Eclipse. Lynne Pemberton
were answered a moment later; the jeep budged an inch and then suddenly shot forward, out of the mud.
Within five minutes she was on the A4 road leading to Blue Lagoon. And by the time she pulled into the drive of Mango Bay the rain had stopped, but the sky was still dark and foreboding. The house looked different this morning; or was it simply that she felt different? Serena wasn’t sure.
Wandering around the elegant rooms, she realized for the first time how much there was of Nicholas and his family in Mango Bay, and how little of herself. She wondered why it had never occurred to her before today. Frazer-West family paintings adorned the walls; and a vast array of exquisite collectibles, all chosen by Nicholas’s mother, covered several antique tables. Even the fabrics had come from his cousin’s country estate.
She had to shower and pack but first she hid Royole’s shirt in a drawer at the bottom of her dressing table; consoling herself as she did so, that it would be an excuse to meet him again when she returned to Jamaica in the winter.
She stepped out on to the small terrace leading from her bedroom. A chink of bright blue punctured the otherwise gloomy sky as the sun tried hard to poke through. Memories of the last few hours flooded her mind; memories to be stored, and savoured through the long, boring nights ahead with Nicholas.
Serena had never experienced such lovemaking; so erotic and yet so tender. She even blushed as she thought of her own uninhibited passion. Mr Royole Fergusson had certainly left an indelible mark. She desperately wanted to see him again and, whilst she showered, her mind was occupied with schemes of how she could come back to Port Antonio without Nicholas.
The remainder of the morning was spent on last-minute chores, her mind so preoccupied with thoughts of Royole that she almost forgot to collect Thomas Laynes’ mail from Frenchman’s Cove, and to cancel the weekly delivery of fresh eggs and vegetables.
Her flight was scheduled to leave Port Antonio for Kingston at four-thirty, and at twenty-five minutes past three she was ready, dressed in black cotton slacks and a short-sleeved shirt, a woollen sweater draped over her arm. The butler was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs.
‘Go long, Lady Frazer-West. Don’t you worry none bout de house. I can look after every ting.’ Joseph accompanied this assurance by puffing out his chest, grinning from ear to ear; looking as if he couldn’t wait to be left in charge.
She handed him the leather grip she’d packed – thinking how much she’d love to be a fly on the wall, to see exactly what Joseph would get up to after she’d left.
‘I’m sure you can, Joseph. And you know to contact Thomas at Frenchman’s Cove if anything goes wrong.’
‘What go wrong in Port Antonio, mistress? Nothin’.’ Then he added for good measure, ‘Nothin’ at all.’
They arrived at Ken Jones Airport just as a small island-hopper cut through thick cloud to make a bumpy landing, before taxiing to a halt only a few feet from the terminal.
Jumping out of the jeep, Serena said, ‘I’ll be fine now Joseph, you can go.’ She smiled and, in a firm voice, went on, ‘No drinking; and if I hear of you driving the jeep, there’ll be trouble. Do you understand?’
He dropped his head. ‘Ah don drink de rum no more, mistress.’ This time his voice had lost its jaunty confidence.
She knew he was lying, but didn’t have the heart to pursue the issue. ‘Goodbye then. Thank you for everything. Take good care of yourself and take care of the house.’
The butler waved enthusiastically, before driving out of the airport. Serena watched the jeep until it disappeared from view. She then turned and walked to the far corner of the small terminal, where immigration was located.
Her ears pricked as she heard her name and she recognized his voice instantly, it was unmistakable.
Her stomach turned a sickly somersault as she turned to face Royole. He was dressed in white shorts and a faded powder-blue shirt; and he carried a bundle in his left hand.
‘This is your dress and shoes.’ He handed her a small package, tied with string.
Their hands met for a split second, yet he made no attempt to bridge the few feet that separated them. Nor did she.
‘I couldn’t let you go without saying goodbye, Serena.’
‘Oh Royole, I’ll be coming back to Port Antonio in a few months’ time; it doesn’t have to be goodbye for ever.’ Glancing over her shoulder, towards the plane, she saw a solitary passenger about to board.
‘I don’t know where I’ll be in few months’ time though.’ He then fished in the back pocket of his shorts and pulled an envelope out, which he thrust into her hand. ‘This is my sister’s address in America, she forwards all my mail, so if you ever feel like writing, or need to contact me for anything at all …’
The co-pilot approached them. ‘Lady Frazer-West; if you’d like to board the plane now, please. We’re ready for takeoff.’
‘Yes,’ she nodded, ‘I’ll be there in a moment.’ A nerve twitched in the corner of her eye, and she suddenly found herself chewing her bottom lip; nervous reactions that she thought she’d got rid of years ago.
Royole was looking her straight in the eye. ‘Safe journey and take care, Lady Serena. Try to think of me sometimes.’
He smiled. A smile bright enough to light up a whole room she thought, and longed to touch him.
She forced her voice to sound light and frivolous. ‘Yes, I will think about you, Mr Fergusson.’ She winked, ‘If I can find the time.’
He shrugged and took a step towards her, beginning to open his arms. ‘By the way, I do want you to know that yesterday was one of the best days of my life … so far.’
Serena stepped back. She doubted she could stay in control if he kissed her. ‘It was pretty good for me, too,’ she managed to say, biting hard on her lip to stop it quivering.
He was about to say something else, when she held up her hand. ‘Don’t ask me why, Royole Fergusson, but I’m sure we will meet again.’ Then, without any backward glance, Serena ran towards the plane.
Chapter Four ENGLAND, MARCH 1967
Lady Serena Frazer-West checked the clock in her new Range Rover. It was almost ten p.m. She had been held up for the last hour. A quick calculation made her realize that at this rate she’d be lucky to reach Redby Hall, the Frazer-West Wiltshire estate, by midnight. She began to wish she’d rung to let the staff know of her sudden decision to leave London for a spot of country peace; still, at least it meant no one would be expecting her and fretting about her non-arrival.
A serious collision, between a minibus and an oil tanker, had resulted in the bigger vehicle overturning and spilling most of its contents on to the icy road. The consequent mayhem was further exacerbated by freezing fog, so that traffic was now at a standstill, apart from police vehicles and several ambulances.
Suddenly the traffic began to move, albeit slowly; a mass of steel creeping forward, with the artificial eyes of car headlights burrowing through the swirling fog. As the sign for Junction Thirteen loomed into view, Serena indicated left and followed several other cars on to the slip road. Pulling into the nearest lay-by, she consulted a map and decided that it would be simpler to take the road across country towards Swindon, then rejoin the motorway for the remainder of her journey to Castle Coombe.
This plan would have been fine if she had not taken a wrong turn at the village of Lenchwick Cross, becoming hopelessly lost on the Lambourn Downs in a maze of twisting lanes and tiny villages that all looked exactly the same. To make things worse, it was very dark – with only the occasional yellow light from a semi-curtained cottage window to remind her she was not totally alone in the world.
Her