The Far Side of the Sun (34 page)

She hated what it did to her. That something melted inside her. That muscles she had no control of clenched with need.

‘Good morning, Detective. I wish to speak to you. About the Morrell case.’

She was acutely aware that a telephonist could be listening.

‘Can you come into the station?’

‘I would prefer not to.’

‘I am busy all day but I could see you this evening.’

‘No, this evening is not suitable.’

She heard him shuffling papers. Imagined his hands flicking through a diary.

‘I can see you at two o’clock, Mrs Sanford, if that is convenient.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Good day to you, Mrs Sanford.’

He hung up. Neither had mentioned where they would meet. They didn’t need to. Slowly, as if the telephone receiver would shatter and destroy the arrangement if handled roughly, she replaced it and a current of happiness rippled through her. That’s all it took. She looked at her hands. Rock steady.

The door opened and Tilly breezed in. ‘Have you seen this place?’ She was smiling broadly in her Red Cross uniform as she peered over a gigantic bundle of freshly laundered towelling nappies that were clutched in her arms. ‘My darling, it is positively swarming with Yanks out there. They’ve come over from the airfield, pockets bulging with sweets for the kids. And,’ her grin widened, ‘delicious nylon stockings galore for the rest of us.’ She dumped the haphazard pile of nappies on the desk and flashed a pack at Ella. ‘You’d better go and claim your American booty before it all disappears. You know what gannets nurses are when…⁠’ She broke off abruptly and stared at Ella. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘You look…⁠’ Tilly pursed her crimson lips, trying to pinpoint what it was about her friend that had caught her attention, ‘… different.’

‘Really?’

‘Definitely.’

How could it show? So fast. As if love changed the structure of your face.

‘I’ve just been gardening too much. Caught the sun.’

Tilly prided herself on her bone-white complexion and scowled at Ella. ‘You’ll turn into a pickaninny if you’re not more careful.’

‘I’ll be careful.’

Very careful
.

Ella walked over to the nappies and started folding them into neat white squares. With studied casualness she asked, ‘How’s Hector?’

‘Oh, don’t ask. He’s being a frightful bore today. He planned to go sailing this morning but has the most beastly headache so is stuck doing paperwork at the office instead, which makes him so grouchy he could spit.’

Ella couldn’t imagine Hector grouchy. ‘Has he heard anything more about that ghastly murder case?’

‘The stabbing?’ Tilly shuddered. ‘Not much. He did mention last night that he thinks they will arrest the girl. Apparently she has a reputation for trouble. Some little trollop on the make, I expect. Overstepped the mark this time, though.’

‘What? Surely not. I thought they were laying it at the door of black workers taking their spite out on the white colonials.’

‘It seems they’ve dropped that idea. Hector thinks it’s for the best.’

‘As a lawyer, he should know.’

‘Oh heavens, no!’ Tilly gave a hoot of laughter. ‘Hector’s only really interested in boats. Anyway, my darling, I must dash.’ She started to pat her dark waves and primp her fringe. ‘I’m off to the docks.’

‘Not another parade.’

‘The very same.’

‘Tilly, you are a glutton for punishment.’

Tilly took out her compact and powdered her nose. ‘It’s the least I can do for our boys. New recruits this time.’

‘Poor chaps. Give them a wave from me.’

Raw recruits would be disembarking from a troop ship and parading in front of the Duke of Windsor as Governor of the Bahamas. But Ella wasn’t fooled. She knew that the real reason Tilly went to all the parades was to have the chance to see His Royal Highness in action in full dress uniform. She’d once confessed to Ella it gave her goose bumps each time. Ella couldn’t understand it herself. But who was she of all people to lay down rules?

‘Go on,’ she smiled. ‘Go and…⁠’

At that moment the Duchess of Windsor walked in, brisk as ever in her movements, her central hair parting straight and precise.

‘Good morning, ladies.’

‘Good morning, Your Highness,’ Tilly responded but excused herself quickly, closing the door behind her. She had a habit of doing that.

The Duchess’s strong-boned face took on a crease of irritation, but she shook it off and turned to Ella with a smile.

