again. Barbados is a small island."

"She said she headed north from the beach," he mused.

"Then she’s staying at a hotel in St James’s."

"I’m too old for sleuthing."

"Nonsense, Mr Reed. It would only take a few phone calls," the girl grinned. Her smile broadened when she saw the tip he had left.

The heat was bouncing off the pavements as Kira left the shady garden of the Brown Sugar. She had been told to go to another bus station where she could catch a service that would drop her near the Reed & Earl Sugar Processors. Kira fell into a seat, thankful to sit down. The heat was draining all her energy.

The southern part of the island was much flatter and less picturesque than the West Coast. The road went through flat plains and treeless fields where only the pale sugar grew in plantation after plantation. It was wave after wave of pale green and golden cane. It was also a slow, bumpy ride and Kira stopped looking at her watch. The driver yelled out "Reed and Earl" and jolted Kira awake.

The bus left her on the road by the side of a tree. A lorry slewed off the road and thundered up a lane, dust flying from under its wheels. It was full of cut sugar cane, the sweet smell following its track. In the distance Kira could see the shimmering silver outline of a collection of buildings and chimney stacks, corrugated iron roof tops, rusty and silver in the shooting sunshine. She was almost there.

She trudged along the dusty lane, a blister forming under the strap of her sandal, sweat running down her neck. Giles would have a stack of caustic remarks to make on her lateness.

She could already smell the heady sweetness of sugar in the air. Her head was beginning to ache with the sun and the pungent odour, and she was regretting her generous lunch.

Even out here on the flat plain there were riots of flowers, more dusty and stunted and wind-blown than on the West coast. She remembered about the wild monkeys and looked around nervously. Nothing stirred except the breeze through the waving cane.

The buildings loomed larger, busy and noisy, and she could see lorries unloading piles of cut cane in the yard; a huge conveyer belt taking the crop up and into the factory.

A man was striding towards her out of the heat haze, wearing a wide-brimmed hat, khaki shirt open at the neck, long boots, dusty jeans.

"You’re nearly an hour late," he said.

"I know," she croaked, too dry to speak.

"Why didn’t you drive down?"

"In what?"

"I sent a
Moke to Sandy for you this morning. Why didn’t you use it? Heavens, surely you haven’t walked?"

"I came on the bus from Bridgetown," she said defiantly. “I’ve been in Bridgetown all morning as I had some errands to do, including getting a licence."

"And you’re not wearing a hat, you idiot woman. Do you want to get sunstroke? Come into my office and have a cold drink."

Giles had spotted her from his office window on the first floor; a lone figure trudging wearily along the road. She had been limping badly, far more than he had noticed before. A long day on her feet had not improved the condition of her leg.

He wanted to lift her up in his arms and carry her into the shade of the veranda which ran round the upper floor of the administration block. But he fought against the desire. She would protest, fight like the tiger she was, and he had no wish to provide his workmen with a juicy item of gossip.

"Thank you," she said, following him. She hardly made the iron stairs to the first floor. His air-conditioned office was an oasis of cool. She sank into a cane chair, her leg outstretched. He restrained himself from rubbing her clearly aching muscles. He poured a glass of orange juice from a silver thermos jug, added chunks of ice.

"Drink this."

She did as she was told. Giles gave her a few moments in which to recover. She looked dusty and dishevelled, her burnished hair coming loose from its clip and sticking to her forehead. Her shoulders looked a patchy red despite the draped scarf.

He took off his hat and tossed it aside, unaware of the demarcation line flattening his hair. Kira was already regretting coming. It had been a foolish idea to think she could work with Giles Earl. She would finish her drink and catch the next bus back to Bridgetown. She could endure a dozen bumpy rides in order to be miles away from the disturbing sight of this bold, aggressive man.

"Thank you for the drink," she said, draining the glass. "I’ve come to tell you that I can’t do the research work for you after all. You’ll have to find someone else."

"Can’t or won’t?"