‘Ella, my dear girl, you’re looking mighty happy about something.’

Ella reacted with an expression of innocence. ‘I heard today that little Gussie will be going home to his mother next week. It’s wonderful news for him.’

‘He’s the polio boy you’ve been doing all the exercises with, isn’t he?’

‘That’s right.’

The Duchess nodded, fitted a cigarette into her ebony holder and drew in a lungful of smoke before tipping her head back slightly, as though wanting a better view as she regarded Ella through narrow eyes.

‘I’m not a fool, Ella. The one thing I’m good at is people.’

Ella returned to folding the pile of nappies.

But the Duchess was not a woman to be sidetracked. ‘You don’t shine like someone has stuck a light bulb inside you just because some kid you’re fond of is going to get out of this antiseptic cage.’

Ella stopped folding.

The Duchess laughed, an amused affectionate sound. ‘There’s only one thing that does that. And we both know what it is, don’t we, Mrs Sanford?’

Mrs Sanford
. A reminder.

‘Don’t,’ Ella murmured. ‘Don’t spoil it.’

‘We are all in this colonial cage together, myself included.’ Her thin neck tightened, tendons suddenly showing the strain. ‘We all like to be let out now and again. To see what freedom tastes like.’ She waved her cigarette through the air, as though indicating the way out of the cage, but suddenly paused, strode across to Ella’s side and took hold of her arm. For a small woman she had large hands and a man’s grip.

‘What’s this?’

Ella glanced down at the marks peeking out beneath her own sleeve, at the raw scrapes across the pale skin of her wrist. ‘It’s nothing. I scratched it while winding wire around a fence post for my hens.’

The Duchess nodded as if she knew exactly what made such marks but she passed no comment and moved away to sit down on the desk, smoking hard. ‘I regard everyone in the Bahamas as my business, Ella, and I want the best for each of them. But don’t worry.’ Her angular face seemed to grow older, her eyes sadder, and there was a loneliness inside them that suddenly spilled over into the room. ‘We each have a right to choose our own life. I wouldn’t dream of denying you yours.’

‘Thank you. You can be certain I won’t ever disgrace Reggie.’

The Duchess smiled softly. ‘Any more than I would disgrace the Duke.’

For a long moment their eyes remained fixed on each other, then the Duchess headed for the door, her pin-thin shoulders tense as she stepped out to greet the hospital troops.

Dodie had not realised. What it means to be in love.

She hadn’t realised that it is like a beach when the tide comes in. What before was still and static, motionless while the world tramped over it, is suddenly full of movement. That’s what it felt like. Everything in motion within her, a swirling, tumbling, trembling motion.

She hadn’t realised. It would be like this.

Her skin prickled and smarted, burning one moment, freezing the next. Her eyes were permanently wide open as if they couldn’t get enough of the world, yet at times her eyelashes felt so heavy they could crush her. Her eyes gained a brilliance, her hands a softness. And inside she felt strong.

She hadn’t realised. That love makes you strong.

So when Flynn slid out of her bed just before midnight in a raging storm, she didn’t put her hand out. Didn’t hold him back, didn’t pin him to her mattress. She didn’t even open her eyes or break the rhythm of her night-breathing or ask for one last kiss. One last kiss. That was her fear. That he would not come back. But she let him go without adding even a feather’s weight to whatever burden he was carrying on his back, and all the time she could feel the strong steady beat of his heart inside her own.

He didn’t return. Hour after hour. Dodie willed Flynn to burst through the door, wet and windblown, battered by the violence of the storm, but in one piece. She imagined herself peeling off his drenched clothes, stretching him out on her bed and towelling his body dry. Warming it with hers.

The rain beat down like hammers hell-bent on destroying the roof, which leaked in so many places that Dodie had to keep moving the mattress. For long periods she stood in front of the door in darkness, gripping it fiercely, listening to the wind as it howled outside, threatening to wrench it off its hinges. But she was ready to throw the door open the moment his hand touched it.