His words were clipped, blunt. He looked as if he was about to break the ruler he was tapping in his hands. His eyes narrowed, sweeping over her.

"I don’t believe you," he added. "What’s made you change your mind? You’d better come up with something good."

Fifteen

Kira was trapped. There was no way she could tell him that it was his masculine presence she could not stand. That this fascination needed stamping on. Nor was she prepared to say that the project was too difficult for her when she knew she was quite capable of the work.

"I doubt if I shall have time after all," she said, off-hand. "I’ve discovered a million more interesting things to do."

"I don’t believe you. You mean like swimming and sunbathing and taking rides on buses?
You’ve burnt your shoulders this morning."

She ignored his last comment although her skin was beginning to tingle. "Something like that," she flipped.

"Put some cream on your shoulders or they’ll be sore," he said. He began to draw patterns on an old-fashioned green, leather-bound blotter. Everything on the big mahogany desk was well-used and old. "I’ve arranged for you to attend tomorrow’s monthly meeting of the Sugar Growers’ Association. You would meet all the big plantation owners and listen to our current problems. The members have agreed to you sitting in as an observer. It would be useful background."

Kira swallowed the bait. This was going to be difficult to refuse. It would be the perfect way to meet her grandfather, gauge him as a man, guess his reaction to the prospect of a granddaughter appearing on his doorstep. It was not fair of Giles to make the situation even more complicated.

She shrugged as if undecided. Why had the first man she met on Barbados have to be Giles Earl? And why did he have to be connected with Benjamin Reed? Although she gathered from his coolness that they only talked on business occasions.

Giles got up from his desk and was standing against the window watching the workers below. His tall form was powerful and resilient against the brilliant blue of the sky. He had no right to look so neatly seamed into the fabric of this life. Kira saw a glimpse of happiness for herself but it was out of reach. She could imagine herself calling his name to the wind just so that she could hear it spoken aloud.

Kira could hardly contain the measured yearning she felt for those strong arms to hold her again. Yet when he had touched her, that strange and dangerous moment at Cobbler’s Reef, she had been scared, alarm bells ringing.

"You might as well see around the factory while you’re here," he said flatly. It was more of an order than an invitation.

"Since you put it so charmingly, I can hardly refuse," said Kira. She rose, but stopped at a framed photograph hanging on the wall behind her. It was of a handsome, tousle-headed young man, trowel in hand, obviously laying a foundation stone. His expression, caught forever by the photographer, was as chilled as a coffin and Kira felt a minute breeze of fear.

"Who’s this?" she asked.

"That’s Reuben Earl," he said. "My father. He was laying the foundation stone of the new plant. He was the one with all the ideas for expansion. Benjamin Reed wanted to stay in the Stone Age. He’s glad enough now when the dividends roll in twice-yearly from his shares."

* * *

"You will be there, won’t you, Reuben?" Dolly pleaded in his ear as they lay entwined on the deserted, sun-flecked beach. "I can’t go to this dinner party unless you are there. Benjamin said it would be all the best people. Then you’ll see my new dress."

"Yes, I am going but I’ll be too busy talking to Benjamin about the plans for the new factory to take any notice of a new dress," Reuben teased. "Man’s talk. You can chat about dresses with the Minister’s girls."

"Not those horrid, stuck-up girls," she said, pushing him back on the sand. "All praying pious and pink dresses. I shall make you pay for that remark. You must kiss me a hundred times."

"You can’t count that far."

"I’m betting I can," said Dolly, smothering his reply with her young body and crawling arms. She pinned him down, her hips pushing his legs apart in a parody of the male role. She bit the lobe of his ears, the tip of his nose, the dent in his chin, tugging his hair, behaving like the wild, untamed creature she was till the first passion was spent and she fastened her mouth on his, sucking in the juice, and the world around them disappeared into a sun-baked haze.

"Dolly, Dolly," Reuben groaned, reeling from the sheer physical assault. "For heaven’s sake, stop. It’s more than any man can stand.”