Just before dawn he came. Except he wasn’t the same Flynn Hudson who had made love to her earlier that night with such wildness of spirit. The Flynn Hudson who returned was damaged. He staggered through the door straight into her arms, clinging to her while the wind sought to tear him apart. She slammed and bolted the door, sat him on the mattress and lit a candle that leapt and guttered in the damp air but cast enough light on Flynn.

‘I’m all right,’ he said. His voice was thick.

‘You’re not.’

‘Just sit with me.’

She sat and wrapped her arms around him. He was drenched and the side of his head was bleeding, but she just held him close, her cheek pressed against his wet one. She could hear the sounds of him – his breath coming fast, his teeth clenched hard, the crack opening up somewhere deep in his chest.

‘What happened?’

‘Sir Harry Oakes is dead.’

Shock made Dodie’s fingers falter. She was bathing the wound on his head, a gash that was spilling blood faster than she could stem it, and she had removed his clothes. He was draped in the sheet and staring at the door, but not for a moment did she think he was seeing it.

‘Tell me,’ she said. When she touched the wound he seemed not to notice.

‘I went to Westbourne House to speak with Oakes. I hung around in the grounds as usual, waiting for him to appear down the outside stairs around midnight, and when he didn’t come I figured it was because of the storm.’ Flynn rubbed a hand across his eyes. ‘After a while I searched the grounds of the estate. Just past the swimming pool I found him.’

Dodie sat still. ‘Was he dead?’

‘Dead as a mackerel.’

‘Are you certain?’

He turned to her, his eyes glassy. ‘I’ve seen my fill of dead bodies, Dodie. I found his torch lying on the grass, switched off. I checked him over. Just four small calibre bullet holes in the side of his head. Probably a Colt .22. Someone got real close to him.’

The words ran out. He dropped his head into his hands and a tremor passed through him. Dodie realised that Oakes had become a father-figure to Flynn, watching over him, using him, needing him, to the point where he had replaced his true father. And now Flynn had lost both fathers to gunshots. She rested her shoulder against his, letting her warmth flow into him, and could not stop herself hating Oakes. Hating what he’d done to Flynn. She was glad he was dead. She embedded her fingers in Flynn’s wet hair and felt like a traitor for wishing Flynn would be glad too.

The blow had come out of the night, Flynn told her. It lifted him off his feet as he was standing up from crouching at Oakes’ side. He’d woken to find his head in pieces and that he’d lost four hours, as well as his gun. Worse, he was stranded on the far side of the island. Somehow – aided by a farmer’s horse and cart going to market – he got himself back to Westbourne House before dawn. Nothing had changed. Except for one thing. Oakes was gone. No trace, no blood, the grass sodden from the storm. The windows in the house were dark as boot polish. He scouted the grounds. No sound. No movement. Finally he stumbled back to Bain Town.

‘Here, drink this.’

Dodie placed an enamel mug of scalding tea in Flynn’s hands and propped him up on the mattress against the wall. The place felt damp and unhealthy but he didn’t seem to care. She offered to move him to his own room in town, which would be more comfortable and certainly drier, but he declined with the faintest shake of his head. She’d dosed him with Mama Keel’s herbs but after that he would suffer no more fuss.

‘What now?’ she asked softly.

His eyes were half closed, thin gleams of light in the shadows. ‘Now,’ he told her, ‘all hell will break loose.’

By nine o’clock that morning Bain Town was humming with the news. Dodie could hear them outside, the women calling across the street to each other, the men muttering in low voices over their smokes, all aware of what it meant. There was a sense of despair that slunk up and down the road, of genuine mourning that was accompanied by white handkerchiefs and soft rhythmic crooning of hymns in the street.

Dodie left the hut. Inside, Flynn slept at last, thanks to Mama Keel’s infusions, but it was a sleep that was restless and spiked with bad dreams. She didn’t like to abandon him, even for a few minutes, but she picked up the enamel jug and headed for the communal water tap further up the street. Overhead, slate-grey clouds were the scrappy remnants of the night’s storm and the road was strewn with palm fronds embedded in the mud.