"You’re at my mercy," she growled. They heard the voices of some fishermen approaching and they struggled to untangle themselves, assume expressions of innocence.

"Afternoon, Mizz Dolly," one of the fishermen waved, grinning.

"Afternoon, Mister Reuben," said another, white teeth flashing.

Dolly flung herself back and lay inert. "Now the whole of Bridgetown will know."

"The whole of Bridgetown already knows," said Reuben caustically. "This is confirmation for the gossips. The only people who don’t know are your father and Benjamin Reed. Get up and I’ll walk you home. I don’t want people making fun of you."

"I won’t let people make fun of us," said Dolly, beginning to cry. "If everyone knows, then they know I love you and one day I’m going to marry you."

"Calm down. You know I can’t marry for years. I’ve told you a dozen times. Don’t you ever listen? I’ve got to learn the business first before I take a wife. Now there’s this new factory to get built and a new partnership to cement. We’re going to be the number one world exporters of sugar from Barbados."

"Number one exporter of silly dreams and stupid ideas," said Dolly exasperated. "Such big ideas you men have. I’ll be a shrivelled-up spinster by the time it happens."

* * *

Kira followed Giles out of his office, along the iron veranda and down the steps into the yard. The thickly sweet smell of sugar filled the air. The yard was piled with coarse-cut canes being unloaded from the lorries. In one area, the loads were being weighed in and checked for trash.

"You’ll need a hard hat," he said, taking a yellow one from a shelf stacked with hats in tipsy piles. Kira put it on carefully, tucking her hair behind her ears.

The heat, noise and dust inside the factory was unbelievable. Giles raised his voice, explaining how the feeder tables cut the cane into small pieces with knives. He pointed out the two great cane engines, roller mills and four presses crushing the stalks and the constant swish-swash of water washing so that the juice got cleaner and purer.

"This way, Kira. Be careful."

They climbed up narrow ironwork steps to the numerous upper galleries so that they could look down onto the great furnaces. A blast of white hot air seared Kira’s face as she peered down into the glowing furnace holes. It was like looking into a flaming pit of hell fire. Kira drew back. But her fear went as she became absorbed in the mechanics of producing a spoonful of sugar.

"We’re burning the dried husks as fuel," Giles shouted above the noise. "Nothing is wasted. The island is not blessed with an abundance of coal or trees or off-shore oil."

He took her arm and showed her where the juice was clarified and evaporated to produce syrup. "The centrifugal force then separates the syrup into raw sugar and molasses."

"Textbook talk."

"How else are you going to learn?"

They walked along a surrealistic avenue where huge vats of frothy sugar were bubbling and splashing. Inside the vats the liquid was becoming thicker and moving around more lethargically. Kira peered through each glass viewing window onto tons and tons of molten sugar. Technicians in white coats moved about with clipboards, checking dials and instruments.

Her fear of heights vanished in her fascination for the different processes in the factory. Giles explained everything clearly and with thought for her ignorance of the subject. He often took her arm, or guided her along some narrow walkway, as if their fights and conflicts had never happened.

The strong, lingering smell of sugar was everywhere. A headache ran like a crack across her eyes, vision confused with pipes and cables, guards, vats, drums, bags of lime, parked bicycles, men tending and watching machines. Everyone and everything was saturated with the over-powering heat and smell inside the high, corrugated-roofed building.

"We work twenty-four hour shifts in top season," Giles said, turning to help her down the steep iron steps. And she had thought he was a playboy, jogging, breakfasting on the beach at leisure, dining at Sam Lord’s. She took each step carefully, not wanting to catch her heel in the open grid. "It’s a race against time."

"This is sugar from your own plantation?"

"Yes, it has to be harvested at exactly the right time. Then we take cane in from the small growers. We work as a co-operative in order to help them get their crop processed."

"The theory is good," she said inaudibly, moistening her lips.

"It’s not working well. That’s why I need this research. We get a lot of complaints. Non-arrival of crops, short weight, disappearing deliveries, lack of quality control in mixed consignments."

Kira staggered out into the fresh air, wrenched off the hard hat and shook out her hair. Her scalp was wet with sweat.

"Are you all right?"

"So hot . . . and the noise. I don’t know how you stand it."

"I’m used to it but I forgot about your delicate ears. Stand in the shade for a few minutes. There’s a breeze under these trees."

The air was still sweet but the heat from the furnaces was contained by the corrugated building. Now it was the late afternoon sunshine which warmed her face and a whiff of ozone from the nearby sea breezed across her skin.

"Please think again about taking on this research," said Giles, fanning her face with a spray of palm leaves. It was such a touching and funny action. "You’d be exactly right, an impartial and neutral observer."

Kira wondered if Giles would still think she was impartial when he discovered she was Benjamin Reed’s granddaughter. She doubted it.

"I’ll admit I’m interested and the sugar process is fascinating. I can see how Barbados depends on its sugar industry. But I honestly don’t think I have the time to get all the information, let alone collate it and produce a comprehensive report."

"I’ll get you a laptop."

Kira laughed, feeling better in the fresh air. "That doesn’t solve the time problem. A report doesn’t write itself on a computer. The information has to be fed in. But I love the fields of sugar cane," she added, her voice trailing away. "Waving like waves of green water."

"You’re so right, Kira. The fields do look like green waves when the wind is blowing through the cane."

He seemed to peer at the shadows so finely etched beneath her green eyes; she tried to hide the vulnerability she knew was visible in their depths. His eyes were covering her with a tender caress that made Kira’s heart miss a
beat. She jerked her gaze away.

When Giles looked at her like that, her brain would not function properly. He was manipulating her as she had vowed no man would ever again.

His face was sweaty, dusty, the crisp dark curls plastered to his forehead by the rim of his hard-hat. There were patches of darkening sweat on the shoulders of his shirt, grease stains on his jeans.

He pulled her towards him, nothing gentle in his eyes now. He bent his head, his lips moving lightly over her as if coaxing submission. Kira held her breath then let it escape in a shuddering sigh. His hand slipped down her long, straight back, curving her body against his hard chest. There was nothing Kira could do. Her senses were reeling in the balmy dusk. The sensual ease of his touch was melting her body and she longed for the moment when his mouth would take the kiss he was promising.

"I can’t stop kissing you," he said huskily. "You have the most beautiful mouth, so soft."

"No, please don’t." But her protest was unconvincing.

"Don’t kiss you, or don’t stop?" he teased, threading his fingers through her hair.

She struggled weakly. "Your workmen are watching. Let me go."

"It’s their tea break. Shall I ever get to know you, Kira? You have got me in your spell. You’re using the island magic. I can feel it. You’re the witch of the water, singing at the edge of the sea, leading me astray."

He pulled her further out of sight against a stack of cut cane, taking the rows of sharp edges into his own back. The aroma of the cane was heady, but more so was the firm leanness of his body moulding her against his hips.

His mouth came warm and demanding on her lips and their growing fire parted them, seeking the softness inside. In the swirling darkness, a sensation grew that pushed all thoughts of caution from her mind. She could only think of his body covering her own. His hands were resting on her rounded hips, moving up to her waist, moulding the flesh, tracing the curves. She hardly knew where he ended and she began. She had no will to stop him.

Shockwaves ran through her body as he tasted her mouth with a fierce longing that matched her own. She leaned against the hardness of his thigh, moving, giving herself up to the slow, exquisite assault on her senses.

Her heart was hammering as he held her at arm’s length. She could not believe that he was pushing her away after such kisses. He was smiling, slow and mysterious, his real thoughts veiled.

"I think we should go back to my office before I make love to you, right out here in the yard," he said. "Now that would shock my workforce. I’ve some lists to give you, then I’ll drive you back to Sandy."